Holding out his hand, Robbie relaxed his grip. “Here.”
“Wait. I’m driving? This isn’t my truck.” Ronan looked at Robbie’s hand holding the keys.
Reaching down and grabbing Ronan’s fist, Robbie slapped the key ring into his palm. “I don’t drive. I’ll need my horse for the search anyway. Leave your horse here. I’ll get him fed and ready to go. Just come right back and we’ll go.” He didn’t want to tell Ronan that he might go and check out the trail before too much time passed. He’d always been vastly superior in the tracking skills arena than the James boy.
Ronan watched Robbie. After a drawn out moment, he shook his head and turned, taking long strides toward the rig. “I should be back within the hour. Be ready.”
“Got it.” Robbie didn’t fight the command in Ronan’s voice.
Even though their families had warred, Robbie grew up with R.J., been in the same classes, even rode the bus together. Ronan’s innate ability to get bossy under stress had made him an easy choice for captain of just about everything as well as president of more clubs than anyone thought possible.
Robbie didn’t care who called the shots as long as they were heading out to rescue Amelia as soon as possible. He glanced toward the base of the mountains. The gang didn’t need long to set up a campsite in the national forest and then do whatever they wanted to Amelia. The thought sent a shiver through Robbie.
To cover his involuntary action, Robbie rushed to exclaim. “It’s cold, Ronan. Let me grab a blanket for Slate.” Robbie helped Mac into the cab and shut the door. A pile of horse blankets sat neatly folded beside the tack wall. Robbie snagged the top one and rushed to tuck it around his twin resting in the bed of the truck.
In the space of time it took Ronan to start the engine and drive out of view, Robbie couldn’t fight the mounting certainty he might not find Amelia alive. Devlyn Caracus wasn’t known for taking his time or being anything but thorough. And if he had Jack with him… well, Robbie wasn’t feeling too good about the situation at the moment.
The truck disappeared around the curve. Robbie ignored the pain in his body from the last time he’d faced Devlyn Caracus and his gang. And his brother’s recent ass-whooping.
Inside the house, Robbie searched the den and the library. Slate would’ve hidden the gun-safe in a place so obvious people would never look there.
By the dining table, a large walnut buffet lorded over the room. Its gleaming antique brass handles and intricately carved side-boards suggested elegant functionality.
Robbie paused in his trek to the study to consider its potential. It didn’t really make sense to put guns in a buffet. But nothing about the piece made a person want to investigate. Serviceable and yet not noteworthy.
“Slate wouldn’t.” Unsure if he felt stupid more for talking to himself than searching the antique furniture, Robbie ran his hands over the piece. Swinging open the cabinet side doors like a wolf hid inside, Robbie laughed sarcastically. “Yep. This is the gun safe.”
The doors sandwiched long drawers. Pulling open the top drawer revealed serving utensils. Robbie slid it shut, growing bored with the search in that part of the house.
The next set of handles put up a fight and Robbie had to put some muscle into opening it. When it slid forward, he grinned. The bottom four drawers were actually one large drawer with a front made to create a false impression of separate drawers, protecting a wooden cover like a box. Set in the middle, a digital lock blinked red numbers over a green silicone keypad.
Password. Punching in the year of their parent’s marriage was a no-brainer. The pad beeped and lock tumblers rolled to slide back the top of the safe.
Reaching in, Robbie grasped the first Benelli semi-automatic twelve-gauge shotgun he’d seen in person. The weight of the gun comforted him, empowered him. He’d find Amelia and the Caracus gang. While his own Winchester rifle was perfect for him, the Benelli would be a perfect backup. A man could never have too many guns on-hand.
Tucking a small box of shells into his pocket, he closed the drawer and returned to the barn to ready Revenge and Ronan’s horse. The task of feeding and watering the horses while checking saddles and bridles took over an hour, eating up the extra time Robbie had wanted to use to do a preliminary trail search.
The crunch of tires on loose rocks on the drive pulled him from the stall area. Leading Revenge and the James gelding to the front, he murmured to Revenge to keep him calm. He tied off Ronan’s horse to the collection of posts at the side of the doors. Moving a few steps away, Robbie stroked Revenge’s neck, shushing the animal as he did so.
Ronan shut off the motor and stepped down from the cab, hurried but controlled.
Robbie eyed the anger in his face and lifted his chin. He didn’t mind Ronan taking charge and organizing things, but Robbie would be damned if he’d let Ronan treat him like a lackey. Robbie was an equal.
Retrieving his horse from the post, Ronan swung up on the saddle. He avoided Robbie’s gaze, staring instead in the direction of the mountains. “You ready yet?”
“Yep.” Robbie mounted Revenge and pulled his weaker arm into his side. He’d clutch the reins in that hand when the time came and maneuver the gun with his good hand. Falling into step with Ronan’s horse, Revenge had no problems keeping up.
The distance to the tree line shrank with every jolting step. What started out as a gallop quickly turned into a race for lead. Open prairie offered a clear trail for the competing men. And Robbie didn’t hold back his gloating grin as he reached the forest line first.
“I’ll go this way, you cover that area. Give a low whistle when you find the tracks.” Robbie pointed to the left and right. Behind them, the shadows of Ronan’s men could be seen coming closer – starting out as specks and growing larger. Reinforcements would be an added bonus if and when they came face-to-face with Caracus.
Robbie studied the transition between the grassy plain and the gradual foresting of the sloping mountain. A small game trail disturbed low lying vegetation, but the small deer and elk prints couldn’t be mistaken for solid horseshoe tracks.
A low whistle from Ronan’s direction rankled Robbie. Of course, the bastard would find the first signs of tracks.
Assembling at the natural opening into the woods, Ronan and Robbie as well as the hands from Ronan’s ranch gathered in a semi-circle. Each man inspected the pummeled blades, trampled twigs, crushed leaves, and semi-circular indents in the random piles of snow. There could have been a sign pointing to where the gang had entered the forest and where to find their trail, it was so easy to see.
Reaching for an outstretched bag, Ronan nodded to the man who’d handed it to him. He pointed up the path. “Okay, guys. We’re going in here. Keep it close. They’ll probably head south to get to the highway. About four-hundred feet up we’ll cut across the slope and head them off. Ambush them at Little Lonely River’s falls.”
“No. We need to split up. The trail will be harder to see once we get into the thick brush. We won’t be able to catch them, if we go the wrong way and have to double back.” Robbie had spent more time growing up in the woods than he had at home. “Caracus isn’t a runner. He’s…”
The men listened, heads down, concentration holding them quiet.
Robbie continued. “Caracus is the guy that you warn your daughters about, or your sisters. He’s the one that likes to watch while you burn to death. He doesn’t torture someone for information or anything useful, he does it because he’s bored. He loans money to people for gambling and then plays against you at the table he steals from.” He squeezed the leather straps in his hand. “Amelia needs us to get this right the first time. If you want to stay together, we need to go inward. Trust me, Caracus doesn’t want anything to do with the law.” And he knew Robbie didn’t either.
Ronan studied Robbie for a collection of seconds. All the hired help waited, as if used to Ronan’s constant need to think over every possible play. He nodded slowly, like it hurt him to agree with Robbie.
“Okay, MacAllister. We’ll do it your way.” To the men he raised his voice, half-standing in the stirrups. “We’re going to follow the trail. It may or,” Sharp glance thrown at Robbie before he said. “May not lead us to them. Be prepared to stop. Spread out. Absolutely do not act until I give the order. We have no idea what our actions will do to Amelia’s situation.” Ronan whistled low and long. The men started up the trail, their horses climbing easily in the damp earth.
He pushed closer to Robbie, rubbing his horse against a bush as he passed. He lowered his voice, but Robbie heard the threat clearly in the underlying edge to his words. “You’re the reason we’re out here. I deserve some damn answers. Why were those men looking for you? What’d you do?”
Staring into Ronan’s eyes, Robbie swallowed the serrated edge of truth. “I… well, I owe them a pretty big lump of money. And… I killed one of their men.” Admitting what had happened didn’t feel as good as he’d hoped. In fact, it settled in his very core and curled into a ball. The guilt over Amelia’s absence combined with the rest of his actions to tie Robbie up. He didn’t have anything else to say. He didn’t want to suffocate on any more truths.
Ronan didn’t flinch, assimilating Robbie’s words as if he waited for a shock or something. Maybe he’d already known the information. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had all the cards before everyone else. “Your plan better damn well work.” He leaned in close. “Just do what you’re told, MacAllister, and things will be a whole lot easier.”
Pride lubed up his vocal chords and he ignored his worry over Amelia long enough to stick up for himself. No way in hell was he going to be shamed by Ronan so that he’d lose his confidence in finding the girl. “I don’t work for you, Ronan. I’ll go any way I damned well please.” Matter-of-fact, Robbie wouldn’t cow down before the all-powerful cowboy in front of him like he had in Missoula four years before. Then he’d had a broken heart and a self-sacrificing attitude. Now, well, let’s just say, now Robbie had seen meaner-sons-a-bitches than the James brat and he’d survived.
The last hired hand plodded out of view.
“No. You don’t.” Ronan studied him again long enough to make the moment uncomfortable. The calculation in his gaze didn’t inspire Robbie’s confidence.
“Hmm. How would you like to work for me?” He didn’t wait for Robbie’s answer. “Before you say no, hear me out. I have… let’s say a very irritating situation that I can’t get out of.” Ronan glanced up the trail. “As do you apparently. How much do you owe him?”
It really wasn’t any of Ronan’s business what Robbie’s debt entailed, but chasing work for four years had brought out a shrewd ability in gauging when something might be worth investigating. If Ronan had something to offer Robbie, maybe Robbie create a more promising situation with Caracus and make a trade to save Amelia. Because nothing in that moment was more important than her.
Ronan’s wealth went back far enough to be tied to Native American lore and legend. Ronan might just make something worth Robbie’s efforts. Worth the effort of standing up to Caracus and his gang.
“I’m in over two-hundred-thousand.” The amount had long ago lost its ability to shock him. Caracus had built a name for lending to ranch hands and Robbie had been just egotistical enough to think he wouldn’t have any problem winning back the loans or paying them off. He’d been a dumbass up a creek without a paddle or even a boat.
Ronan didn’t flinch. “Okay. I’ll give you two-fifty to sleep with my wife.”
Where Ronan hadn’t reacted to the amount, Robbie gulped and blinked hard three times at the job. “Sleep with your wife? For two-hundred-and-fifty dollars?” He didn’t know if he should be insulted or flattered.
“No. Two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars.” Ronan prodded his horse toward the roughed in trail. “Think about it. We can arrange the details later, but I need you to get caught by me and another witness and I need you to write up a statement after saying that you did, in fact, have sex.”
“I can’t think about this right now while I’m worried about Amelia. I’ll definitely think about it. But I need to know…” Falling in line behind him, Robbie shook the disbelief from his expression. Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand… he could do so much with that. He could pay off Caracus. He could help out with Amelia and Mac, if she’d let him. But Ronan hadn’t built a name of benevolence for himself. He looked at everything from a business perspective. Robbie arched his eyebrow, even though Ronan couldn’t see the action. “Why?”
The bounce of Ronan’s shoulders gave away his silent laughter. He finally replied, his words fading just as they reached Robbie. “Because I can’t have an heir with a sterile, faithless, bitch.”
Did anything else need to be said?
Thick trees held their speed in check as they picked their way over fallen logs, hidden rocks, and lingering snow and ice. In the shadows of brush and limbs, the ever-present spring chill seemed to intensify with less sunlight breaking through the cover. Snow patches grew into snow piles and drifts. One of the neatest things about the mountains in Montana was the possibility that a person could be out sweating in the heat in the middle of August and they might be lucky enough to stumble upon a rare snow patch that hadn’t yet melted.
Lost in thought, Robbie watched the surrounding forest for tracks or any sign that the gang had split up themselves.
He’d wanted a dude ranch after he’d seen the skyrocketing research that placed most Americans and even some Europeans in the niche of being fans of the outdoors. And not just any outdoors, but the wilds of Montana and real-life cowboys. Whatever that meant. In the summers, Lonely Rivers led tours and camp trips up into the mountains and taught how to rough it while having a good time. They’d booked solid after the first summer, but after the second summer Robbie had left. He hadn’t seen how Lonely Rivers had been until that day.
Ronan reached behind him and passed back a granola bar. His men had been more prepared than Robbie had assumed. His ever-present bedroll tied to the back of his saddle matched Ronan’s and the placement of the hired hands’.
Robbie mumbled thanks, but he didn’t want to talk anymore. Thoughts of being free from a debt that had haunted him all the way back home slammed him over and over. What if he didn’t sleep with her? All he had to do was lie and say that he had. He had to get caught with her, but hell, anything could’ve happened… it’d be his word against hers.
The trail in front of them turned to the right, toward Lacey Caverns, but Ronan and his men turned left. Ronan looked over his shoulder. “We’re going to line out along this trail, see if we can flush them out at the river. It might be better, if you go ahead and scout it out. We’re going to go slow so we don’t miss anything and stay together in case we run into them. I don’t think they’ll get far when they see how high Lonely River is. If you go up, scope it out, and then come back here with the information, we can proceed prepared.” He shrugged. “I still think they’re going to run toward the highway, but since this is your idea, you’ll do better to scout, don’t you think?”
Ronan’s logic never failed to amaze Robbie. “Sounds good. I’ll be back.” He tapped Revenge’s flank to turn.
Ronan’s parting comment floated on the shadowy air. “Think about my offer.”
Robbie lifted his hand and waved but didn’t turn around. Flipping up the edges of his collar, Robbie hunkered into the ride ahead of him. Caracus and his men were at least an hour, almost two, ahead of him. It wouldn’t take them long to get to the fork in Lonely Rivers and just beyond that, the Lacey Caverns.
The exact line between the properties.
The exact reason for the feud.
The exact place where Robbie told Amelia he loved her and they’d slept together – first and last time.
And hopefully the place where he could save her from himself.
Chapter 11
The jarring trot of Jack’s horse rammed her stomach and occasionally her ribs. Up – grab a breath – down – holy crap, l
ose the breath. His grip on her didn’t loosen until they reached the tree line.
As soon as the weight of his hand lessened, Relief stole through her and her lungs worked to push her ribs out. She may never breathe normally again.
Amelia slid from the still-moving horse. She rolled when she landed, unsure of where or what she would drop onto. Fortunately, the moss-covered log and damp grass softened her fall. On her hands and knees, Amelia winced at the scrape of the small chunks of icy snow biting into the tender flesh of her inner forearms. She needed a jacket.
Jack didn’t strike her as the kind of man to let a woman have his coat, if she were cold.
He reared around, growling. “What the hell? Get back here.”
Amelia glared, ignoring the pack of horses and their riders moving to surround her. “No. Your pommel is about to kill me. I’d rather walk than get back on that horse with you.” She pushed herself up from the ground, refusing to grovel in the ground beneath them. If nothing else, she’d keep her pride intact, thank you very much.
The leader moved toward her, pulling a loosely looped rope from a tie on his saddle pack. His gravelly voice more of a threat than anything she’d heard. He didn’t raise his volume either. “All you had to do was ask, doll.”
Still astride his horse, the man pulled on her hands and wrapped a rope end around her wrists, first around them both then again in a figure-eight pattern. He tossed the remainder of the rope coil to Jack. “Keep her under control, or I’ll handle it. The bitch has already slowed us down as it is.” He moved ahead to take the lead, crashing his horse through the underbrush to create a path in otherwise virgin woods.
Amelia bit her inner cheek. She wanted to scream and rant at them, fight and pull away, but something inside her – maybe her sense of self-preservation – held her docile enough to acquiesce to the tug of the horse. She pulled and wriggled her hands in the rope casing, but did little more than tighten the bonds. Great, one of those knots. She glared at Jack’s back and looked down, picking her way carefully over rocks and slick wood from fallen trees and rotting logs.
Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) Page 7