Page 40 of Mine to Protect

He could be anywhere, maybe even hunting me now.

What if he’s watching?

He’s watching. I know it.

If he takes me, I won’t survive. I can’t do that again.

Heart hammering against my chest, I pushed out all the anxious thoughts.

I had to focus. Now was not the time to be paralyzed by a panic attack.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and held it until the welcomed burn in my lungs provided the calming center I needed. Again I inhaled a deep breath, but the shriek of a wounded animal shattered any sense of calm I’d managed.

Palms against the moist dirt, I pressed up to all fours, readying to move. I held a breath, waiting for another cry for help. My attention whipped to the right at another screech. Something crashing through the trees and underbrush grew louder and closer with each of my shaky breaths.

This was my chance.

Flashlight pressed to my thigh to keep the light as minimal as possible, I crept low and moved off the trail, heading toward the animal that needed me.

The unmistakable pungent scent of gunpowder floated past on a gust of mountain wind. Far away from the trail, deeper and deeper into the thick cluster of trees, I stalked forward as the smell grew, now mixed with the metallic scent of fresh blood.

A rustle of leaves swung me around. Panting in fear, I angled my gun toward a cluster of boulders. Squished between two rocks, I found her.

I fell to my knees several feet away to avoid startling her. Blood bubbled from a gunshot wound in her neck, and another steadily seeped in her long, lean leg. In the darkness of the night, in the now-silent forest, the beautiful doe’s dark eyes met mine, allowing all her pain and fear to pass through in the single look.

One inch, then another, I moved closer. Each second I waited, I knew her murderer grew closer, desperate to locate his illegal kill.

Again those dark eyes, so full of pain, met mine. I knew what she was asking.

In the distance, a new sound echoed through—the eerie howl of wolves growing closer.

If I left her mortally wounded to pursue the fucker responsible for her misery, Darla the deer would be left as easy prey for those wolves to eat her alive.

That left only one choice. One humane option. One I’d witnessed several times growing up. It was my duty to take care of this precious animal, to end her pain.

Withdrawing my pistol, I shined the light into her eyes, stunning her and highlighting my target, and pulled the trigger.

I screamed in anger and misery as the gunshot echoed. Tears dripped down my cheeks as I crawled to the deer I was forced to put down. Gripping her neck, I tugged her limp body close, allowing my tears to fall on her coarse coat.

For several long minutes, I sobbed while clutching Darla until the hairs along the back of my neck stood on end, halting my sobs. Making quick work of the flashlight, the area was once again doused in darkness. Restraining a ragged breath, I listened for any signs of someone close by.

I swallowed down a whimper at the snap of a branch. Everything stilled; even the nocturnal animals quieted, waiting to see what would happen next. Palming my gun, readying for anything, I listened as another branch snapped, then a rustle of leaves, followed by the distinct pounding of footsteps moving farther and farther away.

“Bastard,” I grunted under my breath as I stood. Of course the coward was running.

Instead of following farther away from the trail, I moved back toward path. The reports mentioned his campsite was along the trail; hopefully I would get lucky and he would return to his campsite instead of leaving it behind.

Three bounding steps through the dark, my foot snagged on something, sending me falling face first into a tree.

Turning the flashlight on would draw attention, but a tree to the face was a brutal reminder that I was no mountain woman. No way could I navigate this rocky terrain with only the light from the half-moon out.

A mile up the trail, the clinking of metal and mumbled curses slowed my steps. He did return to camp. The man paced around his small campsite, talking to himself. From behind a tree, I scouted the well-lit campsite in search of his rifle.

Snapping off my flashlight, I crept closer. White, mid-thirties, long beard—which didn’t say much since most men grew beards these days—and a short joint hanging from his moving lips.

Perfect. High and armed. This night went from bad to worse fast.

I stifled a yelp and spun on my heels at a hand on my shoulder, only to relax at the sight of a familiar officer.

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