Page 3 of Fairest of Heart

One of the Buchanans cried out. The second revolver disappeared from the window. The first continued firing, but the shots flew wild. Titus sighted the second man, aiming for his shoulder. If he would just stand a little taller or move slightly to the left . . .

A shot rang out. Muted. Distant. From behind the house. Was Carson trying to breach on his own? Foolish kid was gonna get himself killed.

“Hoffman! Cover me!”

Titus drew his rifle to his chest and rolled out into the open. As soon as he cleared the edge of the wagon, he sprang into a crouch, ready to fire at the fugitive behind the window, but Hoffman had a steady percussion of shots working. His repeater echoed loudly as he moved away from the barn with a slow, even stride. He’d have to reload soon. The ’73 Winchester favored by the Rangers held fifteen cartridges. More than the six-shooters the Buchanan brothers sported, but Hoffman was probably down to his last few rounds.

Staying low, Titus ran for the house. When he reached the door, he brought his bootheel up and smashed it near the lock, splintering the wood and sending the door crashing into the house.

“On the floor!” His barked order bounced off the walls like cannon fire. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see the brothers yet, they knew he was in the house. He’d use that to his advantage. Assert control. Demand compliance. Instill fear. “Guns down. Hands up. Now!”

At least one brother was still in the front room. Titus couldn’t be sure of the second without visual confirmation. The second Buchanan could have retreated deeper into the house after taking Titus’s bullet to the shoulder.

A heavy bang announced a breach from the rear. Carson. So he’d held his position as instructed. Good. But if Carson hadn’t been advancing on the house, what had he been shooting at?

No time to ponder. Had to press the advantage.

Flattening his back against the wall by the open doorway that led into the front room, Titus inched toward the opening, then snapped a quick peek into the room before dodging back to safety. The view was a blur, but he’d located two men. One hunkered at the base of the window, shoving bullets into his revolver’s cylinder with shaky hands. The other huddled in a corner, whimpering.

“Gun down, Buchanan,” Titus ordered as he spun into the room, rifle first, “or I give you a souvenir to match the one your brother’s got in his shoulder.”

The half-loaded revolver fell to the floor. The younger Buchanan raised his hands above his head.

“I got the big one.” Carson’s voice echoed low behind Titus.

Titus nodded, glad to have another Ranger in the room to watch his back. He focused his attention on the thief in front of him. “On the floor. Face down.”

Percy Buchanan complied, his movements slow, his chin tucked toward his chest in submission. Titus moved deeper into the room and kicked the revolver out of Percy’s reach. Circling a chair, he approached the prone suspect, then knelt over him, pressing one knee into Percy’s back. After glancing to the far wall to ensure Carson had big brother Ted contained, Titus set his rifle down and pulled out the leather strap he used for binding prisoners. He pulled back one wrist at a time and secured Percy’s hands behind his back.

“You good in there, Kingsley?” Hoffman called from outside the window.

“Yep. Got both suspects in custody. Check the perimeter, then bring the horses round.”

“Will do.”

Titus pulled Percy to his feet and dragged him toward his brother. “How’s his shoulder, Carson?”

The other Ranger shrugged. “He’ll live.”

Titus bit back a sigh. Carson’s callous attitude grated. Just because they hunted criminals didn’t mean they couldn’t extend a little common decency. Rangering made a man hard, but if that hardness calcified his soul, he’d be no better than the thieves and murderers he hunted.

“I’ve got bandages in my saddlebag. Take him out front and dress the wound. We’ll get him back to Walnut Springs and see if there’s a doctor there to patch him up.”

“Walnut Springs ain’t got no doctor,” Ted ground out between moans as Carson jerked him to his feet.

“Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you opened fire on a company of Texas Rangers.” Carson crooked the man’s good arm behind his back and herded him toward the hall. The pair drew up short, however, when Hoffman braced himself in the doorway. He glared at Carson, then turned his head to meet Titus’s gaze.

“Found this stuffed in the pie safe.” He held up a bulging gunnysack.

Percy’s muttered curse confirmed the contents. The money from the First National robbery in Meridian. But that didn’t explain the scowl on Hoffman’s face or Carson’s agitation.

“Found somethin’ else out back,” Hoffman continued. “Somethin’ you should see.”

Titus’s gut clenched. That shot he’d heard from behind the house. Someone had taken a hit. Titus released Percy and immediately strode for the doorway, trusting Hoffman to take charge of the prisoner.

“It’s just a mangy dog,” Carson blurted as Titus stepped around him. “Nothin’ to get all worked up about.”

Titus jerked to a halt. “You shot a dog?”