Seized By The Sheik. Ann Voss Peterson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wound south, the slope was more gentle. The horses should be able to handle it. “I think so.”

      “I’ll cover you as best I can. Hurry.”

      Tucking her rifle back in its scabbard, she grasped the reins and started trudging in a wide arc that sloped up to the canyon’s edge. Whoever Efraim found up on that cliff must be hurt, not dead. And knowing that gave her a little more hope that all this would turn out okay.

      The trek seemed to take forever. But except for a few slips and scrambles of steel shoes on hard rock, the horses plugged along. She turned the last corner, the point that should bring her to the level where Efraim crouched by the body. A rock face loomed in front of her.

      She let out a heavy breath.

      It wasn’t high, only about ten feet of jumbled rock rising to a wider cap formation on top called a hoodoo. But small or not, the barrier was squarely between her and Efraim.

      She could climb the side and skirt around the saddle-horn-shaped hoodoo with a little effort, but the horses couldn’t.

      She glanced around, her gaze landing on a scraggle of half-dead sagebrush. Sasha was trained to ground tie with the best of them. She wasn’t so confident about the horse from the Wind River Ranch. Without a sturdy halter and lead, she couldn’t tie the animal very securely, but maybe it would be enough.

      She looped the horse’s reins around the woody base of the sage. She dropped Sasha’s reins free next to it. “Whoa.” As long as something didn’t happen, they should be fine.

      Turning back to the rocky face, she spied Efraim staring down at her. He cupped his hand around his mouth. “Do you have something plastic? A bag? Something like that?”

      Her mind raced, trying to decipher the reason behind the request. She turned back to her horse. She kept a number of things with her when riding out on the ranch or the BLM, but plastic bags weren’t among them. She returned to Sasha and grabbed the saddlebags from the saddle. Pausing, she grabbed the rain slicker she’d tied on the saddle’s skirt and carried all back to the swell of rock and started climbing.

      Loose sand and stones skittered under her feet. She slipped twice, trying to catch herself with hands weighed down with saddlebags and slicker. A rock face about three feet high formed the final hurdle. But from here she could clearly see Efraim and the white fabric they’d spotted from the canyon floor.

      It wasn’t a shirt, as she’d previously thought, but a traditional head cloth designed to protect the wearer from the harsh sun.

      The kind of sun that beat down on the island of Nadar.

      A chill fanned over Callie’s skin despite the June heat. She focused on Efraim. “One of your people?”

      Efraim looked up, dark eyes glistening. Rusty red smeared his cheekbone where he’d swiped at his eyes with a bloody hand. “It’s Fahad.”

      NUMBNESS PENETRATED bone deep. When Efraim first realized the body lying on the canyon’s edge was Fahad, he’d almost staggered under the blow. Then training had kicked in. Cold, methodical. His cousin was badly injured, but alive. Callie and he were in danger. It was up to him to get them all to safety before it was too late.

      Fahad stared at him with dark eyes and open mouth, struggling for oxygen. With each breath, a sucking sound emanated from his chest wound. Efraim pressed his wadded-up shirt against the wound. Within seconds it was soaked with blood, warm and sticky on his hands. The sound continued.

      He looked up at Callie, climbing the last few feet of rock-strewn slope. “Plastic?”

      “I have a slicker and some first-aid supplies.” She held up a bundle cradled in her arms.

      He needed those supplies. And she couldn’t climb the last rock wall while carrying them. He rose to his feet to take them from her.

      A second shot split the air. Rock exploded next to his face.

      Efraim hit the deck. His foot hit Fahad’s rifle, sending it careening into the canyon. Still climbing the rocky slope, Callie flattened. Beyond her, a horse whinnied. Steel shoes clattered on stone.

      The horses. They were running away.

      Keeping low to the ground this time, Efraim crawled to the slope. His thoughts raced. The shot had hit the stone near him, Callie had to be merely taking cover. She had to be okay.

      Reaching the edge, he peered over.

      She looked up at him, her freckles streaked by dust, her blue eyes wide. “Here.” She pushed the bundle toward him.

      He took the saddle bags and slicker. “Stay low.”

      “I’ll climb up. I can help.”

      “No.” The last thing he wanted was for Callie to attempt to climb the ridge and get shot for her efforts. “I’ll tend to Fahad, then you can help me move him.”

      He moved back to Fahad’s side. His cousin was still conscious, still fighting. He moved his lips, but no sound came, just the sucking noise mixed with each gasp for breath.

      “Hold on. I have supplies. It will be all right.”

      His cousin gave a light bob of the head.

      Efraim folded the slicker and pulled an elastic bandage from the saddlebags. He wasn’t sure this was going to work, but he did know that if he did nothing, Fahad would die.

      He had ripped Fahad’s shirt open as soon as he’d found him. Now he pushed the tattered and bloody fabric aside and pressed the slick side of the raincoat against the wound. Grasping the bandage roll in sticky hands, he strapped it across Fahad’s chest, fitting the slicker tight against his skin. It was far from sterile, far from ideal, but it was the best he could do. He just prayed it would work.

      Something scraped rock and Callie slipped to her knees by his side.

      “I told you to stay—”

      “It will go faster with both of us.”

      He shook his head and peered down at the badlands below. “You have to go back down the slope.”

      “I know you’re trying to protect me. But faster is better. For Fahad and for both of us.” She set her chin and gripped Fahad’s shoulders. “Now, are you going to help me sit him up or not?”

      He helped her tilt Fahad toward him. Callie wrapped the rest of the slicker around his side and over the exit wound in his back. They wrapped the bandage around his chest, securing the slicker as tightly as possible to the wound.

      Fahad gasped again and again, but this time he seemed to be getting air. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and trickled down the side of his face and into his beard. Beads of sweat bloomed on his forehead.

      “Fahad, who did this?” Efraim asked.

      “Followed you.”

      “Who?”

      He shook his head, the movement barely perceptible. “Don’t know.”

      Efraim’s pulse СКАЧАТЬ