Page 17 of Discovered Magic
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with wry humor.
She knew damned well how healthy a specimen he was.
“And how often do you bathe, Sheriff?” she asked.
“Daily.”
“Thank you.” She shot him a sultry smile over her shoulder, then faced Clive again. “And look how handsome he is. I bet a little soap and water will make you just as charming and pleasing to our girls, Mr. Cabbot.”
Clive spat in his palm and smoothed his hair down. “Do ya really think so, Miss Vale?”
“I know so, you darling scoundrel.” Dimples flashed along with her straight, gleaming-white smile.
“Even you?” Clive ventured with a crafty glint.
“If I spent quality time with my patrons, absolutely,” she assured him, lying expertly through those perfect teeth. “Now, Barnaby will give you a bottle, but be sure to pace yourself, my dear. No one likes a limp whiskey cock.” Her wink earned two jaw-drops and one smirk from the table’s occupants.
By all appearances, she was calm as she sashayed toward Jonas, but he detected the underlying irritation, as only one close to her could.
“Take Masters out of here until cooler heads prevail,” she ordered.
“Sure thing, Red.”
“And make sure he pays for Clive’s bottle.” Out of the blue, she swayed but was quick to grip the bar, catching herself. With a clouded expression, she met his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. Her brows clashed as her mouth tightened.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, straightening.
“There’s a disturbance west of town, Jonas. A woman needs your help, right now. No time to ride,” she said in a low, urgent tone.
“A premonition?” He threw back the last of his brandy and slammed the glass on the polished wooden top.
“Yes. Hurry, before she’s injured beyond repair.”
“Shit.” He snatched up his Stetson, stalked to the poker table, and scooped Draven’s winnings into the hat. “Let’s go.”
His commanding tone brought Draven’s head up from the deck he’d been shuffling.
“Premonition?” he murmured.
“Yep. Red said for us to get there, like yesterday.”
6
In her fatigue, Abbie missed the next foothold, sending loose gravel skittering down onto Eustace’s unsuspecting head. His startled shout echoed off the surrounding canyon walls and confirmed what she feared. They’d been spotted.
Panic-fueled, she climbed faster, only pausing to swipe her sweaty palm on her pant leg.
A gunshot cracked, and the bullet pinged right above her head.
Her scream was involuntary.
“Move,” her companion snapped, all pretense of stealth gone.
She wasn’t optimistic enough to believe she’d survive, but she was certainly stubborn enough to try like hell. Renewing her efforts, she scrambled up and to the left, intending to make herself less of a target. An approving nod from her savior told her the action was wise.
Another shot. Another ping.
Fire lanced through her right bicep with such suddenness, and she swore. She risked a glance. The sight of torn flesh and rapidly spreading blood turned her stomach. Burying her horror along with her gag reflex, she soldiered on. Movement meant survival, though she wasn’t sure how much more she had left in the tank.
