Page 28 of A Rugged Beauty
A glancing blow off H's ear caused a hiss of pain. And jolted a memory through him. Being struck across the head, jeering voices. Lying face down in the dirt, soil in his nose.
The fractured scene lasted only a second, but H's grip loosened and the man jerked away.
H got his hands up in front of him and blocked the neck blow thrown toward his face, but the man kicked out unexpectedly and connected with H's ankle.
He went down, fingers slipping against the pebbled ground, searching for purchase.
The man loomed over him, arm raised as lightning split the sky again. A few stray raindrops hit H’s face. Instinct took over, and H drew his revolver from his holster, shooting at almost the same instant that the barrel cleared leather.
From the ground, he hadn't had the best angle. But when the man cried out, H knew his bullet had grazed him.
"H!" The wind muffled the cry, but H would know that voice anywhere.
Sparrow.
This time when the man darted away, H didn't follow.
His head was ringing as he dragged himself to his feet.
Sparrow appeared through a swirl of smoke.
It was so dark that he barely registered her wide, frightened eyes. She threw herself at him, and he held on with one arm, gun still drawn in his opposite hand.
His right shoulder ached where it'd been yanked. He twisted in a circle. The man wouldn't get the jump on him again. Not with Sparrow in the mix.
But all of H's instincts screamed that the man was gone.
Several heartbeats passed. He was slipping the gun back into its holster when far off lightning illuminated the sky enough to see Sparrow close.
Rain began to pelt them.
“Was there someone—?” she asked. When she pressed against him, he groaned, unable to keep the sound in when her body touched his tender, bruised ribs.
Her hand cupped his jaw. "I thought you'd been killed!"
Fear and anger surged. "I told you to stay put."
He began moving, anxious to get away. He heard hoofbeats over the sound of the rain, but he didn't want to be here if the man came back.
Foe.
H had gotten his answer.
Sparrow was talking. “…smoke… wildfire.”
“The rain will douse it,” he told her. Drops were sheeting down on them. Surely the wildfire wouldn’t survive this torrent of rain.
“But the river is rising,” she said.
For a moment, a memory surfaced. Him clinging to Sparrow's narrow waist beneath tumultuous water.
His anger that she hadn't listened to him ebbed completely in a wave of relief.
His hand closed around her waist. She was here, real and safe—for now—with him.
And only then did he realize that the driving rain wasn’t soaking into the too-dry ground. Water rushed over his boots, over the ground. This rain could turn into a flash flood.
"We need to get somewhere safe."
