A Forgotten Mail-Order Bride Helped a Wounded Cowboy, Not Knowing He Owned the Largest Ranch

Chapter 2

Getting him onto the horse nearly broke her.

Amelia hooked her arms under his shoulders and pulled. His boots dragged furrows through the dust, leaving dark trails in the fading light. Dead weight — that’s what folks called it, and now she understood why. Every muscle in her back screamed. Her knees buckled twice before she managed to prop him against a boulder.

The chestnut stood patient, watching her with large liquid eyes, breath warm against her cheek, smelling of grass and sweat and fear.

“Come on now,” she gritted. She grabbed his belt with one hand, his collar with the other. “You got to help me. Just a little.”

Something flickered across his face. Consciousness, maybe. Or just pain. His good leg moved, found the stirrup. Amelia shoved from below, teeth clenched, arms burning — and somehow, she would never quite remember how — he ended up draped across the saddle like a sack of grain.

She took the reins and started walking.

The creek bed stretched ahead, pale stones glowing in the last purple light of evening. Half a mile, he’d said. The night sounds began — crickets chirring in the brush, an owl calling somewhere up the canyon, the soft rush of water over rock. Amelia kept her eyes on the ground, watching for roots and holes that might trip her in the dark, her mother’s watch bouncing softly against her hip with every step.