West of Paradise by Marcy Hatch

hot tears running down her face. She raised the gun. It shook in her hands and Jack flinched. “You have to die now,” she said, trying to see through the tears, forcing her hands to remain steady as she told herself over and over: do not hit Jack.
    Jack closed his eyes. The shot was like the roar of a cannon.
    Katherine turned back to the man, her hands limp at her sides, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
    “Now throw it away,” he said.
    She flung it from her, tears streaming down her cheeks. The man grinned and turned to the boy.
    “Get her,” he said.
    Katherine shook her head, telling herself this was not real, this was not happening to her! It couldn’t be! The boy got down off his horse and came at her like a clumsy, eager puppy. His hands reached out to her and she began to scream, unable to help herself.
    The boy’s smiling face clouded over and he gave her a sharp slap across the face, immediately silencing her. Her mouth dropped open in shock, but he gave her no time to think or talk, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her along after the man.
    He took the two horses as well, leading them all toward the smithy’s shed where the man waited, already mounted on an old mare who bared her teeth at their approach.
    “Where’s the saddle and bridle?” he asked her.
    “Inside the saloon,” Katherine said answered dully.
    “You got anything here?” he asked Katherine.
    Katherine stared at him, hating him more than she ever imagined hating Jack. She wanted to spit in his face but his dark eyes grew darker and his lip curled.
    “Don’t mess with me, Alanna,” he said. “Tell me now or I’ll beat it out of you.”
    “In the kitchen,” she answered coldly.
    “Bring it all, Tommy,” he ordered.
    “Sure, Will.”
    And that was when Katherine became truly afraid.

Chapter Nine
Right Church, Wrong Pew
    J ack waited until the hoof beats had faded away before opening his eyes. He was alive, he told himself, hardly able to believe it. A second thought rushed in on top of the first, pushing it rudely aside.
    This was the second time she hadn’t killed him.
    She was not Alanna. But how? How in God’s name could there be two women who looked so alike? Were they related but unknown to one another?
    He shook his head, pushing the questions aside. It was enough to know she’d been telling the truth. And her name probably was Katherine. But now he had to focus his attention on the hotel. He had to get inside and stop the bleeding, he had to clean the wound, he had to . . . the world spun madly, making him dizzy and sick.
    He stopped, breathing in deeply until the feeling passed. Then he began to move toward the hotel, inch by painful inch, using his hands to pull himself through the mud. His leg screamed in agony, and he clamped his teeth together. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face.
    He was in the saloon now, only a dozen yards or so to go. He stopped once more as the room began to swim. He took a series of deep breaths. Oxygen, he needed oxygen. He had to breath. He couldn’t pass out, not yet.
    Jack began to crawl again, dragging his wounded leg behind him and leaving a trail of red mud along the hotel floor. By the time he reached the kitchen his entire body was soaked with sweat, his jeans wet with blood. He fumbled for the canteen and tipped it to his mouth, drinking sparingly. Then he reached up to the table and found the remains of Katherine’s petticoat. He tore a strip off and tied it around his leg, gritting his teeth together as he pulled it tight.
    The room began to fade but he fought against it, breathing deep, reminding himself that now was not the time to pass out. He clamped his jaw and reached for the knife at his belt, intending to cut away his jeans and have a look at the wound. But the darkness closed in and swallowed him whole.
    ❧
    The wind woke him, a warm breeze that came in across his face. The pain was there, hammering away at his leg like