Page 85 of More Than Meets the Eye

“I don’t think so.”

In a blink, the schoolmaster jerked the shotgun he carried up to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Earl grabbed his belly and fell to the ground.

Evangeline jumped at the booming sound of the shot and gasped at the sight of Earl crumpling to the ground. Smoke filled her lungs at the violent inhale, and coughs immediately followed. She lunged behind the oak, pressing her hand tight against her mouth to muffle the sound.

“Who’s there?” Benson snapped.

Tears stung her eyes as she tried with all her might to keep her coughs inside. An impossible task. One escaped. Then another.

Pressing her lips together to try to hold in the coughs, she pulled Seth’s revolver from its holster and clutched it in front of her with both hands.

Footsteps crunching against scorched earth mixed with Earl’s moans and curses.

“That you, Miss Christie?” Benson’s voice. Closer. “You’ve caused me no end of trouble, my dear.”

More steps.

Should she run? Stay hidden? God above, what do I do?

35

Logan stopped at the schoolhouse long enough to determine that Seth wasn’t there, then immediately remounted and headed in the direction of the smoke. The same direction Earl had come from the day he delivered that jug of bootleg whiskey.

Hurry, his gut urged. Faster!

Bending over Shamgar’s neck, Logan pushed the horse to a gallop. He approached a small, rundown cabin and slowed. “Hello, in the house!”

No one answered.

“Seth?” he shouted as he turned Shamgar around in a tight circle.

Go! That inner voice demanded obedience, and Logan responded without questioning. He pointed Shamger in the direction of the smoke and gave him his head.

After riding a short distance, a movement to his left drew his eye. A woman. Arms overhead, waving. He squinted into the thin haze. Christie?

His heart plummeted. If Christie was out here, that meant . . .

“Eva!” He reined Shamgar in and jumped from the saddle before the horse had a chance to halt. “Where is she?” he yelled at the deaf woman. “Where’s Eva?”

“Come,” she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward a copse of pecan trees. “You have to help. He’s too heavy for me.”

He? Logan didn’t care about any he. He needed to find Eva.

Then he saw Seth, lips slightly blue, body hunkered against a tree trunk, a sick wheezing sound echoing in the air.

“I need to get him away from the smoke, but he’s too weak to walk.” Christie’s voice cracked. “Please.”

Eva would never forgive him if he walked away from her brother. Shoot, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Logan bent, grabbed Seth’s arm, and stretched it around his shoulder. Seth was barely conscious. Logan took hold of his middle and lifted. His thighs and back strained under the weight, but with an extended grunt, he got him up, then dragged him toward Shamgar.

He caught Christie’s eye. “Hold the horse’s head still.” Shamgar wouldn’t shy, but the girl looked desperate to help.

Seth roused enough to grab the horn and swing his leg awkwardly over the saddle. But before Logan could turn to give Christie a leg up too, Seth grabbed Logan’s wrist.

“Evie . . . in woods . . . gunshot . . . Benson . . .”

Logan’s blood turned to ice. He wanted to throw Seth off Shamgar’s back and race into the trees, but that wasn’t an option. Not with Seth at death’s door.

Logan stared him in his bloodshot eyes and gave his solemn vow. “I’ll find her.”