Page 66 of Breaking His Exile

A man who looked like he’d been carved from the side of a mountain was already there. Six and a half feet if he was an inch, broad through the shoulders, thick dark beard. The way he moved reminded her of Evander — no wasted motion, everything with purpose—and he was light on his feet despite his size.

He dropped to one knee on Evander’s other side. “Someone got the best of you, man.”

“Creed,” Evander muttered.

“Jesus. Creed Calder did this?”

“That fucker’s back?” River asked.

Evander’s eyes rolled, but he caught himself and jerked to consciousness. “My horse... I cut her loose…”

“Don’t worry. Jonah will get her.” The big guy nodded toward another man with beautiful auburn hair.

Jonah nodded back. “I’ll go out tonight. What’s her name?”

Evander tried to answer but couldn’t seem to form the word, so Rainey supplied it, “Sable.”

Evander’s head lolled. “Rainey…”

“I’m right here.”

Again, he dropped to the edge of unconsciousness.

“No!” She shook his shoulder. “Evander, stay awake.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I got him now,” the big guy said. “I was a combat medic. Name’s Dane McKenna, but everyone calls me Bear.” He reached for the bandage on Evander’s arm, peeling it back with a gentleness that belied his size. He frowned at the burn marks, then replaced the gauze. His palm moved to Evander’s forehead and stayed there. “Those burns don’t account for his fever. Where else is he hurt?”

Rainey hesitated only a second before lifting Evander’s shirt to show the bandage there. Blood had seeped through the gauze. “Stab wound in his side. He was also knocked out and lost consciousness yesterday afternoon.”

Bear studied the bandage, then glanced up at her. “You dressed it?”

“I did.”

He acknowledged that with a grunt that could’ve been anything from good job to don’t quit your day job. “He needs antibiotics.”

Two more men materialized from the crowd with a stretcher. One wore a black Stetson pulled low, his face all angles, his movements fluid in a way that made Rainey think of predators. The other had short dark hair and unreadable gray eyes. Neither of them spoke as they got Evander off the ground and onto the stretcher.

Corbin Brandt stepped in. He collected Evander’s rifle from where it had fallen in the grass, checked the chamber, and set it against the fence. Then he reached for the backup pistol Evander carried at the small of his back and took that too.

“You’re not under arrest tonight, Cole,” Brandt said. “But you’re staying on this property. That clear?”

Evander’s head lolled toward him. His eyes found focus, barely. “Clear.”

“Your word.”

“On it.” Evander’s voice was scraped raw. “Not going anywhere.”

Brandt nodded. Stepped back.

The three men carried Evander toward the house. Rainey stayed on her knees in the grass and watched them go. Halfway across the yard, Evander turned his head. His eyes found hers through the dark and held. She didn’t look away. She held his gaze until the distance swallowed him, until all she could see was the shape of Bear’s broad back and the silent man’s Stetson bobbing toward the porch lights.

The yard went quiet.

Rainey stood. Her legs didn’t want to hold her. She braced a hand against the gate post — the same one Evander had missed — and took a breath that felt like the first one in hours.

Then her surroundings sank in.

String lights. Dozens of them, stretched between the pines, throwing warm gold across grass still trampled from dancing. Rows of beautifully set tables under a tent with a makeshift dance floor, all filled with people who were watching her with varying degrees of curiosity. A catering table sat along the fence, covered in half-empty platters and abandoned glasses. A tiered cake on a separate table, pristine and untouched, three layers of white frosting and fresh flowers that matched the ones in the archway.