The Outlaw of Cedar Ridge. Lori Connelly
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poured him a refill and left the bottle. His fingers tightened around the glass but before he lifted it to his mouth again, the noisy room quieted.
Braced for a fight, Ben released his grip and turned to face the door, expecting to see that the group of Talbert’s ranch hands had returned. The sight of only two men standing by the door caught him off guard. Damn. He would’ve preferred a fight.
The Nash brothers strode across the room, cocky, confident, as if they owned the place. His decision to hook up with these lowlifes for this last job was one he’d regretted from the moment he made it. They had no good reason to follow him back to Cedar Ridge.
“Rolfe, what a surprise.” Billy’s smile was more like a coyote barring his teeth than anything human.
“Yes, it is.” He offered them an equally insincere smile of his own. “Have you lost Byron?”
“He’s getting patched up.”
“So what brings you out this way?”
“Seth and I were bored.” Billy’s over pleasant tone set his teeth on edge. “I thought we could find a game here.”
A two-hour ride at night for a game? “Is that so?”
“If not, we’ll start our own.”
Billy chuckled and shouted to the bartender for a couple of bottles as he and Seth sat down at the empty table. Ben reached back, grabbed his glass and lifted it in a mocking toast. He drank then slowly turned his back to the outlaws, a deliberate act to show them he wasn’t afraid. With a hand steady through sheer force of will, he refilled his glass.
The fact that Billy hadn’t bothered to offer a believable explanation didn’t bode well. They were here either to rob him or kill him, possibly both. His options were few. Most of the townspeople wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire and the one man who’d likely help was the one man he couldn’t ask.
Please protect me from the other lowlifes, Sheriff. Yeah that would go over well.
Ben finished off his drink and poured another. He nursed this measure of whiskey and listened to the brothers persuade a few men to play poker with them while he waited for the chance to slip away. A band of pressure coiled around his chest when they started to brag about the robbery. With them running off at the mouth, the sheriff would soon have more than suspicion about his ‘jobs’. And that meant leaving town sooner rather than later.
Ben cursed under his breath. He’d thought he’d have time to break the news about the move gently, to make Evie see that this would be the best option for them. Now he wouldn’t have that luxury. From the slurred speech of his fellow bandits, he knew that escaping the Nash brothers tonight would still be possible. But, with these scumbags in town, it wouldn’t be long before their loose lips would have the law on him or, and his gut clenched at the thought, they’d find out where he lived.
He’d endangered his wife.
More whiskey poured into the glass. Yesterday he’d cut her off when she tried to encourage him to tell her what was wrong. If she knew the truth about his family, about him, Evie wouldn’t have wasted her breath. Ben downed a few drinks in a row then paused, noticing the bottle was now half empty. Shame bled through him even as he filled his glass again.
Ben shifted so he could watch the Nash brothers out of the corner of his eye. He’d never meant for it to go this far. It was just going to be the one time, one job so they could have a home again. After that, for a time, he’d worked damn hard to stay on the straight and narrow and play by the rules. All that earned him was a kick in the teeth for his effort.
The whiskey no longer burned going down. It barely numbed the pain. He’d been a fool to think he could be a better man than his father had been.
Ben squared his shoulders and straightened away from the bar. He needed to go home. He had to explain. His fingers tightened on the glass again. He didn’t know where to start, what to say. He’d lied to Evie about so much, for so long.
Instead of walking away, Ben loosened the glass, grabbed the bottle and turned around. Both Nash brothers were red in the face drunk. He picked up his bag and moseyed over to stand by them. Neither man looked up from his cards. He could slip away without a fight now, that would be the smart thing to do, but the pile of coins on the table captured his attention.
It was enough money to build the home he’d always promised Evie. Ben took a swig from the bottle then pulled up a chair, joining the game. Maybe this time…
Cedar Ridge, Idaho – Spring 1891
Her eyes popped open. In the darkness that enveloped her, Evie Rolfe swallowed hard. Sometime during the night, her lamp had died and left the young woman alone. Her fingers tightened into a white knuckled grip around the rifle while she listened for anything unusual. She didn’t dare move, waiting untold minutes, locked in fear until light trickled through the cabin’s only window.
While the ebony grayed and the shadows faded, she gained a measure of courage. Evie scanned the modest room in search of what had woken her. A simple chair sat beside her in front of the stone fireplace. Cast iron pots and a frying pan were stacked on the hearth by short rounds of pine. Along the walls was a long low bench with towels folded neatly on top, a four-drawer dresser, a metal pail then a bed in the corner. Nothing appeared out of place so far.
Nervous, Evie twisted so she could look at the wall behind her. A gap in the window curtains allowed a glimpse of the crimson sky. The crudely made wood table remained snug against the door with the oil lamp in the center. To the right of that, her cloak and a large tan wicker basket hung side by side. A rough broom she’d fashioned stood propped in the corner. Relief seeped through her, and the breath that she’d held released.
Evie sagged against the chair her grandfather had made. Her left hand lifted, rubbed over her face, then lowered to slide palm down over a scarred, oak arm. Loneliness, a muted ache, haunted. The worn rocking chair was all she had left from her family. She sighed softly, almost without sound.
A distinct thud carried through the log walls. Her short-lived calm vanished. Blood raced through her veins. Heart in her throat, Evie gathered the edges of the quilts close around her. Slow, cautious, rifle cradled to her stomach, she pushed up to her feet then turned to face the window.
A minute passed. Then another. Evie heard nothing, saw nothing. She drew in a breath and stepped close to the glass pane. With the rifle muzzle, she pushed the washed out material aside. Her gaze found the source of the sound, what had likely woken her, right away. Fear evaporated.
Drained, her grip loosened. The blankets slipped, sagging around her waist. Anger whispered. Evie turned around and, jaw clenched, stalked to the fireplace. She hung the weapon back on the hooks above the mantle where it belonged. The hard packed dirt floor chilled her bare feet, hastening her pace as she moved to the corner.
Beside the empty bed, Evie stilled, stared at it for a few seconds, her lips compressed into a hard thin line. With a snap of her wrists, she spread the thin patchwork quilts over the mattress. Sadness, resentment and frustration crashed over her in waves as she pulled her nightgown over her head, tossing it on the covers. Goose bumps soon dotted her skin. In quick, jerky movements, she donned stockings, undergarments, a faded blue long sleeved shirt and a brown ankle length skirt.
Another thud sounded. Evie ground her teeth. She sat down on the bed and pulled on well-worn black boots. Her hair fell across her face in the process. Exasperated, she plucked her hairbrush off the wall where it hung by a leather thong.
With the ease of long practice, she swiftly tamed her waist length dark brown hair into a single thick braid that hung down her back. Evie stood and slapped the brush back in place. Her hands shook as she stomped over, and shoved the table away from the door.
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