Reeve surprised her by drawing her into his arms and holding her. “It’s all right, Bliss. I’m scared, too. Scared as hell.”

Bliss rested her forehead against his strong shoulder and sobbed, and Reeve let her cry until the worst had passed, then led her back toward the house, his arm around her shoulders.

“When are we leaving?” she demanded when they reached the porch steps.

“Don’t press your luck,” Reeve countered, but there was something distracted about his manner. He was watching the horizon, listening for something, and Bliss watched and listened, too.

Almost a minute had passed before she caught the sound of horses’ hooves on hard ground. She braced herself for more official questions from the captain who had come to call once before.

Instead, Mr. Kirk and three of his men came down the driveway at breakneck speed. Reeve went to meet them, grasping the reins of his neighbor’s mount and biting out, “Good God, Duncan, what happened?”

Duncan Kirk, a handsome man with a noticeable fondness for Maggie, was doubled over in the saddle. “They took her,” he said, and then he slumped to one side, Reeve barely managing to catch him before he fell. The whole front of his shirt, Bliss saw now, was covered with blood.

“There were at least twenty of them!” one of the three men shouted.

Duncan managed to stay on his feet as Reeve helped him up the steps and into the house, but just barely.

“Maggie!” Reeve shouted.

Bliss’s mind was reeling. “Who—what happened?”

Duncan ignored Bliss; his words were directed to Reeve. “I’m sorry—God, I’m sorry—they jumped us from out of nowhere—they took Mrs. Ryan.” Kirk passed out just as Maggie dashed into the room. She and Reeve stretched him out on the floor and Reeve opened his shirt. He regained consciousness while they were examining the bullet wound that had torn his side. “Just—like old times—right, Maggie?” he choked out.

“Don’t try to talk,” Maggie said, concentrating on his wound. “I’ll need alcohol, Reeve, and some sheets or something for bandages.”

Reeve hurried away to fetch the requested items.

Bliss’s eyes went wider, and her knees felt weak. She drew deep breaths in an effort not to faint, but the smell and the scent of blood seemed to be everywhere.

“God knows, I’m—no friend—of Jamie McKenna’s,” Duncan went on, despite Maggie’s earlier words. “But—Reeve should know—”

Bliss drew nearer, holding her breath. There was no chance of her swooning now; the mention of Jamie’s name had brought her around as effectively as smelling salts could have.

“The old man—said this would—explain.” Duncan opened his hand, and what rested inside it made Bliss bound forward with an anguished cry. She snatched the blood-covered beggar’s badge on its rawhide strip from his fingers.

With a scream of grief, she whirled and ran blindly outside, ignoring Maggie’s cry of, “Bliss, come back!”

Duncan’s terrified gelding nickered and danced in the road, its reins dangling along the ground. Forgetting that she knew little or nothing about riding a horse, Bliss managed to drag herself into the saddle and gather the reins into her hands.