The Christmas Ring by Shanna Hatfield

Author:Shanna Hatfield [Hatfield, Shanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Trace hid in the trees, watching Victoria to make sure she got the ropes off her hands and the blindfold removed from her eyes before he made his way to the hideout where Frankie John and Henry waited for him.

Earlier, his heart had just about fallen to his feet when Victoria charged around the bend in the road on that half-wild horse. The last person he expected to see was Victoria Carter. He’d had to think fast to keep the two idiots with him from attempting to do something to her that would have forced him to shoot them both.

Rattled by her appearance, he took a moment for his nerves to settle before he rode up to the cabin where they’d been gathering before and after they went on a job. Hidden deep in a grove of trees, the place was impossible to find if you didn’t know where to look for it.

Trace swung off the back of the horse and removed the saddle and bridle, turning him loose in a corral attached to the barn. The mount was dependable and steady, even if that comprised all the praise he could find to offer the animal. He pondered where Brunson had found a whole string of horses that looked and acted so much alike it was hard to tell one from another.

He was still thinking about the horses when he walked into the cabin to find Henry and Frankie John sitting at the table drinking from a bottle of whiskey.

Henry nodded to him, but Frankie John got to his feet and took a step toward him.

“Why’d you keep us from having a little fun?” the robber asked in a whine as Trace took off his brown coat, hat, bandana, and leather chaps that covered his pants. He left them in a box on the table where they all stored what he thought of as their costumes.

“Because she’s the type of woman you don’t want to mess with, you lunkheaded dolt. You do something to her and every lawman from Seattle to Salt Lake will be here, sniffing around, shooting first, and asking questions later.” Trace was about at the end of his patience with the man. Eager to leave, he picked up his coat and shrugged into it then lifted his hat in his hand.

“That’s exactly right,” a voice said from the shadows.

Trace settled an impassive expression on his face as he turned and studied the man who moved into the light trickling in a filthy, cracked window. He knew without asking this was Emmett Brunson, leader of the gang and elusive robber.

From what Trace observed, Brunson mostly gave orders, kept himself safely tucked away, then collected the spoils, divvying up just enough to keep his gang members coming back for more work.

Brunson was shorter than Trace expected, but what he lacked in height, he made up in width. The man was shaped like a squatty barrel with a face to match. His nose was the size of a potato and appeared to have been smashed into his face while his upper lip sagged on the left side.

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