An Outlaw's Silence (manxman)(second story in The Crane Gang series)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-two

Zachariah was not happy with the plan.

He hated the plan.

He wanted to shoot the goddamn plan square in its brain addled face.

But the plan was already in motion and therefore Zachariah had no choice but to sit tight while the fate of his sister and the man he loved rested in someone else's hands.

Zachariah never had been good at waiting—or allowing someone else to have control of the reins.

"You couldn't have gone, Zachariah. They'd have blown your head off the minute Clint laid eyes on you," Gill reminded him.

Zachariah sat down hard on a boulder and grumbled. "Not if I'd have blown his head off first."

"You're worse than Jebidiah when it comes to getting grumpy when you're worried."

Zachariah glared at the texas ranger turned outlaw turned rancher. His mind went back to the day they'd rode into town and caught him attempting to ride out. Jebidiah had punched him in the mouth for putting Wyatt in danger and then Gill had helped him up and they'd all rode out of town together.

"Can he handle going in there?" Zachariah asked.

He didn't miss the way Gill's eyes darted to the side before he answered. "Yeah. He knows what he's doing."

Zachariah's jaw tightened and he stared off into the distance knowing there wasn't a thing he could do except wait.

***

Wyatt found himself alone with Eleanor. He shuffled on his knees until he was close enough to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Are you okay?'

She shook her head. "No. I'm not okay. You're not okay. None of this is okay and it never will be again."

Hearing her say that, knowing that she was giving up, tore at Wyatt. He couldn't let her give up. He couldn't let her be a repeat of what had happened to that poor woman they'd rescued before.

'I'm going to get us out of here,' Wyatt assured her. He frowned. 'Somehow.'

Eleanor shook her head. "I can't tell what you're saying. I'm sorry."

Wyatt just sighed and forced himself to his feet. His weak body swayed and he fell sideways into the bars, his lack of voice keeping his cries of pain from being audible.

He had his hands free and his captors had left the room. No matter how weak and battered he was, Wyatt had to find a way to take advantage of that. He looked at Eleanor. 'How many men are here?'

Frustration and despair tugged at her features. "I'm sorry.... I don't know what you're asking."

Wyatt grumbled and held up his hand spreading his fingers. He pointed at them and shrugged. 'How many with Clint?'

Eleanor's brows drew together. "Are you asking how many men are holding us here?"

Wyatt nodded, thankful to finally be communicating. Eleanor glanced out the far window. "Eight. It will be nine if they hire whoever is outside."