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  Watching them laugh and chatter, the youngest one skipping along beside her father, seeing—practically feeling—the enchanting smile on Sunny’s bright, beautiful face made Ash’s guts tighten with yearning. It hit him then how alone he was in the world. He was the last of his family, and Ella Standridge was the only person in town who would give him the time of day.

  Ella Standridge was something else. She was the only one who’d believed his side of things five years ago. He and his father had lived here for fifteen years. They’d been liked well enough, had lots of friends. But still, when Ian Baxter told his vicious lies, the whole town believed him. The whole town but Ella.

  Ash was anxious to get things moving, to get his name cleared so he could leave the haunting memories of the home he and his family had built at Cottonwood Ranch. The home where both his parents were buried. The home that now belonged to the Thorntons.

  The minute he’d done what he came here to do, he’d ride out and not look back. Go west, maybe. West, where no one would know him.

  When the Thorntons passed from his view, headed, Ash assumed, in the direction of the livery stable, two more trail bums dismounted and tied their horses in front of the bank.

  The warm tingle along the back of his neck that had alerted him to Sunny Thornton’s nearness changed to a cold prickle of unease. What would three down-and-out looking saddle tramps be doing at the bank at this hour?

  Then Sunny Thornton came back into view, hugging herself against the morning chill. With her bonnet obscuring most of her face, she headed back up the street and re-entered the hotel.

  Before she came out again, a fourth and fifth rider had dismounted and gone into the bank.

  “Look at that, would ya?” Sam Harvey said behind him. “Ain’t seen so many strangers in town at one time in months. And all of ‘em goin’ into the bank. Humph.”

  Ash’s uneasiness turned to alarm.

  Sunny came back out of the hotel, a newspaper clutched under her arm. Ash straightened away from the window and reached for the door. Her path back to her family would take her right past the bank.

  Ash stepped out onto the barbershop porch just as Sunny took the steps to the porch in front of the bank. He dashed into the street. “Sunny! Get back!”

  Sunny thought she heard someone call her name. She stopped in front of the bank window and turned to see Ash McCord running toward her, waving and yelling. What in the world? At a commotion behind her, she turned back toward the door of the bank.

  What she saw made no sense. A man came out of the door, backwards. There was a pistol in his hand and a bandanna covering the lower half of his face. She had no sooner taken all that in when a second man with pistol and bandanna backed out the door. Then a third!

  Footsteps pounded toward her from the street, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the men with the guns. They looked like they were— But no, that was ridiculous. The Cottonwood Crossing Bank and Savings Institute had never been robbed. No business in town had. These men were just—

  A shot echoed from inside the bank. Sunny flinched. A man in the bank cried out hoarsely. One of the masked men whirled toward her. Shock held her immobile. All she could do was stare hypnotically at the bore of the sixgun aimed directly at her.

  A hand on her arm yanked her sideways. Her feet left the porch. In that brief instant her mind finally acknowledged that the bank was being robbed—and she was right in the middle of it! She screamed.

  When her feet hit the ground she crashed into something rock hard. Her skirt tangled around her legs. Her knees gave out. As she fell to the ground she craned her neck and watched the man on the porch follow her with the barrel of his gun. She saw his finger squeeze the trigger.

  Something jerked her sideways, then a dead weight—a man’s body!—fell on top of her. She heard a grunt. Hers? A bullet slammed into the ground where her head had just been. Dust and gravel sprayed the side of her face. She flinched. Panicked, she struggled to get out from beneath the man who held her down. Her nails gouged the side of his face.

  “Damn it, Sunny, hold still.”

  The instant she recognized Ash McCord’s voice she stopped fighting. With guns barking and bullets flying, she suddenly, inexplicably felt safe.

  Along the street men shouted and women screamed. Doors slammed. A window in the front of the bank shattered. Sunny peered beneath Ash’s arm as two more bandits darted out of the bank toward the waiting horses.

  Well, one darted. The other more or less shuffled.

  What an odd thing to notice, she thought, in the middle of a hold up. A man who shuffled. His bent knees looked locked, as if he couldn’t straighten them.

  From both ends of the street shots rang out. Men were firing at the bank robbers. Sunny gripped the front of Ash’s shirt, praying he wouldn’t be hit by a flying bullet. She shouldn’t be letting him protect her this way. But if they moved, she feared they would draw the bandits’ attention.

  Dust churned as the bandits mounted and whirled their confused mounts. The man with the stiff knees had trouble. She watched him struggle to get his foot in the stirrup, thinking, This can’t be real. Sunlight glinted off his silver spur as he finally swung his right leg over the horse and more or less fell into his saddle.

  From the east end of the street three townsmen fired on the riders, hitting one in the shoulder. The robbers urged their mounts west. Sheriff Jamison stepped from behind a wagon at the west end of the street, across from the livery, and opened fire. A second later he went down, shot in the leg.

  Beneath Ash, Sunny forced herself to keep breathing. That feeling of safety a moment ago had fled. She’d never been so terrified in her life. Men she’d known for years were being shot before her eyes. She peered beneath Ash’s arm and saw the five riders gig their mounts back toward the bank. Shots followed them down the street. Ash’s heart beat strong and sure against her cheek. Her heart, she was certain, had stopped altogether.

  The riders regrouped in front of the bank, then whirled their mounts back west to make a run for it. Frantic hooves churned clouds of dust into the air. As they headed for the sheriff’s end of the street, one rider, the one who walked funny, reined his horse sharply, causing the mount to spin on hind legs and return the way he’d come.

  Sunny dug her fingers deeper into Ash’s shoulders. The bandit was heading right for them! Another shot, this one close—too close—rang out. She felt Ash flinch, heard him grunt. An instant later he lay limp across her body like a dead weight. He’d been hit! Oh merciful heaven!

  More shots rang out as the riders thundered past the edge of town.

  In the sudden, ringing silence, bootheels pounded toward her on the hardpacked road. “Is he dead?” someone asked.

  “No!” Sunny cried. “He can’t be!” With her cheek pressed against Ash’s chest, all she could see of the men close to her were their boots.

  “You all right, Miss Sunny?”

  “I—I think so.”

  “Lordamercy, she coulda been killed! Ash McCord done saved her life, that’s what he done.”

  Sunny felt tears sting her eyes. He had. He had saved her life. And got himself shot in the process. Trapped beneath him, she couldn’t move. She tried to feel his heartbeat where it had thundered against her cheek, but her own heart pounded too loudly. Was he alive? Dear God, was he alive?

  “Don’t move him!” someone shouted.

  It was Doctor Sneed. Thank God. Hurry, oh please hurry! she thought.

  “Miss Sunny? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m okay. Can you help Mr. McCord? Will he be all right?”

  “Don’t you worry, we’ll have him off you in a minute. You men, go find a board big enough to carry him. Take a door down and use it if you have to. And be quick about it.”

  “Sheriff’s not hurt bad,” another man said. Sunny recognized his voice. It was Harve, one of the bench warmers from in front of Miller’s store. “Took one in the leg is all, but—”

  “Hey, Doc!” so
meone shouted from down the street. “Come quick!”

  “Thought you said the sheriff was all right,” Dr. Sneed said to Harve.

  “He is,” Harve said. “The other one is…somebody else. And he’s hurt bad, Doc. Real bad.”

  “When those two get back with that board, get McCord on it, but be careful with him. Don’t bounce him around any. Get him on over to my office and onto one of the tables in my examining room.”

  The doctor rushed off. Sunny heard someone shuffle in the dirt beside her. She craned her neck and saw Harve.

  “Don’t you worry none, Miss Sunny. We’ll get this big ol’ bugger off ya quicker than a cat can hiss.”

  “Is he…alive, Harve?”

  “That he is, girl. He’s a’breathin’, sure ‘nough.”

  “Will he be all right, do you think?”

  “You’re not to worry about that none, Miss Sunny. Doc’ll take care of him. Won’t be much longer now and we’ll have you out of there.”

  It seemed like a lifetime to Sunny before the men came with the board and lifted Ash McCord’s unconscious body off her. She held her breath as they struggled to place him on the board. They carried him down the street toward the doctor’s office.

  She let her breath out. “Be careful. Please be careful,” she whispered.

  “Oh child, child!”

  Sunny looked up to find Gerta Miller, Carla’s mother, rushing toward her.

  “We heard the shots and someone said you were right in the thick of it! Are you hurt? Are you all right? Let’s get you up out of the dirt, child.”

  Sunny gratefully accepted Mrs. Miller’s help. Once on her feet, Sunny shook so hard her knees nearly gave out. Dirt covered her face and hands, her skirt was torn at the hem, and her bonnet lay on the ground, crushed beyond recognition. Dazed, Sunny watched a wagon roll by with the sheriff cussing from the wagon bed. Next to him, Doctor Sneed knelt over another man. Blood—buckets of it—gushed from the man’s stomach and chest as the doctor worked over him.

  Something about the man…

  The vehicle was two doors down the street before Sunny recognized the man bleeding to death in the back of the wagon.

  Daddy!

  Chapter Three

  Sunny screamed and raced after the wagon. After only a couple of steps she skidded to a halt. “The girls!” She whirled toward the livery and collided with Katy.

  The girl flung her arms around Sunny’s waist. “Sunny! Daddy’s hurt! He’s hurt bad!”

  Sunny gave Katy a hard hug, then peeled the girl’s arms from around her waist and forced her away. Her own voice was none too steady when she said, “I know, honey. I’ve got to go see about him.”

  Tears streamed down Katy’s cheeks. “I’m going with you.”

  “Amy and Rachel need you,” Sunny said. “You look after them and I’ll see about Daddy.”

  Gerta Miller joined them. “Ya, that’s good.” She took Katy by the arm. “You let your sister go with your father. I’ll help you look after the little ones.”

  Sunny gave Mrs. Miller a grateful look. “Thank you. You go with Mrs. Miller, honey, and help her look after the girls. They’ll be confused and frightened, and they’ll need you.”

  With a pang in her gut—Katy suddenly looked so young, much younger than her fourteen years—Sunny turned and ran after the wagon.

  Mrs. Miller would look after Katy. Katy would hold herself together for the sake of Rachel and Amy. Sunny knew from experience, there was nothing like having others depend on you to make you stiffen your spine. The girls might want Sunny with them right now, but their father needed her more.

  With skirts flying and her hair tumbling down from its pins, she dashed down the street and around the corner of the drug store to where the wagon stopped at the door to Doctor Sneed’s office. By the time she caught up, three men were helping the doctor carry her father inside.

  She followed as they carried him through Doc’s waiting room and into the surgery. She stood in the doorway and watched them lower him to the second table; Ash McCord lay on the first, but Sunny scarcely noticed him. Her gaze was transfixed with horror on the blood gushing from her father’s stomach and chest.

  So much blood. She squeezed her eyes shut to blot out the hideous sight. That’s when the smell hit her. The odor of hot, fresh blood forced its way past her will. It stung her nostrils and filled her mouth with a coppery tang. She opened her eyes, hoping to lesson the impact of the smell.

  Sunny pressed herself against the wall just inside the doorway to let the three men who’d helped Doc carry her father file out of the room. With some corner of her mind she knew they were now helping the sheriff out of the wagon and onto the sofa in the waiting room.

  Doctor Sneed worked rapidly, his hands a virtual blur darting from instrument to bandage to her father’s torn, bleeding flesh. Sunny’s heart thundered in her ears. This couldn’t be happening. That couldn’t be her father lying there on that table.

  Doc grabbed a bottle from the nearest shelf and pulled out the stopper. The sickening sweet smell of chloroform filled the room and made Sunny gag.

  Her father moaned. “Leave off, Doc.” His voice was low, breathless, weary sounding. “You’re making me tired with all this fussing.”

  “Keep quiet, Thornton. I’m busy.” Doc moved to place a pad of cloth over his patient’s nose, but Ross waved it away. The action seemed to take all his strength.

  Doc paused and watched him.

  After a moment, her father spoke again. “Waste of time, and you know it. Nothing…you can do. How’s McCord? Heard he saved…my Sunny. You tell him…I said…thanks.”

  “I’ll tell him. Now shut up and let me work.”

  “No…time. Where’s Sunny? Is she…all right? I need…to see…Sunny.”

  All Sunny wanted to do at that moment was turn and run. She knew what was coming. She could hear it in his voice, in his shallow breath. It had been the same with her mother, right before she’d…But Sunny knew she couldn’t leave. Her father needed her.

  Doctor Sneed stoppered the chloroform bottle and set it aside. Sunny forced herself away from the wall. The gray tinge to her father’s face made her gasp.

  “Sunshine,” he whispered.

  She took his hand in hers. It was cold. The bloody smell was stronger close up. She swallowed hard. “I’m here, Daddy.” She forced her gaze to stay on his beloved face and away from his chest and stomach and Doctor Sneed’s hands, all of which were covered in—

  “The girls?”

  “They’re all right.” God, her throat ached. “Mrs. Miller is looking after them. Don’t talk now, Daddy.”

  “Got to. No time.” He paused to catch his breath. It seemed an incredible effort for him to swallow. “Didn’t mean to go and get myself killed and…leave you girls all alone.”

  Sunny forced back a sob. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk at all. Save your strength.”

  “Don’t let…Baxter take the ranch. Sell…cattle to…pay him off. Tom…knows what to do. Just…trust your instincts, Sunshine.”

  “I will, I promise. Don’t worry about the ranch. Just lie still and concentrate on getting better.” Even as she said the words, she knew it wouldn’t happen. He was dying.

  Doctor Sneed covered her father’s chest with a cloth, then stood back. She looked at him expectantly, hopefully.

  He shook his head. The look in his eyes confirmed her worst fears.

  Doc leaned down and spoke to her father. “Did you see who did this, Ross? Did you recognize any of them?”

  Her father almost smiled. “Thought I did, for a minute there. But it must have been my…eyes…playing tricks on me. Couldn’t have been…who I thought it was.”

  “Who did you think it was?”

  Her father gave a slight smile. “If I said, you’d laugh. A dying man…doesn’t want to be…laughed at.”

  Sunny’s lips trembled and her vision blurred. “Don’t talk like that, Daddy.”

  “But it�
�s…true, Sunshine. It’s not so bad…except for leaving you…and the girls.” He closed his eyes, and Sunny whimpered. His eyes opened again. “I’m still here, honey. Just…resting.” His eyes drifted shut again. This time Sunny watched to make sure he was still breathing.

  She looked up at Doc Sneed and struggled to control the quiver of her chin. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Sunny. There’s just too much damage. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he feels much pain.”

  “No,” her father whispered, his eyes still closed. “No pain. Just…tired. So…tired. And cold.”

  After a moment, Doc Sneed spoke again. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll be in the next room with the sheriff for a few minutes before I start on McCord.”

  “Sunshine?” her father whispered.

  She squeezed his hand and choked back her tears. “I’m here, Daddy.”

  “I won’t tell you…not to cry, ‘cause I know you’ll do it…anyway…when I’m gone. But don’t wear…black.”

  Sunny nodded, her throat too thick for words, then pulled up a stool so she could sit by her father without releasing his hand. The rational part of her knew he was dying, but her heart cried out, No! Her mother had been dead nearly four years. Her father couldn’t die. He just couldn’t!

  She held his hand and prayed like she’d never prayed before. Sometime later the doctor returned and began working on Ash McCord, who hadn’t made a sound or moved a muscle since the bullet had hit him. In the back of her mind she surely hoped Mr. McCord would be all right, but she had no room to think of him just then. All her thoughts were for her father.

  With silent tears streaming down her cheeks, Sunny held her father’s hand. Held it until the sun was no longer shining through the east window. Held it until the doctor finished working on McCord. Held it until long after she knew Ross Thornton could no longer feel her touch. Until long after she knew he was gone.