Last Stand Ranch. Jenna Night

all the time. She wasn’t insulting or cruel. She’d just been rubbed a little raw by life lately, and Elijah could relate to that.

      “So, yes, Olivia’s okay,” Claudia said to Elijah, directing her conversation back to him. “Are you finished up there on the ridge?”

      “Almost.”

      “Well, you be careful.”

      “You, too.” Elijah disconnected and slid the phone back into his pocket. He reached down to give Churchill a couple of pats on his neck while looking around at the nearby hills and the purple mesas in the distance. “I hate to leave without figuring out how that shooter got up here and back out again.”

      “He must have hiked or driven along a main road, then crossed Aunt Claudia’s land or ours,” Jonathan said. Elijah frowned at him. If it were true, whoever was hunting Olivia was skilled and stealthy.

      “I don’t want to believe it, either.” Jonathan glanced around. “But there’s no other explanation. Unless he rode a horse or a bike to the backcountry and hiked down here.”

      “That doesn’t sound like the fat-cat lawyer Miss Dillon’s worried about,” Bedford muttered. “Sounds more like hired firepower.”

      If that was true, Olivia was especially fortunate she’d survived. Elijah glanced upward. Thank You, Lord.

      “Anyone trying to help Miss Dillon might be crossing some very dangerous people,” Bedford said to Elijah. “I know about your military service, and I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. But this might require more extensive resources and backup than you’ve got. You don’t want to hunt this guy on your own.”

      Elijah wasn’t exactly on his own. But he wouldn’t ask his friends in Vanquish the Darkness to put themselves in harm’s way. They were organized to provide spiritual comfort, particularly for veterans and their families, and to reach out to people in hospitals and other facilities who might have been otherwise forgotten. The riders had crossed paths with a few unsavory people along the way—it couldn’t be avoided—but they weren’t some personal protection group under Elijah’s direction.

      “How well do you know Olivia Dillon, anyway?” Bedford asked.

      “I just met her last night.”

      “Why such a personal interest?”

      Elijah shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it.

      “Mrs. Somerset,” Jonathan said quietly.

      Bedford glanced at Jonathan and then back at Elijah as though expecting an explanation. He wasn’t going to get one. Mrs. Somerset was only one name on the long list of war casualties Elijah knew personally. In her case, she was a woman he should have protected but didn’t.

      Jonathan knew the whole ugly story, yet the kid still looked up to his big brother. Sometimes his admiration made Elijah feel like a fraud.

      “We just going to sit around here?” Elijah said gruffly, aware he’d started to drift into the past again. “If we move out, form a wide perimeter and look closely one more time, maybe we can find some tracks or trampled grass we missed earlier before we call it a night.”

      “Worth a try,” Bedford agreed.

      Jonathan nodded. “Let’s do it.”

      They rode until full dark, staying in contact by phone, but found nothing. “If I hear anything I’m authorized to tell you, I’ll let you know,” Bedford promised.

      When he got home, Elijah cooled down Churchill and made sure he was fed and watered. Then he got in his truck, drove to the hospital and found Olivia’s room.

      Olivia lay in bed, sleeping. With her bruises and bandages, she looked as if she’d gone a few rounds with a prizefighter. In a way, she had.

      She needed somebody to look after her, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

      Elijah dropped his tired body into a chair at the foot of her bed to keep watch.