Angry with herself for hoping she would, she mounted Penelope and rode home, contemplating the moment she’d lost all her good sense.
Chapter Eleven
Trace hid in the trees, watching Victoria to make sure she got the ropes off her hands and the blindfold removed from her eyes before he made his way to the hideout where Frankie John and Henry waited for him.
Earlier, his heart had just about fallen to his feet when Victoria charged around the bend in the road on that half-wild horse. The last person he expected to see was Victoria Carter. He’d had to think fast to keep the two idiots with him from attempting to do something to her that would have forced him to shoot them both.
Rattled by her appearance, he took a moment for his nerves to settle before he rode up to the cabin where they’d been gathering before and after they went on a job. Hidden deep in a grove of trees, the place was impossible to find if you didn’t know where to look for it.
Trace swung off the back of the horse and removed the saddle and bridle, turning him loose in a corral attached to the barn. The mount was dependable and steady, even if that comprised all the praise he could find to offer the animal. He pondered where Brunson had found a whole string of horses that looked and acted so much alike it was hard to tell one from another.
He was still thinking about the horses when he walked into the cabin to find Henry and Frankie John sitting at the table drinking from a bottle of whiskey.
Henry nodded to him, but Frankie John got to his feet and took a step toward him.
“Why’d you keep us from having a little fun?” the robber asked in a whine as Trace took off his brown coat, hat, bandana, and leather chaps that covered his pants. He left them in a box on the table where they all stored what he thought of as their costumes.
“Because she’s the type of woman you don’t want to mess with, you lunkheaded dolt. You do something to her and every lawman from Seattle to Salt Lake will be here, sniffing around, shooting first, and asking questions later.” Trace was about at the end of his patience with the man. Eager to leave, he picked up his coat and shrugged into it then lifted his hat in his hand.
“That’s exactly right,” a voice said from the shadows.
Trace settled an impassive expression on his face as he turned and studied the man who moved into the light trickling in a filthy, cracked window. He knew without asking this was Emmett Brunson, leader of the gang and elusive robber.
From what Trace observed, Brunson mostly gave orders, kept himself safely tucked away, then collected the spoils, divvying up just enough to keep his gang members coming back for more work.
Brunson was shorter than Trace expected, but what he lacked in height, he made up in width. The man was shaped like a squatty barrel with a face to match. His nose was the size of a potato and appeared to have been smashed into his face while his upper lip sagged on the left side. Eyes the color of obsidian were intelligent and deadly as they studied Trace.
“You the one they call Bub?” Brunson asked.
Trace nodded once. “That’s me.”
Brunson glanced at Frankie John and Henry then back at Trace. “These two caused a lady problems?”
“We did no such thing,” Frankie John spluttered in denial.
“We didn’t touch her,” Henry said.
“But you would have if Bub hadn’t stopped you. Is that right?” Brunson stared at them until they both fidgeted.
Henry dropped his head and stepped back but Frankie John offered Brunson an insolent sneer. “Shouldn’t make no nevermind to you what we do if we bring back what you sent us after.” He pointed to the metal box on the rickety table. Inside was the IG Ranch’s payroll, worth a considerable sum. “We did our job. If we want to celebrate, why do you care?”
“I care, you half-witted dunderhead, because I’ve told you time and again to leave the women alone. I don’t have to explain my reasons to you, but here they are: when you’re dressed like that, I don’t want someone thinking one of my gang is vandalizing the womenfolk. Like Bub said, it will bring the law down on us faster than you can blink. The other reason is I don’t hold with hurting women, not at all. Someone did that to my mother and I won’t stand for it. I just won’t. If you can’t get that through your thick skull, I might have to shoot a few holes in it so the truth can leak in. Is that what you want, Frankie John? Hmm? Is it?”
The color drained out of Frankie John’s face when Brunson lifted a pistol and pointed it at him.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, or do you need further explanation?”
“I understand, boss. I understand.” Frankie John’s hands trembled as he held them up in front of him and backed toward the door. “I’ll just be heading out now.”
“That’s a fine idea. Take Henry with you.” Brunson waved his pistol toward the door.
The two criminals practically fell over each other in their haste to leave.
Brunson waited to take a seat at the table until the door slammed behind them, making the thin glass in the windows rattle. Trace half-expected it to fall to the floor, but miraculously, it remained in the panes.
When the man waved a hand at the other chair, Trace turned it around and straddled it, leaning his arms across the back.
“I’ve been watching you, Bub. You do good work. You’re quick, efficient, and don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got a big job coming up soon and was thinking you might like to be in charge of it.”
“I might,” Trace said, keeping his voice level even though this was exactly what he’d spent the past two months working toward. “Depends on the job.”
Brunson gave him a measuring glance before a sly smile curled his lips upward. “That’s exactly the type of answer I’d give, Bub, but if you want to advance into a high-paying position with me, you either do this job, or I’ll let Frankie John be in charge of you for a while.”
“Anything but that,” Trace said, forcing himself to give the man a carefree grin.
Brunson laughed. “I think his momma dropped him on his head one too many times as a kid.”
Trace nodded in agreement.
“Are you in?” Brunson asked.
“I’m in. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“All in good time. Be here at first light on Christmas Eve. You’ll find out what you need to know then.”
Trace had counted on wrapping up this job soon so he could spend Christmas with his sister and Billy in Portland, but it looked like that wouldn’t happen now. He just hoped Teresa understood why he was missing the holidays again this year. Slowly rising to his feet, he tipped his head to Brunson. “I’ll be here.”
He walked out of the cabin, saddled his horse, and headed back to Hardman. Whatever Brunson had planned, it had to be big, especially if he was willing to do the job on Christmas Eve. The men who had families wouldn’t like being away from them then. He knew for a fact Henry was married with two kids, even though he acted as unfettered as the other men when it came to women, drinking, and gambling.
Nearly out to the road that would take him back to Hardman, he happened to look up and see something growing in a juniper tree that made him smile. He rode his horse beneath the tree, stood on the saddle, and cut down a clump of mistletoe.