Early Dawn by Catherine Anderson

“I thought you were one of the Sebastians. When I heard the gunfire, I thought . . . I thought they’d killed you.”
    Matthew swung down from the saddle. “It was me doing the shooting. I told you I needed to scatter their horses. Lucky for you, Smoky is a one-man horse and won’t let anybody but me ride him. You’d be in a hell of a fix if you got lost out here.”
    He caught her at the waist and lifted her onto the back of the stolen gelding. She gasped as if his hold caused her pain, but there wasn’t time to focus on that. He retreated a step and nudged his hat back to see her better. His sheepskin jacket nearly swallowed her. She’d rolled up the sleeves to free her hands, creating pillows of leather and fluff around her delicate wrists.
    “One thing,” he said softly. “If you want to make it out of this alive, you’ll do what I tell you, when I tell you. Are we clear?”
    “Perfectly clear.”
    With a curt nod, he climbed on Smoky, grabbed the mule’s lead rope, and called softly over his shoulder, “Let’s ride!”
    He set out at a fast clip, glancing back over his shoulder only once to make sure the girl was following him and could handle her mount. To his surprise, she rode as if she’d been born in the saddle. He thanked God for that, because it promised to be a hair-raising night.
     
    Who was this man who had plucked her from the arms of death? As Eden followed him through the moon-washed darkness, she asked herself that question countless times. The howl of the wind made it difficult for them to talk, but he could have at least given her his name. His failure to do so worried her. She couldn’t see him clearly enough to tell if he was clean-cut or a no-account. What if he was another outlaw? Maybe he had an ax to grind with the Sebastians, and stealing her from them was his way of getting even.
    He set a bone-jarring pace that sent pain shafting through her body, especially her ribs, making her wonder if the toe of Pete’s boot had fractured some bones. No matter. Broken ribs were painful, but they didn’t usually prove fatal. All she could do was clench her teeth, hang on tight to keep her seat, and pray her rescuer didn’t turn on her once they got safely away.
     
    An hour into the journey, Matthew began to regret his harsh manner with the girl. God only knew what trials she had endured, and he’d had no business getting angry because she tried to run off. If he’d been in her shoes, he probably would have done the same. She didn’t know him from Adam. She must have been scared half out of her wits when she heard the gunfire. He might have at least tried to reassure her.
    When he noticed that she was lagging behind, he decided it was safe to slow the pace for a while. The Sebastians wouldn’t be able to find all their horses until dawn, if then. Spooked equines could run for miles before they finally stopped to rest, and he figured the gang’s horses, abused more often than not, had stronger reasons than most to go as far as possible. The way Matthew figured, he and the woman had a good head start. He also had a few tricks up his sleeve that would throw the Sebastians off their trail, most of which he’d learned from them, the rotten sons of bitches.
    When the girl drew abreast of him, Matthew shifted in the saddle to look at her. Words had never come easily for him, and after three years on the trail with only his animals for company, they came harder now. He jerked off his hat, pushed his hand through his hair, and then plopped the Stetson back on his head again.
    “I, um, shouldn’t have jumped down your throat back there. It’s just . . . I don’t like anybody else messing with my horse.”
    Her voice wasn’t quite as rough now. “If I hadn’t heard the gunfire, I wouldn’t have tried to run. If something had happened to you, what was I to do, wait there until the bastards found me? I’d rather take my chances in the wilderness.”
    Her language brought Matthew’s head