Chapter 4
Finch spun, his eyes wide with desperate fury, bringing his Colt up to bear on Emmett’s chest.
Emmett didn’t flinch. He levered the rifle with one smooth, practiced stroke and fired before Finch could pull the trigger. The shot took Finch clean through the right shoulder, spinning him halfway around. His weapon dropped into the powder, and he collapsed onto his knees, gasping, crimson blooming fast against his buffalo coat.
The yard fell dead quiet, save for the whistling wind and the ragged breathing of the two defeated men.
Emmett walked forward, his rifle trained unblinkingly on Finch’s forehead. He kicked both sidearms deep into the drift.
“Get on your horses,” Emmett commanded, his voice cold as river ice. “Tie yourselves to the saddles if you have to. If you ever cross the boundary line of the Box C again, I won’t shoot for your shoulders. Sheriff Vance will hear about this before sunrise, and if you aren’t out of the territory by tomorrow night, he won't be the one hunting you. I will.”
Finch looked up, his face gray with shock and pain. He saw no mercy in Emmett Cade’s eyes. Only an unyielding wall of stone.
Without another word, Finch hauled his wounded companion upright, dragged him to the horses, and hauled him into the saddle. They turned toward the southern trail, disappearing into the white fury of the storm like ghosts cast out into the dark.
Emmett stood in the freezing wind until the sound of hoofbeats was swallowed completely by the gale. Only then did he let out a long, ragged breath, steam pluming into the night.
He turned back toward the house.
The front room was freezing, the wind whistling through the broken pane. Emmett barred the ruined front door with a heavy oak beam, fetched an old woolen blanket, and tacked it securely over the broken window to keep out the drafts. Then he stoked the iron stove until it roared with crackling pine logs, chasing the chill back into the shadows.
He walked down the narrow hall and knelt beside the bed.
“Ruthie,” he called softly. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
For a long moment, there was no sound. Then the hem of Abigail’s quilt lifted. A tiny face peeked out, pale and streaked with fresh tears.
“Did they come to take me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roaring fire.
“No,” Emmett said gently, sitting on the floor so they were eye to eye. “Nobody is taking you anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever.”