Survivor Pass Page 7

  “You’d do fine, Gabe, and so will Noah. Every man deals with his wife having a baby in a different way.” She turned as another loud moan preceded a scream. A moment later, the unmistakable crying of a baby drew her attention. She gripped Gabe’s arm. “It’s the baby.”

  Jumping up, Gabe dashed toward the door. “I’ll get Noah.” He covered the distance to the Dixie in no more than a minute, shoving open the saloon door, his gaze latching onto Noah’s.

  “What?” Noah pushed from the table, knocking over his chair, his legs trembling as he walked toward Gabe.

  “Come on, Papa.” A broad smile split Gabe’s face. “Abby’s had your baby.”

  “What will you name him?” Doc Worthington’s expression softened as he watched Noah hold the small bundle in his arms.

  “What do you think, Abby?” Noah didn’t take his eyes off his son.

  She let out a tired breath, her face showing her exhaustion as a weak smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, I believe we settled on Noah Gabriel Brandt.”

  “Yes.” Noah’s eyes clouded as moisture filled them. “We’ll call him Gabriel.”

  “Noah Gabriel Brandt. That’s a fine name.” Doc finished scrawling in a journal, then turned toward them. “His heart and lungs are strong, color’s good, and his size is what I’d expect. Abby will need rest, Noah. Do you have someone to stay with her and Gabriel when you can’t be there?”

  Noah glanced up in alarm. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “I may have someone for you.” Doc thought a moment. “In fact, I believe you already know her. Lydia Rinehart.”

  “Of course I know Lydia. She’s the oldest of the orphans living with Dax and Rachel.” Noah thought it an excellent idea.

  Rachel walked back in, holding a cup of coffee for her uncle. “Did someone say my name?”

  “Don’t you think Lydia would be perfect to help Noah and Abby with Gabriel?” The doctor accepted the cup, taking a sip.

  “Gabriel? What a wonderful name.” She winked at Noah, thinking it quite appropriate he named his son after his closest friend. “I agree. Lydia’s been wonderful with Patrick, and I’m certain she’d be excited to help with Gabriel. Would you like me to speak with her?”

  “We’d appreciate it, Rachel.” Noah shifted the baby to his other side, never losing eye contact with his son. “She’s welcome to stay with us in one of the extra bedrooms, if that’s all right with you, Abby.” He looked down at his wife and smiled. Her closed eyes and easy breaths indicated she’d fallen asleep.

  “Sit down, Noah. She’ll wake up as soon as Gabriel starts demanding to eat.” Rachel pulled a chair closer to the bed. “Fair warning. Life as you know it is officially over.”

  Bloody Basin, Dakota Territory

  “I don’t understand why we’re hesitating, Milt. We need to hit the bank and get out of this worthless town.” Harry Penderville threw back another shot of whiskey, wincing as it burned down his throat. “The boys are restless, and so am I.”

  Milt Penderville didn’t react to his younger brother’s frustration. Instead, he kept his focus on the woman standing at the top of the stairs. He didn’t care how long they stayed in Bloody Basin, as long as they got two things before they left.

  First, he’d bed the woman staring down at him. It had been too long since he’d felt soft, hot skin against his. Milt had watched her for three nights, stunned that she seemed to be saving herself for one man—a rancher who strolled in late each night. It didn’t matter to Milt. He’d bide his time and get what he wanted.

  Second, the boys would rob the lone bank in town before anyone realized they’d been cleaned out, then they’d ride to the next town on his list. Maybe he’d even take the woman with him.

  “Milt, did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I heard you.” He reached for the bottle of whiskey, topping off his glass.

  “What do you say? Let’s get the money and leave. There’s no reason to stay another day.” Harry’s frustration flared as the whiskey took hold. The longer Milt did nothing, the more he and the others drank. The combination was deadly. “And why are we even up here? We could be robbing banks in Arkansas, Kansas, or Missouri where there’s more people and more money.”

  Milt’s gaze shifted from the woman leaning against a banister, keeping track of the girls and the action below.

  “You know the answer to that. We’re getting as much money as we can before riding into Splendor, where we’ll take the town apart.”

  “Hell, Milt. None of us gives a damn about what happened to Chet. Our brother was a worthless, arrogant sonofabitch, who cared nothing about anyone except himself.”

  Harry’s eyes bulged as Milt grabbed him by the collar, pulling him off the chair.

  “No one knows better than I do what a bastard he was, but we will take care of those who killed him.” He let go, pushing Harry back toward his chair.

  Harry ran a finger around his collar, not backing down as his voice hardened. “He chose to take some of the men and ride out, Milt. Chet left on his own, paying for it with his life. We don’t owe him a thing. You’re going to risk hanging to avenge a man you hated? Makes no sense.”

  Milt’s gaze bore into his brother. “Kin is kin. Besides, we’ve already got someone in Splendor. By the time we get there, he’ll have all the information we need to clean out the bank and kill the man who shot Chet. Nothing more to say.” Milt tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “Unless you plan to take over.” He sneered at his younger brother, knowing Harry didn’t have the guts to confront him, or the desire to lead the others.

  Although he believed in going after the man who killed Chet, Milt held no love for his dead older brother. Ten months apart in age, they’d fought since boys, agreeing on little, except the desire to fight for the Confederacy and never return to their poor, dirt farm life in Virginia.

  Organizing a gang of thieves and raiders after the war had been easy. Deciding who to rob and when caused great strain within the group until Chet took off with several others after another bitter confrontation with Milt and Harry. News of Chet’s death caused relief among the remaining gang members. As the original leader, Chet ruled the men with an iron fist, doling out harsh punishment for botched jobs without a hint of remorse. He cared nothing about loyalty or protecting the men riding with him.

  “Hell no, I don’t want to take over. I want you to think about what you’re asking of men who celebrated Chet’s death. Let it go, Milt.”

  Milt reached across the table, picking up the bottle of whiskey and filling his glass. His gaze wandered back to the woman still standing on the stairs, seeing her eyes widen when the door of the saloon opened. The rancher walked inside, nodding to the bartender, then taking the stairs two at a time. Wrapping his arm around her waist, they disappeared down a hallway.

  Cursing, Milt swallowed the whiskey, then poured another, taking a slow sip. He had to get his mind off the woman and back where it belonged—on the money sitting in the Bloody Basin bank, and where they’d ride after they robbed it.

  His musings about the woman were forgotten as his eyes locked on a man standing at the bar, his stern features keeping others at a distance, his narrowed gaze missing nothing as he watched the activity in the saloon. As the man turned to lean a hip against the bar, Milt noticed the star pinned to his chest. A moment later, the deputy straightened, seeming to see Harry and Milt for the first time, and moved toward them.

  “Don’t believe I know you gentlemen. Are you new in town?” The deputy stood between Harry and Milt, watching each shift in his chair, allowing them better access to the guns at their waists.

  “Been here a couple days.” Milt set his glass down, resting his arms on the table.

  “Passing through or looking for work?”

  “Staying a few days to get the road dust out of our bodies and take on supplies. We won’t be staying.” Milt stood, nodding at Harry. “We were just ready to head back to the hotel.�
�� He didn’t want any trouble with the law. If all went well, they’d bust into the bank tonight and be gone long before the deputy and his cronies knew what happened.

  “Deputy.” Harry nodded to the man as he followed Milt outside. It never did them any good to draw the attention of local lawmen.

  The deputy watched them leave, then walked outside, seeing them enter the hotel next door, a sense of recognition niggling at him. Crossing the street, he walked into the jail, grabbing a stack of wanted posters from the top drawer. Settling into a chair, he studied each one, certain he’d find the two men. His hand stalled on one about five posters from the top. He sucked in a breath, knowing he stared at an image of the older of the two men in the saloon. Milton Penderville. Setting it aside, he continued through the stack until he found the one showing the younger of the two. Harrison Penderville. Both wanted for bank robbery, rustling, and attempted murder.

  Placing the others back in the drawer, he grabbed the two posters and walked outside, heading toward the sheriff’s house at the end of the street. He didn’t like being interrupted during supper, but this was important. In his gut, the deputy knew something was going to happen in Bloody Basin, and he’d bet a month’s wages it had to do with the large amount of money in the bank and the two men he’d seen in the saloon.

  “It’s time, Milt.” Harry checked his guns, spinning the cylinders, confirming a bullet filled each chamber. Satisfied, he slipped them back in the holsters.

  “Are the men ready?”

  “They’re waiting for us behind the livery.”

  Milt grabbed his rifle and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They slipped out the back door of the hotel, staying close to the buildings as they walked in quiet strides toward the livery. The men would have their horses ready. They’d gone over each man’s job several times, confirming which would be watching for activity on the street, and which would help Milt and Harry in the bank. One had been assigned to watch the sheriff’s house, and another would watch the jail. No one believed two lawmen would offer them much resistance.

  Going straight to the back door of the bank, Harry pulled out a pouch of tools and worked his magic. The door opened in less than a minute, allowing Milt, Harry, and three others to walk inside. Harry and Milt went straight toward the safe, the others taking positions at windows, helping the men outside keep watch.

  Harry pulled out the dynamite. He figured they’d have two minutes to blow the safe, grab the money, and get to their horses before the sheriff and deputy would be able to reach the bank. Assuming they made it past the men watching them. The orders were always the same. Shoot the lawmen in their legs, disable them, then get out of there. So far, the strategy had worked in each job pulled over the last few months.

  “All set.” Harry and Milt moved several feet away from the safe, squatting behind a counter, plugging their ears. Experience had taught Harry how much dynamite to use and the length of time between lighting the fuse and the explosion.

  The detonation set them in motion. Milt and Harry rushed inside the safe, not waiting for the debris in the air to clear. Filling two bags, they dashed out, signaling the other men to get to their horses. That’s when the plan went straight to hell.

  The first man out screamed as bullets riddled his body. The second took bullets to his shoulder and leg, slumping to the ground. The third backed inside, following Milt and Harry to a window as gunfire continued outside. They were under siege, an occurrence they’d never experienced in the past, yet understood what needed to be done if it ever happened. Whoever survived knew where to meet and how long to hang around for others to join them.

  Breaking the glass, the three men scrambled out of the opening, running to their horses without a backward glance at the rest of the gang providing cover. Jumping into the saddles, they turned the horses away from the main street, kicking them into a run.

  Three hours later, Milt, Harry, and six of their men huddled together, thinking of those they’d left behind and what all considered a botched job. Milt had opened the bags as soon as he dismounted, dumping the contents on the ground. What they believed would be a big haul had turned into a bust. The bank had been ready for them. The bundles of money were stacks of blank paper with a few bills on each side. Coin bags had been filled with rocks.

  “We can’t stay here any longer.” Milt stood. “A posse is probably tracking us right now. Somehow, they knew about us.” Letting out a string of curses, he kicked the contents of the bags aside, then swung into his saddle.

  “Where to, Milt?” Harry edged up next to him.

  “Out of the Dakotas.” Milt looked at the others. “We ride to Montana.”

  ~~~~~

  Chapter Eight

  Splendor, Montana

  Cash smoothed back his thick, blond hair, then grabbed his hat. Letting out a shaky breath, he wondered what had gotten into him. The last time he’d shared a private supper with a woman he courted was before the war, before the fighting had devastated the South, changing everyone’s lives.

  The thought triggered an image of Stephen, who made his way through each day without a single complaint. He didn’t begrudge the fact he’d lost his leg to a cause that ultimately failed. His friend had believed in what the South stood for, giving his service willingly, accepting the consequences.

  So had Cash. At least that’s what he’d thought.

  Then why did he find it so hard to put the carnage behind him and return to the life he’d planned before the war? A life which included a wife, children, and work he enjoyed. A life so far out of reach, he could hardly remember his dreams.

  Stephen had returned to the woman he loved, married her, started a family, and built the life he’d always imagined. Cash had never returned to Savannah, his boyhood home, or his uncle’s farm in Louisiana. He’d run fast and far, joining up with Beau to become a bounty hunter, focusing their pain on those committing crimes of opportunity. Without an ounce of guilt, they’d taken outlaws out of this world, hauling their bodies to the nearest town to collect the reward.

  Then after one particularly treacherous search resulting in the deaths of several outlaws, their hunger for revenge stopped. Staring across the campfire one night, Cash had turned to Beau, shaking his head.

  “I’m done.”

  Beau didn’t say a word for several moments, then nodded, knowing what Cash meant. “What now?”

  Cash had dragged a hand down his weary face, then rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  They’d finished one last job, then ridden to Splendor, the home of Cash’s boyhood friends and fellow ex-Confederates, Dax and Luke Pelletier. Once they’d settled in, the two agreed to become deputies under Gabe Evans, an ex-Union colonel.

  Their plans now included buying some land from the Pelletiers, raising a few head of cattle while continuing to protect the town. They’d once discussed a future of meeting the right woman, falling in love, and having families. Each had dismissed the notion. They were too jaded and long past worn out.

  Yet here he stood, clutching his hat with both hands, wearing his best Sunday clothes, a few minutes away from sharing supper with the most intriguing and attractive woman he’d ever met.

  Beau came through the back door, slinging his gun belt over a nearby hook before pouring a cup of stale coffee “You going to stand there all night and make that pretty girl wait for you?” Settling into a chair, he placed the cup on the table, then crossed his arms. “Get out of here before she changes her mind.”

  Cursing, Cash slammed his hat firmly on his head, flung the door open, and stepped into the cooling air. Staring up at a late afternoon sun, he shook his head, then closed his eyes. He’d allow himself one evening with Alison, one supper with a beautiful woman, before returning to the life he’d created, a life he could depend on to get him through each day. The life of a survivor.

  “Good evening, Cash.” A tentative smile swept across Alison’s face before her brows drew together, her face sobering. “I thought you
’d changed your mind.” She had opened the door after the third knock, a severe case of nerves causing her hands to shake.

  Taking off his hat, Cash’s face softened. “I’d never do that, Alison.” Without stepping inside, he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

  They walked in silence, Alison keeping her shawl wrapped tight around her to ward off the chill, wondering if the shivers she felt had more to do with the man next to her than the temperature. As they approached the restaurant, she chastised herself. She’d never learn the truth about her brother’s death if she became distracted by anyone in Splendor, especially a much too handsome lawman who set her heart racing with each encounter. She’d agreed to supper to discover what Cash knew about Bobby’s death. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  “Good evening, Alison, Cash.” Suzanne took Cash’s coat, directing them to a table near the front window. “The special tonight is roast beef. Fanny also made some wonderful chicken stew.”

  “Alison?” Cash asked.

  “The chicken, please.”

  “I’ll have the beef, Suzanne. And save a piece of pie for each of us.” Settling back in his chair, Cash watched Alison fidget with her shawl, twisting the corners. She didn’t look at him. Instead, her gaze darted around the restaurant, never focusing on one spot too long before returning to stare down at her hands.

  Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the table, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When a few minutes passed, he cleared his throat, tired of the quiet.

  “Tell me about your husband.”

  Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “My, uh…”

  “Husband? You told me he died in the war.”

  “Oh, yes.” Shifting in her chair, she licked her lips. “There isn’t much to tell. He was a few years older than me. A farmer, like my father. We didn’t know each other well before we married. He joined the Confederates a few months after our wedding, saying he could no longer watch others die for a cause he believed in.” She stopped for a moment, trying to recall what she’d told Rachel and the other women about him. “I got word a few months later he’d been killed.”