Chapter 1Vista Valle, Arizona Territory
May, 1889
Bending low over her mount’s neck, Beatrice McIntyre urged the black mare on, driving her to run, heedless of unseen obstacles. She knew she risked a bad fall in the dark. At this point, she didn’t care. Almost from her arrival, she’d been thinking about escaping. Tonight, with Michael Murdoch away and the crew engrossed in spring roundup, had delivered her best opportunity to put a vague plan into action.
Cat claw mesquite branches slashed at her face. Although she heard the tearing sounds as they ripped her dress with their wicked hooked thorns, she ducked her head, forging on. In a few minutes, she’d be in the creek, where the mare’s hooves would leave no tracks to be followed. Then she could slow down, but not before, just in case an
