Chapter Four

To say she was terrified would have been an understatement. Rough rope bound Rebecca's wrists and ankles. The scratchy, suffocating sack was still over her aching head.

She was lying on a wooden floor and could see the silhouettes of men moving through the fabric. Rebecca had been conscious for a while but had been careful not to make a move or a sound. She hadn't wanted to draw any attention to herself. She simply wanted to observe and learn what she could about her captors.

So far she had only learned that they seemed to be a bunch of vulgar, uneducated criminals and thieves. And they seemed to think they would make a lot of money from Martin by holding her ransom.

Would Martin pay for his wife a second time? Especially now that he knew that wife couldn't give him the children he so desperately wanted?

Rebecca's hands shook as her stomach turned. She had no real idea if the fondness her husband had for his barren wife would be enough. She may very well end up dead—like Felix.

Her heart hurt as she thought of the kind, old man. Did he have a wife or children who would mourn him? Rebecca had lived around the man and been driven around on the buckboard and carriage by him countless times and, yet, she knew nothing about him.

She vowed that if she lived through this ordeal and made it back to the ranch, she would get to know those who worked there—whether Martin found it proper or not.

Rebecca had no idea how long she lay still upon that hard floor before the voice belonging to the man who'd murdered Felix finally announced it was time to leave.

She had gathered enough to know. Hoff intended to leave her here alone with only one man as guard. A man named Brantley. Maybe with only one guard, Rebecca could manage an escape...

She heard the raucous of the men filing out the door. Hoof beats thundered off into the distance and then.... Silence.

An overwhelming, oppressive silence that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Rebecca became so lost in that silence she nearly screamed when the sound of boots on the wooden floor boards suddenly filled the air.

The footsteps stopped in front of her and Rebecca knew if the sack were removed she'd see the toes of those boots right in front of her nose.

"You can stop pretendin'. I know you ain't been unconscious for a while now."

Rebecca gave no indication that she heard him. She knew it must be Brantley, the man in charge of keeping her here.

"Do you want the sack off your damn head at least?"

Still Rebecca held still and said nothing. She wanted the sack of, yes, it would certainly make breathing easier. However, in a strange way the sack offered her a false sense of protection and security.

"Well, if you ain't gonna speak, I'll just leave the damn thing on there," Brantley grumbled.

Rebecca heard his boots scrape across the floor and it was enough to have her finding her voice. "No please! Don't leave it on."

She heard a deep masculine grumble and then the sack was tugged roughly off her head. Rebecca blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught of light.

They settled on the scuffed up dusty toes of a pair of boots. She let her eyes scan upward. The boots led to a pair of worn black trousers on a set of long, lean legs and thick thighs.

A gun belt, worn with age, was slung low on lean hips. A white button down was tucked into those black trousers and Rebecca let her eyes continue upward over a lean stomach, broad chest and strong shoulders—though she took notice of the sling securing his right arm.

Farther up still she let her gaze travel. Finally, they found his face. And, Lord, what a face!

Far too rugged to ever be considered classically handsome, it was sharp and angled and covered in a dusty of black stubble. His rugged attractiveness was emphasized by a pair of intense green eyes watching her from behind dark lashes.

One sharp brow quirked upward slightly. "Enjoyin' your view?"

Rebecca didn't know what to say. All she knew was something about his rugged masculinity had her far too aware that she was a woman, he was a man and she was completely at his mercy.

***

Brantley instantly regretted taking the sack of the woman's head. She sure as hell wasn't what he'd been expecting when it came to the look of her.

Brantley had been expecting a matronly middle-aged woman given that husband of hers. Instead, he was looking into a pair of big brown does eyes, staring up at him from a pale face with flushed cheeks.

"Do you intend to hurt me?" she asked, her voice much steadier than he'd thought it would be.

"No, I don't intend to harm you."

She blinked several times as she squirmed against the ropes constricting her. Her full lips pulled down in a frown. "Can you untie me?"

Brantley shook his head, his eyes taking in the sight of the bloody welt on her temple. Damn those brutes. Who manhandled something so small and fragile like that?

"Please?" Her brow furrowed as her dainty nose wrinkled. "I'm real uncomfortable."

Brantley shrugged. "Not my problem."

He turned and walked away from her and the damn temptation those full lips and doe eyes had presented him with. Shit. It would have been so much easier to be a decent man if she were old. Now his cock was gonna be in the way.

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