you.”
No further explanation was needed because they all heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping metal and looked to Dew. She held a pair of small, lethal-looking knives and looked like she knew how to use them.
“Fast as any bullet from this range.” Dew smiled.
“There are far more creative ways of dealing with a reluctant hostage.” It was Charity’s turn to smirk. “Bring his horse around.”
Elle complied and it was quickly decided they would stick to their original plan to separate and reconvene at Two Mile. Only Dew would now create a disturbance as she rode through town, in order to create a distraction. Anyone would be suspicious of a man as elegantly dressed as their hostage riding with the two dusty cowpokes that Elle and Charity appeared to be.
Once the horses were secured, Dew mounted and rode off toward the saloon. Charity and Elle waited until they heard her gunshots, a not entirely unheard of occurrence in a town like Lindon, but enough to draw every able-bodied man in that direction, before prodding Brent outside to his horse.
He resisted the moment they reached the horses and made a move to grab the reins of his mount. Charity had anticipated his bid for freedom and pulled her knife from its sheath on her hip and jammed it against his kidney.
“My accomplice isn’t the only one with a knife,” she threatened.
“You’ll hang for this.” His low voice was forced out between gritted teeth.
“On your horse,” Charity ordered.
Soon Charity was holding his reins wrapped tightly in her gloved hand as they rode out of town. The moment the deserted street gave way to plain, they rode hell-bent for Two Mile, the indistinguishable copse of cottonwood trees that marked their ascent into the mountains.
* * *
They rode hard for a while, pausing only for the seconds it took to bind his wrists once they were safely outside of town, and then only slowing after the sun went down when it would have been too risky to keep up such a pace. Brent knew he had to make his move now, while he still had a chance of making it back to town. Otherwise he would risk disappearing forever in the mountains that loomed ahead. With any luck, the night would give him sufficient cover to hide.
He forcibly tried to remove from his mind any thoughts of the furious green eyes that had stared at him down the length of the pistol’s barrel back at the bank. The hat had been pulled low, almost obscuring the face, but those eyes were haunting. Hitting him like a punch to the gut with their ferocity. Recognition had tugged at his consciousness, but rationality told him he was wrong.
It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.
But what if it was? His eyes strayed again to the hips of the rider bouncing in the saddle on the horse in front of him. Even in the gray of dusk, he could see the shadowed outlines of their curves. Those shapely hips belonged to a woman. The voice had suggested a woman, too, but it had been too obscured by the scarf for him to tell if it was hers.
Would he even recognize her voice now? Something deep inside told him yes. Just as the eyes had triggered an awareness, so would the voice. He remembered everything about her. And Brent knew he couldn’t leave without finding out for sure if the woman was Charity.
But the girl he knew wouldn’t have done this, reason insisted, and the anger he’d been trying hard to tamp down flared to the surface. His Charity was everything gentle and sweet, not this hellion with a gun. He allowed himself a moment to indulge in the emotion, but then pushed it down again. Anger would only hinder reason.
He waited until the horses slowed to a brisk canter and the taller rider made a move to leave his post in the rear. Brent could tell he planned to maneuver his horse next to the woman’s to talk to her privately. Probably about making camp for the night.
Recognizing an opportunity when he saw it, he instantly devised a plan to get the rider’s gun and force the
No further explanation was needed because they all heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping metal and looked to Dew. She held a pair of small, lethal-looking knives and looked like she knew how to use them.
“Fast as any bullet from this range.” Dew smiled.
“There are far more creative ways of dealing with a reluctant hostage.” It was Charity’s turn to smirk. “Bring his horse around.”
Elle complied and it was quickly decided they would stick to their original plan to separate and reconvene at Two Mile. Only Dew would now create a disturbance as she rode through town, in order to create a distraction. Anyone would be suspicious of a man as elegantly dressed as their hostage riding with the two dusty cowpokes that Elle and Charity appeared to be.
Once the horses were secured, Dew mounted and rode off toward the saloon. Charity and Elle waited until they heard her gunshots, a not entirely unheard of occurrence in a town like Lindon, but enough to draw every able-bodied man in that direction, before prodding Brent outside to his horse.
He resisted the moment they reached the horses and made a move to grab the reins of his mount. Charity had anticipated his bid for freedom and pulled her knife from its sheath on her hip and jammed it against his kidney.
“My accomplice isn’t the only one with a knife,” she threatened.
“You’ll hang for this.” His low voice was forced out between gritted teeth.
“On your horse,” Charity ordered.
Soon Charity was holding his reins wrapped tightly in her gloved hand as they rode out of town. The moment the deserted street gave way to plain, they rode hell-bent for Two Mile, the indistinguishable copse of cottonwood trees that marked their ascent into the mountains.
* * *
They rode hard for a while, pausing only for the seconds it took to bind his wrists once they were safely outside of town, and then only slowing after the sun went down when it would have been too risky to keep up such a pace. Brent knew he had to make his move now, while he still had a chance of making it back to town. Otherwise he would risk disappearing forever in the mountains that loomed ahead. With any luck, the night would give him sufficient cover to hide.
He forcibly tried to remove from his mind any thoughts of the furious green eyes that had stared at him down the length of the pistol’s barrel back at the bank. The hat had been pulled low, almost obscuring the face, but those eyes were haunting. Hitting him like a punch to the gut with their ferocity. Recognition had tugged at his consciousness, but rationality told him he was wrong.
It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.
But what if it was? His eyes strayed again to the hips of the rider bouncing in the saddle on the horse in front of him. Even in the gray of dusk, he could see the shadowed outlines of their curves. Those shapely hips belonged to a woman. The voice had suggested a woman, too, but it had been too obscured by the scarf for him to tell if it was hers.
Would he even recognize her voice now? Something deep inside told him yes. Just as the eyes had triggered an awareness, so would the voice. He remembered everything about her. And Brent knew he couldn’t leave without finding out for sure if the woman was Charity.
But the girl he knew wouldn’t have done this, reason insisted, and the anger he’d been trying hard to tamp down flared to the surface. His Charity was everything gentle and sweet, not this hellion with a gun. He allowed himself a moment to indulge in the emotion, but then pushed it down again. Anger would only hinder reason.
He waited until the horses slowed to a brisk canter and the taller rider made a move to leave his post in the rear. Brent could tell he planned to maneuver his horse next to the woman’s to talk to her privately. Probably about making camp for the night.
Recognizing an opportunity when he saw it, he instantly devised a plan to get the rider’s gun and force the
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