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He jerked her back in place. “You can make this easy or you can make it hard. Suits me either way.” He gave another of those dirty laughs.
She hung limply, weighing the possibilities. Could she pretend to cooperate and gain his trust? Bile rose in her throat at the idea. She’d sooner be hog-tied and butchered.
Did the man purposely choose a gait that bounced her so hard across the horse’s spine that she wondered why she didn’t vomit? Her ribs hurt. Her head hurt. Her arms grew numb. After a few minutes all she cared about was getting off that rigid spine, getting her head upright. But still the ride continued.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Thought you might like to see Brand again.”
“No thanks.”
Another mirthless laugh. “He’s gonna be surprised to see you.”
She saw the legs of another horse, the boots of another rider. Had help come? She lifted her head and saw the rider. Her heart stalled. Given his expression, this man did not mean to help her.
“Got yerself a toy?”
“Keep yer hands off her. She’s mine as soon as she persuades Brand to cooperate.”
Sybil studied the words, but they made no sense. Except his claim that she was his. She lay still, hoping she appeared somewhat compliant. But she would not be this man’s toy or trophy.
“Hey, Pa,” Brand’s brother called. “Lookee what I got.”
Sybil lifted her head. She saw an older, thinner version of Brand, plus several very tough-looking men. Then she saw Brand and gave him a look full of all the anger that had built over the last hour of indignities.
He nodded a curt greeting, his expression stony.
So that was how it was going to be. No hint of regret or apology. But why should she think there would be? He was part of an outlaw gang. His interest in her had been solely for the purpose of learning what he could about the ranch.
“I see you’ve met Cyrus, my brother,” Brand said. “This here’s my pa. Can’t remember the names of the others.”
Cyrus swung down and lifted her to the ground. Her legs were wobbly, but she’d never let anyone guess. Only good manners kept her from spitting on her captor.
She swung her burning gaze at each and every one of the men, curling her lip as she looked again at Brand.
Cyrus laughed.
She’d never heard a more hateful sound.
“Thought she’d be a bit more pleased to see you, little brother.”
Brand shrugged. “Could’ve told you she don’t much care for me.”
Sybil gritted her teeth. To think she’d tried to persuade him to stay. Had practically thrown herself into his arms. Thankfully, she had restrained herself.
“That ain’t how I saw it.” Cyrus pushed her forward. “And I’m goin’ by my eyes.” He stopped pushing her as they neared the campfire with a pot hanging over it. Steam escaped around the lid.
“I’m hungry.” He shoved Sybil down on a log.
She sat, grateful to be off her shaking legs.
The others sat, mostly staring at her. Their looks made her shrink back, feeling soiled and exposed. One of the men filled dishes with heaping helpings of beans. All of them were so unwashed she couldn’t imagine eating the food, but when she meant to refuse the plate offered her, the scowl on the cowboy’s face made her swallow hard and accept it.
But she didn’t say thank you.
Brand’s pa edged closer. “We saw you and Brand being friendly. Ain’t often a woman warms up to him.” His smile was sad, regretful. “Or could be he don’t often let anyone get close.”
“Wouldn’t know. Don’t care.” She took a spoonful of beans simply to discourage further conversation, and forced herself not to gag.
She felt Brand’s disinterested look and shot him one that should have melted the flesh off his bones. “Where’s Dawg?”
Brand tipped his head to the side. Dawg sat there with his head on his paws, his eyes alert. His tail tilted to one side at Sybil speaking his name, and he wriggled an inch closer.
“Stay,” Brand ordered, and Dawg stayed.
Forks and knives clattered on the tin plates. A utensil screeched and Sybil shivered. Fear and anger and disgust raged through her.
