Scoundrel for Hire (Velvet Lies, Book 1) (41 page)

"Gentlemen," Rafe chided, his heart doing its bloody best to rip free of his chest, "I suggest you both corral your mighty rams. Don't you recognize that young woman?"

Loon glared at him suspiciously. "Why should we?"

"Because that's your very own Mr. Townsend's fiancée. And I daresay he wouldn't be pleased to know that you, er, sampled her fleece before he did."

Snake snarled something unintelligible, grabbing Rafe's collar and slamming him into a tree trunk. As much as he itched to flatten the shorter, stockier man, Rafe didn't struggle. The Texican had yet to lower his gun hammer. And the only weapon Rafe carried was the hunting knife in his boot.

"Listen here, you biggety prick," Snake growled, "I ain't afeared of Townsend. And I ain't afeared of humping his woman, neither."

"Yeah, but Snake," Loon whined, rubbing his crotch longingly as he watched Silver's horse circle the overturned trunk, "she'll go and tell."

"Not if I put a bullet through her—"

"Rafe?" More high-pitched and nervous than the first time, Silver's call sent lightning streaks of foreboding through Rafe's veins. Snake jerked his head, and Loon nodded, grinning macabrely. There was only one thing left to do as Loon started stalking the woman Rafe loved. And Rafe did it.

"Silver, ride!" he called frantically. "For God's sake, it's an ambush—"

Snake's gunstock dropped like a hammer; white fire exploded in Rafe's skull. Dimly, he heard a muffled oath; even fainter came the thud of the boot that bludgeoned his ribs. Then he rolled, crunched up on the earth, gasping desperately for air.

Silver froze, her knuckles whitening on the reins. She could have sworn she'd heard Rafe. She could have sworn she'd heard his cry break through the eerie silence of these hills...

"Lookin' fer me, princess?" came an oily tenor not ten paces to her left.

She started, wheeling her mare, and the ill-kempt stranger lunged. The horse reared, nearly unseating her, and the stranger grabbed for the bridle. Silver cried out. It didn't take her half a second to realize this lanky blond, whoever he was, had ransacked Rafe's wagon. And it took her even less time to think, with sickening dread, that her worst nightmare had been realized.

"No! What have you done with Rafe?" she screamed, struggling against the iron arm that dragged her from the saddle.

"Ooh, ye're a feisty one," the outlaw crooned. She tried to kick him in the shin. He only chuckled. "Don't think some skirt never tried
that
on me before."

Twigs broke and bushes snapped behind them. She twisted in time to see Rafe, followed by a one-eyed desperado. Rafe staggered into the clearing. The outlaw, whom she suspected had been Cook's pie thief, shoved Rafe, and he dropped to his hands and knees, a patch of blood matting the glorious, sun-streaked hair above his ear. She sobbed, uncertain whether to be grateful he was alive or terrified that he had a head wound.

"He's hurt!" She lunged futilely against the forearm that squeezed her ribs into her lungs. "What have you done to him?"

"Madam." Rafe spoke with obvious effort, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Do not concern yourself with me." When he raised his eyes to hers, the pewter in his gaze had turned to steel. Even she, in her panicked state, could not mistake his warning. "Your fiancée, Mr. Townsend, will no doubt rue it."

Silver frowned, momentarily baffled. Surely, after everything they'd discussed, Rafe didn't think she'd thrown him out of her house to run back to Aaron?

"Now where were we, gentlemen?"

His British accent roughened by undercurrents of pain, Rafe tried to climb to his feet. The desperado jammed a .45 under his chin. When Silver heard the hammer click, she had to bite back a cry. But Rafe only smiled. His cynicism fairly dripped.

"Ah yes. Now I remember."

"Shut your trap, Gracie, or I'll shut it fer you," the one-eyed man threatened.

"If you insist. But don't blame me if you never find those crown jewels."

Silver swallowed, fighting the panic that battered the walls of her reason.
Crown jewels?
What was Rafe talking about? And why was the one-eyed man calling him "Gracie"? Surely the outlaw wasn't stupid enough to think Rafe was a British duke? Not with those blue jeans and that eyesore of a coat!

"I thought we changed the plan to ransoming him, Snake," her captor whined, his breath hot and foul above her ear.

"That's 'cause ye're more dim-witted than a 'possum, Loon. The way I see it, we split the jewels
and
the ransom. You got somethin' against that?"

Her captor fidgeted. He took so long to answer that Silver began to wonder. Was he really dumber than a opossum? Were opossums even
dumb?

"That all depends," Loon finally conceded, his Texas drawl making his speech as slow as an addlepate's. "You mean fifty-fifty?"

"Hell no. Not if you take the woman."

"Now you wait just a consarned minute!" Loon's arm tensed belligerently across her waist. "I never said I wanted some woman more'n I wanted them jewels."

"Then ya better make up yer mind. 'Cause Mr. Townsend expects us to report back on how we killed Gracie by supper."

"Aaron?" she repeated weakly. So Cellie
had
been right!

"Don't you worry, sweet pea," Loon said in a cackling voice. "Yer fiancée ain't ever gonna know you was up here by yer lonesome, making eyes at
us."

Dear God.
Guilt avalanched to Silver's gut. If she hadn't been so rash, if she hadn't thrown Rafe out of the house, he would never have been ambushed by these idiots—idiots who thought he was a duke!

Oh Rafe, oh Rafe, I'm so sorry. I never dreamed our hoax would come to this!
She looked helplessly at the man she loved more than life itself. He returned her gaze with a steady, reassuring stare. She caught her breath.

He was planning something. She knew it then.

Calling her Townsend's fiancée had been his way of protecting her. Signaling her about the jewels had been his plea for help. Rallying her nerve and her wits, she waited anxiously for his next cue.

"So it's settled then," Rafe said. "You gentlemen can have the jewels and the ransom, and I'll take the woman."

"Like hell," Snake snapped, his gun arm tensing with renewed menace. "You ain't in any position to bargain, smart ass."

"My... my brother Rafe and a party of his loggers should be along here any minute," Silver said, doing her best to match Rafe's aplomb. It wasn't easy, even with the encouragement pouring from his gaze. "We were planning to meet my Papa, back at... at his office. So you gentlemen had best let us go."

"Is that a fact?" Snake leered at her. "Only sounds to me like we gotta clean up business a bit faster than we planned, eh, Loon?" He grabbed Rafe's hair and wrenched his head back. "Where are them damned jewels?"

Rafe's eyes swiveled to her. She wished desperately she could do something, anything, more than spout enigmas. Would he understand her clue? Would he guess the nearest source of help awaited them at the mine?

"The mine," he choked.

Silver's knees buckled with relief.

"What mine?" Snake growled.

"The one about seven miles south of here," Rafe gurgled.

"Hey, that'd be the haunted mine," Loon volunteered uneasily. "The one what got closed down. Why'd you go and hide yer diamonds in a haunted mine?" he whined.

"What better place to keep them safe from...
mortals."

"Come now, Mr. Loon," Silver chimed in, praying that Papa actually had hired the guards he was supposed to have hired before he'd arrived at the mine early that morning, "surely you're not afraid of a little old ghost?"

Snake snorted, releasing Rafe's head with a shove. "Hell, if the woman ain't scared, why're you pissin' your pants, Loon?"

"I ain't! I'm just, uh... double-checking the facts."

"How very diligent of you," Rafe taunted, the gunmetal gray of his eyes fairly smoking. "If I were to venture into a haunted mine, I'm sure I'd want to know how many men had gone in before me... and never come back."

"Smart ass," Snake snarled, lashing out with his gun butt.

The .45 struck Rafe's temple, and Silver choked off his name, nearly strangling on her fear to see fresh blood spurt from his wound.
Oh God, oh God
... He crumpled like a sack of oats at the outlaw's feet.
Rafe, no. Please! Wake up! Don't be dead...

"Hell, Snake," Loon grumbled as Snake kicked Rafe onto his back. "Ya think ya coulda asked him how to get to the mine, first?"

Silver had to bite back a chorus of Alleluias to see Rafe's chest still rising and falling.

"The skirt lives around these parts. She knows." Snake cast her a look that would have iced Satan's furnace. "Don't ya, sweetheart?"

Silver nodded through her tears, her tongue working frantically to carve words from the desert of her mouth. "But I don't know where the diamonds are," she croaked. "You'll need the duke to tell you—"

"Don't worry, precious. We're bringing Gracie along." Snake grunted, hoisting Rafe up under the arms and dragging him backwards over brambles and rocks toward the wagon. "Tie her up," he shouted impatiently, as Loon, pawing her hair, tried to stick his tongue down her ear. "I want to get to that mine afore sundown."

Silver shuddered, thanking God when Loon stopped groping her and started whining again. "Ah, hell, Snake, can't we just do the skirt right—"

"No! Are you deaf or somethin'? She's Townsend's woman."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said." Snake was leading two horses to the rear of the wagon. "That was fer him." He jerked his head over his shoulder at Rafe. "Use the one or two wits God gave you, Loon. You want that grand Townsend's gonna pay you, or do ya want his bullet through yer head?"

Loon grumbled something vile and not entirely coherent as he drove her before him to the horses that Snake was now tying to the wagon. Silver thought better of struggling. Even if she did break free, and perhaps mounted a horse before they grabbed her and beat her senseless, she would never have left Rafe alone.

As she submitted to the rough ropes Loon was winding around her wrists, she glanced anxiously over her shoulder at Rafe. A sleek brown form distracted her. It darted under the wagon, its whiskers twitching nervously at the outlaws' boots.

Silver quailed.
Oh no, Tavy.
She watched helplessly, having visions of one very dead otter, as the pup slinked closer to Rafe and wormed her way inside his coat.

Snake hadn't noticed. He'd been too busy rummaging in his saddlebag for the rope he was now using to tie Rafe's hands behind his back. "Ya want to give me a hand here, Romeo?" he snapped at Loon. "John Bull here ain't a featherweight, ya know."

Loon muttered more expletives, shoving her into the bed of the wagon before he turned to help his crony. They heaved Rafe over the sideboard, dropping him as unceremoniously as if he were a rock. Silver winced, the resounding thud vibrating into her very bones. She ached for Rafe's bruises almost as much as she knew he would ache, assuming he ever regained consciousness.

Loon mounted Silver's horse; Snake clambered onto the driver's seat and slapped the reins across the nag's rump. The wagon jolted forward, nearly throwing Silver onto Rafe's chest. Two shiny black eyes stared out at her from his coat's inner pocket. Then Tavy ducked her head inside her cozy nest and laid her snout against Rafe's heart.

Silver prayed fervently that heart would still be beating by the time they reached the mine.

Chapter 16

Silver worried that God's failure to answer her prayers was a dire omen. Not only did Rafe fail to wake up during the ride to the mine but the help she had so desperately hoped for was nowhere to be found. By this late hour, Papa's non-Union crew should have reported for their first night shift. But the pump house, stamp mill, and offices were devoid of human life, including the armed guards that Papa must also have forgotten to hire to prevent Union marauders from sabotaging the tunnels.

The outlaws, of course, were delighted. "Hell, who needs crown jewels," Snake cackled, the setting sun turning his face a macabre shade of crimson. "We got a whole damned mine to loot!"