Free Longarm 397 : Longarm and the Doomed Beauty (9781101545973) by Tabor Evans Page B

hissed.
    Longarm turned away from the girl to cover his guilty smile. He swung up into the claybank’s saddle. “Now, Juni . . . I mean, Marshal Panabaker—if you’ll just point out the best route down the mountains to Pinecone, me and Miss Pritchard will be on our way.”
    The kid did, albeit reluctantly and while staring at the girl, whose main concern was the Younger gang. Longarm and the girl rode at spanking trots out of town. Just beyond the little settlement, and as they headed into a narrow canyon mouth, Longarm glanced behind to see the young marshal of Pinecone still sitting the black, staring after him and, likely, the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

Chapter 8
    After an hour’s hard ride up a meandering trail through a narrow canyon and then along the shoulder of a steep mountain, Longarm crested a saddle, and reined in the claybank. He stepped out of the saddle as the girl galloped up behind him.
    Her hat had blown off, and her hair was a silky tumbleweed after the long, hard pull up the canyon. She was rosy-cheeked, and her eyes were glazed from fear and the chill breeze, but he’d been happy to see she could ride. Having to give her a crash course on horsemanship would have wasted precious time.
    â€œWait here,” the lawman said, dropping the claybank’s reins. “I’m gonna check our backtrail.”
    He strode up a rocky rise and dropped to a knee. Instantly, his belly drew up in a knot. On the other side of a secondary ridge, black smoke rose into the clear, blue vault of the Colorado sky. As he watched, he saw that there were actually three separate smoke plumes rising to form one billowy, black cloud over the canyon in which Snow Mound sat.
    â€œShit.” Longarm raked a frustrated hand down his jaw. “Why in the hell’d you have to do that?”
    â€œDo what?”
    He glanced over his shoulder. Holding her skirts above her black boots, the girl was striding up the knoll behind him. “I told you to stay there.”
    â€œWhy did they have to what, Deputy Long?” she insisted, moving up to stand beside him.
    Longarm rose and grabbed her arm. “Don’t stand up there like that. You’re liable to get spotted.”
    She pulled her arm loose and hardened her jaws angrily. “Why did they do what ?” She stared out over the rolling, pine-carpeted ridges. He saw her back tighten. Her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed. The wind blew her hair back. Suddenly, her knees buckled and hit the ground.
    â€œOh, no!” she cried.
    Longarm lunged for her, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her back to her feet. “It’s not your fault.”
    She was shivering as he led her back down the knoll toward the horses. “Whose is it, then?” she said weakly, her voice brittle with self-recrimination.
    â€œIt’s the fault of those who torched the town,” he said, rage burning through him. “They’ll pay. Maybe not now, but they will soon. You get back on your horse. They’re likely working up behind us now, and we need to hightail it.”
    She was sobbing, shoulders jerking, as she stood facing her horse, one hand on the stirrup fender, the other on the cantle. “I never should have testified!”
    â€œYou did testify.” Longarm lifted her into the saddle and gave her the dun’s reins. “And it was the right thing to do. Now, unless you wanna give in to those killers, let ’em kill you and me, too, you have to follow me and keep up. You understand, Miss Pritchard?”
    She was squeezing her eyes shut, and tears welled out from behind them to stream down her cheeks, glistening in the cool, brassy sunshine. The wind dried them before they reached her straight, delicate jaws.
    Longarm wrapped a hand on both of hers that rested, one atop the other, on her saddle horn.
    â€œYou understand, Miss Pritchard? Otherwise, those killers are gonna