“Mad Dog Gulch,” Rafe said as he shaded his eyes against the welcome sun to look into the distance.
“You suppose she’s there?”
“Donahue’s from the city,” Rafe said. “He wouldn’t last a minute camping up in the mountains. It makes sense that he would’ve gone for a town.” Now he wished he’d taken more men in this direction. He was in such a hurry to get out of Perseverance and start searching that he hadn’t thought it through. They’d all gone separate ways in twos and threes.
Jackson gathered the reins of the loose horse, and they started toward Mad Dog Gulch at what felt like a painfully slow pace. It wouldn’t do any good to come riding into town in a fury, Rafe told himself. It was better not to draw attention to themselves.
When they reached the town, they tied the horses to the nearest hitch. Rafe felt on edge the moment they’d spotted the first buildings in the distance. It was edging into evening, and the place was already rowdy. There was a marshal, somewhere. Neither he nor Hawk had good experiences with the man, and Rafe wasn’t inclined to find him now.
He scanned the buildings and tents. Where would a man used to the comforts of the city choose to go? “Let’s start with the boardinghouses, then move to the saloons.” Heaven help Donahue if he’d dragged Hannah into one of these saloons. Or if he’d done anything to hurt her.
Rafe’s hands tensed. He’d deal with that situation if it came to it. First, he had to find her.
“Vale’s is the closest.” Jackson nodded at the ramshackle building just ahead on the left.
“Let’s go.” Rafe led the way down the road, dodging men who congregated in front of the saloon next door. It would be a miracle if they walked out later to find their horses still at the hitch.
Pushing that worry from his mind, Rafe opened the door to the boardinghouse. The walls must have been made from paper, because at least ten different conversations assailed him from all directions.
Vale himself was leaning back in a chair behind a desk. His eyes dropped to the star on Rafe’s chest before rising back to his face. “You need a room?”
Rafe would sooner sleep on the ground outside of town. “I’m looking for a man and a woman—”
“Garland.” Jackson nudged his shoulder as he withdrew a pistol.
Rafe followed his gaze. In a room just beyond the entry, tables and chairs were pushed aside to make room for four men.
And Hannah.
Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he reached for his own pistol.
“There’s a wedding going on in there,” Vale said helpfully as he eyed their guns. “Don’t go shooting it up. The cook’s serving supper in there in a few minutes.”
Awedding. Rafe’s blood roared in his ears. He started forward, hardly able to think straight.
Jackson’s hand clamped around his arm. “Wait.”
Rafe yanked his arm away. “Why? She’s in there, and that fool thinks he’s going to marry her.”
“If you go storming in there, you don’t know what he could do. He doesn’t know who you are, right?”
Rafe nodded. Only Hannah would recognize him.
Jackson reached up, unpinned the star from his vest, and slipped it into his pocket before holstering his pistol. He raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for Rafe to do the same.
Rafe took a breath and tried to think through the anger. Jackson was right. They could slip in as curious onlookers, so long as they weren’t identifiable.
Jackson untucked half his shirt and ran a hand over his hair to ensure it looked as if he’d already been out carousing. He stuck his hat back on his head, hair hanging over one eye and waited while Rafe did the same.
“Stay here,” Rafe shot at Vale.
The man shrugged, like he didn’t care what happened in his own boardinghouse, so long as they didn’t delay his supper.
Rafe let Jackson enter first. They took up a spot by the wall, and Jackson reached over to grab a suspect slice of bread from the table next to him, likely left over from whatever meal was last served in this room. He chewed on it as he looked around the room, as if what was happening across from them didn’t matter at all.
Rafe took a second to admire the playacting. Who knew Jackson had such a talent? Rafe tried to follow suit, even though all he wanted to do was rush forward and tackle Donahue to the ground.
He propped a foot on the wall behind him and caught the gaze of an irritated woman in an apron he supposed was the cook, standing at the kitchen door. He turned to survey the wedding party with what he hoped was a look of disinterest.
