Wyoming Mountain Escape by Laura Scott (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📕

Brett, but she didn’t want him dead. She loved him. He was a good friend. Dear Lord in heaven, what is going on? This didn’t make any sense. Who would shoot him? On their wedding day?

And why?

“Come on.” Duncan tugged on her hand, steering her toward a cluster of trees. It was mid-June and her white gown would be glaringly obvious against the green foliage.

“But—” Another loud crack echoed around them and Duncan yanked her down and behind the base of a large tree.

“We need someplace to hide.” Duncan’s voice was calm, as if running from gunfire was an everyday occurrence.

“My gown...” Her teeth began to chatter as if she were freezing cold. “W-we’ll be t-too noticeable.”

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you.” Duncan’s deep voice was ridiculously reassuring, even though she had no idea who he was protecting her from. He swept his gaze around the area, then gestured to the left. “This way.”

She wasn’t in a position to argue. He stood and helped her up, steering her toward another large tree. The air had fallen silent, and she hoped, prayed the shooter had cut and run.

They continued their zigzag pattern using the various trees and rocks for cover, moving from one place to the next. At some level she realized Duncan was taking them deeper into the woods and up the mountain. Her ballet slippers weren’t designed for this kind of rugged terrain, and she could feel every rock and stick poking at the soles of her feet.

Duncan didn’t let up his aggressive pace, moving swiftly and silently through the woods. She risked a glance over her shoulder. They’d gone so far that she could barely see the grassy knoll or the lattice arch. Only a hint of the log cabin frame of the Teton Valley Hotel was visible through the trees.

It was as if all evidence of her wedding had vanished.

A searing guilt stabbed deep. Was this somehow her fault? That her deep desire to avoid marrying Brett had caused this to happen? No, that didn’t make any sense, but she still couldn’t shake the shroud of guilt.

Poor Brett. No one deserved to die. To be shot in the chest at his own wedding. He’d always been nice and kind to her, especially when they reunited just a few months ago at her mother’s funeral.

Maybe it was the shock of losing her mother that had caused her to turn to Brett for comfort. That made her accept his surprising proposal. At first she’d felt complete, as if this was what God wanted—for her to move on with her own life.

Until the doubts began to creep in. Growing worse as the big day approached.

Her veil caught on a low-hanging tree branch. Tears sprang to her eyes as the flowered headpiece was yanked from her hair.

“Are you okay?” Duncan’s keen gaze didn’t miss a thing.

She nodded, even though she was far from okay.

She’d never be okay again.

They continued their mountain trek until she could barely move. Finally, Duncan stopped behind an outcropping of boulders.

“We’ll rest here for a bit.”

She dropped to the ground where she stood, pulling up the ragged, dirty hem of her gown to peer at her feet. The white ballet slippers were brown and already beginning to split at the seams. Full of despair, she kept remembering the bloodstain growing in the center of Brett’s white shirt directly over his heart. Yet the horrific memory didn’t bring her to tears. Her dear friend, the man she’d promised to marry, was dead. Brutally shot at their wedding.

Why wasn’t she sobbing buckets of tears?

“Chelsey, look at me.” Duncan’s voice penetrated her internal thoughts. She lifted her head to look up at him. “I need to find fresh water for us to drink, or we’ll become severely dehydrated out here. Will you wait here? Water is trickling nearby, but I’m not sure exactly where it is.”

Dehydration? Was that why she couldn’t cry? At least that made sense, a bit of logic in a world that had suddenly turned upside down. “I’ll wait.” The words came out as a hoarse croak.

Duncan’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be back very soon.”

She nodded again, because frankly she didn’t have a choice. Now that she was sitting on the ground, she didn’t have the strength to go on. Not that sitting on the mountain all night held any appeal.

Duncan still wore his light gray tux and white shirt. His dark blue boutonniere had been lost along the way. Other than his chocolate-brown hair being damp with sweat, he didn’t show any sign of exertion. And when he moved out of her line of vision, her chest tightened with panic.

“Duncan, wait!” Her earlier exhaustion vanished. She struggled to her feet, unwilling to be left alone.

He quickly returned his dark gaze full of concern. “Easy, Chelsey, you’re going to be fine. We’re safe.”

“How do you know? What if the gunman followed us?”

“Based on the trajectory of the bullet, I believe he was on the roof of the hotel when he shot Brett. There’s no way he could have followed us through the woods.” Duncan sat beside her wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to be fine, Chelsey. We’ll get through this.”

She leaned against him, burrowing her face in the hollow of his shoulder. Maybe it was wrong to seek comfort in Duncan’s arms so soon after losing Brett, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

If anyone could get her out of this mess alive and in one piece, it was Duncan O’Hare.

Duncan cradled Chelsey close, inwardly reeling from the brutal slaying of Brett Thompson.

What in the world had his old buddy gotten involved in?

The hit had been done by a professional, there was no doubt about that. Chilling to realize just how close he’d come to losing Chelsey, too.

The second shot had been meant for her. It was the only explanation. Otherwise, why hadn’t the shooter taken off, disappearing amid the chaos?

Duncan had been in Jackson, Wyoming, for only five days, but from