Prologue

       “Help me!”

      Her cry broke through the night, a long, loud, desperate scream.

      Mark Montgomery had been standing on his front porch, staring up at the starry sky, but at that terrified call, he whirled around. At first he didn’t see her. The darkness was too thick.

       Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

      He heard the unmistakable sound of a horse’s hooves pounding across the ground. Someone was riding fast and hard, coming straight toward him.

      He leapt off the porch.

       “Help me!”

      Her cry was even louder this time—and it was definitely a woman’s voice. But there weren’t any women at his ranch tonight. His mother had passed years ago, and there weren’t any female ranch hands scheduled for a shift.

      Then he saw the horse. It burst into the clearing near his house. The horse was a beautiful big black mare that he recognized—that was Lady. And Lady...Lady belonged to the McGuires, his neighbors who lived about ten miles away.

       What the—?

      A small figure was curled low on Lady’s back, hugging the horse tightly. The horse’s sides were shaking, its body wet with sweat after what must have been a brutal ride.

      A ride in the middle of the night?

      “M-Mark?”

      And he knew that voice. Not screaming now, but soft, almost broken. He wanted to run toward that horse and rider, but he was afraid of spooking Lady, so he approached slowly, carefully. When the horse neighed, he reached out and softly touched Lady’s mane. “It’s okay.” Then he reached up for the rider—Ava.

      He could see her now. There was no mistaking Ava McGuire, not with that long, wild tumble of her hair. The moonlight and starlight spilled down onto her face, and the fear there made him lose his breath.

      Some of his ranch hands had come into the yard, but they stayed a few feet back. “Get the horse!” Mark ordered as he pulled Ava off Lady.

      She was like ice in his hands, and hard, heavy trembles kept raking her delicate frame. Ava had five brothers, all big, hulking military types, and Ava—the baby of the family—she was different. Delicate... Fragile... She was—

      Crying. Because he’d just touched her cheeks and he could feel the wetness there. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “What is it? What’s happened?”

      “Sh-shot...”

      He could barely make out what she was saying.

      “They...they were waiting...in the h-house...”

      He caught her arms and eased back so that his gaze could sweep over her. “Ava, did someone hurt you?” Rage pumped through him. Ava was only sixteen. If some jerks had hurt her, he would make them pay.

      Her teeth were chattering. “Dead.” She seemed to push out the word. “I’m scared. They’re—dead.”

      Mark’s