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Pain scorched through her shoulder.

The mare reared, nearly pulling Shannon’s arm from its socket.

“No!”

A heavy black foreleg lashed out.

Shannon, still holding the halter, tried to twist away.

One hoof grazed her temple.

Pain exploded behind her eyes.

She started to fall backward but didn’t let go.

Then a hoof pounded her already-wrenched shoulder, and scraped down her body, seeming to hit every rib before crunching against her hip. Pain careened down her side and blackness curled at the edges of her consciousness.

“Stop it,” she muttered and held onto the halter as if her life depended upon it. If she let go now, she’d never be able to grab hold of it again, never be able to save the horse. “Come on, now,” she insisted, ignoring the pain searing through her body. Fingers clamped over the leather straps, she gently pulled, fighting the urge to black out, leading the balking, sidestepping mare through the open stall door.

Outside the fire ro

ared. She saw the ever-growing blaze through the windows, snapping and crackling as flames spread their vile heat.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow.

A figure of a man inside the stable. Oh, God, had that idiot who’d appeared a few minutes ago not gone to save the dogs?

She turned her head to face him, but there was no one there, nothing but her own imagination playing tricks on her.

The mare sidestepped and tried to rear again, but Shannon, arm screaming in pain, held fast. She had to focus, couldn’t be distracted. Her first priority was to get the horse outside to the paddock away from the fire, then she’d check the kennels. Concentrating on the open door at the far end of what seemed an impossible distance, she kept moving. If she could just make it outside, if she could fight the blackness starting to surround her. Her shoulder screamed in pain and she felt a stream of blood, where the mare’s hoof had scraped her skin, flow down her side.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered, more to herself than the mare, “you can make it.”

The yawning entryway loomed ahead of them. Just a few more feet! Beyond the doorway the night sky was an ominous orange. Smoke brought tears to her eyes and made her cough, but she placed one foot in front of the other. She heard the baying of the dogs and prayed that they were safe, that the stranger had set them free.

Who was the guy who’d appeared out of nowhere? Angel of mercy? Good Samaritan who’d just happened to be in the area? Or was he somehow involved with this horrifying blaze? What had he said his name was?

He hadn’t. At least she didn’t think so. Her mind was fuzzy, she could barely breathe. She forced herself to keep moving. They were so close…so close…

She didn’t have time to wonder further who the stranger was, didn’t even want to consider that he might somehow be related to the conflagration that she saw through the windows, now burning wildly, flames leaping into the heavens, sparks threatening the roof of the garage and Nate Santana’s apartment.

Nate! If only he was here, she thought again, nearly deliriously. If only she could fall in love with him…if only…Her thoughts were confused…she thought she heard her name as if through a tunnel…Keep moving! Focus! It’s the pain and smoke. You need air! Just get the damned horse out of here!

God, it was hot. Sweat prickled her scalp. Ran down her back. The heat was so intense, the pain in her arm debilitating, her legs feeling like rubber. “Come on,” she urged. She tried to run the last few feet, one foot in front of the other, when the mare, suddenly realizing that freedom lay ahead, threw back her head and ripped the halter from Shannon’s fingers.

Shannon started to follow, took one step toward the open door, when she saw movement from the corner of her eye.

Her heart jolted.

A dark figure, carrying a long pole, sprang.

The man she’d seen earlier!

With a weapon!

NO! She feinted left, dodging away.

But her movements weren’t sharp.


Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery