Chapter Twelve

Brantley rushed from the barn with his hand on his gun. That hand fell away when he recognized the gang riding in and coming fast. There was no way he'd reach the cabin before they did—they were already thundering past him.

Part of Brantley—the part that wanted to keep Rebecca as his own—wanted to fight them. He wanted to draw his gun and burn down as many men as he could.

But damn, Hoff had been his family for as long as he could remember....and Rebecca wasn't his. Hell, if he tried to fight now, he was practically signing his own death certificate and probably hers as well.

He couldn't risk her life for his own selfish reasons. Brantley had to let her go.

Brantley walked pointedly toward the cabin with dread swirling around in his gut. He did what he'd spent his life doing and turned off his emotions—carefully schooling his expression to ensure he gave away none of what he was feeling.

"About time you made it back," Brantley stated, approaching Hoff as he and the other five men dismounted. "I've just about had enough of playing nursemaid."

Hoff shook his head. Brantley could see the tension in the other man's posture. "You're the only man I know that can be locked away with a beautiful woman and not enjoy himself."

Brantley chose not to respond. Instead he placed himself on the steps so no one would enter the cabin before him.

Samson chuckled as he scratched at his crotch. "I'd be enjoyin' the hell out of myself."

Brantley grunted as he pulled a rolled cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. "Yeah, but then the woman would have been forced to kill herself and I doubt her husband would pay for a corpse."

When Samson opened his mouth to speak again, Hoff silenced him with a sharp glance. Brantley noticed all the men sharing odd looks—it was clear they knew something that Hoff wasn't in any hurry to have Brantley know.

"How's my prisoner?" Hoff inquired.

Brantley didn't let his unease show. He struck a match and lit the cigarette dangling from his lip. Sliding the matchbox into his pocket, he met Hoff's gaze. "Almost as ready to go home as I am to see her go."

It was a lie, of course, but a necessary one. These men were sharks and they'd smell blood in the water if Brantley let himself bleed. He wasn't eager to die and he needed to keep Rebecca alive. If the men knew Brantley's true feelings, they may hurt the woman just to go at the first weakness Brantley had ever shown them.

He blew out a puff of smoke. "I played nursemaid for you. Where's my money?"

Hoff scratched at his scarred cheek before stepping closer and slapping Brantley on the back. "Let's get in out of the sun and talk money. The men and I are eager to get a bite to eat."

Brantley was powerless to stop the six men from surging forward and entering the cabin he'd spent the last couple days sharing with Rebecca. His eyes quickly scanned the interior but it was clear Rebecca had heard the men approaching and hidden herself away in the back room.

"You didn't let her go, did you?" Willis inquired, settling down at table.

Brantley raised his brow. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Hell, I don't hear any whimpering, maybe he killed her," Gilman sneered.

Brantley looked down his nose at the weasely bastard he hated so badly. "Only cowards whimper, Gilman. You oughta know that. I've heard you do it a time or two."

Gilman stepped closer, his hand resting on his revolver. Brantley kept his posture relaxed and made no move toward his own weapon. "One of these days, Brantley, you won't be Hoff's little pet no more and he'll stop protecting you. I'll be the one that kills you then."

Brantley simply chuckled. Hoff intervened by putting a hand on Gilman's shoulder and moving the man back. "Brantley doesn't need my protection, Gilman. The only way a man like you could kill a man like him would be to shoot him in the back."

As the men began raiding the meager food supplies to whip up something to eat, Brantley placed himself directly in front of the door to the room Rebecca was hidden in. He leaned against the scarred wood and smoked his cigarette, watching the gang from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Won't Mr. Smallwood be expecting his wife?" Brantley asked, as the men took their time to finish their meal.

Hoff belched loudly. "Naw, I don't believe he is. He has no reason to be."

Brantley tensed. "And why's that?"

Brantley saw Hoff cast a glance at the other man and Brantley found himself becoming cornered by six men as he stood against the door—and he didn't miss the way they all had their hands on their guns.

"Because the bastard hasn't paid."

"He's refusing?" Brantley asked, lifting up the brim of his hat.

Hoff shook his head. "Not quite. He's negotiating. Can you believe that? The bastard actually thinks it's a negotiation. He thinks I'm asking more than the woman's worth."

Brantley knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do. He was a cornered lion and the rest of the pride was closing in, eager to rip open his throat. If he made a move for his weapon, he'd be killed without a second thought.

What kind of man was Martin Smallwood? What kind of man left his wife at the whim of lawless men? Rebecca was damn well worth whatever price Hoff had asked... she was worth everything.

"Take your gun belt off, Brantley, and toss it to me. I'll also be wanting you to hand over both your knives and the spare gun in your boot."

"I only take my weapons off for one thing, Hoff," Brantley warned, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. "And none of you men is quite my type."

Hoff's eyes narrowed as his jaw hardened. "I mean it, Brantley. Weapons now."

"And why exactly are you taking my weapons? Brantley asked, tossing down his cigarette and squashing it beneath his boot.

Hoff merely stared and the other five men tensed. Brantley knew he had no real choice. He couldn't take all six of them at once. And he didn't want shots fired at him while he stood in front of the door that Rebecca was no doubt standing behind.

Goddammit. Life was damn cruel is what it was. Brantley finally been seeing a clear picture of what he wanted—who he wanted—in his future. He'd wanted to give Rebecca that happiness she said she'd trade everything in her life for... but now there was a good damn chance they were both going to die.

Without another word, Brantley unhooked his gun belt and handed it over to Hoff who tossed it to Samson behind him. Next came Brantley's knives and his spare gun. He stood there bare of weapons and feeling damn helpless as Hoff continued to stare him down.

Hoff held up Brantley's large knife and smiled. "The reason I took your weapons is a simple one. I have a real good feeling your reaction to what we're fixing to do to that lady in there is gonna be a bad one."