After the Ashes(86)

Braddock tugged at his bindings one more time. They had come loose, but not enough to get his hands free. Even if he could, he had let Cole take his guns, and his rifle remained strapped to Lucky’s saddle. He had made it through worse situations, he reminded himself, though he couldn’t recall how.

“Let’s just say I know things. And they’re going to die with me if you shoot me.”

Ricochet got to his feet as fluidly as a snake slithering up a tree. His sneer assured Braddock that he’d be glad to do what Cole hesitated to. “There ain’t nothing I need to know.”

“Not even how to find Corey Sullivan?”

Ricochet’s sneer drooped. “He send you here?”

Braddock smiled. “You want to find out, you better untie me and give me back my guns.”

Ricochet grabbed his shirt and tried to shake him, but Braddock towered over the little weasel. Overpowering Braddock with brute force wasn’t going to happen, even if his arms were tied behind his back.

Realizing the same thing, Ricochet gave Braddock a hard shove, which he absorbed easily. Ricochet’s face turned as red as the dirt at their feet. He jabbed his finger in Braddock’s face.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Sullivan, boy, even if I have to peel the skin off your hide to get the information out of you.”

If he hadn’t sensed it already, the way Cole inched away warned Braddock that Ricochet wasn’t known for idle threats. Braddock didn’t flinch under the outlaw’s furious stare.

“Cole! Get your ass over here and take this smart ass and tie him down. We’ll see how fast we can wipe that smug look off his face.”

One quick, stabbing glance from Ricochet convinced Cole to grip Braddock’s arm.

Braddock easily jerked from Cole’s grasp. Though he was younger and good-sized, Cole had no enthusiasm for the job. Braddock noted that other gazes had turned to the confrontation, but no one moved to do anything about it.

Cole made another weak attempt to restrain Braddock, who swung away from him.

“Stay out of this, Cole, or I’ll have to kill you too,” warned Braddock.

“It don’t matter. Either you’re gonna do it or he’s gonna do it.” Cole approached one more time but jumped out of the way when Braddock tried to stab him with his elbow.

From the comer of his eye, Braddock caught Ricochet lunging for him. He twisted a quarter turn, then planted the sole of his boot firmly in the center of the man’s chest. He pushed out, sending Ricochet flying into the wooden shack. True to his name, the outlaw bounced off the wall and landed hard on his knees.

“You’re going to die, boy.” Eyes bulging and practically foaming at the mouth, Ricochet retrieved his rifle without ever taking his rabid glare off Braddock.

“You’ll never find Sullivan if you kill me,” Braddock snapped. It was his best defense.

“To hell with Sullivan.” Ricochet brought the rifle to his shoulder and took aim squarely at the center of Braddock’s chest.

With a desperate tug that felt like it took most of the skin from his wrists, Braddock yanked at his bonds. He finally felt them loosen. Unfortunately, it didn’t do him a damn bit of good. He could do nothing but stare down the barrel of Ricochet’s rifle.

A smile curved the outlaw’s lips.

“Ricochet. Stop.”

Braddock tore his gaze away from the weapon’s deadly snout to find the owner of the commanding voice. A red-haired man leaned on the shack’s door frame. To hold back the blanket that served as a door required all his effort. Sweat beaded his forehead. A torn and bloody shirt was draped over his shoulders. His pants were pulled over his hips but were only partially buttoned. A dirty bandage wound around his chest, and his arm was in a sling. The two words he had spoken must have worn him out, because all he could do was pant.

Cole rushed to his side. “Are you all right, Rowen? You feeling better?” His voice was hopeful despite the obvious.

Braddock glanced back to Ricochet. He had lowered the rifle, but he still looked mad enough to kill.

“Didn’t you hear me yelling at you to stop?” Mulcahy wheezed between his words.

“I didn’t hear nothing,” said Cole.

“He’s a smartass,” answered Ricochet reluctantly, his seething glare trained on Braddock.

Mulcahy gripped the door frame. Cole wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. Despite his weakness, Mulcahy brushed him away. “Just get me a chair.”

Cole disappeared into the shelter while Mulcahy studied Braddock.

Braddock met his gaze straight on. The steely blue eyes Braddock remembered had dimmed. Even the vibrant red of his hair had faded. Braddock looked him over, noticing the swollen red fingers sticking from the sling. They were infected. He’d lose the arm, if he survived at all. Corey hadn’t lied about that.