Page 65 of Cloaked in Beauty

“Agreed.” How easily he could picture her lavishing love on a houseful of troubled boys. Seeing the best in them. Dissolving their cynicism and winning their hearts. Much like she’d done with him.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Letty proclaimed, her eyes alight. “I remember how you bonded with Calvin and Dennis. They could sense what kind of man you were. Ready to take charge, capable, and trustworthy. Yet it was your kindness and genuine concern that won their loyalty.” She glanced down at her lap, her voice softening. “Just like it won mine.”

Philip’s breathing hitched, and his pulse took off like Rusty chasing a rabbit. Man, but he wanted to take her hand in his, tug her close, cup her face, and stroke her cheek. His mouth longed to capture hers and discover if the sparks crackling in his chest would finally explode.

Tearing his gaze away from her face, he forced his attention into the trees as he tried to regulate his pulse. Rein it in, big guy. Now’s not the time.

Something tickled his vision to his right, sharpening his senses. He turned. Scanned the trees. Nothing caught his eye, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Gut tightening, he searched for something out of place, but the growing darkness cast shadows, making it hard to decipher details.

His gaze tripped over a tree branch sticking out at an odd angle. Different from the other branches surrounding it. It didn’t sway with the breeze. As Philip stared, the campfire popped, shooting sparks into the sky. A reflection glinted off metal.

Not a branch—a rifle!

“Get down!”

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A gunshot split the air at the same moment that Philip’s large frame crashed into Letty and pinned her to the ground. Breath whooshed from her lungs.

What was happening?

“Stay down.” Philip’s command held her to the ground even as he lifted his body away from hers to draw his revolver.

He crouched over her, shielding her with his body as he shot into the trees. A rustling sounded from the opposite direction. Was there a second shooter?

“Philip, behind you!”

He pivoted, gun raised.

Rusty raced out of the trees. Letty gasped, and Philip jerked the barrel of his revolver toward the sky.

He leapt to his feet and pointed at the wolf. “Stay with her!”

Without giving her a chance to argue, he ran into the night.

“Philip!” She pushed to a sitting position and trained her gaze on his back as he disappeared into the woods in pursuit of their attacker.

Lord, protect him!

The darkness hid the villain. She prayed it would hide Philip, too. A shot echoed from somewhere in the trees. Letty flinched. Then a volley of three shots in quick succession answered. A whimper tore from her throat.

Rusty planted himself in front of her, legs spread, teeth bared as he faced the direction of the gunfire. Letty unsheathed her knife and listened to the night. Running footsteps echoed faintly from a distance, but the woods eventually swallowed the sound. She prayed those had been Philip’s steps, indicating he was alive and not riddled with bullet holes.

Please, God.

Letty pulled her feet under her and crouched behind Rusty, listening for any clue that might tell her what was happening. The horses shuffled and snorted behind her, spooked by the gunfire. She didn’t blame them. It had spooked her, too.

Hearing no immediate threat, Letty sheathed her knife and rose to her feet. Philip had told her what to do if they were ever assaulted at their campsite. Pack up and remove all evidence of their presence so that anyone who came after wouldn’t be able to track them. Rusty shadowed her as she snatched up the fallen dinner dishes and doused the fire with leftover coffee. Her hands trembled as she rolled up bedrolls and fastened straps, making her stumble over simple tasks.

She stumbled over rocks, too, kicking the fire ring more than once as she scurried around the darkened campsite. As her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness and her panic calmed from a heart-throbbing terror to the slightly less debilitating state of skin-tingling alarm, her movements steadied, allowing her to get the supplies loaded onto the packhorse without dropping the dutch oven more than twice.

Next came saddling the horses. Philip had been spoiling her by taking care of this chore since they began their journey, but she’d been saddling Shadow for years and had no trouble getting her mare ready to ride. Steele proved trickier. Philip’s beautiful gray gelding stood at least a full hand taller than Shadow, increasing the difficulty. Thankfully, he was a well-trained mount and patiently endured her fumbling attempts to swing Philip’s saddle onto his back. Changing her grip on the saddle, she heaved it a third time and managed to swing it into place. She had just finished tightening the cinch when a whine from Rusty had her spinning and reaching for her knife.

A man jogged out of the trees, gun in hand. Rusty made no move to attack, telling Letty everything she needed to know.

“Philip.” His name fell from her lips in a whispered prayer of gratitude.

He was safe.