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Jebediah turned to face her, his eyes blazing with fury. "You want some too, ranger?" he spat.
But just then, Sheriff Collins came hurtling forward. He tackled Jeb around the waist, bringing them both crashing to the ground.
The two men erupted into a flurry of blows, back and forth, rolling on the ground in a cloud of dust.
Rachel watched in grim horror as the men fought, each landing punches and kicks on the other. She knew she had to act fast before someone got seriously hurt. She stepped forward, gun still drawn, and pointed it at the brawling men. "That's enough!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the clearing. "Both of you, stop fighting right now!"
The men ignored her, locked in their savage struggle. The sheriff was on top now, raining blows down on Jeb's face and chest. Blood was streaming from the man's nose, and Rachel could see bruises forming on his cheekbones. She took a deep breath, then fired a warning shot into the air. The sound was deafening, and it seemed to have the desired effect. The men froze, staring up at her with wide, startled eyes.
"Enough!" Rachel shouted again, lowering her gun slightly.
The two men slowly climbed to their feet, eyeing each other warily. The sheriff's face was bruised and swollen, and he was breathing heavily. Jeb was nursing his bloody nose and wiping the dirt from his clothes. Rachel could see that both men were angry, but also that they were starting to calm down a little. She kept her gun aimed upward, just in case.
"Alright," she said, her voice firm. "Now, everyone just take a deep breath and let's talk this out."
She shot the sheriff a long, withering look. He was hardly acting professionally, but she'd been warned.
Things in this town were done differently.
Everyone had connections to everyone, and everything could get personal.
It was at this realization, a small shiver tremored up her spine.
CHAPTER FOUR
The evening sun sank below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty ranch. A lone figure sat atop a painted horse, obscured by the growing darkness. He watched the distant ranch house through narrowed eyes, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat.
The wind carried the faint sound of laughter from the ranch yard. It grated on him. Fingers tightened around the reins, leather creaking. He wanted nothing more than to gallop down and silence them, but he waited. Patience was key.
The back door swung open, spilling light across the yard. A woman emerged, her smile visible even at this distance. She paused on the porch, gazing out into the growing night.
His pulse quickened, fingers itching. Soon, he told himself. Soon she would be his. Wheels were already in motion.
For now, he would watch. And wait.
The rider continued to observe the ranch house from his vantage point atop the ridge. His keen eyes followed the woman's movements as she crossed the yard and entered the barn. He tilted his head, listening intently for any other sounds carrying on the night air.
The painted horse beneath him shuffled impatiently, eager to be off. He tightened his legs, stilling the animal. Not yet.
A light came on in the barn, and he caught a glimpse of the woman through the open doors, busying herself with the evening chores. He imagined himself down there with her, imagined the fear in her eyes when she realized she wasn't alone. A smile twisted his lips.
Soon, he reminded himself. But the waiting was agony.
He watched as she exited the barn and locked up for the night. His fingers flexed involuntarily. As she started back to the house, he pulled the brim of his hat lower and turned his horse away.
Not tonight. But her time would come. He would make sure of it.
With a nudge of his heels, the killer rode off into the growing darkness, anticipation burning inside him.
The man rode slowly along the ridge overlooking the ranch, keeping to the shadows. He had been watching this woman for weeks now. Learning her habits. Studying her movements. Tonight his patience had nearly broken, but he held back. It wasn't time yet.
The anticipation was exquisite torture. He imagined wrapping his hands around her slender throat, squeezing until the life drained from her eyes. But he couldn't afford to be hasty. Everything had to be perfect.
He directed the painted horse along a narrow trail, ducking under low-hanging branches. The woods closed in around him, swallowing him in darkness. No moonlight penetrated the dense canopy overhead. He relied on instinct alone to guide his way.
Up ahead, he spotted the soft glow of a campfire through the trees. As he drew nearer, the smell of woodsmoke filled his nostrils. He dismounted and secured the horse, then crept forward on foot towards his campsite. No one knew he was here...
No one knew how long he'd been here.
