Lily eschewed the offer of a leg up from William, the stable man, but did use a low step to mount Belle Starr, an elegant steel gray mare. Side by side, Lily and Gabe began a slow walk past the corrals and out along a slightly shaded trail heading toward denser forest and the hills. For five minutes, perhaps even longer, little was said between them. As advertised, Serious Therapy was special—powerful, alert, and responsive. Later, when Gabe had the chance to reflect on these qualities, he concluded that they might well have been responsible for saving his life.

Lost in the perfection of the moment and in thoughts around the mysterious, unfathomable woman riding a few feet to the left and in front of him, he wasn't certain whether or not he had seen movement ahead of them and to the right, quite far into the woods. The possibility triggered a small jet of adrenaline—enough of a rush so that, when the threat became clear, his reaction was quick.

The horses had slowed as they headed up a modest rise. The man dressed in black and wearing a black ski mask materialized from behind a tree, twenty-five yards or so to their right. His rifle, with what might have been a hunting sight, was aimed directly at Gabe.

"Lily!" Gabe barked.

He reflexively pulled his reins back and sharply to the left. Serious Therapy went straight up on his hind legs and pirouetted like a ballet dancer, spinning to the left.

At the same instant, the rifle spit off one shot, then another. Gabe heard the second bullet snap into a tree somewhere to his left.

Belle Starr reared, as had Gabe's horse, but Lily was totally unprepared. She lost her seat and was airborne before she could respond, twisting ungracefully, then landing heavily on her left side, crying out in pain as she hit the hard-packed dirt.

Gabe clambered to the ground, thinking that she had been shot. Hunched low and weaving, he raced to where she lay, groaning and in obvious pain. Belle Starr stood dutifully nearby. The gunman was gone. Far to his right, Gabe thought he saw movement through the distant trees, but then there was nothing. Cautiously, his eyes still fixed on the forest, he turned to Lily.

She was conscious but in severe pain.

"Are you shot?"

"I . . . I don't think so. My shoulder. I think it's broken or—"

"Easy, Lily. Your neck hurt?"

"No . . . not really."

"Well, try not to move it anyway."