Page 90 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“And nothin’. Dirt. Rocks. Worms. Whatever the hell grubs are. No loot.”
“It’s there.”
“Maybe somebody already dug it up. Maybe the guy who buried it lied to you. You met him in prison, for God’s sake, men in prison lie about everything, it’s practically a hobby.”
“Dawson didn’t lie.” Ace stopped pacing. “He told me exact. West side of the property, between the creek and the main house, buried four feet down. A strongbox with gold coins, silver bars, and jewelry from six different jobs across three territories. Enough to set a man up for life.”
“And he just told you. Over cards.”
“He told me because he’s doin’ life for murder, he’s never gettin’ out, and a man with no future likes to brag about his past. It’s human nature.” Ace tapped his temple. “I listened. I remembered. I checked the property records at the county office. Everything lines up.”
“Except we can’t find it.”
“Because you’re diggin’ in the wrong spots, and now you can’t dig at all because you left a hole open like a damn amateur.”
Amateur.Twelve years in Ace’s crew. Twelve years of running corners, cutting purses, dodging coppers, keeping his mouth shut, his hands quick, and his sister fed. One mistake with a shovel in Colorado, and he ranked as an amateur.
“Give it a few weeks,” Jonah said. “Logan’ll calm down. He always does. The patrols’ll go back to normal, and I can start diggin’ again.”
“I ain’t got weeks.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you worry why not.” Ace crouched in front of him. Close enough that Jonah caught the whiskey on his breath. “You ain’t brought enough, so you don’t get to wait.”
“I took what I could take without ’em noticin’ the cash missing. Logan counts every bill in that box. Every one. The man tracks pennies the way most people track children. If even a dollar went missin’—”
“Then you shoulda been smarter about it.”
Bile climbed higher up Jonah’s throat.
Picking pockets hurt nobody. Not really. Some rich guy on Broadway lost his wallet; he went home and got another one. The wallet meant less to him than the buttons on his coat. But this. Logan’s ranch. Grace’s family. The baby.
Miriam.
Last night, before Logan rode out on patrol, Grace had set Miriam in Jonah’s lap on the porch and asked him to watch her while she packed food for the riders. And Miriam had grabbed his finger, looked up at him with those big dark eyes, and smiled.
“Ace.” He pressed his palms flat on the floor. The wood dampened his skin. “Listen. I think we should call it. Take the silver, split it, and go our separate ways. The cache might not even—”
“Call it?”
“Yeah.”
“Call it.” Ace smiled. “Jonah, you owe me eleven years of favors, loyalty, and a considerable sum of money you borrowed against future earnin’s that you never earned. You think you justcall itand walk away?”
“I’ll pay you back. I got a job now. I can send—”
“You got a job shovelin’ horse manure for a man whose property you’re robbin’. That ain’t a career, son. That’s a cover story.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Is it?” Ace tilted his head. “You gettin’ attached, Jonah? Is that what this is? You spend a few weeks playin’ cowboy with your sister’s fake husband, and now you think you’re one of them?”
Jonah clenched his jaw.
“Because let me explain something to you, real simple.” Ace planted both hands on his knees. “You arenotone of them. You’re a thief from the Fourth Ward who picks pockets for a livin’. And that’s who you’ll be when this is over.”
“You don’t—”
