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He was on his way. He wanted to shout that, but Fletcher kept quiet. He wanted to text her but Ben had told him not to, that if someone heard her watch singing Jilly Silly, it could put her in danger. If she was hiding… He hoped she had found a place to hide. To wait for him to get to her. She knew he was coming for her. She had to know he was coming for her. That he always would.

Fletcher and his brother, his cousins, his uncles, and his friends, just crept closer. He had grown up in the Wyoming wilderness, running wild with Ben and Gil and the rest of those Wild Tyler Boys everyone had always complained about. Fletcher had hunted in these very woods, had fished in the nearby river. He could make his way through the darkness.

She was counting on him. He wasn’t going to let her down.

Ben touched him on the arm. “Brandt just texted there is a truck pulling in. Driving erratically. Four men inside. He thinks they may be armed. He said he thinks he saw at least one rifle. They were already past the checkpoints before we got here. Holton couldn’t stop them on horseback. Too risky.”

Brandt and Clint had circled around to a small hill where they could look down on the ranch house. Derrick and one of his brothers were watching the driveway now. Nick and the rest of Fletcher’s family were spread out, trying to form a circle around the house. The plan was to hem Bruce in—and get Dylan back.

Somehow.

Clint, Ben, Nick, Phil, and Martin each carried a rifle. No one was going to shoot unless they absolutely had to. But they were getting Dylan back.

“We need to hurry. She can’t defend herself against six men.” Terror threatened to bring him to his knees. Fletcher just kept going.