Page 27 of Heart of Mystic Valley
A group of men on horseback burst out of an alley, guns drawn and bandanas covering their faces. The air filled with shouts and the thunder of hooves as the town erupted into chaos.
Joshua’s hand instinctively moved to his holster, his eyes locking with Faith’s in a moment of shared alarm. “Get down!”
Faith dropped to the floor of the buggy, along with Evelyn, at Joshua’s shouted command.
The turmoil on Mystic’s main street erupted like a powder keg. Shots rang out, shattering the morning calm as the masked riders tore through town. Cody aimed his six-shooter at the outlaws, firing off several shots. One rider flew off the back of his horse, while another clutched his chest before slipping out of his saddle and onto the ground.
“Stay down!” Trent shouted at the same time Joshua maneuvered his horse between the riders and the women, shielding Faith and Evelyn with his broad frame.
“I’ve got them,” Joshua called back, his voice calm, despite the mayhem. “You take care of those bandits!”
Trent spurred his horse forward, aiming his six-shooter and firing. Cody joined him, the two galloping after the riders. Cody caught sight of Sheriff Brodie Gaines emerging from his office, shotgun in hand. Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them.
“Cody!” Brodie shouted. “Flank ’em from the left!”
Cody veered his horse down a side alley. The pounding of hooves echoed off the buildings as he circled around, hoping to cut off the bandits’ escape route.
Trent continued down the street before detouring down another alley, torn between the immediate threat and the gnawing fear for the women’s safety.
Emerging back onto the main street, Trent found himself face-to-face with one of the masked riders. Time seemed to slow as they sized each other up.
“Don’t do it, mister,” he warned, his gun aimed at the outlaw.
The man’s eyes narrowed above his bandana. “You ain’t got the guts, boy,” he sneered.
Trent thought of the threat the man in front of him posed to the women. His hand moved like lightning, the crack of his six-shooter splitting the air. The bandit toppled from his saddle, clutching his shoulder.
As quickly as it had begun, the gunfight was over. The remaining outlaws, seeing their comrades fall, turned tail and fled. The thunder of retreating hooves faded into the distance, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Trent dismounted, his legs shaky with fading adrenaline. He scanned the street, searching for any additional signs of danger. Walking to the fallen bandit, he noted the wound to the man’s shoulder. He kicked the man’s gun away before helping him up and marching him toward the jail.
With no one inside, he grabbed the keys and locked the injured outlaw inside a cell. Ignoring the man’s shouts, he stormed out of the jail. Relief washed over him when he spotted Joshua and the women emerging from inside the mercantile, their faces pale but resolute.
Touching Faith’s arm, Joshua felt the weight of all his unspoken words pressing down on him. He took a step toward her, determined to reveal his heart, when the sheriff’s voice cut through the air.
“Joshua! We need to organize a posse. Those bandits can’t have gotten far.” Brodie stood in the middle of the street with Cody beside him.
Even with the chaos, Joshua was glad to see the two men together. They’d been best friends before the deaths of Cody’s wife and daughter. Brodie had never adjusted to Cody taking off to find the killers.
Joshua hesitated, torn between his duty and the yearning of his heart. Faith’s gaze held his for a moment longer, a question in her eyes he couldn’t answer. With a heavy sigh, he turned away, knowing once again, the moment had slipped through his fingers like sand.
As he strode toward the sheriff, Joshua’s mind whirled with possibilities and regrets. Would he ever find the right time to tell Faith how he felt? And if he did, would it be too late?
Grayson Beckett stood on the front porch of the main house, his keen eyes surveying the land.
“Jolene,” he called over his shoulder. “Best come see this. Looks like we’ve got company.”
Jolene emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. She squinted into the distance, spotting a lone rider approaching.
“Who is it?” she asked, moving to stand beside her husband.
Grayson’s hand instinctively moved to the revolver at his hip. “I believe it’s Josh.” As the rider drew closer, his posture relaxed. “It’s Josh, all right.”
Joshua reined his horse to a stop in front of the house, dismounting with a grace that belied his exhaustion. His usually neat appearance was disheveled, his clothes covered in trail dust.
“Grayson, Jolene.” He nodded to each of them, his voice hoarse. “We’ve got trouble.”
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “What kind of trouble?”
