First Class Male by Jillian Hart Page A

fifth man stayed put, boots planted. “I’ll take care of him. It’ll be my pleasure.”
    “Give him hope first, then kill him good, for me.” Lew winked before sending his horse into a fast run.
    Hope. Callie’s stomach went cold at that word, not understanding what the outlaw must mean. She gripped the saddle horn, as the horse bolted beneath her, moving from a bouncy, rough gait into a smooth, fast run. It was dizzying, but she held on, slipping first right on the saddle and then to the left. Her feet didn’t reach the stirrups. Her dress hem caught in the wind, breezing up. She unwound one hand from the leather horn to tuck her hem firmly beneath her legs. The terrain was rocky and steep, the sun blazing. She couldn’t stop worrying about Mason. She couldn’t stop caring for him.
    When she glanced over her shoulder she caught sight of the distant town—just tiny against the vast rolling bluffs and valleys of the Montana high plains. She squinted at the faint smudge of what had to be a horse and rider—a sole horse and rider—on one sloping road. That had to be Mason. Men were riding behind him, so he wasn’t alone, but they weren’t close enough to help him when trouble came. Fear skidded through her, knowing that other outlaw was lying in wait for Mason, waiting to kill him the instant he was in range.
    Tears scorched the backs of her eyelids. She hated being helpless. She hated that she couldn’t intervene in some way, she couldn’t save Mason the way he was trying to save her. She blinked hard, realizing she no longer cared about saving herself—he was what mattered. He was riding into a trap because of her, and she had to warn him. She’d do whatever she had to, even if it meant being killed. She had to save him.
    The panic and fear faded and in that moment, she knew what to do. She thought of her sisters—her dear, beloved sisters. Sweet Dee, with her charm and adorable cheer. Bubbly Abby, who radiated life and joy and love. Beautiful Maggie, who was gentle and caring, loving everyone she met. And of course, Emma, sensible, practical, fiercely independent, with a kind heart.
    She would miss them. All of them. So, so much. She blinked the tears from her eyes, willing them back, tamping them down. She squared her shoulders, ready. Honestly, her only regret was that Mason hadn’t kissed her full on the mouth, really kissed her, until her toes curled and her body sang. She really could have loved that man, if she’d gotten the chance. Affection for him strengthened her, blazing with power as mighty as the sun.
    Sure now, at peace with what she had to do, she glanced at the outlaws—all ahead of her on the narrow trail that followed along the face of a steep bluff. They were concentrating on the ride, on pushing the horses fast along the dangerous trail. Little pebbles slipped off the edge of the path and rolled down the long, steep fall.
    Without a sound, she lifted her leg over the saddle horn, put her feet together and slipped off. She landed on the narrow edge of the trail, took a step and the heels of her shoes dug into the slope, gravity pulling at her. It wasn’t a sheer fall, just a steep slope, and she cut diagonally across it, heading for the stubby cover of some spindly pines and a prominence of rock.
    Gravity pulled at her, trying to hurl her down, pull her over, send her somersaulting straight to the canyon floor, maybe a hundred feet down. She adjusted her balance, leaning back in her shoes, grabbing a scrubby bush for support. Icy fear crawled over her at the canyon floor far below, but she glued her gaze on the nearby trees, her destination. Behind her, finally realizing she was gone, men’s shouts erupted, gunfire rang, bullets whizzed by her ear and her shoulder, digging into the slope in front of her, kicking up bits of rock and dirt.
    She felt the sting of the rock fragments hitting her. She blinked through the small haze of dust and dirt, surprised she wasn’t hurt or on the