Seized By The Sheik. Ann Voss Peterson
glanced around. Sagebrush dotted the ground around them, darker hulks in a dark world. The gunman could be anywhere. Twenty feet away, and they might not be able to see him. “We need to get out of here. Can you hold Fahad upright a little longer?”
“I think so.”
He had a feeling she would, no matter how numb her arm became, no matter how slick the saddle leather felt under her fingers. He had to hurry.
Again he scanned the darkness. The fight had thrown off his sense of direction. With the clouds low and no sign of the sun’s glow behind the mountains, he couldn’t get his bearings. “Which way?”
“To your right.”
He turned the way she’d suggested.
“See the big sage and Russian olive? That’s the creek that runs through my family’s ranch. We can follow it right to the Seven M.”
He took the palomino mare’s reins and started leading her toward the larger shadows. He pulled in short breaths, pain shooting through his side. He struggled to listen, to hear the rustle of human boots moving through the sparse vegetation. But the only sounds that reached him were the four-beat rhythm of the horse’s walk and the faint creak of the broken-in saddle. After a while, he added the gurgle of the creek to his list. In the distance, a dog barked.
“You hear that?” Callie asked. “The dog. That’s my dad’s border collie.”
So they were getting close. Not that it mattered for Fahad. But at least Callie would be safe.
Fahad. Dead.
He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept it. “Try to find his pulse again.”
Callie shifted in the saddle and the horse stopped. She brought her hand to Fahad’s neck. Seconds passed. She met Efraim’s gaze and shook her head. “You check.”
He reached up. Callie took his hand and guided it to Fahad’s throat. As soon as Efraim touched his skin, he knew. It felt cool, much cooler than it should. He didn’t have to search for a pulse, but he did anyway.
A weight bore down on his chest. His throat thickened as if filled with sand. He’d thought the pain of a broken rib was bad. This was much worse. He tried to swallow, to take a breath, but he couldn’t.
Fahad had told him leaving the ranch was dangerous. He hadn’t listened. He hadn’t cared about the danger to himself. It had never occurred to him the danger would be to Fahad. And now to Callie McGuire, as well.
Efraim wasn’t a devout Muslim, but he wished he were more devout now. Maybe then he’d know what prayers to offer for his cousin’s soul. Maybe then he could breathe. Maybe then he’d know how to feel.
He looked up at Callie, bravely holding on, cradling Fahad’s body, even though she had known for quite some time that he was dead. She’d done it for him, Efraim knew. To give them time to get closer to the ranch and away from the gunman. But even more, to give him time to accept that his cousin was, indeed, gone. “Release your grip.”
Even in the dark, he could sense her searching his eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked.
He nodded. “You’ve done enough. I will take him.”
She let go. Fahad slumped to the side and into Efraim’s arms. He held his cousin’s body while Callie slid to the ground, shaking the blood back into her arm. He was heavy, but Efraim could only half feel the weight. The knowledge that he wouldn’t have died if not for Efraim’s actions weighed far heavier.
His legs faltered.
Suddenly Callie was beside him, her hand on his arm, her voice in his ear. “Put him down.”
Efraim staggered. He dropped to one knee. The darkness around him blurred. The pain in his side grew and spread until it swallowed all of him. He lay Fahad on the ground and let a shudder take him. Another followed and another. “It’s my fault,” he managed to choke out.
“No.” Callie brought her hand to his cheek. She wiped his face, then turned him to face her.
He knew she wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel. At least not what he was feeling now.
She looked so soft, so beautiful, so caring. Even in the darkness, her eyes sparkled like the clearest water. Her hair draped over her shoulders like a veil.
He pulled her to him, cupped his hand around the nape of her neck, brought his lips to hers. She tasted sweet, yet salty, her tears mixing with his own. Tears shed for him, he knew. And for Fahad, whom she’d hardly even met.
He knew he shouldn’t be kissing her. And yet he needed this. At this moment, he felt like he couldn’t do without it.
She was something, this woman. Strong and determined, yet with a tender heart. What he wouldn’t give to stay in her arms, to make her his. To wake every day to a woman like this. To let her be his reason for living.
An impossible dream.
Efraim ended the kiss and looked down. He knew he should feel ashamed. How could he kiss a woman over his cousin’s dead body? How could he claim warm feelings for himself when his actions had sentenced Fahad to his death? Yet although he accepted the blame for Fahad following him to the badlands, he couldn’t manage to regret kissing Callie. That he kept for himself.
She took his hands in hers. “Don’t blame yourself.”
He looked up at the sound of her voice and found her watching him. It was all he could do to keep from kissing her again. “How can I not?”
“It was his job to protect you.”
“And I made him follow me because I refused to listen. I never thought, never considered I was risking others’ lives, not just my own.”
“You had your reasons for riding to Rattlesnake Badlands. Reasons that weren’t selfish. And Fahad did his job. He tried to make sure you were safe. The man who shot him, he deserves the blame.”
He nodded and gave her fingers a squeeze. Fahad had fulfilled his responsibility to Efraim. It was now Efraim’s turn. “You are right.”
“We’ll tie him on Sasha. We’ll take him to my family’s ranch and call the sheriff. He will find whoever did this and make him pay.”
“No.”
She lowered her brows and tilted her head, as if she wasn’t following.
“Fahad is my family, my blood, not the sheriff’s.”
She frowned, a crease digging between her eyebrows. “You have to leave this to the law, Efraim.”
He let out a derisive laugh he could feel shoot down his side. “The law can’t avenge Fahad. I can.”
“That’s not the way things work here.”
“As far as I can see, things don’t work here very well. Otherwise Amir would not be gone. Stefan would not have been attacked. Fahad would not be dead.”
“You’re upset. You just lost your cousin. It’s understandable. But we are a nation of laws and the law works. It does.” She nodded as if she could will him to agree. “Sheriff Wolf is a good man, an honest man. He’ll give Fahad justice.”
He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t angry. He merely felt cold. Resolute. He looked away from her, not wanting to see what was in her eyes, not wanting to have his resolve shaken. It would be so easy to be tempted to selfishly forget Fahad, forget what he owed his security man, his cousin, his blood, and instead lose himself in the woman in front of him.
The spark of a light caught his eye.
He climbed to his feet, Callie rising beside him. The light moved in their direction. In the stillness, he could hear horses’ hooves clatter across rocky terrain, buckles jingling, leather creaking. “Give me the Glock.” He held out his hand.