WYOMING MANHUNT
by
Ann Voss Peterson
Chapter One
Shanna felt the sound of the gunshot more than she heard it. The first sharp report jangled her nerves. The second cracked through her ear and jaw, so close she could almost feel air stirred by the bullet. She released her mare’s reins and threw her body to the ground. She hit dirt, neck snapping to the side, air exploding from her lungs. Her horse’s hooves pounded the dry earth, fading into the distance.
What had just happened?
Shanna raised her head. Dry brown grass swayed in front of her, sparkling with frost. White caps of mountains rose all around her. Silence hung heavy in the morning air.
Obviously someone in her hunting party had seen deer and took a shot...and she’d let the sound scare the sense out of her.
Her cheeks heated. She’d told Mr. Barstow she was no hunter, but this would make her the laughing stock of not only her hunting party but all of Talbot Mining. She could hear her friend Linda’s giggle now.
Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, Shanna stifled a laugh and struggled to her feet. As long as her overreaction to the first rifle shot didn’t lose her a promotion, she would laugh along. No one could say Shanna Clarke wasn’t a good sport.
Brushing her gloved hands over her orange jacket and insulated pants, she peered in the direction of her fleeing horse. The mare had reached the outfitter’s pack mules. The other three members of the hunting party gathered several yards away. Mr. Barstow, the CEO of Talbot, stood on the ground. Behind him, Ron Davis, the chief financial officer, and Sheriff Gable remained astride their horses. Mr. Barstow raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim.
At her.
She fell back to the ground. Didn’t he see her? She glanced around, expecting to see a mule deer behind her, hoping to see...
Nothing was there.
Panic slammed against her ribs. Her lungs seized, making it hard to breathe. She had to be mistaken.
She raised her head, peering over the long grass once again.
Her boss’s rifle was trained on her.
She ducked before the shot cracked through the air. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Barstow was shooting at her. Shooting at her.
Her head swirled. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
She tried to rise, tried to move, but her legs were too weak to support her. She had to make them work. She had to get out of here. For her little Emily’s sake. For her own sake. She didn’t want to die.
Forcing herself to her hands and knees, she started to crawl, moving through the tufted brown grass. If she remembered correctly, there was a rocky slope in this direction. Once she started down the slope, Barstow wouldn’t be able to see her. She’d be able to stand without fear of being shot.
At least until he caught up.
The frozen earth was hard under her knees and hands. Her breath rasped in her throat, making it impossible to hear anything else. She imagined the sound of hooves, pounding across the valley faster than she could ever hope to move. They’d catch up to her in no time.
The ground grew rockier, digging through thick pants and gloves. She tried to move faster, waiting for the pounding hooves, waiting for the crack of gunfire, the impact of the bullet.
A report shattered the air.
Gasping, she glanced behind. Nothing but dry grass moved behind her. She forced herself to keep crawling.
The ground sloped downward. Gray rock replaced the waving grass. Shanna scrambled to her feet, forcing her legs to work. Crouching low, she stumbled over rock. Boots slipping and skidding, she picked down the slope. They’d be on her soon. She had to find cover. She needed a place to hide.
Another crack split the air.
She glanced behind, expecting to see horses on the edge of the slope, a rifle barrel pointed at her, but they hadn’t reached her. Not yet.
The ground fell out from under her feet.
She rolled and stumbled, trying to right herself. Scrub brush scraped at her face, ripped at her coat. Jumbled sound filled her head. She landed on her hands. Pain shuddered up her arms. She pitched forward onto a shelf of rock.
Shanna gasped. Pain stabbed through her neck. She must have wrenched it. Swallowing a wave of nausea, she focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. She couldn’t lie here. She couldn’t wait. Barstow was coming. If he caught her...
Gritting her teeth, she rolled to her side and struggled to her knees. Her neck screamed. Her legs felt boneless. She forced herself to move, scrambling along the shelf. The rock above tongued outward, creating a overhang. She slipped underneath. Laying on her side, she curled her back into the crevice and pulled her legs in tight.
She could hear them now. The beats of hooves. Or maybe it was her imagination. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t check. If she peeked out from under the rock, they’d surely see her.
"Shanna?"
She tensed at the gruff sound of her boss’s voice. So it wasn’t her imagination. He was there. But where exactly? At the top of the ridge? Or closer? She held her breath.
"I’m sorry I scared you, Shanna. I didn’t see you. I wouldn’t have fired if I knew you were down range. It was an accident."
An accident? She tried to replay what had happened in her mind. The sound of the shots. The sight of Barstow lining up for shot number two. Could it have been an accident?
"Come on, Shanna. You can’t think I was trying to shoot you."
Did she think that? Yes, she had. As soon as she saw that rifle barrel she’d thought exactly that. But did it make any sense? What possible reason could Mr. Barstow have for wanting her dead?
"You’re not hurt, are you?"
He sounded worried. Shanna tightened her grip on her legs, hugging them close. She wanted it all to be a mistake. She wanted Mr. Barstow to be telling the truth, to be worried that she was hurt. But was he really? How could she have gotten everything so wrong?
"Shanna? Talk to me, honey. Tell me you’re all right. Please? Shanna?"
She opened her mouth and drew in a breath. But she couldn’t get the image of him raising the gun out of her head. She closed her mouth and pressed her lips tightly together. She didn’t know what to do, what to think.
"Make a sound so I know where you are. I’ll get the others and we’ll come down for you."
She wanted to call out. Her throat ached with it. She needed to make this nightmare go away.
The broken hiss of a whisper rode across the wind, too faint for her to catch the words.
Unease prickled all the way up her spine. It was Barstow. She was sure of it. Even in a whisper, she could recognize that commanding, gruff voice. He must be talking to someone. One of the others from the hunting party. But why whisper?
Because he didn’t want her to hear.
She stifled the whimper struggling to break from her lips. She had no more time to think. No time to wish things were different. If she wanted to get out of this alive, if she wanted to see her little girl again, she had to move. And she had to do it now.
She tilted her head back. Pain shot through her neck. Sucking in a sharp breath, she blinked the tears from her eyes and tried to take in her surroundings. The shelf of rock stretched at least a hundred yards. If she moved carefully and quietly, maybe she could shuffle her body under the shelf. Maybe she could put some distance between her and the men without them seeing. Maybe she could get away before they found her.
She had to.
