Suddenly, he lifted his head, his eyes drawn to the window. “Did you hear that?”
Eliza heard only the sound of her heart racing. “No, what…”
“Miss Eliza!” John shouted, pounding on the door. “Somebody’s comin’. He’s almost here!”
Ford pushed her away, grabbing his pants and gun belt from the edge of the bed. He pulled on his pants, looped the belt low over his hips, and reached for his boots, not bothering with his shirt or hat. His eyes were flints, all business. He barely spared her a glance before rushing out of the room, throwing over his shoulder a single order: “Stay out of the way.”
Like she had to be told.
“What should I do?” John asked, ignoring Ford.
“We’ll go wait in the guest room.” she said. “At least a stray bullet won’t hit us if we’re back there, right?” 2