Chapter Five

Rebecca lay upon that hard floor, her body racked with pain. Her head throbbed and her every muscle ached and burned from being left in such an awkward position in her restraints.

She wondered how long she would be left here. Would Martin pay the money? Would it happen quickly? And, if these thieves got what they were wanting from Martin, would they truly let her go unharmed?

Worry had her chewing at her bottom lip when those boot steps suddenly sounded on the floor once again.

Rebecca looked up to see Brantley stepping into the room with a dripping wet rag in his fist. "Quit chewing on your lip like a damned squirrel with a nut," he grumbled.

She flinched as he stepped close to her and then crouched to her level. "I ain't gonna hurt you," Brantley assured her, though his voice surely didn't sound convincing. "I ain't like those men. Hell, I ain't never used a woman this way to make a bit of money and I ain't never hit one either."

His rough, calloused fingers danced lightly over the aching spot on her head where she'd been struck.

Rebecca nearly leapt from her skin. His touch was searing—like a red hot branding iron against her skin. Never in her life had Rebecca felt anything quite as shocking as that simple contact.

She saw Brantley's green eyes narrow at her sharp intake of breath. What was wrong with her? This man was evil and mean and cruel—the men he considered friends were evidence enough of that. She had no reason to feel anything but fear and hatred for the man.

Brantley's fingertips were quickly replaced by the wet rag he was holding and Rebecca winced as he cleaned blood from her face and hair. "Damn brutes," he muttered under his breath.

He stood swiftly and tossed the rag onto a small rickety table in the corner. He studied her a moment while rubbing at his jaw. Rebecca wondered what he was thinking but said nothing until he reached for her feet.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, curling them further behind her.

Brantley raised his brow once more as he studied her face. "I was going to untie you and make you a bit more comfortable but if you want to stay like this." He shrugged and began to turn away.

"No!" Rebecca quickly spoke up. "Please, untie me."

Brantley nodded, appearing amused as he stooped down and untied her feet before taking her by her arm and hauling her up.

Rebecca cried out with pain as blood rushed to her legs. She swayed on her numb legs and would have fallen if Brantley's arm hadn't snaked around her waist to hold her up.

Every nerve in Rebecca's body was suddenly awake and aware. The front of her body was pressed flush against the front of the hard, rugged outlaw.

She tried to suck in a breath but there didn't seem to be any air left in the room. Hot blood rushed through her veins as she forced her gaze up to his face.

Brantley's green eyes were as dark as the emerald in a ring Martin had once give her.....

That had Rebecca snapping out of her heated daze. She pulled away from Brantley, relieved when he willingly let her go. She longed to stretched out her arms and relieve the pressure in her shoulders from having them pulled behind her.

Brantley reached toward her once more, though Rebecca managed to keep from wincing and suddenly her arms were free.

She nearly wept with a mixture of relief and pain when she was finally able to relax her shoulders and her tight muscles pulled sharply.

"Follow me," Brantley grunted. "There's a back room with a bed and you can have it. I reckon you'd rather have that than the hard floor."

Rebecca chose not to respond. As he began to walk away, she glanced toward the open front door. She could make a run for it.....

Brantley chuckled and never even slowed his pace or turned to look at her when he said, "Go ahead. But where the hell you gonna go? You don't have the slightest idea where you are and there's no saddled horse outside waitin'—if you can even ride a saddled horse. I highly doubt you know how to saddle one yourself. You're better off stayin' here, ridin' this out and goin' home to your husband safe and sound whenever Hoff says you can."

Rebecca wanted to scoff and argue and criticize the man for jumping to conclusions about her but she couldn't. Because she couldn't saddle a horse—hell she couldn't even ride one. Her family had lived in the slums in the city and had had no need or money for a horse.

Martin had plenty of horses but he would have been livid if she'd actually attempted to ride one. Riding horses was something far below what he thought his wife should do.

And she didn't know where she was. Had no way of knowing how far she was from any sort of civilization or help. She had no knowledge of surviving on her own out there and no way of knowing who she might encounter. Here in this shack, Rebecca didn't feel as if her life were in immediate danger—whether that made her foolish or simply a good judge of situation, only time would tell.

It could very well end up being a situation of stepping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

She grudgingly followed Brantley into the small back room and looked at the tiny brass bed and thin mattress in the corner. "It's not much," he admitted. "I'm sure you'll find somethin' to complain about."

Rebecca shook her head as she wrapped her arms tight around herself. "I've had worse," she replied. The man didn't realize she'd slept on dirt floors that still smelled of piss from the animals they'd had to bring inside to keep them from freezing in the bitter cold of winter.

Again those green eyes studied her. He nodded and pointed to the bed. "Have a seat," he said before brandishing a pair of cuffs from a drawer in the bedside table.

"You don't have to lock my hands," she assured him, praying he'd listen. "I won't run. As you said, how far would I get on foot with no idea of direction?"

Brantley shook his head. "You're going to have a seat on that bed and I'm going to chain your hand to the headboard. I won't take any chance that would end with you dead out there and me dead here when the gang gets back and you're gone."

Rebecca frowned. She couldn't figure the man out. He didn't seem to want to harm her, seemed upset that others had and, yet, he wasn't willing to help her get away either.

It made her sad the things men did for money. And it also made her wonder if she should have made a run for it.

Rebecca's gaze flitted momentarily over the gun on his hip. Maybe....

She stepped forward, feigning resignation and slid past him in the tight quarters as if she were going to the bed.

Instead, Rebecca moved quickly, grabbed the handle of the revolver, slid it from the holster and took one big step back as she aimed it at Brantley's chest.

The man's green eyes widened with genuine shock as he stared at her. "What the hell do you intend to do, ma'am?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't want to have to kill you...." Rebecca began but stopped when his rich, deep laughter filled the dusty room.

"That's good because I doubt you could. Do you even know how one of those work?"

It was finally Rebecca's turn to narrow her eyes as she cocked revolver and kept it steady on his chest. "I grew up poor in the slums but papa always made sure we had a gun and he made sure his daughter knew how to use it."

Brantley's head tilted to the side as he studied her closely. Rebecca swallowed hard. True, she knew how to use the gun but that did not mean she had what it took to kill a person—she really didn't want to pull the trigger.

"And what are you going to do after you've killed me and made your escape?" Brantley asked. "I can promise you that you're several days of on foot walking from any kind of homestead or town. You gonna take a canteen and a sack of jerked beef and beans and brave the wilderness alone? I can promise you right now, there are far worse things than me out there."

Rebecca's arms were beginning to burn from holding out the gun but she kept it steady. "You could help me then. You've shown a dislike for this plan of your friend's. You could help me get away....."

"No, I can't. They'd hunt you back down and kill you for defying them. If they got you once, they can easily do it twice. Might even kill that husband of yours once they realize they can't get his money through you. Not to mention, if I help you escape, they'll be happy to put bullets in me too. I ain't looking to take a bullet for you."

"Then I'll be forced to kill you and take my chances alone."

Brantley grumbled under his breath. Rebecca's hands shook as she held the gun. Could she pull the trigger? His green eyes were looking straight into hers. Could she honestly shoot the man?

Before she had time to come to a definite conclusion, Brantley seemed to grow bored. In a movement so fast Rebecca nearly missed it, his hand shot out, grabbed the gun and had it holstered.

He once again motioned for the bed. "Sit."

"I'm not a hound," Rebecca muttered, even as she obeyed his gruff command.

"I wouldn't ever call you one, ma'am," Brantley conceded. "And believe it or not, you are safe here with me."

The kind words were countered by the cold metal cuffs being secured around her left wrist and then the metal bed post.

"You'll be more comfortable here then you were on that floor. I'll go get you something to eat and drink."

Rebecca watched Brantley step out the door and close it behind him. She was now alone in the tiny room. Though, she was still chained, she knew that this was better than being tied up on the floor.

She cursed her failed attempt at escape but knew that escape would almost certainly mean death—she didn't know how to survive out there alone.

And Brantley hadn't give her any reason to think he meant to harm her. She took a deep steadying breath. All she had was hope. Hope that Martin would pay, hope that Hoff and his men would return her safely to her husband and hope that Brantley would keep his word and not harm her in the meantime.