“Anybody ever tell you you’re damn irritating?”
Ace smiled, revealing even white teeth and a charm the ladies appreciated. “Nobody whose opinion mattered.”
“What do you think we’re going to do?”
“Culbart isn’t an idiot.”
“No, he’s not.”
“You’re going to have to do something.”
“I could just walk up to the front door. Say hello.”
“There’s a slight chance he’ll shoot you down before you get halfway across the yard.”
“Why? He won’t like the set of my hat?”
“He won’t like the fact that you’re Hell’s Eight. Don’t forget what Fei did to his men.”
“There’s always a chance he doesn’t know that Fei married up with Shadow.”
“A very faint chance.”
Yeah. News did travel fast. “Well, one way or the other, I’ve got to get into that house.”
“I could go.”
“Why you?”
“I’m more even-tempered.”
“Somehow I don’t see Culbart appreciating your even temper.”
“You think he’s going to appreciate you swinging?”
“I think I’m going to want you with that rifle up here on the hill covering my ass in case I have to break out of there fast.”
“So you’re using the excuse that I’m a better distance shot.”
“You’re always bragging on the skill. About time you proved it.”
“This isn’t much of a plan, you know.”
Caden nodded. “We have to know if she’s there.”
“True enough.”
Ace reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a derringer. Caden looked at him.
“You been chewing on locoweed?”
Ace handed the weapon to him. Caden took it reluctantly. A derringer was a woman’s gun or, worse, a cardsharp’s.
“They’re gonna search you for weapons, but they aren’t going to expect you to be hiding something this small.”
“And where would you have me put it?”
Ace looked up. “Under your hat. I don’t know, down your pants. Stick it wherever the hell you want. Just stick it somewhere you can reach it quickly in case things go bad. You’re not going to do Maddie any good if you’re dead.”
That was true enough. Caden took the gun. He debated putting it under his hat, but really, that wasn’t a secure option. Instead, he slid it up his sleeve and tied the wristband tighter.
“What time you plan on going over?”
“No time like the present.”
It was early in the day. Everybody was there. There’d be less suspicion.
“If we waited until later, the hands would be out.”
“If we waited until later, they’d be more gun happy. I want them to feel safe. For now.”
“I don’t like this plan.”
“I don’t like it, either, but you got another option?”
“I still think I should go in.”
“And I still say no.”
Maddie was his responsibility. And she’d waited long enough for him.
* * *
CADEN HADN’T EXPECTED to be able to just walk right up to the door, so he wasn’t surprised when within a quarter mile of the ranch he was met by two men on horseback, guns drawn. Culbart wasn’t a fool and these were dangerous times.
“Stranger,” the older man with the graying beard greeted him.
Caden nodded back. “Mornin’.”
“What brings you around these parts?”
Caden took the measure of the men, their hard eyes, their dirty appearance and the way their fingers rested on the triggers of their well-tended guns. Culbart didn’t hire fools.
“Business.”
“What kind of business could you have way out here?”
Caden smiled. “Nothing I care to talk about with you.”
The other man with him, not a youngster but clearly younger, maybe even family because he had the same muddy-colored eyes and the same set to his narrow mouth, spat.
“Well, if you want to get any farther than six feet under right now, I suggest you be telling us the nature of your business.”
“I came to talk to Culbart about a filly.” He figured it was a safe gambit. Everyone knew Culbart aimed to beat out Hell’s Eight as a breeder of horses.
The younger man rode around until he could see the brand on Jester’s side.
“Since when do Hell’s Eight go searching for fillies?”
“Since we’re always on the lookout for new breeding stock. Can’t improve the herd without it.”
It was the truth. The older man grunted. “What’s your name, stranger?”
“Caden Miller.”
Only by a blink of an eye and a tightening of his hand on the trigger did either man give any indication his name meant anything. Caden made note of the response. Only hired guns had that instinctive shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later attitude.
With a motion of the gun barrel, the older man indicated to go forward.
“I can find my own way. No need to give up your post.”
“You let us worry about the guard here. You just worry about keeping your hands clear of those guns.”
From that Caden deduced, they were done with their shift, and their replacements were in position. Another thing to note. Culbart’s men weren’t slipshod when it came to switching the guard. That was going to complicate things.
Nobody attempted to make conversation on the ride up to the ranch. Caden didn’t, either. Silence worked for him. It gave him time to study the lay of the land, looking for potential dangers, spots to hide and whatever he might need to utilize on the escape. There was no telling what condition Maddie would be in. He had to prepare for any eventuality. His index finger pulled on an imaginary trigger. If she was hurt at all, they were all going to die. Maddie was Hell’s Eight. More than that, she was his friend.
Caden was the center of attention when they rode into the ranch. He wasn’t surprised. He doubted the Fallen C got many visitors. The remoteness of the location, plus the hostiles around, pretty much guaranteed that. Under the watchful eyes of his guards, he swung down from Jester. Cutting a glance at his guards, he mentioned too casually, “I expect to be leaving with all that I came with.”
The younger man spat to the side. “I’d worry more about leaving with your life.”
He looped Jester’s reins around the hitching rail in front of the wide porch. “I make a habit of taking it with me.”
The man said something under his breath. Caden ignored it.
No boards gave under Caden’s feet as he climbed the three steps to the porch itself. It was built solid, the planks evenly spaced. More evidence of Culbart’s attention to detail. The door opened before he could knock. Culbart himself filled the entry. He was a big bear of a man, with a bushy beard, bushy mustache and piercing gray eyes under shaggy brown hair. He looked more mountain man than prosperous rancher, but one thing a body learned fast out here was that a man couldn’t be judged by his appearance.
“Who the hell are you?” Culbart demanded.
The man not only looked like a bear, he had the growly voice of one.
Caden touched his finger to his hat. “Caden Miller.”
Culbart’s eyes narrowed. “From Hell’s Eight?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell you doing out here?”
“Says he’s got business about a filly.”
Culbart said to the older man, “I imagine the man can speak for himself, Dickens.”
Dickens snapped his mouth shut and his shoulders tensed. No love lost there, Caden deduced. He made a note of it.
“Did you bring money?” Culbart asked.
“I brought the word of Hell’s Eight. That not good enough for you?”
Culbart hesitated and snorted then stepped back. “Leave your guns on the porch and come on in and we’ll discuss it.”
Caden unbuckled his gu
n belt. “Not very hospitable, are you?”
“I’m offering you a drink rather than a meal of lead. Count yourself lucky.”
As Caden put his guns on the chair by the door, he took in the rancher’s size and muscle and aggressive posture. A prudent man probably would count himself lucky. There weren’t many men who could take him in a fight, but Culbart just might be one of them. Too bad he wasn’t prudent.
He stepped through the door. The inside of the house was just as utilitarian and rough as its owner. The space was large but efficiently laid out. The kitchen opened to the living room with its large fireplace. To the left he could see a short hallway with doors off it. From the number of chimneys on the outside of the house, he had to assume those were the bedrooms and that each had its own fireplace. Culbart was a man who liked his creature comforts.
“Nice place,” Caden observed.
Culbart grunted and waved him into one of the big horsehair chairs. He might like his creature comforts, but the man’s social graces were lacking. Caden recalled Ace’s speculation about Culbart’s need for a wife. A woman to soften his edges would be an asset for sure.
Culbart walked over to the chest against the wall and pulled out a whiskey bottle and two shot glasses. Without any fanfare, he poured two glasses and brought them over. Caden took his glass. With another wave of his hand, Culbart motioned him into his seat and then took his own.
“So Hell’s Eight is looking to improve its breeding stock, huh?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“What sort of filly are you looking for?”
Caden took a sip of the whiskey. Despite the simple glass and the rough presentation, it was quality. Another indication Culbart intended to go somewhere. A man who wanted to go somewhere wasn’t a man who wanted it known he was holding a woman hostage unless he had a sense of self-importance as big as all outdoors. Culbart struck Caden as a confident man but not a vain one.
“The Fallen C has some of the best stock around,” Culbart said before taking a sip of his own whiskey, pausing just long enough to imply otherwise before adding, “Next to Hell’s Eight, of course.”
Caden smiled the same fake smile that Culbart gave him. “Of course.”
“So what kind of horse are you looking for? What stock?”
Caden dropped the pretense. “A pretty little redhead.”
Culbart’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I have such a thing?”
Caden’s smile slipped just as fast as Culbart’s did. Leaning forward, he placed the button on the arm of Culbart’s chair.
Culbart eyed the button speculatively before picking it up and putting it in his pocket. “Thank you for returning that. They’re custom-made and expensive.”
Caden was done with games. “You’ve got something that belongs to Hell’s Eight. We want it back.”
Culbart didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Last I heard, Hell’s Eight didn’t believe in slavery.”
“We don’t. But we keep what’s ours.”
“The little filly in question didn’t say a thing about being yours.”
Caden would have a talk with Maddie about that just as soon as he saw her. The first words out of her mouth ever should have been a claim to Hell’s Eight.
“It doesn’t change the fact that she is.”
“Matter of fact,” Culbart continued, “she seemed quite pleased to be with us. Set to homemaking right off. Started baking bread and even demanded the ingredients so she could fix us a cake.”
Baking had become Maddie’s refuge. Caden didn’t find the news comforting.
“She’s a right fine baker.”
“That she is. Hard thing to come by out here.”
“She can’t cook worth a damn, though.”
That was an idiosyncrasy that drove Tia crazy. She couldn’t figure out how anyone who could bake a cake to light as a feather couldn’t complete a meal without smoking up the house. It was a mystery to Caden, too.
“I’ve already got a cook.”
And through that statement, Culbart let it be known he wasn’t going to give Maddie up easily. It galled the shit out of Caden to even make the suggestion, but his first duty was to Maddie, and if an exchange of cash would do the job, then he’d do it.
“Hell’s Eight, of course, would be happy to compensate you for your loss of a baker.”
Culbart leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers before him, tapping them together. He gave even more of an impression of a bear, and not a friendly one.
“Well, if it was just her baking skills that would be missed, that might be adequate. But we’ve grown right fond of Miss Maddie.”
“We?”
“Myself and the boys. She’s a woman of many skills. We wouldn’t want her going off just anywhere and maybe being unhappy because promises that were made to her weren’t kept.”
The only promise Caden had made Maddie and hadn’t kept was the one where he said he wouldn’t leave before she could say goodbye. That wasn’t one he’d be breaking again.
“Then it appears to me we have a problem. You have something that Hell’s Eight values highly.”
Culbart stopped tapping his fingers together. “It’s not Hell’s Eight I see sitting here.”
“It doesn’t matter what you see, Culbart, it matters what is. Maddie is Hell’s Eight and we want her back.”
“You’re not going to get anywhere with me with that tactic.”
The derringer weighed heavily in his shirtsleeve. It would be so easy to put a bullet between the other man’s eyes. “What tactic would you like?”
“Well, boy, it appears to me that I have something you want, and unless you come up with something I want, one of us is going to end this meeting unhappy.”
Fuck. Nowhere in all the information he’d collected about Culbart had anyone said the man wheeled and dealed, but looking into his eyes, it was easy to see this was a skilled negotiator.
“What do you want, Culbart?”
“That’s not a very friendly attitude.”
Caden stood. “I’m not feeling friendly.”
Culbart remained sitting. “The Indians ran off with my prime stud the other day.”
“And? You want me to get it back?”
“If I thought there was a chance in hell of that, I’d do it myself, but I heard tell that stallion of yours threw a new foal that looks to be just as promising as his dad.”
Dammit to hell and back. “That horse is worth more than this whole ranch put together.”
Culbart shrugged, a shrewd look coming into his eyes while the rest of his expression remained unchanged.
“You told me to name my price and I did. A stud for a filly. Seems a fair trade to me.” Setting his glass on the table, he stood. “You can get back to me in a couple days on it.”
That horse’d already been promised to someone else.
“We’ll settle this now.”
“Dickens,” Culbart hollered.
Dickens came through the door, a rifle cradled in his arms. “Escort our guest off my property,” Culbart ordered.
What the hell? “I want to see Maddie.”
Culbart motioned Dickens forward. “You’re in no position to be making demands.”
“If you’ve hurt her—”
“If I hurt her then all the threats in the world won’t undo it.”
The son of a bitch. The only thing that kept Caden from tearing into Culbart was Dickens’s rifle in his chest.
“Don’t do it, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
“No, you’re not, but I’d still advise against it.”
Caden snarled under his breath. Fuck it. Knocking the barrel aside, he drove his fist into Dickens’s mouth. The man dropped to the ground, the rifle clanking on the floor beside him. Caden turned, ignoring Dickens’s curses.
“You’re going to regret this, Culbart.”
“Maybe.” Culbart stood and came over, stepping past Dickens’s prone bo
dy, meeting the anger in Caden’s eyes without a flicker of fear. “But Hell’s Eight aren’t the only ones who watch out for what’s theirs. Best you remember that, lad, before you come back in two days.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He placed his hand on the door. “It means when you come back, you’d best bring your manners.”
“Fuck you.”
“Better ones than that.”
The door shut behind him with a decisive thud.
CHAPTER SIX
ACE WAS WAITING for him at the campsite. In his hand he held four rabbit carcasses. Since Culbart knew they were there, there was no need to hide their presence any longer.
“Is she there?” Ace asked
Caden nodded and dismounted. “As far as I can tell.” He pointed to the carcasses. “Supper?”
“Beats jerky.”
It sure did.
“What does ‘as far as I can tell’ mean?” Ace asked.
Caden shook his head and dropped Jester’s reins to the ground in a grassy spot, letting the horse graze. “The hell if I know.”
“Is she there or not?” Frustration bit through Ace’s tone. Caden knew exactly how he felt.
“Oh, she’s there.”
“Is she all right?”
“I assume so.”
Ace’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell happened?”
Caden hunkered down on the opposite side of the fire. “We’ve got an invite to come back in two days.”
“Why two days?”
“I don’t know.”
Ace sat back. “I knew I should have gone in.”
“You any good at avoiding a bullet from one inch away?” Caden asked, cocking a brow at Ace.
“No. Then I wouldn’t go hoping to do any better.”
Caden shook his head again. “No, I didn’t get that impression.”
Ace looked up. “Well, what exactly do you know?”
“That Culbart isn’t what we were led to believe.”
“He isn’t a conscienceless opportunist?” There was a touch of mockery in Ace’s tone.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea he’s an opportunist, but it’s the conscienceless part I’m not sure about.”
“That will complicate things.”
Caden grabbed some wood and threw it on the fire before grabbing one of the rabbits off the rock. “Tell me about it.” It was always cleaner to deal with scum. Caden took his knife from his sheath. The blade glinted in the sun.
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