Thunder Horse Redemption. Elle James

the horse and rider approached, the cowboy’s hat flew from her head and a mass of deep auburn hair spilled out, flowing behind her.

      Pierce couldn’t mistake that red hair. It had to be Roxanne Carmichael, riding like her life depended on it.

      His heart thumped, pressing hard against his ribs, making it difficult for him to breathe. Every instinct to protect what had once been his reared up in Pierce’s consciousness. He spurred his mount to move faster.

      Before he could reach her, another shot rang out and nicked the hindquarters of Roxanne’s mare.

      Already in a state of agitation, the horse bucked, then reared so suddenly that Roxanne toppled from the saddle, landing hard, flat on her back.

      The mare took off, racing away from the dirt bike, leaving Roxanne at the mercy of the shooter.

      The dirt bike, which had stopped while the driver fired his gun, now roared toward her again, speed increasing instead of decreasing, aiming directly for the woman lying on the ground.

      At the last moment Roxanne rolled to the side, avoiding being hit.

      Still too far away to intervene, Pierce pulled his rifle from the scabbard on his saddle and fired a round into the air. At the same time he dug his heels into Bear’s flanks, pushing him to close the distance.

      The shooter slowed and spun the bike to face Pierce, his dark helmet hiding his face. He lifted his hand, pointing it toward Pierce.

      Sun glinted off the metal of the pistol he carried.

      Pierce yanked Bear’s reins to the side, forcing the animal to zigzag toward his target.

      Another shot rang out.

      Pierce answered, firing his rifle, careful to aim high to avoid hitting Roxanne. With the horse’s movements the shot could go just about anywhere. All he might hope for was to scare the bastard away.

      When Pierce didn’t back down, the man on the bike spun his vehicle, the rear tire skidding sideways, kicking up dust in a dense cloud. The rider sped off across the prairie in the opposite direction. Within seconds, he disappeared over a rise, leaving a faint haze of dust in his wake.

      Pierce raced to where Roxanne lay on the ground, ignoring the instinct pressing him to pursue the rider. His own need to find and capture the man who’d shot at Roxanne mattered far less than making sure Roxanne herself wasn’t badly injured. He jerked back hard on the reins, forcing his horse to rear and spin all in one motion. As soon as Bear’s hooves touched ground, Pierce flung himself out of the saddle and ran toward Roxanne.

      She lay flat on her back, cursing beneath her breath.

      Pierce let out the gulp of air he’d been holding and chuckled. She couldn’t be hurt badly if she had the energy and wherewithal to form coherent curses.

      Roxanne pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, her eyes squeezed shut. “Did you get the license plate of the truck that hit me?” she asked.

      Dropping to his knees beside her, Pierce ran his hands over her arms and legs, searching for fractured bones.

      “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing broken,” she said, pushing his hands away as her eyes fluttered open. “Hello, Pierce.” Her wide blue gaze was cool and wary. It hit Pierce like a gut punch to see her look at him with none of the warmth or love he’d cherished. He reminded himself that he was lucky she was even talking to him. After what he’d done, he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.

      His chest tightened as his fingers slid up her arms. “Hello, Roxy. Are you okay?” He touched her gently, his hands moving around to the backs of her shoulders to help her sit up.

      She leaned away from his touch then swayed and would have fallen back if Pierce hadn’t reached behind her and steadied her with his arm. “Just had the wind knocked out of me in that fall. I’ll be all right,” she replied.

      He leaned her against his chest to keep her from toppling over and further injuring herself, his heart clenching at the familiar aroma of her hair—honeysuckle and hay and the incongruous scent of copper, indicating fresh blood. When his right hand pulled away from her shoulder, it was red with her blood. “You’ve been injured, and not from the fall. Care to tell me how?”

      “What?” She stared at the blood on his hand. “I’m bleeding?”

      “Yes.” He ripped off his denim shirt and the clean white T-shirt beneath, tearing a piece from the hem. He folded the soft fabric into a tight square wad and pressed it to the wound on her left shoulder, frowning as he evaluated the injury. It appeared to be just a nick, but it could have been so much worse.

      “The shoulder doesn’t hurt as bad as the back of my head.” She pressed her fingers to the back of her skull.

      Pierce brushed her hand aside and parted her hair, finding a soft knot. “More than likely, you’ll live. The shot to your shoulder was just a flesh wound. Are you up-to-date on your tetanus shot?”

      “Had one a couple weeks ago.” She snorted. “Stepped on a nail.”

      Pierce shook his head. “Sounds like you. You seem to follow trouble.”

      Roxanne sighed. “Yeah, that’s me.”

      “What just happened here? Why was that man shooting at you?”

      She started to shake her head, until the movement made her wince and clutch at the back of her head. “Remember the filly we rescued from the snowstorm two years ago?”

      Pierce swallowed hard on the lump clogging his throat, remembering the night he’d fallen in love with Roxanne. “Sweet Jessie?”

      “Yeah, that one.” Roxanne opened her eyes wide and blinked several times. “I was following Sweet Jessie toward the canyon, hoping she’d lead me to the herd of wild horses, when I heard a shot from behind. I felt a sting and when I turned around, that dirt bike was behind me. I took off, he followed after me…You know the rest.”

      “Do you have any idea who the biker was?” Pierce hadn’t been able to make an identification, but it had been years since he’d lived full-time on the ranch. Roxanne would be more familiar with the locals—and their bikes—than him.

      “No.” She pinched the bridge of her nose again. “It’s a bit blurry. I must have hit the ground pretty hard, just now. I was good until then.”

      Pierce stared into her eyes. “You could have a concussion. Can you get up on your own?”

      “Absolutely.” She pushed away from him and staggered to her feet. Then she swayed and her knees buckled, tipping her over into Pierce.

      Pierce straightened, then hooked his arm beneath her knees and scooped her up, settling her against his chest. He glanced around, searching for Bear. He gave a short, sharp whistle.

      The stallion trotted toward him, snorting and tossing his mane, still hyped up from the mad dash to save Roxanne.

      “Easy, Mato Cikala.” Little Bear. Pierce spoke low and slow in his native Lakota language as he approached the spooked horse, maintaining eye contact with the animal the entire time.

      Ultimately, the stallion calmed, his dancing hooves settling to a stop in the dry prairie grass.

      Pierce lifted Roxanne up onto the saddle, seating her sideways. He placed her hands on the saddle horn and said, “Hold on.”

      Roxanne’s lips tightened. “I know how to ride a horse.”

      “I know,” he said, before he placed his boot in the stirrup and mounted behind her. Then he slid into the saddle, lifting her to sit across his lap.

      “This is silly. I can handle a horse by myself.”

      “You may be fully capable, but I don’t intend to walk all the way to the ranch.”

      “My mare—”

      “Is