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“You’ve shanghaied boatloads of women, Ridge,” Cole said, not about to admit Maddie was still with him.
“Yes, I have, and became a rich man because of it.”
“I couldn’t care less about your financial status,” Cole replied. Ridge still wasn’t within pistol distance and knew it. For every step forward Cole took, the other man backed up one, keeping just out of range.
“But you do care about Maddie.” Ridge took a long draw on a cheroot before he flicked it onto the ground. “The woman you’re pretending to be married to. I can’t say I blame you. If that’s what it took to get between her legs, I’d have done the same.” Lifting his cane, Ridge waved it from side to side. “That little gal has led me on quite a chase, for years, but it’s been time and money well spent.”
Cole was fuming, and he was imagining strangling Ridge when movement caught in the corner of one eye. He felt a quick flash of relief the moment he recognized Elwood Reins, which dissolved when his glance in the other direction picked up Butch Grimes. Damn, he should have checked them out deeper. He hadn’t expected this—Ridge and his henchmen following them all the way to Alaska.
He thought of going for his gun, but the men were moving in too fast. Spinning, Cole met one with a fist, the other with a heel, but it wasn’t enough to deter them. Fists came in from all directions, driving into his jaw, his gut and the side of his face. He threw blows back just as fast, but couldn’t keep up with the ones coming at him. A solid punch hit him in the temple, making his head spin, but whatever hit him in the back of the head was much more solid than a punch.
He saw stars, and then the image of Maddie’s face before the world went black.
* * *
A sour, bitter taste coated his tongue, and every part of his head pounded. He couldn’t have said which area hurt worse or why it felt so heavy. Cole couldn’t say what had happened, either, or where he was. He tried harder to pull his eyes open. Eventually, he managed the task, but it left him winded and dizzy.
A single lit lantern sat on a table next to the bed, and the room smelled like Trig’s cabin. Old socks and sweat-filled clothes. He wasn’t on the Mary Jane, though; nothing was swaying, other than his stomach.
Memories hit like a gale wind. On the verge of heaving, Cole threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Wincing at the pain shooting across his rib cage and temples, he stood. It took a moment for his equilibrium to kick in, but when it did, he noticed his coat and gun belt on a nearby chair. His boots were there, too, and while putting everything on, he thanked his lucky stars Ridge—or his henchmen—were more foolish than he thought. Leaving everything in easy reach.
Pausing at the door, knowing that didn’t make much sense, he turned the knob slowly, cracking the wood just an inch to listen. The voices he heard were familiar, and not one of them was Ridge’s.
Cole eased out the door and down the narrow set of steps now comprehending he was in Truman’s store. Fury overrode the pain of his injuries. Gun drawn, he raced down the last few steps and bounded into the kitchen. “Get your hands where I can see them!”
“What are you doing out of bed?” Truman asked, holding both hands over his head.
Ignoring his question, Cole turned to one of the other two men sitting at the table. “Are you in on this, too?”
Looking thoroughly stunned, Abe blinked. “In on what? Me and Sylvester found two men carrying you toward the river. We took chase, but stopped once we realized it was you they’d been about to dump in the water.”
He was relieved, but, pressed for time, Cole turned back to Truman. “If anything happens to her, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Who?” Truman asked.
Cole was already throwing open the door. “Maddie. Those men you sent to work for me were after her. Are after her.”
“The hell you say!”
“We gotta get to the mine!”
Cole wasn’t sure who said what. Finding each step he took harder than the one before, he had to grab the railing to make his way down the steps.
Truman rushed past him, yelling for Gunther. When the big man walked out of the barn, the shopkeeper shouted, “There’re bad men after Mrs. DuMont!”
Cole’s head started spinning and grew foggy. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. The next thing he knew, he was hoisted off the ground and flung over Gunther’s shoulder.
“Take it easy,” Abe shouted. “He has broken ribs.”
