“To find Miss Timperman. I can be ready in just a few minutes. I owe that much to her.”
The sheriff pressed his lips together. “Son, I can’t spare the men for that.”
Matthew stared at him, his mind trying to make sense of the sheriff’s words. “You told Mrs. Randall you’d find Miss Timperman.”
“I said I’d do my best. But it’s going to be at least a week. Right now, I’ve got too much to handle here in Pueblo, and I’ve got men off looking for rustlers. I don’t have enough men to spare. Besides, sounds like this happened in Bent County. I’ll send a telegram to the sheriff over there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Canton.”
Matthew stood, slack-jawed, watching as they left. His hands balled into fists at his sides. Aweek? He would not sit idly by for a week or wait for the sheriff elsewhere and hope Miss Timperman would be found safely.
If Sheriff Stone wouldn’t help, he’d go find her himself.
Chapter Three
WELL, THIS WAS SOMEpickle she’d gotten herself into.
Sophia propped her chin with a hand on her knees as she watched the outlaws fuss over who had burned the beans. Which, she supposed, was better than listening to them argue over what they were going to do with her. Their suggestions ranged from the terrifying—leave her here alone in the desert to find her own way—to the horrifying—leave her here but tie her to the nearest tree.
She tried to focus on the good things. After four days, she’d convinced them to leave her hands free, and the chafing the ropes had caused was nearly gone. They’d fed her. It was awful food, but itwasfood. None of them had taken advantage of her, thanks to the oldest one, a fatherly sort who’d set any of the others straight with a good smack across the face for looking at her wrong. If they had, she would use that little knife Mr. Randall had slipped into her hand after she’d volunteered to take his wife’s place. The one that was too small to scare them but big enough to do damage if her life was threatened.
But best of all, they were beginning to trust her not to run off, which worked in her favor.
Of course, it might help if there were anywhere to runtoward. Or a tree or a hill or anything that might provide concealment. But the only things out here in this desolate corner of Colorado were bushy, silvery-green plants that Mr. James, the wagon master, had told her were sagebrush, sparse bits of other greenery, and miles upon miles of sandy dirt. Unless she could shrink herself to the size of a mouse, none of that would do her any good in an attempt to escape.
And so she sat here. And waited. And prayed they would either let her go near a town or that someone would eventually come to her rescue.
The wagon train had to have reached the next town by now. Perhaps there were lawmen searching for her right at this moment. Sophia held onto that hope with every fiber of her being.
“Here.” One of the outlaws, a man the others referred to as Snake, held out the usual battered metal bowl with no fork or spoon. He and the older man, Roberts, appeared to be the ones in charge.
Sophia thanked him and slurped down the charred tasting beans. But instead of returning to the group around the fire, he stood there and watched her, his brow furrowed.
She forced herself to swallow as her heart began to thump harder. Why was he looking at her? She wiped her mouth with her hand, a terrible habit she’d grown used to over the past week. Had they made some decision about her fate?
“You know what I’ve been wondering?” he finally said.
Sophia shook her head, hoping it wasn’t anything that would make him want to truss her up and leave her out here to die.
