Chapter Eighteen #2
“You’re going to set off explosives inside the bank?
” someone asked, proving the Mexicans hadn’t paid attention to the script in the least. “What about all that beautiful marble flooring? Won’t it be damaged?
I bet it cost a fortune, too, and took hours of specialized labor to install, and the artisans who installed it gave up weekends with their families.
I mean … that floor. It’s a work of art. ”
The other Mexicans nodded agreement. Jayce began to suspect they’d tossed the script the moment they learned they had to play Mexicans.
“Those floors are worth a lot more than the bank notes in the safe,” Dave added hotly, which was true, because the bank notes were fake.
Cassidy’s money, however, was not.
And Cassidy knew it. “The town can rebuild the floor,” he said, dismissing the Mexicans’ concerns, proving while he might have read the script, he could not read a room. “Adam will ride in alone.”
On that, they were all in agreement. No one—including the fearless Butch Cassidy—wanted to ride with Adam, who’d be carrying the nitroglycerin, and whose reputation as Burning Scrub’s safety officer was shaky at best.
“You two”—Cassidy indicated the Mexicans in question—“will act as lookouts. And you,” he said to the third, “will hold our horses so we can make a quick getaway. I—”
Something enormous thrashed about in the woods, putting a stop to the conversation. Jayce reached for his rifle. Rabid grizzlies were rare, but not impossible, and since everything else had gone wrong with this adventure, it was best to be armed.
The research scientist stumbled into camp.
Everyone stared at him. He stared back.
He spotted Jayce and his face paled.
“Oh, uh … hey,” he said, backing up. “Thought I’d borrow some coffee, maybe a map or a hotspot for my GPS, but I see you’re all busy, so I’ll come back another time.”
He turned and ran.
“That little guy is going to get himself killed,” Dave said.
“He will if he trips over the rock where I stored the nitro,” Adam said.
Jayce replayed the scene through the scientist’s eyes and reviewed everything he might possibly have overheard. Seven men with weapons, sitting around a campfire deep in the mountains, plotting a bank robbery.
As if that wasn’t going to turn into a problem.
Adam dumped the coffee dregs in the bottom of his tin mug onto the ground.
“Come on, Joachim,” he said to Dave. “He’s getting too close to town. We’re going to relocate him again, and this time, we’ll make sure he doesn’t come back. There’s got to be Indians on the warpath somewhere in these mountains. Be a darned shame if he fell into their hands.”
Adam and the Mexicans left, leaving Cassidy and Sundance alone.
Jayce stared into his empty tin mug. He and Cassidy only had the bank robbery and Malika in common, and there wasn’t a whole lot left regarding either topic for them to discuss. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Cassidy picked up the gun Adam gave him and tested the weight. The guns were loaded with paintballs, so Jayce had no reason to fear for his life.
But he wasn’t wearing a vest and paintballs hurt.
Tilly arrived just as the air began to get tense.
She carried a clipboard, and wore a pretty dress, which was another cause for concern.
“Hey, Tilly,” Jayce said, because he was grateful not to have to hang out with Cassidy alone. “What brings you here?”
She waved the clipboard. “Beautification committee. I’m seeking donations.”
Because women wandering into outlaw encampments collecting donations was an everyday occurrence in the Wild West. If he was about to be the target of an honor killing, at least he’d have a witness.
“Have a seat. Let me get you a coffee.”
“I would love a coffee,” Tilly said.
There were three logs surrounding the campfire that they were using for chairs. Cassidy had one. Jayce sat on another. Rather than take the unoccupied third log, Tilly sat next to Cassidy.
“Mr. Robert Parker, I presume,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “I’ve heard so much about you and how handsome you are.”
Jayce winced inside. Malika had sent reinforcements.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said warily, inching away, because he’d learned to be cautious around Burning Scrub’s women. Near-death experiences tended to do that to people.
Jayce poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the tripod over the fire and passed it to Tilly. It was the color of pitch, and as thick as molasses, but she managed to swallow a bite without changing expression.
“What are you collecting donations for?” Jayce asked, trying to uncover her real purpose for being here, because Cassidy didn’t need any more shocks.
“Tombstones for the churchyard. You never know when you might need one. Conditions are harsh in the West.” She launched into her spiel about beautification and how proper tombstones would lend aesthetic appeal to church picnics.
She tapped her clipboard, then detached her pen.
“How much can I put you gentlemen down for?”
“How much for one tombstone?” Cassidy asked, and Jayce longed to confirm that his gun contained paintballs.
Tilly’s fluttering eyelashes paused. She hadn’t expected anyone to question the cost of the product. She had no idea what a nineteenth century tombstone was worth.
“Put me down for a thousand dollars for both of us,” Jayce said, helping her out. “I’m coming into some money real soon and beautifying the church is a right worthy cause.”
“That is very generous of you.” Tilly jotted the number down on her clipboard. “Malika will be happy to hear about this.”
He knew he shouldn’t ask. “Why will my donation make Malika happy?”
“I’m not one to gossip,” Tilly began, which was a lie.
She lived for it. “But Malika has been so worried about her brother’s return.
The last time she became involved with a beautiful but poor lover such as yourself, her brother killed him.
Now that you’re rich, her brother will be happy to allow you to marry.
” She sighed happily. “I love weddings.”
Another lie. He’d heard Tilly say she’d build her own bonfire and tie herself to the stake before she tied herself to a man.
“One thousand dollars hardly makes a man rich,” Cassidy said.
“It will buy at least five marble tombstones, including the engraving. A man who can give away that kind of money must be rich,” Tilly said.
Jayce should have given her more credit. She did know what a nineteenth century tombstone was worth. She was trying to fleece them and he’d fallen for it.
Cassidy refused to be out fleeced by Jayce.
His lips thinned. “I will donate one hundred thousand dollars toward this worthy cause.” Hard eyes settled on Jayce. “I’d hate to see anyone go without a proper grave marking.”
Again, Jayce itched to get hold of Cassidy’s gun to make sure it had paintballs in it. They might hurt but were unlikely to earn him a marble tombstone with his name engraved on it.
“Thank you for your generosity. I’m sure the town can put your donation to good use.” Tilly chewed on another mouthful of coffee, then set her cup on the ground next to the log. “I’ll let you gentlemen get back to whatever it was you were doing.”
Cassidy, who was more of a gentleman than Jayce, helped Tilly rise. He bent over her hand and raised it to his lips. Tilly rolled her eyes at Jayce over his head.
“Give the lovely Miss Malika my regards,” Cassidy said. “Her brother and I are good friends. He’ll be as pleased as I am to hear how much she’s enjoying her adventure while he’s been away.”