Page 71 of Wyoming Tough

“I’ll get you loose,” she choked out. She got around the tree and tried to untie the bonds, but the nylon rope was wet and it wouldn’t budge.

“Pocketknife. Left pocket.”

She dug in his pocket for it, her face close to his as she worked.

His dry mouth brushed across her cheek. “Beautiful, brave girl,” he whispered. “So…proud of you.”

Tears ran down her cheeks with the rain. She bent and put her mouth against his, hard. “I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t care about the past.”

He managed a smile. “I love you, too, baby.”

Her heart soared. “You do?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mal!” She bent and kissed him again with helpless longing.

“I’m not complaining. But think you might cut me loose anytime soon?” he murmured. “My hands have gone to sleep.”

“Oh, dear!”

She ran around the tree, opened the knife and went to work on the bonds. His hands were white. The circulation ran back into them when he was free and he groaned at the pain.

“Can you stand up?” she asked, concerned.

He tried and slumped back down. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Legs gone to sleep, too.”

He was obviously suffering from exposure and God knows what other sort of injuries that Joe had inflicted on him.

“I’ll get help,” she said at once, and pulled out her cell phone.

Lights flashed around her as men came forward. “Miss Brannt?” someone called.

She gasped. “Yes!”

A tall, dark-haired man came into view. He was wearing jeans and a buckskin jacket. He had long black hair in a ponytail and a grim expression. “I’m Ty Harding. I work for Dane Lassiter.”

“Hiya, Harding,” Mallory managed. “Good to see you on the job.”

“I can outtrack any of these feds,” he teased the other two men, “so I volunteered to help search for you. Hey, Jameson, can you bring a Jeep up here?”

“Sure. Be right back.”

There were running footsteps.

Harding knelt beside him. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to ride a horse back,” he guessed.

“Probably not,” Mallory agreed hoarsely. “Have you got any water?”

“I have,” one of the feds said, and tossed a bottle to Harding, who handed it, opened, to Mallory. It was painful to Morie to watch how thirstily he drank it, choked and drank again.

“God, that’s so sweet!” Mallory exclaimed when he’d drained the bottle. “I’ve been tied here for almost two days. Thought I’d die, sure. Then an angel came walking up and saved me,” he added, smiling at Morie. “My own personal guardian angel.”

“I gave Joe Bascomb a pouch with cash,” she told Harding. “I spoke to the sheriff about it before I came up here, so he knows. I can’t tell you which direction Joe took. It was raining….”

Harding’s expression in the light of his flashlight was grim. “There’s no need to concern yourself with that now.”

“Have you caught him?” she exclaimed. “Already?”

“No,” he said quietly. “We found him. Sitting up against a tree about half a mile away. Stone dead.”

She caught her breath. Cold chills ran up and down her arms. That odd, high-pitched crack of thunder she thought she’d heard. A gunshot? “Dead?” She faltered.

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