Jake fired behind him, clinging to the horse with his knees as easily as any Apache brave. He’d caught a glimpse of the passengers, in particular a pale, dark-eyed girl in a dark blue bonnet. His Apache cousins would’ve enjoyed that one, he thought dispassionately as he bolstered his guns.

He could see the driver, an arrow piercing one shoulder, struggling to regain control of the horses. He was doing his best, despite the pain, but he wasn’t strong enough to shove the brake down. Swearing, Jake pushed his horse on until he was close enough to the racing coach to gain a handhold.

For one endless second he hung by his fingers alone. Sarah caught a glimpse of a dusty shirt and one powerful forearm, a long, leather-clad leg and a scarred boot. Then he was up, scrambling over the top of the coach. The woman beside her screamed again, then fainted dead away when they stopped. Too terrified to sit, Sarah pushed open the door of the coach and climbed out.

The man in the gray hat was already getting down.

“Ma’am,” he said as he moved past her.

She pressed a hand to her drumming heart. No hero had ever been so heroic. “You saved our lives,” she managed, but he didn’t even glance her way.

“Redman.” The passenger who’d drunk the whiskey stepped out. “Glad you stopped by.”

“Lucius.” Jake picked up the reins of his horse and proceeded to calm him. “There were only six of them.”

“They’re getting away,” Sarah blurted out. “Are you just going to let them get away?”

Jake looked at the cloud of dust from the retreating horses, then back at Sarah. He had time now for a longer, more interested study. She was tiny, with East stamped all over her pretty face. Her hair, the color of honeycombs, was tumbling down from her bonnet.

She looked as if she’d just stepped out of the school

room, and she smelled like a cheap saloon. He had to grin.