Wanted. Delores Fossen

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      Chapter Three

      The sound of the bullet blasted through the house.

      “Get down!” Wyatt shouted to Lyla.

      Wyatt got down, too, but he stayed near the back door so he could keep an eye on the gunmen. One was already racing across the pasture, away from the house, and the other didn’t even take aim before he fired another shot and then took off running, as well.

      Hell.

      Wyatt couldn’t let them get away, but he also couldn’t risk one or both circling back around and coming after Lyla. He had no idea if she was innocent or not, but by damn, he was not going to let her get gunned down.

      “What’s happening?” Lyla asked. She was on the floor, thank God, one hand over her head and the other over her stomach. He hoped she stayed that way, though her hands would be a paltry shield for bullets.

      “Someone’s trying to kill me,” Wyatt relayed to her. “Or maybe you.”

      But there was something off about this attack, if it was indeed a murder attempt. For one thing, the men had waited way too long before shooting. In the twenty minutes or so that Lyla and he had been in the house, two gunmen could have torn the place apart with a shower of bullets.

      Maybe that meant they’d wanted her alive.

      Or scared.

      If so, they’d succeeded in doing both. Lyla was trembling on the living room floor, but she hadn’t been hurt, and that meant the baby was safe.

      Wyatt tried not to think about that. Tried not to think about the deception that had gone into creating this child. He just focused on the job, and right now the job was keeping Lyla and the baby safe and stopping those gunmen.

      The moment that Wyatt heard the cop car brake to a stop in front of the house, he bolted out the back door. Not because he was afraid of being arrested. No, he could handle that. But now that Lyla had someone else to protect her, it was time to see what he could do about the gunmen.

      Wyatt had to go after them.

      Both of the men were running, their backs to Wyatt. He considered shooting but dismissed it. If he hit one, the other could return fire, and he was still too close to the house to risk that.

      Wyatt leaped off the porch and hit the ground running. Not the easiest thing to do in cowboy boots and winter gear, but the men were weighed down by equipment belts, which no doubt held extra ammo. Maybe extra weapons, too. They’d obviously come prepared for an attack that they’d barely carried out.

      The pasture wasn’t that deep, unfortunately, and behind it was a fence and then a heavily treed area. He wanted to stop the men before they could disappear into those woods, but they had too much of a head start on him. When Wyatt saw the first man reach the fence, he knew he had to do something.

      “Stop or I’ll shoot,” Wyatt called out.

      Still not listening, they didn’t stop. Both of them continued to run, and the one in the lead latched on to the top rung of the wood fence and started to hoist himself to the other side.

      Wyatt fired at him.

      The shot was off because he hadn’t stopped and aimed, but it got their attention. The guy on the fence turned and fired right back. Wyatt saw the bullet slam into the ground and kick up dirt. Much better than it going toward the house.

      Wyatt fired another shot. Ducked. But the one on the fence didn’t take the bait this time. He scrambled over the top and disappeared into the trees.

      Wyatt turned to fire at the other one, but the shots began to blast through the air. Obviously, the gunman on the other side of the fence hadn’t run away and left his partner after all. He was trying to save his sorry butt, and to save his own butt, Wyatt had no choice but to dart behind an old cast-iron bathtub that’d been turned into a watering trough.

      He cursed, waiting, but knowing this would allow the second man to get away. Wyatt lost count of the number of shots fired, all of them smacking into the trough and the ground around him.

      But they stopped just as quickly as they’d started.

      Wyatt waited another second or two and then took off running again.

      Neither man was in sight now, and since he didn’t know the area, Wyatt couldn’t even predict which direction they’d gone. Maybe he would be able to find their footprints and follow them.

      “Stop!” someone yelled from behind him. Not Lyla. A man, probably the deputy.

      Wyatt spared him a glance over his shoulder. Yep, a deputy in uniform, all right, and he was standing with his gun drawn on the back porch. It was a risk, because the lawman might shoot him in the back, but Wyatt was so close to the fence now that he took his chances. He barreled over it and dropped to the ground.

      There were footprints. Plenty of them, and some had bits of dried leaves and twigs in them, which could mean they were several days old. Later, he’d need to ask Lyla about who had access to this part of the property, but he was betting these weren’t the footprints of a neighbor.

      Someone had been watching her for a long time.

      He lifted his head and listened for any sound of footsteps. Nothing. Just the wind. But he soon heard something he didn’t want to hear.

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