by DiAnn Mills
“If you’re after Jenkins’s reward, he’ll thank you and blow a hole through your heart.”
“I imagine so, if that’s what I planned,” he said. “I told you before. I’m doing this for selfish reasons. Jenkins and I have a score to settle . . . and you’re the bait. Though if you feel grateful for the guide down the mountains, you can cook breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
She glanced around at the open space, a clear target for anyone. “It’s a deal, except I don’t like the idea of being the worm on your hook.” The doubts about him lingered like a pesky burr. “I don’t feel like announcing our breakfast to the whole country, either.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His turquoise eyes sparkled and angered her. “I know a spot where we can see up or down the creek. Does that suit you better?”
“Much better.” Was he testing her, and if so, for what?
She wanted to know his business now, but patience might save her skin. The snow-covered mountains behind them had nearly won. How amazing that something so beautiful could be so dangerous. Folks said the same thing about her. She used to like hearing them, but not anymore.
“They’re most likely stirring up there with no idea you made it out during the night. Jenkins is cunning, and only God knows where they really are. We best eat and push on. Whereabouts you headed?”
She nearly laughed at his attempt to gain information. “Not sure.” She tucked a few strands of hair under her hat. “In the beginning, I only wanted to get away, but I can’t decide in which direction. West to California or on to Oregon sounds good, or even back east where the country’s civilized.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you’d fit into city life.”
“You’re probably right.” She stole another look at the mountains. Oh, how she’d like to believe she’d left the misery behind. “But I have to go somewhere, and I need to make up my mind.”
“Why not Texas?”
“Most wanted faces end up there or in Arizona. I’d like to think I’m different.”
“It’s a big territory. You could lose yourself in some remote town and start all over again.”
“Suppose you’re right. I’ve been there a few times and liked what I saw. You could ride for days from the spindly pines in the east to the dry plains of the far west. There isn’t much law, though—almost as wild as here.”
“Texas Rangers have cleaned it up.”
Did he think that was comforting? “Thanks. Sounds like my kind of place.” She laughed, and he joined her. “Do you always hand out good advice to outlaws?”
“I’m only suggesting. Of course, I’m partial. Can’t think of anywhere else on this earth I’d rather be, especially the hill country between Austin and San Antonio.”
“Do you have family there?” They talked easily, almost as though they were friends.
“Some,” he said. “My folks were originally from this part of the country, near Vernal, but they moved to Texas after the war.”
Now I see why you know this area. Suspicion settled into her bones. Vernal lay about twenty-five miles south, a rough town known for its ability to hide the worst of men. Its well-deserved reputation could have easily driven out a respectable family or caused a bounty hunter to set down roots. Before this was all over, she’d find out who Morgan’s identity. Then she’d see how friendly he really was.
“Did Tim know when you left?”
She questioned whether to answer him. Finally she figured she had nothing to lose. “No.”
“Just wondered.” Morgan pointed to a spot several yards to the right of them. “We’ll be fine back in the brush. I can fish if you’ll build a fire.”
Once Casey had gathered enough kindling and wood, she reached into her saddlebag for a precious match to light it, then nursed along the flame. Nearly sick with exhaustion, she sat on a log and closed her eyes. Her weakened condition had dulled her mind, but she had to keep her wits. The smell of burning wood tugged at her senses, and she remembered dried beef and hard biscuits the morning before. Her stomach craved food . . . her mind craved her guns . . . her heart craved freedom.
She warmed her hands over the flames and went through the motions of making coffee—the last of it. The comforts of a home sounded mighty grand, and she thought back to the last time she ate a decent meal, slept in a real bed, or enjoyed the luxury of a tub bath. Most likely at a brothel while the gang enjoyed the ladies. At least a real home now had substance and meaning. Sitting motionless, she fought the urge to sleep. Birds sang around her like a mama humming a lullaby. In an effort to stay awake, she pulled a hairbrush from her saddlebag and began to ease out every tangle she could find. The thought of searching through Morgan’s saddlebags for a gun nudged her, but she figured he had one eye on her and a revolver strapped to his belt. A quick glimpse in his direction confirmed her suspicions.
“Watching me, are you?” she said.
“That’s my job.”
Frustration inched through her. He had to rest sometime. A short while later, the smell of roasting fish yanked at her stomach. She could have eaten it raw.
They ate in silence. She preferred it—gave her time to plan a way out of this mess. Morgan yawned. When he slept, she’d make her move.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Don’t you want to rest awhile? The horses are wore out.”
“I said we’re getting out of here.” He doused the fire, and she saw a change in him. Hard. Cold. Hate.
Jenkins must have been on his mind.
They headed downstream toward Green River. The two rode side by side. Neither spoke.
“Just who are you?” she finally said.
“A man bent on ridding innocent folks of Davis Jenkins, and you’re going to help me.”
“How you going to do it?”
“Told you before. Use you as bait. Trade you for a chance to get Jenkins out in the open.”
The picture that crossed her mind wasn’t pretty. “What did he do to you?”
She waited for a reply. Nothing. Morgan reminded her of a mountain cat stalking his prey until the right moment to go in for the kill. But she had to give him credit. He was clever. For that trait, he’d earned her respect.
As the sun brightened, the water shimmered in a deep shade of bluish green—such a splendid sight after the preceding day’s dismal white—and they passed bare trees broken only by an occasional pine. All around the sweet, fragrant smells of new plants filled her nostrils. Her spirits lifted, and she wasn’t sure why. One man trailed her, and another held her captive. Maybe she’d crossed the line into madness.
Last night, she vowed she wouldn’t be camping this night along the Green River, but things had changed. She hated not being in control. Of course, once Jenkins made it down the mountain, he’d be right behind them. Soon she’d learn the truth about how Morgan planned to pull Jenkins into the open. Why hadn’t he shot the animal when he saw him and Tim riding together? Maybe she’d find the answer to that too.
Jenkins was a driving fool, relentless and easily agitated when he wanted something. He thought nothing of pushing horses and men till they dropped. When the time came to find fresh mounts, he’d steal from a nearby ranch or from other outlaws who might have horses hidden in a canyon. The frightening thought spurred her on.
With a heavy heart, she turned her attention to the peaceful countryside. Twisted pine trees grew monumental against a backdrop of slate-gray rock, timeless in a territory governed by lawless men. Somehow the beauty of nature clashed with the upheaval, or maybe it merely offered a reprieve for those who seldom took the time to appreciate its beauty.
“Brown’s Park has been a favorite spot for horse thieves ever since those days following the Civil War,” Morgan said, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t know it had been used that long.”
“It borders on the Wyoming and Utah territories and the state of Colorado. Seems to stop lawmen cold and keeps them confused as to jurisdictio
n. Just think about all the hideaways where outlaws can winter stolen animals.”
Did Morgan think she was stupid, or was he nervous and just talking? Of course she knew those spots. She’d been to most of them, and he knew it.
About a mile south flowed Crouse Creek. Casey anticipated meeting up with familiar faces at the crossing. The creek ranked as the most secluded spot in Brown’s Park. Unfortunately, some of the most detestable creatures known to humankind roamed there. Would Morgan want to wait there for Jenkins? She had to think of something soon. From the corner of her eye, she saw he’d slung her rifle over the other side of his saddle. At the first chance, she’d get it and break loose.
“Do you want to go wading?” Morgan said.
She shivered at the thought. “We nearly froze to death last night, and now you want to catch your death of cold?”
“It might wake us up.”
“I’d rather find a place to sleep.” She lifted her hat, then tucked her hair up before plopping it back on. “Providing I live through this, are you going to let me go?”
“I could use the reward.”
Too bad he had her knife too.
“I like this time of year best,” he said. “It might be the sight of things growing or winter passing, but whatever it is, the weather makes me feel lazy.”
“I don’t want to be lazy yet.”
“Didn’t you just say you wanted to find a place to sleep?”
“I’ll sleep when I don’t have to run from somebody.” And Jenkins isn’t the only man I need to watch out for.
He stared at her oddly, and a nerve twitched in his cheek. “Casey, during those years with Jenkins, did you ever spend much time in one place?”
She laughed at his ludicrous question. “No, but I did think on it.”
The two rode farther downstream and forded the river. The water splashed up cold against her legs, and soon she chilled to the bone. Suddenly Casey felt uneasy. She noticed Morgan had glanced back more than once. Foreboding bit at her heels. Jenkins must be close behind.
Chapter 3
In the distance, the shouts of men echoed from upstream. Casey drew in a ragged breath and strained to listen.
“Jenkins is making better time than I expected.” Morgan pulled his chestnut mare to a halt. “But we need to throw ’em. I know of a cave farther downstream that’s hidden beneath a ledge of rock. Have you been there?”
“No, and I’ve ridden up and down this riverbank with Jenkins plenty of times.”
They crossed on through cold water to the opposite bank and rode on toward a wall of brown and gray rock covered by sparse growth. She studied each crack and tree that jutted from the side, but her trained eyes couldn’t find the cave.
He cocked his rifle and dismounted. “We need to lead the horses.”
Casey slid from Stoney and followed Morgan through a narrow path lined with brush to the cave’s opening. Morgan picked up a limb and handed it to her. She used it as a brush to cover their tracks, thinking about the times she’d done this very thing to hide from lawmen. Inside the cool and dank quarters, she blinked several times until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. With the horses, they barely had room to turn around. She hated closed-in places. They always made her anxious. The smell of the animals coupled with mustiness aroused a whirlpool of recollections. In the past, she’d hidden from the law, not Jenkins. And he’d outsmarted every posse and lawman in the country.
Morgan pointed to a bramble and leaf-covered slice of rock. “We can see the river’s edge from there.” He pushed away just enough of the obstruction to see outside.
Long moments trickled by while they stared at the riverbank.
“Are you thinking this is what I planned?” he said.
She looked beyond the opposite creek bank for signs of Jenkins before answering. “Looks that way to me. Not sure, though. You’re a peculiar man.” She noted his square jaw and concluded it gave him a determined look, but for what? “Have you led me into a trap?”
“Not intentionally. I never planned to get you or me killed.”
“The bait always loses. So what do we do now?”
“Wait a few more minutes. From the prickling on the back of my neck, it won’t be long.”
Within moments, Casey saw the first signs of the gang riding into view. Her heart slammed against her chest. If Jenkins had ridden such a short distance behind them, then they must have started down the mountain last night. Suspicions about Morgan’s motives tugged at her mind. The two men must have talked before Morgan stepped into her campsite. Her gaze rested on her rifle and the saddlebag that held her Colt and derringer.
“Odd how they picked up our trail right after we broke camp,” she said.
“Think what you want.”
Nothing in his expression revealed deceit. Although he didn’t show signs of fear, she’d seen that emotion bring out other types of reactions in a man—anger, overconfidence, or loss of good sense.
“I wish I knew how they got here so fast.” Casey craned her neck to count how many men rode in pursuit. “Or maybe I don’t want to know.”
Morgan continued to study the men. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but if I’m one of them, why are we hiding?”
“You tell me.”
Not a muscle flinched. “Time will prove my words.”
“So it will.”
Silence seemed deafening. The waiting, the endless waiting.
“I’ve met men twice your size who weren’t nearly as tough,” Morgan said.
“Or as mean when I’m riled.” She started to say more, but the sight of those she knew by name riding along the opposite riverbank caused the words to die in her throat.
Casey inwardly shuddered. Through the brush, she viewed her brother beside Jenkins. What part would Tim play if Jenkins discovered them? Surely he felt some sort of compassion for her. In the years they’d ridden with Jenkins, Casey had watched her brother change from a kind, misguided young man to a ruthless killer. No surprise he rode with them.
Her gaze moved from her brother to Jenkins. The outlaw sat tall and proud, as though he led an army brigade instead of a gang of outlaws. She well recognized his coal-black hair and the way he carried his rifle across the saddle.
The whole bunch rode in pursuit of one woman. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if they caught her . . . or if they already had. Panic rose and burned in her chest, and her stomach curdled worse than day-old milk. It couldn’t be much more than noon, but the whole mad race from Jenkins could be over.
“I guess Jenkins knows about this cave after all,” she said. “He has the eyes of an eagle and the tactics of an angry rattler.”
“Most likely so.”
“Is there a way out?”
“Just through the front, the way we came in.” He rubbed a bristled chin. “And I thought I was clever.”
In that instant Casey wanted to believe Morgan spoke the truth.
“If only Jenkins rode within rifle range,” she said. “But I’m not so sure I want any of them on this side of the river.”
“Gunfire would send the rest in our direction with little time for us to get away.”
Neither spoke about the gang choosing to rush them or smoke them out. The thought invited either a dance with death or a mercilessly slow torture. How long could they hold them off in a rock coffin?
The outlaws rode alongside the Green River until they disappeared. Not once did Jenkins’s gaze cast a shadow on the cave. Caution stopped her from believing she was safe. After all, Morgan had his plans.
Silently, Casey waited, still expecting the band to leap out from nowhere. She noted the afternoon sun begin its slow descent and send dazzling jewels across the water. It glistened brilliantly as though the world lay in peace.
“They’re back,” Morgan said.
The gang rode upstream on the cave’s side. Her blood ran cold. Jenkins most likely enjoyed this cunning game of wit.
Think. I h
ave a man on the outside who wants me dead, and one in the inside who I can’t trust.
The hollow faces filed by. She could almost smell the leather and the unwashed bodies mixed with cheap whiskey. Some of them she’d known since the beginning. Others only a short while. She’d dug out bullets from a few and helped bury their partners, but all were ready to take their orders from Jenkins. I shouldn’t have been so proud—should have slept with a few of them or promised to run off with ’em.
They rode slowly along the river’s edge several yards in front of the cave. Each one looked as if he’d given up hope of finding her. Mumbling and cursing rose above the splashing of water and the calls of nature. Once she thought Tim stared straight into the overhanging rock. Jenkins, however, kept his sight fixed on the river, appearing to concentrate on its ripple and flow.
Casey willed her heart to slow. She suddenly realized the closeness of the man beside her. His breath, warm against her face, and his presence unnerved her. If he wanted to kill Jenkins, now was the chance. Uncomfortable, she stepped back. Somehow she found herself lost in the vortex of his eyes. Logic told her to break free of his visual hold, but instead she sunk her heart into forbidden turquoise pools.
“They’re not leaving,” she whispered. “It’s all a game.”
“Casey,” Morgan said, “don’t you wonder why you and I have ended up like this together?”
She turned from him. “I don’t have time to think on it. I’m more concerned about coming out of this alive.” She shook with the tension flaring between them.
“Mark my word. There’s a reason.” He lowered his rifle yet maintained his watch. “And I don’t know why either.”
“Thought you wanted Jenkins. I’m the bait, remember?”
“That’s exactly what I told you.” He stared back at the men and groaned. “They’re camping in front of us.”
Alarm threatened to strangle her. Already she could sense Jenkins’s murderous hands around her neck. Whether he planned to wait for nightfall or force them out at his whim made little difference. She’d turn her gun on herself before facing his fury.
