The very last thing Matthew expected or needed to hear was that the Rawlins brothers had broken out of jail.

His three deputies were waiting outside his office for him when he rode up. They reluctantly informed him of the situation. Bill looked a little dopier than usual; he’d been on duty the night before and been clubbed over the head during the great escape.

Reginald Sterling and the town council—minus George Martin—were waiting for Matthew inside the marshal’s office, no doubt to fire him. Matthew was starting to think he should have stayed in California. Drifting wasn't such a bad profession, respectable or not.

Sterling rose from his chair when Matthew walked in. He opened his mouth to speak, but Matthew cut him off. "Save it, Sterling. If you want me to catch ‘em, I don't have time to waste with your bellyachin’.”

"What I want," the man replied, "is your badge, Brady."

An odd request considering Matthew never wore one.

"You are an affront to this office.” he went on. “And, as mayor of this town, I demand that you resign immediately."

"What about the rest of you?" Matthew looked around at Zappy Karls, James Kellogg, Willy Black, and Robert Chandler.

"This looks purty bad, Matthew," Willy Black pointed out.

"We been waitin' damn near a week for you to get that money back," James Kellogg added.

Sterling smirked. ”But you've been far too busy courting damsels, haven't you, Mr. Brady?"

Matthew’d had it with Reginald Sterling. He strode toward the town mayor and shoved him back against the wall. "You want my resignation, you son of a bitch? You got it,” he stated, enunciating his words with sharp jabs to Sterling's chest. "But not before I finish the job I started and bring in every member of that Rawlins family. The town will have its money back. Then you can take this job and shove it up your lily-white ass. Now get the hell out of my office before I lose my temper!”

Everyone except his deputies went scampering from the jailhouse. "You don't mean it, do ya?" Larry asked.

"You're not quittin', are ya?" Gene joined in.

Bill was still looking dopey.

"I prefer to think of it as movin’ on," Matthew said. "A man can only stay in one place for so long before he gets bored. Saddle up, boys."

His deputies filed out just as George Martin was coming in. “Willy Black told me about the impromptu council meetin’. Matthew, you're not really resignin’, are ya?”

Matthew turned for the gun rack. "George, I've had it. I'm not the respectable type. No matter how hard I try, I just can't squeeze into the mold."

"What the blazes are you talkin’ about?"

"I know how much my father hated the way I lived. That I went from job to job—"

"Now hold on just one damn minute. I don't know who you're talkin' about, but the man I knew was proud of his son. He used to tell folks all the time how Matthew had herded cattle from Montana to El Paso. How Matthew had ridden shotgun on a stage for Wells Fargo. How Matthew was workin’ for San Francisco’s Queen Anne Hotel. Hell, every time somebody would bring up a job, the man would go off like a lit fuse talkin' about how Matthew had done that. Plenty of times we damn near shot him just to shut him up. And, yeah, I suppose an argument can be made for a father not appreciatin' his son having the roots of a tumbleweed," George continued. "But the thing was, boy, you did those odd jobs so damn well he couldn't be anything but proud. It wasn't laziness, or lack of ambition that always drove you on to the next town. It was that you'd done the job, and done the job well, and you were ready for the next challenge."

"Then why the deathbed speech about getting married and settlin’ down?"

"He was proud of ya, Matthew, don't you ever question that. He just hated to see you never know the challenge of lovin' a good woman, of raisin' up a passel of kids as admirable and remarkable as yourself. Of buildin' a place you could call home."

Matthew shook his head. "You don't know how much I've struggled with this."

"Yes, I do. But the most important thing to remember about your father is how much he loved you, Matthew, how important to him your happiness was. Hell, if this job makes you unhappy, I'll be the first to shake your hand and send you on your way. But don't quit because of Reginald Sterling. This town made Sterling mayor because he owns the bank, not because of any fondness on our parts. You’re our Marshal because this town loves you, Matthew. You’re one of us.”

Matthew sniffed, refusing to get emotional. There was more to this than just Reginald Sterling, though. He grabbed a couple boxes of shotgun and rifle shells and shoved them into his saddlebags. “Those are nice sentiments, George, but it’s just time to move on.”

George watched him carefully. “How’d your evenin’ go with Lacey?”

“Just peachy.” He slung a Winchester over his shoulder.

“Could have fooled me.” George gave him a speculative look. "You got the look of a wounded bear."

Matthew turned away and grabbed up the shotgun, not interested in filling George in on all the gory details. He was a victim of the heart, wasn't that what they called it? A victim of his own treacherous heart.

Matthew headed for the door. “Talk to Zappy about buyin’ the house."

George followed him outside. “Don't you think you're jumpin' the gun just a bit, son?”

“Zappy was more than happy to buy my father's store," Matthew continued. He paused beside his horse and slipped the Winchester into the left saddle scabbard. “Maybe he'd like a place to live besides a back room."

"I'm sure once you get the money back your head’s gonna clear.”

Matthew slung his saddlebags over his horse's back and tied them down. "Just talk to him, George."

"All right, all right. If you promise me you'll give this decision some serious thought while you’re gone.”

Matthew swung up into his saddle. He couldn’t tell George that there was more to this than a jailbreak, or even Reginald Sterling's constant interference. He just couldn’t stand the idea of hanging around Tranquility once Lacey was gone.

"Promise?" George persisted.

Matthew nodded. “Sure.” He’d be breaking that promise.

“You take good care of Lacey today, son.”

Matthew gave the man a direct look. “You can count on that.”

“If shootin' commences, you tell that girl to keep her pretty little head down.”

Matthew tugged the front of his hat low over his eyes. “If I have to sit on her to do it."

He rode out of town with his three deputies following close behind, kicking up dirty snow and mud behind them. It was time for him to face Lacey again. This time, he vowed, he wouldn't be wearing his heart on his sleeve.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Matthew and his posse road into the Martins' front yard. His men waited outside while he climbed the porch steps and knocked on the wooden door. He was nervous as hell to see her again, and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

No one answered his knock, so he knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

He pushed open the door and poked his head inside. “Lacey?” he called. “You ready?"

The house was too quiet and a tiny chill crept its way up Matthew’s spine. He walked inside and stole a glance into the empty drawing room. He headed for Lacey's room. The door was standing open. The room was empty.

"Lacey?" he shouted.

No answer.

Hoping she’d heard them ride up and gone out to saddle Big Red, he walked out the back door for the barn. A broken pot on the back stoop caught his attention. It was unlike Hazel to leave something like that scattered by the door. A chill crawled up the back of his neck.

He eased his gun out of his holster and turned his attention to the barn. "Lacey?" he called. "If you're in the barn, come out here where I can see you."

The loft door rattled in the breeze. Other than that, nothing moved.

His three deputies came riding around the side of the house toward him. "Somethin’ up, boss?" Larry asked.

"Bill, you and Gene head around the back of the barn. Watch the windows."

Without a question, the two men rode off to do as they were ordered.

"Where's Miss Guarder?" Larry asked.

"Hopefully," Matthew said, beginning to move cautiously toward the barn, "in there."

He pulled open the barn door and found it empty. Lacey wasn’t there. Neither was Big Red.

"Did she leave without us?" Larry asked.

Gene and Bill joined them. “No sign of her out back,” Gene said.

“She wouldn’t leave without me,” Matthew replied. It had been too important to her that they do this thing together.

"It's the Rawlins brothers, isn't it?" Bill asked.

"They got her,” Gene agreed.

Hearing his suspicions spoken out loud sent a storm of fear and rage sweeping through Matthew. He holstered his gun, and hurried back to his horse. If the Rawlins brothers pulled one coppery strand of hair from Lacey’s head…he'd tear them apart with his bare hands.

* * *

Lacey's hands were numb from the cold and the tight rope binding them together. She'd been kidnapped, and was now at the mercy of two unpredictable men who were good and pissed at her.

They knew she'd tricked them into telling her how to find their sister; they'd taken great joy in telling her that as they'd thrown her into Big Red's saddle and tied her hands to the pommel. Just as they’d taken great joy in telling her, in explicit detail, exactly what they intended to do to her once they reached Fairhaven and the hotel where their sister was hiding out.

Lacey needed to escape, but they were moving at break-neck speed and it was taking all of her concentration to simply stay in Big Red’s saddle. They raced passed the fork in the road that had caused her so much trouble two days before, and then maneuvered down a steep incline shaded by stout evergreens and slick with snow and ice. She’d heard the men say they’d reach Fairhaven in less than an hour.

She’d managed to bring it along with her. It was looped over her neck and under her arm, sadly out of reach of her bound hands, but tucked inside was the only useful thing she'd brought with her to the nineteenth century: a small canister of pepper spray.

"I still don't see how we're gonna keep that marshal from followin' us," she heard Ned say. He was the one holding Big Red's reins, towing Lacey along behind them. "Look at all the tracks we're makin'."

"Don't worry about it," Henry answered. "We'll be on a ship for Mexico by nightfall. He'll never find us, or that money."

"Our friend is not gonna like it. He’s bound to bust his frilly collar."

Henry chuckled. "He should have known better than to lord it over a Rawlins. As far as I'm concerned, the money's ours. We earned every penny. Ain't that right, Miss sweet thing?"

"Go to hell," Lacey sneered.

"I am gonna have a whole lotta fun teachin' you some proper manners."

Ned snickered. "Shall we flip a coin and see who goes first?"

"Hell, no," Henry drawled. He gave Lacey a lecherous leer. "The lady likes a threesome, remember?"

Lacey thought she might gag. But she knew better than to show them any fear—even though she was scared down to her toes. She kept trying to work her hands free of the rope, but all that was getting her were chewed-up wrists.

"I bet she's got skin like roses," Ned remarked.

"The kind that'll hold teeth marks," his brother added.

"I'm gonna bite my name across her belly."

"I've got other places in mind."

Lacey vowed she’d kill herself first.

They passed a road with a carved wooden sign that read Geneva two miles, and rode right on by. Big Red slipped on a patch of ice, lost his footing, and snorted disconcertingly. Lacey was staying in the saddle by sheer strength of will.

When they rode into Fairhaven it was still early in the morning, by then Lacey had been moved from Big Red to Ned's horse. She was sitting in front of the smelly bastard with a gun planted in her ribs as they rode down a side street and headed for what Henry called “the old coal mines.” It took only two hotels before they found the right one. Lorraine was hiding out in a seedy, two-story shack on the farthest side of town.

Lacey was dragged up the stairs, with no one in the lobby seeming to care, and shoved through a door with the number five written in black paint so worn you could barely read it.

"Honey, we're home!" Henry bellowed.

A small, fragile-looking young girl rose from a filthy cot against the far wall.

"Fetch us some grub, Lorraine," Ned commanded. He shoved Lacey farther into the dismal room. "We ain't had nothin’ to eat all mornin'."

Lacey blinked at the girl. This was the fearsome Lorraine Rawlins? She wasn't much bigger than Lacey, and didn't look a day over sixteen. The girl's reputation had obviously been greatly exaggerated.

"Glad to see you two could finally make it," the girl grumbled.

"And don't give us any lip neither," Henry warned. He took off his heavy coat and threw it on a worn brown sofa with the stuffing coming out along the edges. Then he turned to Lacey. She flinched at his leering grin.

Lorraine eyed Lacey. “Who's this?" She handed her brothers a plate of bread and stale-looking cheese. "I gotta feed her too?"

"Naw," Henry told her. "We got somethin' else in mind to give her."

Lorraine and Lacey’s eyes met. The girl was dirty, dressed in rags, and her black hair was cropped short and in tangles, but she had the most striking green eyes Lacey had ever seen.

"You must be the dreaded Lorraine," Lacey said. "The fearsome, merciless bank robber."

"My brothers are showin' me the ropes," she replied without much enthusiasm.

Suddenly a big beefy hand shot out and cuffed the girl on the side of the head. "Fetch us somethin' to drink, Rainey," Henry ordered.

"We got any of that whiskey left?" Ned asked.

"Not whiskey, you idiot. We can't afford to get drunk when we're on the run."

"You drank it all before the robbery," Lorraine Rawlins retorted with a spark in her green eyes.

Henry turned a vicious glare on the girl. "You implyin' somethin', little sister?"

"I think she's implyin' that we got drunk before the robbery," Ned remarked.

Henry shot out another hand, this time catching Lorraine on the jaw. The girl flinched but stayed on her feet.

Lacey had seen enough. She turned to Henry Rawlins and kicked him hard in the shin. The man cried out and slapped her so hard it knocked her to the floor.

Henry glared down at her. “I think—” He began to undo the buttons on the front of his pants. “—that it's time to begin your lessons."

"There's a ship leaving at noon," Lorraine blurted.

"What?" Ned asked her.

“I…I checked with the front desk this mornin'. And there's a ship leaving for Mexico at twelve o'clock noon today."

"Well, that's perfect!" Ned exclaimed.

Henry was still glowering at Lacey "Yeah. Perfect. Where's that money?" he demanded from his sister.

"Over here," she told him. She walked to the cot, lifted up the mattress, and pulled out two canvas bags. “Figured I should hide it."

Ned stepped eagerly around Lacey and snatched the bags from his sister's hands. "We're rich," he said. "Rich!"

Henry buttoned his pants. “Take out enough for four ship fares."

"Four?" Ned asked.

Henry leveled his green eyes on Lacey. "Four. Miss Guarder would just hate to be left behind." He gave her a kick in the hip that jarred her teeth. "Wouldn't ya?”

"Desperately," she answered tightly.

"Tie her up in that chair over there," he ordered Ned.

Ned grabbed hold of the rope binding Lacey’s hands together and hauled her to her feet. She clamped her lips tight to keep from crying out in pain as the hemp dug into her already raw wrists. She was dropped into a wooden chair and tied tightly to the back with another long lank of rough rope.

Henry and his brother headed for the door. “We'll be back," he said to his sister. "You keep an eye on her, ya hear?”

"Yeah," Ned added, grinning. "She's gonna be our entertainment on our long trip south."

As soon as the door closed Lacey let out a sigh of relief. She had to think of a way out of this mess before they got back. And the first place she was going to look for help was from the young woman sitting quietly on the cot across the room. It was apparent that there was no love lost between this girl and her brothers.

"I don't suppose you'd—"

"Don't even start, lady," the girl shot back.

Lacey blinked in surprise at the girl's rancor.

"I'm not as stupid as they think. Or as you think. So don't bother tryin' to talk your way out of those ropes."

"I was only going to say—"

"I know what you were gonna say," the girl interrupted again. She stood from the cot. “You were gonna say, gee, Rainey, they treat you so shabby, why not stick it to 'em by lettin' me go free. That about cover it?"

The girl was quicker than Lacey had given her credit for— probably than anyone had given her credit for—so she decided not to waste time trying to lie to her. “Can't blame a girl for trying."

"Nope,” she remarked. “Sure can't."

Hell, with her brothers gone, Lorraine Rawlins was a veritable spitfire. "This a pretty common thing, then? They kidnap women and you play watchdog for them?"

That question appeared to make the girl a little uncomfortable. She started to pace. “They've never done anything like this before."

"I hear they've never robbed a bank before, either. Getting a little full of themselves, aren’t they? Bank robbery. Rape. Then what, murder? And them dragging you right along with them the whole way."

"Henry says a good livin' could be made robbin' banks."

Lacey shrugged. “He's right. But trust me, it’s not worth it. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder, never trusting anybody, being trusted even less. You'll have no home, no friends, no family—"

"They're my family."

"I wouldn't go around bragging about that to too many people, Lorraine. Your brother’s aren’t exactly well liked, if you know what I mean."

“Don’t need to be liked. Just feared.”

"Even by their sister?”

The girl paused and shot her an angry, haunted look. "I do what I'm told and I get along just fine."

Although she'd been young at the time, Lacey remembered that feeling well. Thinking that everything mean and brutal that she got she deserved, and everything kind that was withheld from her she didn't. "You're not just fine, Lorraine. Those two men treat you no better than a dog. You intend to live your whole life this way?"

"I got no choice."

"Your life is full of choices!" Lacey shot back.

Lorraine flinched and took a step away from her.

"I'm sorry.” Lacey sighed. "This is a sore subject for me. I've been in your shoes, Lorraine. I've done things I'm ashamed of, all the while telling myself I had no choice. The truth is, I was just too afraid to do what I knew was right."

"You're just sayin' all this so I'll let you go."

"Yes, I do want you to let me go. But I'm saying this so you'll stop and think about what you're doing with your life before it's too late, before you get so deep into this mess with your brothers that you have no way out. Leave them while you have the chance."

The girl snorted. "And go where?"

“There has to be some government agency, some juvenile shelter—"

“An orphanage? Where they'd work me to death, feed me bread and water, and stuff me into a room full of lunatics? Or were you meaning that I should live on the streets. Find my meals in garbage cans. Sell myself to keep clothes on my back and shoes on my feet?"

"Those can't be your only choices."

"Without a family, I got nothin'."

And that's when Lacey got an idea than seemed to come from Heaven itself. "I know where you can find one.”

"Huh?"

"A family. I know where you can find a family that would give you all the love and support you could possibly need. All you have to do is trust me enough to untie me from this chair."