Page 103 of Conveniently Wed
And lost.
He caught sight of the horses first, seeing a commotion as several moved and one reared up.
He strained his eyes. Was that Fran who had fallen in a heap of skirt and dark hair?
There was a sharp crack. A gunshot? No.
A whip. He recognized the sound from branding, as some of the other cowboys preferred it as a way of guiding the cows where they needed to be.
He saw movement, Underhill’s men standing around. Fran on the ground.
He heard shouting over the ringing in his ears and then saw the whip fly through the air again, saw Fran roll on the ground, cover her head, flinch.
Blood bloomed across the back of her dress.
He was close now—he urged his horse forward, knocking one of the men aside.
The whip arced through the air again, but this time he threw himself off the horse and on top of a prone Fran.
The whip struck him instead, a sharp sting of pain across his back from one side to the other.
The pain was intense, a burn through his skin and down into his muscles.
How had Fran borne it?
He started shaking, realizing just what he’d put her through, all because of his stubbornness. How would she ever forgive him?
Through a haze of white noise, he realized some of the cowboys had engaged with Underhill’s men. He heard sounds of fists meeting flesh and struggling.
He looked up to see several of Underhill’s men ride off. Cowards. What else did Underhill expect when he’d likely paid them to be there?
Edgar trusted his boys to take care of what needed taking care of.
Fran needed him.
She pushed against him. He moved his shoulders slightly, giving her room but keeping her pinned. “Stay down,” he murmured. “You okay? Of course you’re not okay.” He could feel her shaking.
Underhill’s voice rang out loudly. “She’s cost me everything!”
“Let me up!” Fran insisted.
The red-faced man had exchanged his whip for a gun, and waved it wildly, spewing vitriol.
“Sorry,” Edgar told her, keeping her tucked beneath him. He was sure her back was paining her. “If he starts shooting, I don’t want you to catch a bullet.”
He’d rather it be him, if it came to that.
He’d rather it be no one.
“Where’s Emma?”
“Not here. With Seb.” He twisted his head, trying to see between the shuffling cowboys’ legs and milling, restless horses.
The scuffle had turned dangerous.
The federal marshal was trying to talk Underhill down. At this point, Edgar didn’t know if he was on Underhill’s side or regretting what he’d gotten himself into.
Underhill was having none of it. He pointed the pistol in Fran and Edgar’s direction.
