Page 54 of Branded

Three figures are moving toward our position, using the rocks for cover. Marshall men, coming to finish what they started.

“Get behind me,” Pete orders, his rifle already up.

“Like hell.” I move to his left, creating a crossfire position. “Two targets are harder to hit than one.”

He barks a laugh despite the situation. “The boss really did marry a crazy one.”

“You have no idea,” I reply flatly.

The men get close enough that I can see the outline of their faces. Young, maybe early twenties, pumped full of adrenaline and the certainty that comes from having superior numbers.

Unfortunately, they see us too late.

Pete’s rifle cracks three times in rapid succession and our horses bolt. Two men go down. The third spins toward me, his rifle coming up, and I don’t hesitate. Two shots, center mass, exactly like my brother taught me on targets. The man drops like a rock. For a second, there’s silence. Just heavy breathing and the distant sound of horses, cattle and men shouting.

Miguel appears on horseback, leading Duchess toward me. “We need to go. Now. Before more come.”

He’s right; we compromised our position and it’s about to be overrun. I can hear engines starting, trucks or ATVs, hard to tell, and more Marshall men are responding to the gunfire.

Pete and I mount our horses quickly, and we gallop through darkness toward where Sebastian went. Bullets chase us, but we’re moving fast, staying low, making ourselves hard targets.

We find the west group regrouping near the property line. Nathaniel, applying pressure to Walker’s shoulder while the older man curses steadily. Sebastian is beside them, his face stark with worry in the dim light from someone’s tactical flashlight.

“How bad?” I ask, sliding off Duchess.

“Through and through,” Walker grinds out. “I’ve had worse.”

“He needs a real hospital,” Nathaniel says.

“No hospital. They’ll have to report a gunshot wound. Then we’ve got law enforcement involved.” Walker tries to sit up, but goes pale immediately. “Just patch it up and get me home.”

“Dad—”

“That’s an order, Nathaniel.” Walker’s voice, even weak from pain and blood loss, carries absolute authority. “We go home. Now. Before they regroup and come after us like sitting ducks.”

Sebastian looks at me, and I see the calculation in his eyes. Staying to argue means risking more casualties. Getting Walker medical attention means explaining a gunshot wound from a midnight cattle raid.

There aren’t any good options.

“Everyone who can ride, get on a horse. Those who can’t, double up. We’re heading back to the ranch,” Sebastian orders.

The retreat is chaotic. Men with minor wounds helping others with worse, horses nervous from gunfire, everyone looking over their shoulders waiting for the Marshalls to pursue. Sebastian and James get Walker onto a horse with Nathaniel, and we start moving.

Fast. Controlled. But definitely retreating.

We hit the boundary fence at a gallop, not bothering to be careful about the crossing. Just speed, desperation and the overwhelming need to get back to safe ground.

When we finally crest the ridge that overlooks our house, I can see lights on everywhere. The main house, the barns, every building is lit up like a beacon.

Caroline’s voice crackles over someone’s radio: “I’ve got a medical team standing by. Get him to the ranch hospital facility. Now.”

Ranch hospital facility. Of course they have one. Ranchers willing to ride into enemy territory in the middle of the night need their own hospital.

We thunder into the main barn area. Medical personnel, a doctor and two nurses, apparently kept on retainer, immediately swarm Walker. Caroline is standing with them, her face red with fury. Eleanor appears, perfectly composed despite her husband bleeding out in the barn.

James slides off his horse and stands in the corner, talking urgently on his phone, his expression grim.

Sebastian dismounts and goes to his father’s side immediately as the medical team is moving Walker toward a building I haven’t noticed before: low, modern, and designed for precisely this kind of situation.