He crooked up the corner of his mouth, as if his own thoughts amused him. “Why a pretty young girl like you was traveling alone.”
Sophia tried to ignore her racing heart. They didn’t speak to her often, and then it was usually only to threaten her or ask if she needed to use the necessary. She took a deep breath, hoping it would steady her words. “I wasn’t alone. I was with the Randalls.”
He glanced behind him at the men, who had all paused in their eating to listen to the conversation. “Not what I meant. They were too young to be your parents and you weren’t with a husband.”
Sophia’s stomach turned. Was he trying to find out if anyone would miss her? If they left her out here—or shot her outright—would anyone come looking for her?
Her heart sunk as she realized that no one would.
But this man didn’t need to know that.
“That’s because my intended is waiting for me to arrive.” She paused, trying to determine how far she should push the falsehood she was spinning. “He’s likely wondering where I am, if he hasn’t already discovered what has happened.”
Snake’s expression changed. The lilt of his chilling grin fell away into a frown. “Your intended is in Pueblo?”
“He is.” She said it before she could think through the fact that she didn’t know where Pueblo was, much less whether it would be feasible for Miss Timperman’s made-up fiancé to be living there.
But she liked the look of concern Snake gave Roberts, who stood, abandoning his bowl of blackened beans, to come join them. Roberts whispered something into Snake’s ear as he rested a hand on the pistol in his holster. As protective as the older man had been toward her, he was the one who’d shot two of the men who’d tried to come after them when they left the wagon train the first time.
Before they’d grabbed Mrs. Randall, and before Sophia had offered herself. No one knew that Mrs. Randall had just discovered she was with child, but she’d told Sophia. And Sophia couldn’t live with herself if she’d just let these outlaws take her.
Whether the two men he’d shot had lived or died, Sophia didn’t know. But she knew he clearly didn’t concern himself with the morality of killing a person.
“I imagine he’s already looking for me,” she said, desperate to prevent Roberts from convincing Snake to let him pull that revolver. “He’s . . . he’s well-connected in town with several friends. I’m certain they’d all be willing to help him.”
They both looked at her now, and the men around the campfire remained silent. It was so quiet, Sophia thought they all could hear the pounding of her heart.
“Your man,” Roberts said. “He’s a . . .?”
She winced inwardly at needing to expand the lie even further. “A businessman. He runs a . . . business. He’s very successful.” She hoped they wouldn’t ask what sort of business, because who knew what sorts of enterprises existed in Pueblo.
If there were any at all.
Sophia forced her expression to remain neutral even as her mind whirled. What if Pueblo was but a speck upon the desert? What if the only business there was a lodging house for weary travelers? Or a saloon?
Roberts glanced at Snake. They seemed to hold some silent conversation between them before Snake turned his gaze back toward Sophia.
“And your forthcoming marriage is a certainty?” he asked.
“Of course it is. Do you suppose I’d journey clear out here when I could have remained in Missouri if it wasn’t?” She tried to sound indignant. As if she were some lucky bride on her way to marry the wealthiest man around instead of a girl simply trying to escape a greedy man with no plans beyond getting out of his reach.
They looked at each other again and Roberts nodded. “Javier,” he suddenly shouted toward the men at the campfire. “Get me that pencil of yours. And some paper.”
The dark-haired man who was always sketching leapt up and went to his saddlebags. He extracted the nub of a pencil and a crumpled piece of brown paper, like the kind one might wrap a parcel in for safekeeping. He handed it to Roberts, who held it out to Snake.
Snake crouched down and set the paper on his knee, paused a moment, and then began writing.
The minutes ticked by. A trickle of perspiration ran down Sophia’s face, and she wiped it away. Finally, she could withhold her curiosity no longer. “What are you writing?”
Snake grinned, wrote a bit more before finishing with a little flourish, and held the paper out to read aloud. “Dear Sir, Please forgive this intrusion upon your daily affairs, but we thought you might like to know that we have your bride. She is well and safe and will remain so provided you part with the sum listed below. You may bring the money to the old fort south of Pueblo in two days’ time. Come alone. Failure to heed this message and its instructions will result in Miss Timperman’s life coming to an early and tragic halt.”
Sophia sucked in a breath. Ransom. They were going to ransom her to the husband she’d invented.
“That’s mighty eloquent,” Roberts said. “Makes me wish I’d finished my own schooling.”
Snake smiled before casting a glance at Sophia. “What’s his name?”
She swallowed hard. A name. They needed a name. For the man who didn’t exist. For the man who wasn’t coming to rescue her. “Pollard,” she finally said, borrowing the name of a neighbor she’d had growing up. “Seth Pollard.”
