Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(37)

“I can’t make this decision without you, Oliver.”

Mr. Hawkins narrowed his eyes as Molly turned back around.

“Please remember that I prefer to be called Mr. Hawkins by people who work for me.”

“Yes, sir.” Wyatt’s jaw tensed.

And why? Wyatt’s foreman called him Wyatt. Rubin Walsh came to the ranch house door often enough, and Molly had heard him call his boss by his first name. She’d never seen anyone give it a second thought.

Wyatt had been the owner of a ranch just as big as the Hawkins spread and called him Oliver when he visited the RHR. Oliver liked to drop in for meals. He seemed to be eager to talk to Win, but Molly suspected he was mighty sick of his own cooking.

And Wyatt’s family had found out cattle were being stolen from Hawkins and put a stop to it, ridding his ranch of traitorous cowboys. Insisting on being called Mr. Hawkins didn’t smack of much gratitude.

Add to that, Wyatt had been shot helping Mr. Hawkins.

Clearly, none of that was as important as putting Wyatt on a lower rung than before. Mr. Hawkins felt the need to do that, and it told Molly a lot about the kind of man he was—none of it good. Molly’s already low opinion of the man sank lower. She hadn’t known it was possible.

With some grumbling, Mr. Hawkins stood and took his coffee cup to the sink, which brought him too close to Molly, deliberately she was sure, then he headed for the back door. There was a huge entry, and Mr. Hawkins slowly put his coat and boots on, almost as if to test Wyatt’s patience.

Wyatt held the door to let Mr. Hawkins go out ahead of him. Wyatt looked over his shoulder at Molly and grinned like he was a kid getting away with a handful of candy. He was getting his surly boss out of the house. His hazel eyes flashed, and she remembered their kiss. She remembered waking up with his strong arms around her.

Then he was gone, but the memories stayed with her.

Molly waited for a few seconds, watching them head for the barn, to make sure Mr. Hawkins didn’t forget something and come back. But she was worried about how long Wyatt could keep him busy, so before more than a few seconds had passed, she grabbed a knife out of the kitchen drawer and ran for that loose floorboard.

Pounding up the stairs, she dashed into Mr. Hawkins’s bedroom and noted she’d yet to tidy it, so she had an excuse to be in there, then she dropped to her knees beside a chest of drawers. There were two boards that slid up just a bit and weren’t flush with the other boards. They should have been nailed down. She tried prying with her fingernails.

Running her hands all along both sides, she felt for anything out of the ordinary. What she wanted was a lever, but surely that would be visible.

She felt as if a clock ticked in her head as she gave up on any button to push or lever to pull. She slid the knife between the boards and heard a metallic click as the knife sank through where it should have hit wood.

Dragging the knife along the side of the floorboard, careful not to nick anything, suddenly something gave and four floorboards, in an uneven rectangle, swung open on some kind of hinge.

With a gasp of excitement, she leaned down and saw the second safe. Topped by a round combination lock.

She quickly pulled the slip of paper with the two combinations on it out of her pocket. Molly carried it with her at all times, afraid if she left it somewhere, even in her room, Mr. Hawkins might find it, or she might need it—just like now.

She carefully followed the same set of turns, forward and backward, turning the dial a different number of times for each of the three numbers. A lock clicked inside. Her hand trembling, she lifted the lid of the safe. It was about a foot square, but made of heavy iron, and she needed both hands to lift the small lid. Opening it wide, she tipped it up until it rested against the floorboards.

Inside she saw several packets, mostly envelopes or other folded paper. They weren’t completely flat like they’d be if they only contained letters.

“I’ll be sure to check on that, Mr. Hawkins.” The kitchen door slammed.

Slammed deliberately. Wyatt was warning her.

Then footsteps pounded on the stairs. Mr. Hawkins was back and coming fast. Desperate to find out what she’d discovered, Molly plunged her hand past the top envelope and grabbed three from below, hoping if Mr. Hawkins checked the safe, he wouldn’t notice they were gone.

She swung the lid closed, spun the dial, and put the floorboards in place. They wouldn’t fit.



“Stay off the trail.” Falcon led the way, not back but down. Into the woods. On foot. With that gunman possibly still up there, the only way forward was off the trail.

Cheyenne came right along. Not as quiet as she could be but enough to make a man proud.

Rachel Hobart was good, too. Tough, savvy. They had no choice but to leave her, unconscious, the bleeding staunched. She needed care.

They had to find whoever did this, do it fast, and get her help.

And they had to do it without being shot down themselves. Good as they both were in the woods, no one was good enough to dodge a bullet fired from cover, but they could sure enough try to keep trees between themselves and that vicious would-be killer.

The forest swallowed them up. The way was slow. Scrub brush to slip past. Downed trees tangled up in vines and standing trees. Tumbled stones cropping up randomly. The leaves still fluttered down, but they were nearly done. All that plus leaves left piled and rotted from the beginning of time turned the forest floor into a nearly impassable tangle.