But he had been handed a weapon, just handed it, by God, and he was never one to turn away from opportunity.
Randall’s daughter.He hadn’t even known the man had one.He didn’t think the captain did, either.Strange the way he kept thinking of Rafferty Tyler as captain.Three weeks traveling together would usually break down formality, but not with Tyler.Not that, or the two months since their arrival at the cabin.
Although Captain Tyler had been a strict officer, uncompromising in discipline and training, he’d also been a man with a quick smile and ready compliment when a man did well.
There were no smiles or compliments now.Rafe Tyler was as contained a man as Ben had ever seen.Sealed up.Talk had been at a minimum, as if Tyler no longer knew how to converse.Question-and-answer.Then silence.That was all there had been.
Both he and Clint had discussed it, and they finally figured that Randall’s exposure was the only thing that would help dispel the blackness that hovered around Tyler.The sooner, the better.
They had been making progress.Two holdups now, both taking Circle R payrolls.Randall was hurting financially, hurting bad.But it was just too damn slow.Ben saw the captain’s restlessness, his impatience.
And so the encounter with Randall’s daughter had seemed a unique opportunity to speed the process.
But after several hours with the lady, Ben was having second thoughts.Her eagerness was cloaked in dignity, which was very appealing.She didn’t intrude on him, but when they stopped, she asked questions.Intelligent questions.It was downright disconcerting.
This morning he’d handed her a pair of boy’s pants and shirt.
“We’re going riding over a mountain, Miss Randall.If you’ve never ridden sidesaddle before, I don’t advise it now,” he added, looking at her skirt.
A becoming blush colored her cheeks as she apparently debated proprieties.
“I won’t take you if you don’t use good sense,” he said, and she’d hurried back to her room, the clothes clutched tightly to her.No complaints, no exclamations of horror.He liked that.He didn’t want to like it, but he did.
During their last stop, he’d watched her carefully as she untied a case from her saddle and opened it, taking out a pad and leaning against a tree as she sketched.He wondered what she was sketching, but he didn’t ask.He wanted to keep conversation at a minimum.He took the opportunity to place a stone under one of the mare’s shoes.That was an hour ago.She would start limping anytime now, and he would take Miss Randall on his own horse.She would realize damn soon they were not going where she thought they were going.
They had nearly reached the turnoff to the cabin when the mare started to limp.
“Mr.Smith.”
He turned, knowing what he would see.
He dismounted and went to the mare, picking up the hoof from the ground and giving it a superficial look.“You’ll have to ride with me, Miss Randall.”
Her eyes widened, and he noted a flicker of apprehension.He held out his hand, and she hesitated, making him wonder whether she suspected something.But then why should she?
She finally took his hand and slid off the mare.He mounted and helped her up behind him.A mile later he left the trail and turned into the woods.“A shorter way,” he explained.
Her arms tightened as they climbed upward.For a novice she was doing well.
And then they stopped.He took off his bandanna and turned around in the saddle.“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m going to have to blindfold you.”
Her body went rigid, and she swallowed.“I won’t hurt you,” he said, “but this is … necessary.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.We’re just taking a small detour.”
“You don’t work for my father.”It was an accusation, not a question.
He didn’t say anything, just tied the bandanna around her eyes.“Now keep your arms around me,” he said.“It’s a steep ride.”
“If I don’t?”The voice trembled just a little.
“I’ll tie them there.”
She was silent, and he took that for assent.“You won’t be hurt,” he said again.
“Then why …?”
