Chapter 29 #3
Martha pulled against his grip. “And what would you expect in return besides the gold?”
His smile returned and she immediately wished she had not asked.
“You could marry me.”
For several seconds Martha genuinely believed she had misunderstood him.
Then she saw his expression. “You cannot be serious.”
“Why not?”
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “You burned my stable.”
Silas shrugged one shoulder. “I needed to search it.”
“You threatened a child.”
“He interfered.”
“You struck me over the head and dragged me out of my own inn.”
“Because you refused to listen.”
Martha stared at him. “And you think that makes you seem like a good candidate to be a husband?”
“I'd improve the proposal before the wedding.”
Another laugh broke out of her, harsher this time.
Silas's hand clamped tighter around her wrists. “You think this is funny?”
“I think you have no idea what a good life is.”
His eyes flashed.
Martha saw the blow coming this time and twisted away before he could strike her face. His hand caught her shoulder instead, shoving her backward.
She recovered her footing as he stepped toward her.
“You want to know the difference between you and Amos?” she asked, breath coming harder now.
Silas's mouth curled. “Enlighten me.”
“I stopped lying to myself about Amos.”
The sneer faded slightly.
“I loved him,” Martha continued. Saying it aloud felt strangely cleansing.
“I probably always will, in some part of me.
But he lied to me. He used what I wanted most and made me believe the gang was family.
Then I chose to stay after I knew better.
I chose to help. That's mine to answer for.” She lifted her bound hands between them.
“But I am not going back because you think loneliness makes me easy to recruit.”
Something ugly moved across Silas's face.
Martha saw the instant before he reached for her.
This time she moved first, driving her knee upward as hard as she could into him.
Silas twisted, and the blow landed mostly against his thigh, but it was enough to break his hold.
“You little—”
A gunshot cracked outside.
The sound exploded through the small shack.
Both of them froze.
A second shot followed, then shouting.
Silas's head snapped toward the door.
Martha's heart slammed against her ribs.
He reached for his revolver.
The door burst inward.
Jonas stood on the other side.
For one impossible moment, Martha forgot Silas existed.
Jonas's hair had partly come loose from its braid, dark strands whipping around his face in the draft from the open doorway. Mud streaked his coat and trousers. He held his rifle against his shoulder, the barrel fixed steadily on Silas.
Then his gaze found her.
The hard concentration in his face broke for a fraction of a second.
Relief moved through it so nakedly that Martha felt it like a hand closing around her heart.
He had come.
Despite everything, he had come.
Silas recovered first.
His arm locked across Martha's upper chest and jerked her backward, pulling her so hard that the air left her lungs. His revolver came up beside her face.
“Drop it.”
Jonas's rifle remained level.
His eyes shifted from the gun to Martha and back again. “Let her go.”
Silas tightened his arm until Martha could feel the pressure against her throat. “You don't seem to understand how this works.”
Jonas's expression barely changed. “I think I understand perfectly.”
His calm frightened Martha more than shouting would have.
She knew him well enough now to recognize what lay beneath it.
“Jonas.” Her voice came rough from the pressure across her chest. She tried to shake her head without giving Silas an excuse to tighten his hold further. “Go.”
Silas gave a soft laugh near her ear.
Jonas's gaze stayed on Martha. Something in his eyes hardened.
“No.”
“Please,” she said, panic breaking through now. “You don't have to do this.”
Jonas's jaw tightened. “I'm not leaving you here.”
Silas's breath stirred the hair near her temple. “Hear that? Still playing the hero even after he knows.”
Jonas moved the rifle a fraction higher. “Let her go.”
“Does he know all of it?” Silas asked Martha, making no effort to hide his enjoyment. “The train? The arrows? Running away with Amos and the money?”
“She told me enough,” Jonas said.
Silas sounded almost disappointed as he said, “And you still came.”
Jonas's eyes flicked once to Martha's bound wrists. “Yes.”
Her throat closed.
This was not forgiveness. She knew that. Jonas had said nothing that erased yesterday.
But he had come.
“Pathetic,” he muttered.
Jonas's expression did not change. “You keep talking because you know the second you stop, you have to decide what you're actually going to do.”
The smile vanished from Silas's face.
Martha felt the arm across her chest shift.
Jonas saw it.
His shoulders tightened.
“Put the rifle down,” Silas said.
Martha's stomach dropped.
Jonas did not move.
Silas pressed the revolver more firmly against her side.
“Don't,” Martha rasped, twisting enough to see Jonas clearly. “He wants you unarmed.”
Jonas's gaze remained on her.
Martha could see him measuring the angle, the distance, the fraction of a second between firing and Silas pulling the trigger.
His expression told her he did not like the answer.
Slowly, he lowered the rifle.
Silas's grip on her loosened by a degree.
“That's right,” he said.
Martha's pulse roared in her ears.
Jonas crouched and placed the rifle on the floorboards.
“Kick it away.”
His eyes never left Silas as he pushed the weapon several feet aside with his boot.
Silas began dragging Martha toward the door.
Jonas shifted from foot to foot, his eyes moving constantly, taking everything in. “Stay there.”
Jonas stopped.
Martha could barely breathe.
She thought of him riding away from the inn yesterday, his back rigid with anger and hurt. She had believed then that she might never see him again.
Now he stood unarmed in front of Silas Mercer because he would not risk a bullet passing through her.
“You should've stayed home,” Silas said.
Jonas's gaze settled on him. “You should've stayed away from her.”
Silas laughed. “You know what she is now.”
“Yes.”
The immediate answer made Martha close her eyes for half a heartbeat.
“And you believe her?” Silas asked.
Jonas's face hardened. “About what?”
“The gold.”
Martha felt Silas straighten behind her.
“He thinks Amos hid it,” she said quickly. “I told him I don't know where it is.”
Jonas looked at her.
Not at Silas.
At her.
“I believe you.”
The words were simple, and they nearly undid her.
Silas's body stiffened.
Martha felt it before she saw the gun move.
“That's touching,” he said, the amusement gone from his voice. “Stupid, but touching.”
The revolver left Martha's side.
Jonas saw it.
So did she.
“Jonas!”
The shot went off.
The confined room magnified the sound until Martha's ears rang.
Jonas jerked backward.
For one dreadful instant he remained standing, shock widening his eyes. Then his right leg gave beneath him, and he crashed to the floor.
Blood spread quickly across his trousers.
Martha could not breathe.
The shack vanished.
Another room. Another wound.
Amos on the ground with blood pouring down his leg while men shouted around them.
Her hands slick with it.
The smell of iron.
“No!”
She lunged toward Jonas.
Silas caught her around the waist and hauled her back.
Jonas clamped one hand over his thigh, his face white with pain.
Silas laughed.
“Seems you have a type.”
The cruelty of it cut through the panic like a blade.
Martha went utterly cold.
Silas had loosened his hold just enough to savor the remark.
That was his mistake.
She drove the heel of her boot down onto his instep with all her weight.
Silas cursed and jerked.
Martha twisted hard, forcing one bound forearm between their bodies. Rope tore at her skin. Silas grabbed for her again, but instead of pulling away she dropped her weight suddenly and turned sideways.
His grip slipped.
Across the room, Jonas lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
“Martha, down!”
She obeyed instantly.
Jonas launched himself from the floor.
He struck Silas at the knees.
Both men crashed into the table with enough force to split one of its legs. The tin cup spun across the boards. Silas's revolver slipped from his hand and disappeared beneath the cot.
Martha scrambled away on her knees.
Silas recovered first.
His fist caught Jonas across the jaw.
Jonas's head snapped sideways, but his arms remained locked around Silas. He drove his shoulder forward and forced the other man into the wall.
The movement cost him.
His injured leg folded.
Silas struck him again.
“Jonas!”
Martha saw Silas's hand move toward his belt.
The knife.
She looked wildly around the room.
The broken chair lay near her.
Martha seized one of its loose legs awkwardly between her bound hands, rose as far as the spinning room allowed, and swung.
The wood struck Silas across the forearm.
He shouted.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Silas turned toward her, rage transforming his face.
For the first time since she had known him, Martha saw no charm at all. No joking menace. No easy confidence.
Only violence.
That second of distraction was enough.
Jonas struck Silas across the face, the blow hard and sudden.
Silas staggered, and Jonas dragged him to the floor. They rolled once before Jonas managed to force himself above him. Blood soaked through his trouser leg, but he planted his weight across Silas's chest and drove one forearm beneath the man's chin.
Silas bucked hard.
Jonas's face tightened with pain.
Martha kicked the knife toward the opposite wall.
Footsteps thundered outside.
The doorway filled with men.
Sheriff Crane entered first, revolver drawn, with Tobias immediately behind him and Reuben close enough that he nearly collided with his brother.
“That's enough!” Crane shouted.
Silas stopped struggling.
Jonas did not.
His forearm remained pressed hard beneath Silas's jaw. His chest heaved, and something in his expression frightened Martha. Years of grief seemed to sit behind his eyes now that a man connected to the Voss Gang lay beneath his hands.