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Gathering his legs under him, he sprang into a crouching run, making for the nearest tree, snapping off three shots as he went. His shoulder hit the solidness of the trunk and immediately he dived behind a boulder an instant before another spray of bullets chewed the tree bark.
The shooting had driven the guinea fowl from the house yard. Their disturbed racket now came from somewhere near the old ranch buildings. Under their covering noise, he scooted back to another tree and stood up behind it, taking off his hat to peer around it and locate Lath’s position.
Something moved in the shadows near the trailer steps. Logan shifted to another tree for a better look. Suddenly there was Lath vaulting onto the wooden stoop and yanking the door open.
Above the boom of a shotgun, a voice yelled, “You ain’t takin’ my boys!”
The blast blew Lath back against the railing. Logan briefly closed his eyes against the anguished scream that followed, then he looked to the hillside, his fingers tightening around the .45. Cat was up there somewhere.
With the gun pointed straight at her head, Cat didn’t move. The sharp rock digging through the denim sleeve into her elbow didn’t register, nor the trickle of blood from her scraped knee. The piney smell of resin was all around her. There was a sharpness and a clarity to every sight and sound that gave all of it a feeling of unreality.
But that gun was very real. Cat forced her eyes to look beyond the muzzle’s deadly maw at Rollie. Anger and regret warred in his expression.
“Why? Why did you have to follow us?” The gun shook with his tightly bit words.
Hope sprang. If he truly wanted to kill her, he would have already pulled the trigger. “Don’t do this, Rollie.” Her voice sounded thin. She worked to strengthen it. “It will only make things worse for you.”
“It can’t get any worse.”
Cat heard the sob in his voice. “Yes, it can. Rollie, I can testify for you. I—”
“You wouldn’t before!” he raged. “Vengeance, that’s what you wanted. Now I’m getting mine.”
His voice was low and ugly, hard purpose ridging the set of his jaw as he looked down the barrel of the gun. “Rollie—”
An explosive blast reverberated through the night. Cat flinched, thinking he had fired, but he was spinning away. A keening w
ail came from the house yard. Rollie took a step toward it, his whole body tense, listening.
Seizing her chance, Cat was on her hands and knees in a flash and scrambling away even as his voice rang out, “Ma? Ma!” Then the rattle of stones alerted him to her escape. “Come back here, you little bitch.” He lunged after her.
Her foot slipped on a rock. She stumbled. His fingers closed around a handful of denim, pulling her back. With a wild, twisting shrug, Cat was out of the over-sized jacket. Before she had taken two scrambling steps, he grabbed her hair and yanked her back, muscled arm banding itself across her throat in a chokehold. Her hands came up to pull at it and release the pressure.
“Let her go, Rollie.”
Cat instantly stopped struggling at the sound of Logan’s voice, relief soaring through her when she saw his dark shape near a tree, his outstretched arms braced in a shooting stance. It crashed at the cold feel of the gun muzzle pressed against her temple.
“Drop the gun, Echohawk. Drop it or she dies.”
Logan never changed his stance. “You’re no killer, Rollie. We both know that. Now, give it up. It’s over.”
“It isn’t over yet. Lath—”
“Lath is dead.”
“You’re lying.” A tiny mewling sound came from Rollie’s throat. “Get away from that tree. Step out here where I can see your face.”
Cat gasped at the sudden, hard jab of the gun against her temple, then bit down on her lip to stifle any further cry. With frightened eyes, she watched Logan move with slow, deliberate steps into the moonlight, keeping his gun still pointed at Rollie.
“He’s dead,” Logan repeated. “Now drop the gun. It’s over.”
The muzzle eased back from her head. Testing its closeness, Cat turned slightly, felt it and felt the movement eliminating some of the pressure against her throat. If she could turn her head all the way to the side, if he took the gun away, Cat was certain she could duck out from under his arm.
“Ma?” Rollie said in a kind of question.
“She’s crying over your brother. She won’t want to lose both her sons tonight. Drop the gun, Rollie.”
“You did it, didn’t you?” Anger trembled in his voice. “You killed my brother!”
