men exchanged a look between them. Clearly, she was much better at fooling herself than others, which was a sad thing.
“Does your friend know you’re coming?”
She smiled brightly at them. “I imagine he’s expecting me momentarily.”
“Honey, we’ve been riding on this path for an hour and a half and haven’t seen a soul.”
“You wouldn’t if he didn’t want you to.” That was the truth. Caden was like a wolf in the night, slipping in and out of the shadows, being seen only when he wanted to be seen but always dangerous except when he was with her. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, holding on to the strength of the memory of the brush of his fingers.
“And who is this friend you’re trying to catch up with?”
She licked her lips. Flower, sensing her tension, shifted her feet. Seconds seemed like hours as Maddie debated her options.
“Don’t lie, girl. Just tell the truth.”
Habit made her answer to the snap in that voice. “Caden Miller.”
Another look exchanged between the men. “Caden Miller of Hell’s Eight?”
She nodded.
“You think Caden Miller of Hell’s Eight is here?”
She nodded again. At least they knew Caden’s name. There might be some protection in that.
“Shit. Come here, girl. Let me have a look at you.”
There wasn’t any choice but to go forward. She kneed Flower in a gentle urge. The little horse walked sedately forward, showing none of the trepidation that she had. Why didn’t anyone but her see the danger here?
As if on cue, Worthless growled, low and deep in a way that said he meant business. The leader pointed his gun. She had to do something. It was easy and natural to slip back into the role of coquette. Shameful, even, the ease with which she did it. Dropping her shoulders, tilting her head to the side, leaning just that little bit forward, Maddie angled the horse between the dog and the man.
“Here, now. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
“He’s not going to do any, either.”
“But you might.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How’s that?”
“Flower here isn’t used to guns.” She flipped her braid back over her shoulder and trailed her fingers across the top of her chest. “If you just go firing shots randomly, I might end up thrown, maybe even—” she ran a hand down her thigh “—breaking a leg.”
The transition from weary to interest was subtle, but she could see it in the set of the men’s shoulders, the tip of their chins, the relaxing of their hands on the reins.
The man in the back with the faded brown hat spat and said, “Would be a shame to break such pretty legs, boss.”
As she suspected, the older man was the leader. His clothes were of better quality, and his face sported less stubble, as if he took more frequent care of his appearance. With a press of her knee, she shifted Flower’s direction, putting herself closer to him. This was the man she had to influence.
His eyes traveled from the top of her head down to her waist and then back up, stopping at her breasts. Men always liked her breasts. She hated them. Fingers clawing, pinching; mouths slobbering. But there were advantages to having big breasts.
“You’re lying, girl.”
Yes, she was, but not in the way he thought. He brought his horse forward. The gelding towered over her little mare. He towered over her. He rode all around, checking her gear from front to back.
“That horse doesn’t bear the Hell’s Eight brand.”
No, she didn’t. Because Maddie wouldn’t let her be hurt that way. Caine had fussed. Tucker had pointed out the reasons. Even Shadow had tried to tell her that it was okay, that it was necessary. Only Caden had understood. Flower was hers. She wasn’t bringing her pain.
She smiled wider, showing her dimples. Men loved her dimples. Sure enough, the man’s eyes dropped to her mouth.
“I rode up for the wedding celebration.”
“Rode up, hmm? Hell’s Eight’s a day and a half away from any town.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t ride up alone.”
“But you’re riding out alone.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“I hear they aren’t too particular about the company they keep.”
She was used to men hating others because of the color of their skin. It was always a cause for a fight in a whorehouse. The proprietors learned quickly to separate out the Indians, otherwise they’d be replacing the furniture every day. Maddie wasn’t sure the violence really had anything to do with the color of the skin. Men just seemed to like to fight. Any excuse would do. Skin color was just the easiest one.
She nodded. “A girl’s got to have her standards.”
One of the other men snorted. He was wearing the same dirty, dusty brown shirt and pants as the others. The only thing that distinguished him was his blond hair. “No way in hell the men of Hell’s Eight let a pretty little thing like this slip out.”
“I heard all of them were married up anyway.”
“Not all of them and they’ve been hiring help.” She shuddered delicately, feeding their assumptions. “Not a lot of single women up there.”
“You think the married ones would let a whore in their midst, boss?”
She raised her brows at the man. “Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
She didn’t know what she’d do if he said yes. She wasn’t used to confronting people head-on. She thought of Bella and her fire and added for good measure, “Because if you are...”
“If I am, what?”
So much for Bella’s inner fire. She couldn’t copy that.
“Then I would have to tell you, you’re wrong.” She put her hand to her chest, drawing the man’s gaze back to her best assets. The feel of her cotton dress was a shock when she’d been expecting skin. It was hard to flaunt your attributes when you were covered to the chin, but Tia had insisted nice girls didn’t wear low-cut dresses. It had been useless trying to explain to Tia that she wasn’t a nice girl, and while rape was something to be avoided, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But Tia was Tia and she always got her way.
After Maddie’d gotten used to thinking of herself as unavailable, she’d loved her dresses. The material was cool and comfortable, and while men smiled at her, none had touched her. None had tried to corner her when their wives weren’t looking. No one treated her with anything but
