The night air had stilled, making for a trip that could almost be described as pleasant.
If it wasn’t for the circumstances, Zane amended grimly.
He’d spent much of the afternoon memorizing the route, the landforms and landmarks, and when he’d slipped into the Smith stables just over an hour ago, he’d found the young groom had saddled a beautiful piebald for him.
If it had been her selection, then Rachel had done well at choosing a horse. The mare was calm and sturdy, a perfect animal for a ride on an unfamiliar trail. Zane had found a long duster coat among his brother’s clothes, one lined with warm flannel. He hoped that the material covered him sufficiently to mask his identity. He’d left his hat behind. Even in the light of the quarter moon, the Stetson, a gift from his brother, would tell anyone watching that a man was arriving. He’d just have to pull up the collar of the duster and hope the night air wasn’t too cold.
Thankfully, the road was easy to follow, and within an hour of setting out from Proud Bend, he found his way to the base of the hill that held White Horse Bluff. Strategically, it was a good place for a meeting, having a panoramic view to ensure no one could advance unseen. But he was early. Zane hunched down in the saddle, hoping he might look smaller.
At the base of the hill, Zane reined in the horse and dismounted. Tying it off at a small tree, he left the animal enough leather to sniff the ground. He crept up the side of the trail, keeping behind the scrubby bushes that lined the way to ensure his advance wasn’t easily spotted.
He’d written a note demanding proof that Alex and Rosa were still alive, and insisting that more time was needed to get the money. He’d tried out his most lively cursive script, because he’d neglected to ask Rachel to write it out. Now he felt his inside jacket pocket. The letter was still there.
He left the trail when he saw the flat top of the hill and the steep side called White Horse Bluff. The soil and stone were pale in the waning moon, and at one point, when Zane stopped to listen to the noises of the late evening, he could make out the profile of a horse’s head in the bluff face.
A few more steps and he stopped again. Only the quiet of the night met his ears, although his heart pounded in his temples and the tiny hairs on his arms and neck were erect and alert.
Someone else was there. He’d honed the skill of wariness early on in his career, and it was paying off now. Too bad he hadn’t utilized that skill for watching his back. He might have prevented being framed for theft.
He unbuttoned the coat to allow better access to his revolver, should he require it. The breeze up top here chilled and sharpened him. He took a few more stealthy steps closer to the top of the hill, keeping as hidden as possible. Again, he stopped to hear even the slightest noise, but nothing reached him.
I know you’re here. I can feel you. Where are you?
No one answered his silent question, but Zane’s senses were alive with warning that someone was out there. The flat top of the bluff was deserted except for a wooden crate sitting on a natural raised ledge. Scanning the area, Zane inched over to the box, keeping himself low. He slipped the note he’d written inside.
Doubt now trickled in about leaving the note instead of the ransom Rachel had been willing to pay. Alex was his brother. Rosa, a young mother. It would be best for all if they were safe. What if he’d been wrong in his theory earlier—what if they were still alive, and the refusal to pay caused them harm?
Zane clenched his teeth and kept his body rigid. There was no point in second-guessing himself now. He wanted nothing to sway him from the decision he’d made, and if he gave in to doubt now, he’d talk himself into returning to Proud Bend and asking for the funds.
Forget it. He needed a guarantee before he paid one red cent, even for his brother. It was the right thing to do, though a part of him hated it.
With a grimace, Zane slipped behind some sagebrush. They tended to be short, but crouching down, he knew this type covered him well while the lack of snow hid his large footprints. Slowly he peeked around to find a vantage point that delivered a view of the town and, to his right, the distinct form of Castle Rock. It also provided an excellent view of the wooden box in front of him.
He checked his watch. Nine thirty-five. Frost streamed from his mouth and fogged the crystal, hiding the hands. He slipped it back into its pocket.
A few hundred feet away and below, his horse whinnied, the sound clear in the cold air. Zane searched the darkness once more for movement. Nothing. He hadn’t tied the horse too securely in case it needed to move to defend itself against a large cat or wolf, but the whinny didn’t sound stressed, so he returned his attention back to the box.
Shuffling, a scrape, jerked his attention away. Someone was coming. He waited. A grunt on the other side of the brush told him someone found the last few feet of the climb to be tough. Finally, long minutes later, there was a rustle of material as someone stood up on the top of the bluff not ten feet from him.
A woman.
She hurried over to the box and lifted the lid and the carpetbag she carried at the same time. She turned at one point to glance around her.
Rachel?
Furious, Zane rushed forward and clamped his hand over her mouth while the other arm pinned her close. She fought like a wild animal, but he was stronger. He hauled on the carpetbag to free it from her grip. It fell with a thud to the dirt. He tried to kick it behind the nearest sagebrush, but the bag was heavy and merely rolled once to land just beyond his feet. With a grunt of disgust, he ended up ignoring it before hauling her back to where he’d been hidden. She continued to fight until he pinned her down and whispered harshly in her ear.
“It’s me, Zane! Stop fighting! I only wanted you to be quiet.”
* * *
Rachel stilled, and Zane pulled her farther back behind the shrubs and farther from the box. Without ceremony, he plunked her on the ground and crouched down, separated from her by only inches. Her back was to the box and, immediately, she twisted around.
“Stay put! Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”
Craning her neck, she followed Zane with her attention. He went to her bag and scooped it up. She let out a gasp when he returned with it and shoved it under the sagebrush next to her.
“What are you doing? You need to replace that note with the money!”
“Didn’t anything I said to you stick in your head?” he hissed.
“Of course it did.”
“So why did you come?”
Rachel folded her arms. “I disagree with your methods. I want to pay the ransom.”
Zane threw up his hands in obvious frustration. “That is the worst idea I have ever heard. Do you want to know why?”
“Not really.” She glanced away. She was kneeling primly on the dusty rocks behind a large sagebrush shrub, for her skirt hardly allowed anything else. “But I expect you’ll tell me regardless.”
Zane leaned close to her. “What happened the last time you walked through Proud Bend with a large sum of money?”
Her lips tightened, and she didn’t answer.
“Do you know who wrote that ransom note?”
She turned her head away. “No.”
“Neither do I. And that makes them all the more dangerous. We don’t know who will meet us here. We don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“They returned Daniel, so they must have some compassion.”
“I doubt it. He wasn’t useful to them, so they disposed of him in a way that would be most likely to influence you. Daniel was a tool to them, a means by which to deliver a ransom note.”
“He wasn’t hurt.”
“He was hungry and sick and cold and dirty, Rachel!” Zane immediately lowered his voice, knowing how sounds traveled so easily in the cold air. “Paying that ransom encourages them to repeat the lucrative plan again.”
“So you’d rather let Alex and Rosa die?”
“If they’re still alive at this point, then it’s in the kidnappers’ best interest to keep them that way. Look, I’m not going to argue with you up here. If those kidnappers want their ransom, then they have no reason to harm Alex or Rosa. They’ll figure out some way to prove they are still alive and then demand their money again. But give it to them tonight, and it’s quite likely they will kill their hostages and disappear. If we do this my way, there’s a better chance of getting Alex and Rosa back alive.”
Her heart chilled. Zane looked down at her and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
Rachel wet her lips. Up here, miles from home, waiting for a kidnapper or two or three, she didn’t want to reveal that she didn’t trust Zane for fear that he’d abandon her in disgust. She was tough, she liked to think, but she didn’t want to be left here alone. Not after being reminded of that terrible assault five years ago.
“It’s all right if you don’t trust me,” he said, still whispering. He leaned closer. “But it’s not all right to be wandering the countryside with a large sum of money. I can’t do my job if I have to be watching out for you all the time.”
“I had an escort five years ago. He nearly died.”
“I won’t die. I know how to take care of myself.”
His voice might have been soft, but it was rich with confidence. Rachel swallowed. She’d always expected God to look after her when she worked for Him.
Was she doing that now? Or by paying the ransom, was she merely displaying her fear? Had God given her Zane tonight to ensure her safety so he could tell her His will and escort her back to town? She shut her eyes to the unwelcomed indecision waffling through her.
“Rachel, listen to me—”
He cut off his own words and jerked up his head. Rachel, hearing the scrape herself, spun. Zane pinned her down with one strong arm, no doubt wanting her to keep their location a secret.
As much as she hated the decision Zane had made, she saw the logic in it. She shut her eyes a moment and prayed. Lord, let this be over right now.
Despite it all, Rachel swallowed and fought against her short, nervous breaths. Her heart pounded in her throat. She felt Zane shift closer, continuing to prove that even when it came to something as simple as holding still, he didn’t trust her.
He shouldn’t. If anything happened to Rosa and Alex, she would be to blame and she could trace that blame for tonight all the way back seven years to Bea’s death. She should have insisted Bea take a loan to help her family.
So much regret. She should have realized she wasn’t a banker with the knowledge and experience in investments, foolishly insisting she could make money for those women. She should have forced Liza to go to the sheriff if she’d known who’d robbed and beaten Rachel and her escort almost to death.
The cold air stung Rachel’s eyes. She should have insisted Rosa move out of the crib she called home the minute she had told Rachel she wanted to know more about Jesus. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Rosa had disappeared so quickly after leaving her awful trade.
Rachel swallowed and blinked. Beside her, Zane shot her a fast look, the expression full of concern. But was that also suspicion in his eyes?
What if something happened to them tonight? How could they save Rosa and Alex then? Rachel felt her hand start to reach for him, to both reassure him and calm her racing heart. Tears welled further in her eyes, and she resisted both the urge to sniff and take hold of Zane, forcing her hands into her lap as she knelt behind the sagebrush, hating that she couldn’t see what was going on beyond their hiding place.
Zane patted the air between them and pointed to her. He wanted her to stay still. He then took two of his fingers and pointed them at his eyes and then at the box. Was he going to move so as to see whoever had arrived? Was that what his actions meant? Or was she to look at the box?
Lord, keep him safe.
The urgency of that need struck Rachel. She didn’t want anything to happen to Zane, and nipping at the heels of that realization was that her concern didn’t come from worry for Rosa and Alex’s safety. It was for Zane alone.
No. She would not allow her suddenly silly heart to rule her. Zane didn’t trust her. He thought of her as a crook, and when this was all over and done with, they would go their separate ways. He’d have no reason to stay—and she wouldn’t want him to. Rachel could hardly help those soiled doves of her town if she was seen sharing affections with a lawman.
As Zane shifted silently to peer around the brush, she did the same. A figure approached the box. Rachel couldn’t make out the person, only that they didn’t seem as tall as she was. But since she towered over most men, it hardly narrowed down the kidnapper’s identity. Even the coat revealed nothing, as those long dusters were designed to keep a person warm from top to bottom.
A small hand reached out and opened the box. The sharp sound of exasperation cut the still air.
Slamming the lid, the person straightened and the collar of the full-length duster fell back. With a gasp, Rachel recognized the slight frame and the wide, fancy skirt that poked out of the duster as the woman’s hands dropped. A skirt saved for working nights. Her hair fell forward, loose and long, its color as black as Rachel had always known it to be.
Rosa Carrera!