Neither Ryan nor Miller dared mention they’d managed to rob three people and make off with hundreds of dollars in cash, food and supplies, countless other amounts in jewelry, a gun and a full tank of gas.
When Dan returned, he said of the car, “Reported stolen in Ft. Worth almost two weeks ago.”
“Bingo,” the sheriff said. He walked back to the SUV, stowed the binoculars and loaded his shotgun. “Let’s bring these guys in.”
Ryan’s adrenaline spiked. He wasn’t suicidal by any stretch of the imagination, especially when a pretty, petite blonde waited for him back in town. Regardless of Ginger’s reservations, he’d already convinced himself he could win her back. He just had to keep from getting his head blown off.
They made their way down to the valley, using the thick patches of forest and shrubbery to conceal themselves. A good hundred yards from the cabin, they stopped and listened for any sort of activity. All seemed quiet on the home front.
Sheriff Johnson said in a low voice, “Miller and I will take the entrance. Dan, you cover the back. Try to get beneath that window we were looking at without being noticed. Ryan, take cover behind that cord of wood by the shed. They might make a run for it out the backdoor.”
The deputies nodded and the group dispersed, moving as swiftly as possible. Ryan and Dan were the youngest and stealthiest. Sheriff Johnson wove his way easily through the overgrown bushes until Ryan lost sight of him. Miller was a bit hindered by his age and the fact he was no longer in prime physical condition. The two men storming the front would likely force the robbers out the back, or the window, as the sheriff banked on, and Ryan positioned himself behind the woodpile, carefully peeking around the stack to keep an eye on the cabin. His gun drawn, he was poised and ready for whatever came his way.
That did not, however, keep his pulse from raging so loudly in his ears it was a wonder he could hear the sheriff shout out his warning to the thieves before the splintering of wood echoed in the quiet valley. He’d likely busted down the door with his foot.
Ryan’s gaze never left the backdoor, but he was cognizant of his surroundings and so f
ocused, he could see even the slightest of movements out of his peripheral vision. While two shots rang out from inside the cabin, he saw the burly redhead, who’d been sprawled across Ginger several days ago, lumber toward the shed from the north side. Not an effective hideout, so perhaps the sheriff was right. These guys might not be too bright.
Dan popped his head up and assessed the situation in the cabin through the window, then signaled to Ryan all was well. In turn, Ryan gestured toward the shed, and they both made their move in that direction, his heart thundering in his chest.
There was a window along the south wall of the shed, the latter of which had holes blown into its sides, apparently from target practice—or sheer boredom. The glass pane had been shot up too, and was a mess of jagged angles. Ryan crept along one side of the cabin as Dan went in the opposite direction, toward the door.
When Dan yelled, “Sheriff’s office, hands up!” a large wooden box came flying through the window, above Ryan’s head.
Shards rained down on him and he used his arms to shield himself, though he felt a few slices from the glass along his forearms and biceps. Seconds later, the burly redhead dove out the window, landing right in front of Ryan.
The robber was on his feet a heartbeat later. Dan called out from the other side of the window, “He’s not armed!”
Ryan ignored the blood and the pain from his wounds and holstered his gun. He jumped to his feet and only needed four long strides to catch up to the redhead. He lunged forward and tackled the robber, using the precise move he’d employed with the redhead’s cohort on Friday night. He gripped the thief’s arm and pulled it behind his back, shoving it upward until the robber cried out in agony.
“That’s for Ginger,” Ryan ground out. “From now on, keep your hands to yourself.”
* * * * *
“Ginger, try to eat something,” Jess said.
“I’m really not hungry,” she countered as she picked at the slab of meatloaf and the mountain of mashed potatoes Melodie had set before her half an hour ago. Ginger pushed the food around her plate with a fork as she stole glances out the window.
She wished Madeline hadn’t gone back to the sheriff’s office. Though the dispatcher wanted to stay abreast of the situation, she wasn’t calling anyone at the diner to share news. Which likely meant there was no news to report, but still… If Madeline had stayed, she could have immediately shared any new information, had she gotten word from Conner Jenkins about what was happening outside of town. If that was where the sheriff’s posse was still located.
The sun set and twilight descended upon Wilder. Then dusk settled in and Ginger’s nerves were so frayed, she dropped her fork on her plate and pushed it aside. The pensive group surrounding her didn’t help her plight any. Even the reverend had a worried look on his face.
Ginger resisted the urge to bit her nails as the time passed. When the table had been cleared and the small talk had died, she thought she’d go half out of her mind agonizing over whether or not Ryan was okay.
Finally, Jack gave her a smile and said, “Just hang tight, darlin’. I’m sure—”
“Oh my God!” she suddenly shrieked as she leapt to her feet, knocking over her chair. “There’s Ryan.” She’d caught a glimpse of him out of the window.
Without a second thought, she ran out of the diner and raced across the street. She launched herself into his arms again, the way she had earlier. Only this time, it was out of sheer relief.
Though he held her tightly, he winced. She pulled back. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
Panic seized her insides. He’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved, button shirt in burgundy. The tense look on his face dissolved as he gave her a sexy grin.
“I’m just fine, sweetheart. ‘Specially now that I’m looking at you.”
“Tell me seriously,” she implored, tears flooding her eyes. “Are you okay?”