gun’s report, clamping her hands to her ears, which left her hanging from his knee. He swung his arm under her ribs and pressed against the slope, digging his boot into the ground to stop their slide. She shrieked and struggled when the spasming snake body flipped over the edge and dangled from a rock at her cheekbone.
“Stop!” He flung the snake aside with the barrel of the gun and tightened his grip on her ribs.
Carina’s heart pounded against his forearm as she sucked in ragged breaths and stopped fighting. Her ears rang, and her stomach turned at the bloody ooze left on the stones. She was thankful now for the hollow in her belly. Breakfast might not have remained inside.
“All right, use my knee for a step.” His voice was strained but firm.
Carina obeyed, though she would not reach blindly for the edge again. She climbed onto his thigh just above the knee and pushed herself up to find herself eye-level with the gaping, fanged mouth of the snake. She lurched back instinctively, but Quillan Shepard’s hand was firm on her spine, allowing no retreat.
His gunshot had severed the snake’s head, and it lay there as though unaware the rest was gone. Cringing, she pulled herself up, then twisted around and sat, ignoring as best she could the tan-and-gray plaited snake head lying in the dirt. Her breath came in long, shaking lungfuls.
Quillan Shepard climbed down to where the sheet bundle had fallen, then made his way back up. When he reached the road, he nudged the snake head with his boot toe. “Don’t touch it yet. Poison’s still good.”
Carina flashed him a glance. Touch it? She scrambled to her feet. “Is it a rattlesnake?”
“It is. You seem to have a way of attracting snakes, Miss DiGratia.”
So he was back to taunting. She would not ponder what he meant. The gun was holstered on his hip. She had not noticed before that he was one of those who carried a gun, but she was deeply thankful now. “You saved my life.”
“One bite doesn’t usually kill, but you’re in a whole lot of hurt. ‘Course, if he’d gotten a neck hold …” He dumped the sheet on the trail.
Carina shuddered, glancing once again at the jaws of the snake spread so wide they almost doubled back. The fangs stood out like needles.
“Keep it if you want. It’s powerful medicine to some.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged, then kicked the head over the side, where it tumbled to meet its body.
“How did you know it was there?”
“The rattle. Didn’t you hear it?”
In her scramble she had heard nothing. But why elaborate?
He yanked open the sheet and emptied its contents beside those he had already taken from his pack. He looked over the assortment, though, to his credit, lingered less over her underthings than the pot and kettle and books. “How’re you getting all this back to town?”
She motioned to Dom, expecting his criticism, but it didn’t come.
He studied the pile, then began arranging the items in the sheet. “You’ll want it balanced so the mule doesn’t strain something.”
Noting his kindness toward the animal, she softened in spite of herself.
When he had the load divided, he tied up the ends and fixed the makeshift pack over Dom’s back. He checked its fit, then came back around. “Can’t hurry him with iron pots and Dickens banging his flanks. It’s hard enough to expect him to cross the summit two days running.”
Carina’s back rose again. “I won’t.”
“Well, then, I guess you’re set.” He gave her a hand to mount and checked the fit of the pack again. “At his pace … a couple, three hours to town. Should have plenty of daylight.”
She nodded, taking up the reins, and looked about for his transportation. He pointed down the road. At the first spot wide enough for two conveyances, his team and wagon waited, the load once again carefully tied under a tarp. He must have passed Dom, then left his wagon and walked back up.
“Couldn’t block the road.”
His gray
“Stop!” He flung the snake aside with the barrel of the gun and tightened his grip on her ribs.
Carina’s heart pounded against his forearm as she sucked in ragged breaths and stopped fighting. Her ears rang, and her stomach turned at the bloody ooze left on the stones. She was thankful now for the hollow in her belly. Breakfast might not have remained inside.
“All right, use my knee for a step.” His voice was strained but firm.
Carina obeyed, though she would not reach blindly for the edge again. She climbed onto his thigh just above the knee and pushed herself up to find herself eye-level with the gaping, fanged mouth of the snake. She lurched back instinctively, but Quillan Shepard’s hand was firm on her spine, allowing no retreat.
His gunshot had severed the snake’s head, and it lay there as though unaware the rest was gone. Cringing, she pulled herself up, then twisted around and sat, ignoring as best she could the tan-and-gray plaited snake head lying in the dirt. Her breath came in long, shaking lungfuls.
Quillan Shepard climbed down to where the sheet bundle had fallen, then made his way back up. When he reached the road, he nudged the snake head with his boot toe. “Don’t touch it yet. Poison’s still good.”
Carina flashed him a glance. Touch it? She scrambled to her feet. “Is it a rattlesnake?”
“It is. You seem to have a way of attracting snakes, Miss DiGratia.”
So he was back to taunting. She would not ponder what he meant. The gun was holstered on his hip. She had not noticed before that he was one of those who carried a gun, but she was deeply thankful now. “You saved my life.”
“One bite doesn’t usually kill, but you’re in a whole lot of hurt. ‘Course, if he’d gotten a neck hold …” He dumped the sheet on the trail.
Carina shuddered, glancing once again at the jaws of the snake spread so wide they almost doubled back. The fangs stood out like needles.
“Keep it if you want. It’s powerful medicine to some.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged, then kicked the head over the side, where it tumbled to meet its body.
“How did you know it was there?”
“The rattle. Didn’t you hear it?”
In her scramble she had heard nothing. But why elaborate?
He yanked open the sheet and emptied its contents beside those he had already taken from his pack. He looked over the assortment, though, to his credit, lingered less over her underthings than the pot and kettle and books. “How’re you getting all this back to town?”
She motioned to Dom, expecting his criticism, but it didn’t come.
He studied the pile, then began arranging the items in the sheet. “You’ll want it balanced so the mule doesn’t strain something.”
Noting his kindness toward the animal, she softened in spite of herself.
When he had the load divided, he tied up the ends and fixed the makeshift pack over Dom’s back. He checked its fit, then came back around. “Can’t hurry him with iron pots and Dickens banging his flanks. It’s hard enough to expect him to cross the summit two days running.”
Carina’s back rose again. “I won’t.”
“Well, then, I guess you’re set.” He gave her a hand to mount and checked the fit of the pack again. “At his pace … a couple, three hours to town. Should have plenty of daylight.”
She nodded, taking up the reins, and looked about for his transportation. He pointed down the road. At the first spot wide enough for two conveyances, his team and wagon waited, the load once again carefully tied under a tarp. He must have passed Dom, then left his wagon and walked back up.
“Couldn’t block the road.”
His gray
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