Page 72 of Falling for the Cowgirl
“You’re Rodney James.”
Otis shifted the gun back onto Jericho just as he’d hoped, confirming his suspicion.
At first Jericho had assumed Hance was the notorious outlaw, but the truth had fallen into place once they’d reached the cave.
Hance’s comment about having a wife had been a major clue, coupled with the realization that Hance had some skill in interacting with women—albeit mediocre skills. Otis, on the other hand, bumbled around anyone wearing a skirt. He was the type who would have remained a bachelor living with his grandmother well into old age.
Although the person in the photograph from the war hadn’t been hefty, it was possible Otis used the weight gain as part of his disguise. It had certainly rounded out his facial features and made him less recognizable.
And then, of course, there was the asthma. Otis had it in full force and was still wheezing even now. The fellow had learned how to survive over the past years by hiding in the shadows of other people. Namely Hance.
“Let me guess.” Otis studied Jericho’s face. “You’re a bounty hunter intent upon bringing me in for justice.”
Jericho had to put an end to his conversation with Otis and tend to Ivy. From what he could see of the knife wound, he had to get her back to Fairplay as soon as possible. She wasn’t bleeding profusely—which meant the knife hadn’t hit a major artery. Even so, she needed the care of a physician, and the trek down the mountain would be long and hard.
The trouble was, Otis had a loaded gun along with every reason to put a bullet in his head.
“The question I have”—Jericho had to distract the fellow—“is where you got the information that the treasure was here.”
The gun in Otis’s hand shook. The man was weak and short of breath. Jericho could take him down in an instant if he didn’t have to worry about Otis shooting Ivy. He still had his knife, but with his hands bound together, he might not be able to unsheathe it fast enough to stop Otis from doing damage.
Otis glanced at Hance’s prostrate form near Ivy. Jericho hadn’t wanted to kill any of the men, only wound them enough to disable them. He’d succeeded with the other two in knocking them out. But with Hance threatening Ivy’s life, he’d done what he needed to in order to protect her.
“Hance’s brother was the head of the Kingston Gang.”
Kingston Gang? Jericho’s pulse took a dive. That was the same gang whose treasure he’d been seeking the day Nash had fallen to his death.
“Hance found the map among his brother’s belongings,” Otis continued, “after his brother was hung for crimes. The trouble with the map was that it didn’t specify the mountain.”
With each word, Jericho’s muscles tensed even more. If only the Kingston Gang had never been in the area. If only they’d never buried any treasure. And if only no one had known about it, including him.
Loathing pushed up into Jericho’s chest—loathing for all the criminals who’d brought so much pain to his life. Not only had they taken his mom, but indirectly they’d takenhis brother. And now they threatened to take the woman he loved.
As Otis peered again at Hance, Jericho acted on impulse. He darted forward.
Shifting his attention back to Jericho, Otis squeezed the trigger.
Jericho dove to the ground, the bullet nearly missing his head. He hit the cave floor hard, knocking the breath from his lungs, but he rolled forward and barreled into Otis. Before the outlaw could shoot again, Jericho slammed his arm and dislodged the gun, causing it to fall to the cave floor and skitter out of reach.
In the same motion, Jericho slipped his knife from his boot and pointed it at Otis. “Time for your reckoning, you piece of scum.”
Otis breathed in and out with a quick, shallow burst, then nodded. “Do it. Kill me.”
Jericho’s gut churned with the need to plunge the knife into Otis and twist it, making him pay for Nash, his mom, and every other innocent victim who’d suffered at the hands of criminals like him.
Otis shifted his fingers against his bloody arm wound and then winced before closing his eyes. “You’re not planning to turn into a coward now, are you?”
At the dare, the churning pushed into Jericho’s lungs, fanning the air there hot with hatred. He slipped the blade up and sawed at his bindings. The moment his hands were free, he slipped his fingers around Otis’s neck and squeezed hard.
Jericho jabbed the blade into Otis’s chest and drew blood. At the same time, he put pressure on Otis’s windpipe and cutoff the man’s air supply. Already lacking oxygen, it wouldn’t take long to strangle him.
“That’s right,” Otis rasped out the words. “Punish me.”
Punish him? Jericho blinked. Was he wanting to yell, hit, and kick so that he could punish someone else for everything bad that had happened to him?
Was that why Otis had hurt others?
Jericho dropped his hand away from Otis’s throat and lessened the force of the knife blade. “That’s why you hurt so many people. You couldn’t punish the one person who’d inflicted so much pain on you. Your dad. So you had to punish others.”
