The shotgun layout of the relay station allowed Nolan to view all the exits. There were two rooms flanking the front entrance, which opened to the kitchen and dining room areas, and two rooms lining the corridor to the rear exit. He crossed the space and peered out the back door. The top of Caroline’s head was visible behind a tangle of blackberry bushes. The girls laughed with each other, blissfully unaware of the tension brewing in the relay station.
The task should keep them busy for at least another thirty minutes, give or take.
He cast a glance at the door leading to his bedroom. How long did Tilly have before the outlaw grew suspicious? His gun wasn’t exactly concealed, but he hadn’t painted a bull’s-eye on the barrel, either.
Snyder flopped onto one of the dining room chairs. He hooked his heel over the rung of a second chair, yanked the legs nearer, then propped his loosely crossed ankles on the seat. Nolan clenched his jaw. Bad enough the outlaws were forcing their participation in a heist before they murdered them, but they were a slovenly bunch of fugitives, as well.
The outlaw rested his shotgun across his lap and threaded his hands behind his head. The scattergun was an odd choice, but given the item was probably stolen, the selection made more sense.
Nolan ladled beans into a serving bowl, and the outlaw grunted.
“You always do woman’s work?” the man sneered.
“With only the two of us running the station, we alternate tasks.”
The outlaw grunted again, apparently satisfied with the answer. Nolan’s gaze slid toward the partially open bedroom door. A thump sounded and Snyder straightened.
Nolan slammed down the coffeepot, pulling the man’s attention from Tilly’s activities.
“Why are you running with those two?” Nolan asked. “Seems like you’re the sort of fellow who can take care of himself.”
“I owe ’em for busting me out of jail.”
“They’re using you,” Nolan said. “They’ll kill you and take your share once they have the gold. They’re brothers. They have no allegiance to you.”
“Like you said, I’m the sort of fellow who can take care of himself.”
The big guy was smarter than he looked. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to sow the seeds of discontent now and again over the next few days. Anything the hostages could do to divide the men might ultimately aid in an escape attempt.
The gang had obviously been riding hard, and fatigue showed in the bend of Snyder’s shoulders. His eyes drifted shut. Nolan gently set the stacked plates on the table, then wiped his hands on a towel. His nerves thrummed. Tilly was taking too long. Snyder was liable to wake and burst in on her at any moment.
He started toward the bedroom. The front door slammed open. Dakota Red and his brother stumbled inside, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, their faces flushed and their eyes glassy.
“Where’s the woman?” Charlie demanded.
“Doing her hair or something,” Snyder mumbled from his half slumber.
Charlie kicked the chair from beneath his heels, jerking the outlaw upright. “You’re supposed to be watching them.”
“I am.”
Charlie slapped the back of the taller man’s head. “I told you we shoulda left this big, dumb lug behind.”
Snyder lunged upward but the quick tensing of Dakota Red’s body had him checking his actions.
“Leave him alone, Charlie,” Dakota Red snarled. “We need him. The next time he sleeps on duty, I’ll wallop him myself.”
“You say we need him.” Charlie threw up his arms. “I say we can work this heist just fine on our own.”
“Your last plan got us locked up in jail for fourteen months. I’m not swinging from a noose because you can’t hold your temper.”
The two men measured each other in silence, one deadly calm and sure, the other seething with barely concealed rage. Finally, muttering a vile imprecation, Charlie spun on his heel and stalked toward the partially closed door. The outlaw lifted his heel to kick the door, but the panel swung open before his boot made contact. The shock threw him off balance and he stumbled forward.
Tilly dodged his clumsy fall as she entered the room. Her face carefully impassive, she skirted past the prone man.
Charlie muttered another sharp curse, and Snyder chortled.
Dakota Red scowled at Snyder. “Don’t rile him up. He’s liable to shoot you, and I need a third man for this job.”
The humiliated outlaw sprang to his feet and slapped his hat against his thigh.
Nolan frantically searched Tilly’s face for any sign she’d had success in retrieving the gun, but he couldn’t read her expression. She’d pinned her hair in place once more, appearing cool and composed. Only someone looking closely would see the way she clutched her fingers together, hiding the fact that she was visibly shaking. Apprehension crawled up his nerves. He’d try again for the gun later. Snyder must have forgotten he hadn’t searched the room, because he didn’t show any sign of moving from his perch at the table.
Tilly took in the tension flickering between the three outlaws and scooted nearer to Nolan. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Aware the outlaws were monitoring their every move, he draped his hand around her waist and drew her near. She offered a stiff smile that might have passed as a grimace. Neither of them was particularly comfortable with the ruse, but until he thought of a better plan, they were trapped in the deception. The irony didn’t escape him. He was an unlikely suitor even before the war. Women had mostly left him stammering and bashful.
Others in the prisoner camp had anxiously awaited letters from home, but his mother had died and his father didn’t write well.
The perfumed letters caused the most ribbing amongst the men. Yet there was a melancholy edge in the prisoners’ good-natured teasing. At the time, Nolan had been grateful he didn’t have a sweetheart waiting for him. Anticipating the letters was agony, and receiving a missive was joy tempered with the sure knowledge of everything the men were missing. They were supposed to be grateful they were alive, and he was—other men perished by the hundreds each day. Except balancing on the cusp of living was its own torture.
Tilly slipped from his hold and patted his cheek, then ducked into the kitchen once more. Nolan touched the spot her hand had caressed. A simple gesture, the casual affection of husband and wife. He’d best follow her lead and stay on his toes, no matter how unnatural the actions.
As she sliced the loaf of bread he’d left on the counter, Nolan finished setting the table for the outlaws.
“Ain’t you setting a place for yourselves?” Dakota Red inquired from his sprawl.
“We’ll wait until you’re finished,” Tilly replied, her voice clipped. “The girls, remember.”
“Ah, yes. Them girls who can’t keep secrets.”
She finished slicing the bread and carried the board to the table. Once she’d returned to the kitchen, she rinsed her hands and draped the towel haphazardly over the counter. Nolan automatically lifted the discarded item.
Tilly glared at him.
He glanced down.
She’d been covering the knife she’d used to slice the bread.
His ears burned.
He folded the towel in fours and rested the neat square over the knife once more.
She reached for the leather handle of the water bucket. “I’ll