At some point over the past decade of Chase Rhovnik?s life, charity events started blurring together. This one was supporting arts in schools or a soup kitchen or a mentoring program or a back to work program or maybe it was to raise awareness for some horrible disease. They were most often filled with all the right faces trying to be seen in the right place and have their photograph taken as they walked in.

When he expressed his thoughts on these events to his grandmother or Sophie they would admonish him severely. Money was raised. Good was done. Their ancestral duty to give back expanded beyond waging war and backroom politics. Sometimes the best way to better the lives of others was to simply put on designer clothing, attend a lavish gala, drink booze, eat well, and write a large check. Or at least that?s what they claimed. Chase couldn?t believe that women as intelligent as Elsie and Sofia actually bought that the ills of the world could be solved at fancy parties over the finest booze.

Although located in a historic pale brick building across from the picturesque banks of Central Park?s reservoir, the Neue Galerie was the last place in the world that Chase Rhovnik wanted to be. However, a summons from Elsie Rhovnik was not something that he ignored. Hell, there were very few people brave enough to turn their back when the Rhovnik matriarch demanded their company.

Thankfully, though, the uncomfortable conversation that he had been called back to RhyDin for had been limited to the flight from Cleveland to New York and, since even Elsie couldn?t stand more than an hour or two socializing at this event, soon they would be in the Rhovnik jet on their way back to Cleveland and he could then return to RhyDin. He frowned a bit harder at the oil painting before him, studying the subject -- a green poplar tree in a field of willowy yellowing grass blowing in a breeze -- as if it were a complex subject. Perhaps, he hoped, if he looked taken by the painting he would be left alone in peace.

?You look like crap.?

No such luck.

The voice needed no face. Chase knew who was standing behind him merely by the sound of her voice. Yet, he still turned on his heels to level his gaze on his younger sister. When had his awkward sister grown up into such a stunning beauty? Gone were the unbrushed pigtails of a flat brown color and instead her hair was warmed with golden highlights and slightly wavy at chin length, giving it an unfussy look that still managed to be elegant. Grass-stained jeans had been replaced by a lavender gown that was draped as if in a tailored ode to her feminine figure. Striking deep almond colored eyes of a rich honey color that had been hidden behind coke bottle glasses were now corrected thanks to LASIK eye surgery and accented by a light layer of champagne and bronze eye shadow. Chase released a heavy exhale. There was nothing he could do about what the passage of time had done to little Kat.

He cleared his throat as he found his voice and returned his gaze to the painting before him. ?That?s nice, Kat. Real nice. What are you doing here? Does Princeton actually make you take classes or are they just handing out degrees now??

Although, no answers seemed to be expected to Chase?s questions, Kat eagerly snapped back in a dry tone. ?Funny. I know you tend to be a bit out of touch but it?s Saturday. Grandmother wanted me to come tonight so she could introduce me to the son of one of the old families.?

The news brought new tension to Chase?s shoulders. She was too young for talk of marriage and what constituted a good match. He could sense the change in his own posture and he knew full well he should curb it in public. Yet, it wasn?t in his nature to hide his emotions. He?d never be as good at acting as Andrea or Kat were. ?A year ago you were telling Sophie that times have changed and we shouldn?t be subjected to arranged marriages. Why are you now letting Grandmother play matchmaker??

?Well, I haven?t been doing all that great of a job picking my own guys so I decided that it can?t hurt to meet the ones Grandmother and our aunts choose, right?? Kat?s flippant answer and the grin over her glass of champagne were not what Chase wanted to hear. His dark eyes scanned the room, ignoring the exhibitions as he tried to figure out just which of the tuxedoed young men Elsie Rhovnik had her eyes set on for his baby sister.

Since it seemed that he would not state the reason for his visit on his own, Kat was left to pose the question. Thankfully, she was wise enough to keep her voice low. Among the room?s chatter, the siblings? conversation was drowned out. ?Why aren?t you in RhyDin? Did Grandmother call you in to discuss Cait with you? I told you she would. She and Sophie are so not happy with that whole situation.?

?Could you talk any louder?? Chase whispered even though Kat was keeping her voice too low to be overheard. Always cautious of having his business aired out, particularly business so against his grain, he drew away from the crowd towards an unremarkable 18th-century marble statue of a hound that was, unsurprisingly, not attracting much attention.

Chase held out hope that Kat wouldn?t follow and would instead become distracted in the room full of priceless pieces of art, designer gowns, and privileged patrons. That slippery mist of hope faded quickly. She did not give him relief from the interrogation but instead casually followed and allowed her eyes to settle on the hound as she struck an elegant pose with the champagne flute held loosely in hand. The Rhovnik women seemed to be innately aware of their lines and the light to be able to best determine how to stand to appear the very image of the aloof, mysterious heiresses that they were. Always beautiful. Always unattainable. Always poised. Even if it was a complete and utter lie. ?So? What did Grandmother have to say??

There was no point in dodging Kat?s questions further. She would just keep on until he broke. It was best to just get the uncomfortable conversation over with so that they each could return to what they did best -- she to mingling and he to brooding. ?She wanted to know if I was serious about Cait,? Chase responded, hoping he sounded nonplussed.

Kat?s brown eyes danced back to Chase, arching a brow curiously. ?And? Are you??

?I told her that I like spending time with Cait. She made it clear that such a connection would do the family no good and I pointed out that there's lots of us that can make matches for the good of the family. Hell, Sophie's marrying a baron this fall,? Chase stated in a low tone just above a whisper. His watchful eyes landed on a magnificently dressed gray-haired lady who had brought her much younger escort dangerously close to the siblings. Afraid she?d over hear, he stepped away as if no longer interested in the hound and pretended to be suddenly drawn to a charcoal drawing in a quiet corner. A roughly drawn male figure seemed to be battling against a vicious wind as a gigantic mosquito-looking creature soared over head. And this was considered a highly acclaimed collection? Despite all Sophie?s not so gentle tutelage and having gotten wrapped up in her thefts of art and antiquities over the years, an appreciation for art had never formed.

Kat followed his path, watching him expectantly to spur a continuation of Chase?s comments. He cleared his throat uneasily, not daring to glance back at her. ?Because of the role Grandmother has me fill in this family no loving father is going to be party to arranging the marriage of his pretty, well-adjusted daughter with good connections to me. I?m bad news. I do the worst of the family's business and the girls from good families that are interested in me are the ones looking to piss off their fathers for a little while and get attention. I have no problem doing what she wants me to do but in exchange I want a bit of space from her matchmaking.?

?That doesn?t answer the question, though. You?ve been dating this girl for months now. I can?t remember you showing interest in any girl that long except for--? Kat seemed to think better about finishing that statement. Maybe she sensed Chase turning rigidly tense beside her. It had been years since Kat dared to mention Zoe?s name in front of him. Not after everything that had happened.

She lifted her glass for a sip, admiring the work before them in silence for a moment before she tried again. ?Are you serious about Cait?? There was something more there in Kat?s gentle tone than the cat-like curiosity of a younger sister. It took a moment to identify it but there was no denying it once he had. Hope. Kat hoped that he was serious about Cait. She hoped that he had found a measure of peace, a measure of happiness in their violent, turbulent world.

But how was he supposed to respond to that question?

Cait was exactly the sort of woman he had no business spending time with. She didn?t know his reputation with women nor with violence and no matter how many times he explained it to her, she stubbornly continued to see him through rose-colored glasses. Her loser of an ex had called her ?Lizzy? after the main character in her favorite Jane Austen novel but her character resembled the elder sister, Jane, much more than it did Lizzy. Her temperament was far too sweet to be capable of seeing the rot that grew in the gut of the wicked. How could he be serious with a woman that he desperately wanted but, during moments of sanity when he could clear his head enough of her allure, tried to drive her to fear him with tales of his past and warnings that he would never change?

A look of expectant impatience had settled on Kat?s features. Yet, he was saved from having to form a response by an elderly gentleman that had stepped up to place his hand on the crook of Kat?s elbow. As she turned towards the welcomed intruder, he showered her with a cheerful smile eager to be the subject of the famous charm that seemed so innate in the Rhovnik women.

He wasn?t disappointed. Kat?s face lit with a smile that seemed to come from a place of uncontrollable delight. The lifting of her lips only came after the smile crinkled the skin around her large brown eyes and brightened them with joy. Only someone that knew her as well as Chase would know that it was all an act. ?Mr. Collins! I had no idea you would be here tonight. It has been far too long. You remember my brother, Chase, of course??

Mr. Collins stiffened as Chase?s name crossed Kat?s lips and his eyes immediately jumped towards the younger man. Clearly, he had not yet seen Chase standing there. He couldn?t fault the man for overlooking him when he was standing beside Kat. Reflexively, Chase?s lips turned up into a rakish smile in response to the look of disapproval that Mr. Collins leveled on him even as he racked his mind for a memory as to why this man would have such a reaction to him.

?I do. I hope you are well, Mr Rhovnik,? Mr. Collins answered tightly as if the mere sight of him was offensive. It was a statement, not a question. He was not inviting further conversation from Chase. Kat arched a brow at her brother while Mr. Collins attention was still on her brother in an unspoken question as to what exactly he had done to cause that reaction. The brow immediately fell as Mr. Collins pointedly turned his back on Chase to soak in Kat once again.

Collins. Samuel Collins. Father of Georgia Collins. Georgia had been just his type -- a gorgeous petite brunette with a rebellious streak from too many years in girls? boarding schools. The two weeks they spent two summers ago during his annual vacation from all things Rhovnik had been a blast. The Collins family wasn?t nexus-savvy so their travels were limited to earthly destinations but they had been sure to hit as many of the best beaches -- from Australia to South America -- as Chase could fit into two weeks. When his vacation was up, Georgia was madly in love and Chase had already forgotten about her. The fallout from the Collins family took one of his uncles and several of his aunts months to solve and had earned him a lecture straight from Grandmother herself.

?If you will excuse me, I must check on Grandmother.? He gave the pair a formal nod and Mr. Collins seemed all too willing to give him his leave. Ignoring the still wolfish expression on Chase's face, Kat flashed him a polished smile as he turned away. Yet, despite her smooth, warm smile he could see in her sharp eyes the irritation that his joy over the snub had stirred up.

The repulsion that Mr. Collins had done little to hide at the sight of Chase had pleased the debauched playboy in him that had remained buried for so many months. Although, he may be falling for a sweet-tempered, Jane Austen loving idealist, his reputation appeared, at least for the moment, unscathed.

The bar that served as the venue for this ?date? was something straight out of Star Wars where beings of all shapes and sizes rubbed elbows and criminal activities were plotted in the dark corner booths. Located beyond an unmarked arched wooden door on the outskirts of Stars End, this dive was even dirtier and grittier than the Red Dragon. The nameless bar was the sort of place that one had to walk with their chest held out high and weapons visible if they expected to make it out unscathed.

?Are yer lookin? fur a knees-up, luv??

A small boned woman with loose, flowing waves of brunette locks suddenly appeared before Chase as he slunk through the smelly, noisy crowd towards the bar. Round eyes dominated her face and shone like a pair of well polished turquoises while a thin lipped smile beckoned almost shyly. It took his brain a moment to translate her muddled accent and to realize that the image she was portraying was a little too perfect not to be an illusion. What an advantage it must be for a... well, purveyor of sex to be able to make a potential client see her as exactly the sort of woman he would want to see? Chase briefly wondered what she truly looked like before banishing the thought and the woman from his mind with a firm shake of his head. Her smile fell to a look of haughty disappointment and she spun on her heels, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared.

Several steps closer to the bar and Chase spotted the man he was looking for -- Uncle Rooney. Ronald Rhovnik was Elsie Rhovnik?s youngest child and, as tends to be the case with the youngest of a large brood, he had always been her wild child. He?d drunk his way through every gin joint in every nexus point that he could find and, like Sophie, despite a large trust fund that could easily supply him with a life of luxury, he had turned to the theft of art and antiquities for fun and adventure. If Indiana Jones had dipped his stinger into Lara Croft?s honey pot, Rooney would be their alcoholic love child.

The dirty wool collar of Rooney?s battered old leather aviator jacket was flipped up as he slumped over his drink at the bar, staring straight ahead at the bottles behind it. Nearing forty, his dark shaggy locks in need of a cut curled at the ends and were just beginning to show signs of gray at his temples. The cheap perfume of whatever desperate woman had been hanging from him last wafted off of him.

There was no doubt about it. Rooney was already three sheets to the wind. Chase glanced at the watch around his wrist. Drunk at 11:30 in the morning. Wonderful. Sophie had really deluded herself if she thought that they could rely on anything Rooney had to say.

Rooney only lifted his head when Chase claimed the stool beside him, giving the bartender an upward nod and pointing to Rooney?s gin and tonic before lifting two fingers to request one for himself and a refill for Rooney. Rooney smiled a loopy grin and lifted a hand to clap his nephew on the back a bit too firmly. ?Chase! Still following Sofia around like a little, lost puppy??

The insult came as no surprise but Chase still felt his body tense with a wave of anger as he dropped several coins on the bar to pay for the drinks. Rooney didn?t exactly believe in doing his family duty. In fact, Chase wasn?t entirely sure the man knew how to define the word ?duty?. Ronald was not the typical Rhovnik soldier. ?Hello, Uncle. How?s life in the gutter??

The question caused a snort of amusement from Rooney as he shot a good-natured smile to the bartender when the hairy man took the empty glass and traded it for a sloppy full one. Rooney wrapped his hand around the glass as if it was a security blanket. ?At least I make my own decisions in the gutter. Elsie and Sofia don?t make them for me,? he stated with a vague sense of pride. He lifted the glass in mock toast to Chase before knocking back a long swallow.

Chase?s own glass sat untouched before him. He didn?t have the stomach for liquor before noon but this wasn?t the sort of establishment in which you occupied a stool without a drink in front of you. As if proof of the bar?s rough nature, Chase could pick out the sounds of a brewing fight by a threadbare pool table. ?And, yet, here you are at Soph?s request.?

?I still owe my mouthy little niece for getting me out of that jam in East Clarence last summer. Evidently she doesn?t forget a debt owed to her,? Rooney grumbled unhappily. A shudder ran up his spine but Chase doubted it was from the gulp of alcohol that followed the statement. Instead he guessed the reaction was provoked by having to owe Sophie. ?So let?s get this done.?

?I?m all ears, old man.?

Rooney bristled at the insinuation that he was old but did not let it deter him from the point of the conversation. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner he could go back to being as un-Rhovnik as humanly possible. ?Cantrell has a daughter... which I suppose you already know. Her name is Brenda. Her mother ran off but Cantrell likes to say that she?s dead. Anyway, he keeps Brenda on his ranch about ten miles west of Tarnadago City. There?s two dozen well-trained armed guards patrolling the grounds at all times. Security there is like a fortress. There?s no way you can get to her there.?

?There?s nobody I can?t get to,? Chase responded with the beginnings of a smug smile.

Even Rooney had to concede the point or at least decided it wasn?t worth arguing. He gave a shrug of a single shoulder as if it were too much work to lift the other in conjunction with the movement of the opposite. ?Fine. But there?s easier ways to go about it that will require less men. If you come in guns-blazing with a dozen men, Cantrell will be on high alert. You?re better off coming in with two or three of your best guys, grab Brenda, and get out of town before Cantrell even knows that a Rhovnik is in town.?

The reasoning made sense. And, damn, did Chase hate when Rooney?s reasoning made sense. His eyes lingered on his uncle?s bloodshot eyes for a moment before giving a nod to acknowledge that, at least so far, he agreed with the strategy. ?So I assume you have a plan??

The question caused the same dopey grin to explode across Rooney?s face and he pulled an beer-stained envelope free of an inner pocket, sliding it down the bar towards Chase. Instantly tired of Rooney?s theatrics, Chase lifted the envelope and peeked at the contents. His brow rose more out of wariness than curiosity. ?Tickets for a play??

?Not just any play. Three tickets to the Gilded Stone Theater for the opening of a new romance by Jack Langrishe entitled ?In Ten Days?, with Brenda Cantrell?s favorite actress, Fannie Wilkinson, in the lead role. There?s no way she doesn?t show up for that,? Rooney explained confidently. He leaned in close enough that Chase could smell the stale booze on his breath so that he could drop his voice even lower. ?It?s the perfect combination. Her father rarely attends the theater and he certainly won?t go for a romance written by Langrishe who he claims is a ?cheap hack?. Brenda and her paid companion, Molly Fretwell, will be alone in Cantrell's box with a compliment of guards. Brenda insists that no more than two accompany them into the theater.?

?We disable the two guards and slip her out the back,? Chase stated with a slow nod. Not a bad plan for a drunk.

?Yeah. Even you and your boys should be able to handle that one,? Rooney scoffed. Without giving Chase a moment to interject a reply insult, Rooney carried on with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ?But I?ve made it even easier for you. Molly is going to make sure that the guards coffee at intermission is drugged. After they pass out, you should have no problem getting Brenda out of the building.?

?This Fretwell woman is going to betray her employer and help us out of the kindness of her heart?? Disbelief weighed heavy on Chase?s tone.

Rooney?s smile lit up further and this time he lifted both shoulders in a faux-modest shrug. ?You?re not the only Rhovnik man with a little sway with the ladies.?

?Let me guess. This poor unsuspecting Molly Fretwell is supposed to meet you to run away together after this whole thing goes down??

A warm laugh filled the distance between them as Rooney leaned back slightly, shaking a finger at Chase. ?You aren?t as slow as I thought you were.?

?And are you going to be there to meet her??

Rooney tipped his head thoughtfully as if peering into the future attempting to determine an unknown fate. ?Perhaps. If I remember.? His statements were more to his glass than to Chase.

?You staying in town long?? Chase asked as he slid to his feet, tucking the envelope into an interior pocket of his coat behind the pistol hidden there.

?Who knows? Only the wind guides me, kid. I go where it commands.?

The tone aimed for poetic but fell far short and left Chase shaking his head, forcing the corners of his lips back down to dispel any sign of amusement. Tossing a couple more coins on the bar to cover enough drinks for Rooney to get through the next couple of hours, he motioned to the bartender to keep his uncle?s glass full. ?Take care, Uncle Rooney. I?ll see you around.?

"A pair of six-shooters beats a pair of sixes."
- Belle Starr, the Bandit Queen

A couple hours in Tarandago City could fulfill every single one of a kid?s Wild West fantasies. The land was full of gritty dirt, scrubby brush, vast canyons, vicious rattlesnakes, and even the occasional cactus. Instead of gold crazy, the people were crazy for jovium. The mines constantly hummed with action and nuggets of the unspectacular looking metal could serve in lieu of cash in the shops.

With the wealth of the jovium mines lining Richard Cantrell?s pockets and outsiders eager to get in on the action, the rail company was working double time to stretch the tracks across the vast, desolate land. However, it still didn?t reach past Stone Grove which was a hard day?s ride to the east.

Law and order was at a minimum and, with the vast majority of the elected officials and judges in his pocket, Cantrell walked on whichever side of the law he wanted.

Seated in the heart of Tarandago City, The Flying Jig was just the sort of saloon that seemed to thrive in such an atmosphere. They claimed to have the longest running Poker game -- two years, five months, twelve days -- in the province, the booze was watered down, and any pretty, painted face in the joint could be purchased at an hourly rate.

And it was the spot in town where Bose Maddeson held court.

After leaving Stone Grove to open a boarding house for miners in Tarandago City a half a decade earlier, it hadn?t taken Maddeson long to realize that he could make more money gambling against the miners than offering them a roof over their heads. The youngest son of a riverboat captain, he had finally found himself a niche in life within the four grimy walls of The Flying Jig. He tended to be the only patron who didn?t wear a cowboy hat indoors. Some claimed it was because he didn?t want to muss his meticulously slicked back pitch black hair (that was matched in color and thickness by a handlebar mustache) but others would say it was because Maddeson just preferred to be the sore thumb in any room. Special trips had to be made monthly back east to his tailor to keep him well stocked with dandy clothes as he would not accept anything less than being the most fashionable gentleman in Tarandago City.

Most hours of the night would find him seated at a poker table with an ever present smug grin glowing from behind his hand. Tonight, however, it was beginning to get more and more difficult to keep that grin in place.

Bose hated cheats more than anything on the face of this godless province. Bad cheats were even worse. The smelly cowboy, Ed Gran, across the table was the worst and, as Bose?s sharp eye caught him slyly sneaking a peak at discarded cards for the fifth time in the last two hours, he decided that he?d had enough. It was too late and Bose was too boozed up to cause a scene. He doubted that the other drunk gamblers at the table had even noticed that there was a lousy shark among them.

?Well, gentlemen, it?s been fun but I?m all tuckered out. I shall bow out for the evening,? he stated smoothly as he reached forward to collect his winnings -- a healthy pile of jovium nuggets, silver coins, and brightly colored poker chips.

Ed?s eyes jumped to Bose... or at least one eye did. His second, lazy eye never made it to Bose?s face. Ed gave a low growl in reply as his features twisted into anger at the pile of winnings Bose was scooping in. ?Hell if ya are. A real man would give me a chance to win my money back.?

?A real man wouldn?t need to cheat,? Bose replied a little too freely, his tongue loosened by cheap whiskey.

The low growl leaped to a full roar in a split second and instantly Bose found himself looking down the barrel of Ed?s gun. Ever so slowly Bose released his hold on his winnings and held his hands up, palms out. ?I know you a bit weak north of your ears, Gran, but even you gotta know that stickin? that gun in my face is only liable to piss me off more than your cheatin? already done.?

The other players at the table and the dealer edged their chairs away from the table slightly, making it clear that they wanted no part of the brewing fight. The games slowed at the nearby tables as the participants folded even decent hands so that they could watch the action.

Bose heard the squeaky doors swing open but he didn?t bother to glance to see who it was. It didn't matter who was there. There weren?t many souls in this city that hadn?t lost money to him. Therefore, there weren?t many souls in this city that wouldn?t like to see him in need of a pine box. Nobody in this town would willingly put themselves between a loaded barrel and Bose. Ed really was as dumb as dishwater and the scene remained unchanged for a long moment as the wheels in Ed?s brain slowly creaked to life as he processed his options.

He didn?t get far. The click of the hammer of a revolver being pulled back filled the empty void and then the voice of the latest man to enter The Flying Jig -- the one Bose hadn't bothered to glance towards -- cut through the sudden tense silence. ?I?d probably put the gun down and take your loss on the chin before that chin is no longer connected to the rest of your body.?

Ed?s eyes grew wide as he glanced to his right to find the the man who just entered not only had a gun trained on him but had two men at each side with their hands brushing back their coats to reveal pistols at their sides. He didn?t have to work too hard to figure out the odds of surviving now. He was vastly out gunned and there was an air of professionalism to the interlopers. Suddenly, Bose?s winnings didn?t seem that large to Ed.

The swinging double doors complained again as a pair of men entered but only Bose glanced in that direction and was, therefore, prepared for the stern voice of Sheriff Miller. ?There trouble here, boys??

His boot steps echoed in the still silent room as he approached the men with a slow, wary gait. Ed shook his head and slowly returned his gun to its holster with the newcomer following suit. ?Ain?t no problem, Sheriff," Ed stated like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "Was just hopin? Bose here would stay a bit longer. Seems these gentlemen misunderstood the request. Everythin?s just fine.?

Bose?s saviors caught the attention of the man who had entered with the sheriff and heavier, more labored boot steps drew the portly Richard Cantrell out of the shadows of the doorway and into the room?s falsely warm glow. Cantrell wasted little time in strutting towards the lead man in the group of rescuers and reached up to flip the brim of the man?s cowboy face back further away from his face to expose his features.

Cantrell snorted in the man?s face before turning his thick neck so that he could level his eyes on the sheriff. ?This one here is a Rhovnik. Chase Rhovnik. He?s here for no good, I?m sure. You keep an eye on him, Sheriff. If he so much as looks like he may get out of line, kill him.?

The light bounced off the badge on the Sheriff?s coat sending prisms glimmering off of the walls. His posture seemed to tense defiantly at Cantrell?s orders. Cantrell may own the town but Sheriff Miller was one man who wasn?t used to being told what to do. Yet, Miller gave a firm nod as he studied the face of Chase Rhovnik followed by the faces of the pair of men who loomed protectively at either side of him.

Never addressing Chase directly, Cantrell turned on his heels and headed for The Flying Jig?s back room to what Bose presumed was a high stakes VIP poker game. The sheriff?s eyes jumped from Ed to Bose to Chase and his men, assessing whether or not the lingering tension would again escalate to violence. ?Keep it civil, gentlemen. We don?t take too kindly to guns being pulled in our gaming facilities.?

Chase?s face was stoic but he nodded to acknowledge the warning. Sensing that the worst was over and knowing Ed Gran well enough to know that he would not go to war when he was out matched, Sheriff Miller followed Richard Cantrell to the back room. As the Sheriff turned, the tension in the room deflated and the noise of the crowd gradually resumed. Even the dealer at Bose and Ed?s tables motioned for the remaining players to push in their ante.

Dimwitted Ed only had survived in this town as long as he had because he was good at floating into the background. One minute he was there and the next Bose saw not a sign of the low life.

A wide grin spread across Bose?s face as he crossed the room towards Chase and the two men with him. "Good to see you, Chase. Your uncle told me to expect you."

The responding smile on Chase?s face was grim but his voice was still warm and friendly as he reached a hand forward to clasp Bose?s. ?You never change, do you, Bose??

?That?? Bose stated carelessly, releasing Chase?s hand after a firm shake to motion dismissively towards the table he?d just left. ?That was nothing. I had it all under control.?

Chase reached up to rub the day old scruff on his cheek, shaking his head slowly. The smile never quite made it to his lips. ?You probably did and now I?ve caught Cantrell?s attention. He?s going to be on high alert. I don?t think Rooney?s plan will work anymore.?

Bose pursed his lips in thought. It took a moment for him to recall the full details of the plan that he and Rooney had come up with over a bottle of whiskey and some decent cigars. It hadn?t been half bad considering they had been pretty shit faced at the time. ?You?re right. I?m bettin? Cantrell will put everythin? he owns, including that daughter of his, on lock down until he?s sure you?ve left town. Except...?

The puckish grin that appeared on Bose?s face as he trailed off caused Chase to arch a brow curiously. ?Except when??

?You still the Rhovnik Don Juan, Chase? ?Cause I got one hell of an idea.?

?It was a hard land, and it bred hard men to hard ways.?
- Louis L'Amour

Pastor Patrick Camden was the sole man in Tarandago City who had more influence than both Sheriff Miller and Richard Cantrell and with that influence he?d established one firm rule -- New Hope Church, located on a grassy knoll on the outskirts of town with its picturesque white chapel and stain glass windows shipped from artisans on the opposite side of the province, was neutral territory.

As such, there were no guns or weapons of any sorts allowed on the grounds and no harm should befall anyone walking to or from services. With eternal damnation threatened weekly by the pastor, it was a rule that was never broken.

Thus, when Brenda Cantrell was escorted to church (which her father never attended as he was far too busy satisfying his material thirst to quench his spiritual thirst, according to Fannie Price), Brenda?s guards remained at the base of the knoll, lounging beneath a pair of shade trees. Thanks to Pastor Camden?s rules and Richard Cantrell?s faith that even Chase Rhovnik wouldn?t risk eternal damnation by attempting to snatch her on her way home, it was the one exception that was placed on the lock down the Cantrell Ranch had been put on which had occurred the moment her father had seen Chase Rhovnik?s face in this town.

Chase and Fannie had been two of the first church-goers to funnel out of the building, shake the Pastor?s hand, and find a spot on the grassy knoll to mull about to chatter.... or at least the plan had been to pretend to chat but Chase found that the minutes they wasted waiting for Brenda to leave the building were filled completely by Fannie Price?s fans expressing their excitement over the following day?s theatrical performance.

Fannie was the type of woman who even in church appeared the epitome of sinful delight. Her black camisole dress and bright velvet red shawl seemed inappropriate attire next to the town?s schoolteacher who had a red floral dress with lace trimming the sleeves over a full hoop skirt and was now casually twirling a white lace parasol over a shoulder twenty yards away.

Chase, himself, had been far more comfortable in the button-down shirts, duster coats, canvas pants, cowboy hats, and dusty worn in boots that he?d packed for this mission. However, Fannie had found it completely inappropriate for the task at hand and instead had handpicked a long sleeve white shirt with thin blue stripes over a blue vest, black pants that were more dressy than Chase would have preferred, and a black hat out of Bose?s vast wardrobe.

He stood absently adjusting the collar of the shirt when Fannie jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow a bit harder than he believed her capable of. With her smooth smile firmly in place, she nodded towards the door of the church to indicate that the woman stepping out was Brenda Cantrell.

She looked nothing like Cait and, for that, Chase was instantly grateful. He could at least look at her without thinking of where his heart truly lie. Instead of the body of a lithe, petite dancer, Brenda Cantrell was the very image of a Gibson Girl -- tall, statuesque, and narrow-waisted but with curves that were only enhanced by a tightly cinched corset beneath her pale gray dress. Her ash blonde hair was piled on top of her head with a cascade of curls having tumbled loose as if by accident.

After shaking the hand of the minister and exchanging some unheard words, she quickly found Fannie in the crowd and moved down the stone steps towards her position. As she approached, it became clear that she could be no more than seventeen. Although she had an almost snootily aristocratic features and elegant, long neck, every bit of superiority that may be able to be expressed by them disappeared as a look of utter heroine worship settled on her face as she approached Fannie. Her eyes -- brightened by the sight of her favorite actress -- were the same stormy blue-gray that she had probably been born with which only intensified her innocent youthfulness.

A surge of self-hatred gripped Chase. There was little he could do now, though. He wasn?t the Rhovnik heir. He was just the family?s faithful soldier. He?d been ordered to kidnap the teenage girl so kidnap her was exactly what he would do. That didn?t absolve him of the massive guilt, though.

?Miss Price, how lovely to see you!? Brenda?s voice had the joyful ring of a teenage girl. Chase ground his teeth, refusing to choose this moment to brood over the mission.

In a movement that was far too polished for Tarandago City, Brenda and Fannie exchanged kisses on each cheek in which their lips never reached flesh. Yet, the exuberance fit the two of them perfectly. ?Miss Cantrell, I do hope that I will see you in the crowd tomorrow.?

The expressed wish caused the glee on Brenda?s face to falter and she shook her head sadly. ?My father has, unfortunately, forbid it.? And as any teenage girl who didn?t want to dwell on her disappointment, her eyes jumped to the closest distraction -- Chase. A shy smile spread across her lips for him.

Fannie touched Chase?s elbow gently as she noticed the smile. ?Miss Cantrell, I?d like to introduce you to a friend of mine who is in town to see my play tomorrow. This is Chase Rhovnik. Chase, this is Miss Brenda Cantrell.?

?It?s lovely to meet you, Miss Cantrell. You are every bit as beautiful as Miss Price warned me that you would be,? Chase stated smoothly. His eyes smoldered, never leaving Brenda?s face, and just the corners of his lips lifted upward in a half-smile. This role he knew. This role felt completely natural to him. After all, how many young, impressionable, wealthy women had he wooed and bedded in the past half dozen years?

In this public setting, Fannie?s laugh sounded even more musical than it had the night before. She was an actress who never seemed to leave the stage. ?A warning you should heed indeed, dear. Miss Cantrell is quite the town heartbreaker.?

A soft blush rose to Brenda?s cheeks and she busied herself by restlessly tapping her gloves against her opposite hand. Yet, Chase?s name had clearly sparked recognition in Brenda?s eyes and she gave him a sly once over. ?Nothing of the sort, nothing of the sort,? she mumbled dismissively.

?If you two will excuse me, I wanted to speak with Pastor Camden about his sermon,? Fannie stated, giving Brenda?s arm another quick squeeze before she parted from the pair and made her way towards the stone steps of the chapel.

Brenda?s gaze darted towards Chase shyly before drifting to the ground before him. He allowed the awkward silence for a moment before offering her his arm to escort her down the hill to her waiting gig and the pair of impatient guards. Her eyes immediately lifted and she peered at him beneath long eyelashes in gesture that immediately reminded him of Cait. She slid her arm through his, keeping her eyes carefully trained on the uneven ground.

?Will you be attending the theater tomorrow evening to watch Miss Price?s performance?? Chase questioned in a casual tone. He set their pace purposefully slow and she did nothing to alter it.

A flash of disappointment reached her eyes as she turned them up at him. ?I had planned to. I try to attend as many of dear Fannie?s performances as possible. Unfortunately, my father has bared me from going because of you.?

?Because of me??

Brenda gave a sage nod. Mischief danced in her tone. ?Indeed. He says that you?re trouble. He believes you are here to disrupt his business. He just does not know how yet.?

?Really?? Chase asked incredulously, his brows arching innocently. ?And how about you, Miss Cantrell? Do you believe that I am trouble.?

?I sure hope so,? she replied with a cheeky grin as they reached the bottom of the knoll. Brenda?s guards looked between one another uncomfortably. Richard Cantrell would not be happy to hear that Chase had been speaking with his daughter but Brenda would be livid if they attempted to intervene.

With a laugh as she removed her arm from his, Chase tipped his hat to Brenda as she dipped a half-curtsy. ?Well, I aim to please. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cantrell.?

Her own laugh was carefree and sweet as she accepted his hand rather than the dumbfounded guards to assist her into the gig. ?I hope it?s a pleasure you plan on repeating, Mr. Rhovnik. Good day!?

"Leave me alone and let me go to hell by my own route."
? Calamity Jane

One of the first clear thoughts that Brenda had as she woke staring at the roof of a strange building was that Chase hadn?t lied to her about one thing -- his friends had in fact been waiting for them with some horses over the ridge past the Cantrell ranch. However, the cloud of flirtation and banter that she?d been floating on as they snuck away from the ranch had been brutishly popped quite quickly.

The younger of the pair of men waiting for them -- Lenwe was what Chase had called him -- had slipped him a handkerchief as soon as they arrived. In the blink of an eye, Chase had her body pinned against his, pressing the handkerchief to her nose and mouth. The sweet smell of chloroform was the last vivid memory that she had. After that point, though, things got a bit fuzzy as she floated in and out of consciousness.

She remembered through her foggy haze being tied against Chase in order to remain upright as the horse they were on picked a careful path through the uneven terrain under the failing light and then the pace had slowed even further once the trail was lit only by moonlight.

The memory of the transfer from horseback to the threadbare cot she now laid on had escaped her, though. No matter how hard she searched for it, she met only blackness. As fear gripped her stomach, tying it into vicious knots, she peeked her eyes open just enough to see that the first rays of morning light were flooding in the single window of what could only be described as a one-room shack. The low, somber tones of men?s voice -- one of which she recognized as Chase -- floated in from outside as if the walls separating them were paper, not weathered wood.

Her fingers curled around the coarse blanket that had been thrown over her to fight off the tears that threatened to spill over. She would not cry. She had to keep her wits about her.

Before she had time to fully collect herself and piece together even a rough plan of escape, the door swung open. She squinted against the sudden light of the morning sun just over the barren eastern horizon until Chase?s figure stepped in, blocking the sunlight. He wasn?t the man that she remembered. Either she had convinced herself that he was some romantic bandit come to woo her or the night had transformed him into the monster that stood before her.

He was still tall, solid, and built but those qualities no longer seemed handsome. Instead he suddenly appeared threatening. His posture was tighter and his unsmiling lips were drawn into a look of disgust. He wasn?t the clean-shaven, charming man she?d met at Fannie Price?s side. Covered in dirt from riding all night and with a face full of day old scruff, he was just like any other cowboy.

A tin plate containing a cold cornbread biscuit over a helping of what appeared to be some sort of inedible soup was thumped down on an unsturdy table in the corner of the room. Besides the cot, that table, and a chair beside it, the shack was otherwise unfurnished. In fact, it appeared it hadn?t been inhabited or at least cleaned in quite some time.

Brenda shoved herself into a sitting position, drawing her brows together as the movement caused her head to throb. Yet, she wasn?t going to miss the opportunity to interrogate her kidnapper. ?Why have you taken me? I demand that you take me home immediately.?

Chase?s dark eyes flicked over to Brenda and his scowl became even deeper. It was almost as if he hated the sight of her. Or maybe, just maybe, he hated the sight of her here in this dingy building held captive by him. Maybe he had a change of heart. Maybe he would let her go. She clung to that hope until he spoke. ?You?re not going back home. I don?t want to hurt you but if you make this difficult, I will,? he growled in return.

?You won't get away with this. My father is going to find me and he is going to kill you.?

He ignored her threats. In fact, he refused to look at her, pointing instead to a cheap dull gray dress thrown over the chair. ?Eat your breakfast. Put that dress on and then meet us outside. We?ve got to keep moving.?

The ugly, conservative dress was fit only for a servant, not the daughter of the richest man west of the end of the rail line. The thought of being seen in public dress in such a frock was the final straw. It lit a spark of anger and that spark, fueled by churning anxiety, burst into a full fire of rage. Brenda quickly shoved herself to her feet, glowering at the man she had just begged for her freedom, shouting hotly. ?I will wear nothing but my own dresses!?

Like an out of control wildfire, the anger spread from her to him an instant. He stormed towards her and, sensing she?d pushed too far, Brenda quickly backed up towards the wall of the rickety shack. With a forearm drawn up against her chest, he pushed her the last step back until her spine was pressed uncomfortably against the back wall. Sharp, tiny splinters of wood poked through the thin material of her pale yellow silk dress stabbing her painfully. The angry tears she had been fighting back spilled over, streaking down her cheeks.

?You?re damn well going to wear exactly what I tell you to wear!?

The commotion within the building drew the attention of the pair of men outside it. The larger of the two -- Eric, it seemed that Chase had called him in her foggy memories of the night before -- swung open the door and tensed tightly as he saw his friend inches from their captive. ?Chase,? he said in a tone clearly meant to draw his friend back from the brink of violence.

Chase tilted his head slightly as he heard him but kept his dark eyes trained on Brenda. The deep oak note she?d smelled on him the evening before on the long walk from the Cantrell ranch to the ridge was still there underneath the scent of horseflesh and sweat. The scent was a slap in the face; a tantalizing reminder of her mistake in placing her trust in him.

?I?ve got two men out there whose lives are far more important to me than a spoiled girl who judges people by how expensive their clothes are and how many jewels they keep in their vanity. This is bigger than you. Do you understand me?? He growled but the tone was devoid of anger now. Again, he seemed disgusted by the sound of his own voice. ?You?re going to put that dress on because you?re going to attract the sort of attention we don?t want dressed like this. Got it??

Brenda nodded slowly and cautiously. Then as quickly as the tension had been dialed up, it was drawn back. Chase released his hold on Brenda and stalked out through the door Eric held open for him. Eric?s gaze swept back to Brenda, nodding his head towards the dress. In a gentler tone, he pushed her towards action. ?Would be best if you hurry up now, you hear??

She wasn?t given the chance to protest again. The door was closed shut as Eric disappeared from view.

"My mother always said that I would die with my shoes on.?
? "Big Steve? Long?s last words

The wild goose chase Chase, Eric, Lenwe, and an uncooperative Brenda were leading the sheriff and his men on should have been a lot more fun than it was. Chase and Eric had grown up on John Wayne movies and the legends of Tombstone. The Sutton Province was a living embodiment of the Old West.

Yet, none of it felt like very much fun to Chase. The gritty dirt felt as if it had burrowed its way into every pore in his face. It would take months of scrubbing before he?d feel clean again. The sheriff was proving to be an excellent tracker and it was only a matter of time before he figured out that there destination was the noon train in Stone Grove. And Brenda, who was unwillingly holding onto his waist as their horse trotted onward, had gone from surly to sullen which only served as a reminder that he was taking a teenage girl from her home.

The whole thing was crap but all he could do was concentrate on the mission at hand and getting Eric and Lenwe back to RhyDin safe and sound.

He heard pounding hooves approaching from behind and his posture eased knowing that Eric had made it back safe after doubling back behind them to see how much time they had on the sheriff and his men. His eyes found Eric as Eric pulled up beside him and the grim expression set on his face said it all. The look exchanged was all the comrades in arm needed. There was no need to spell out their dismal chances aloud which could only serve to set Lenwe on edge and encourage Brenda to try to slow them down.

Chase squeezed the heels of his boots against the horse?s hindquarters and clucked his tongue once to encourage the tiring horse to increase his pace. ?We?ve looped around so much we?re going to have to hurry to make this train.?

Exhausted and thirsty, Eric and Lenwe didn?t bother to respond. Their mounts, having slid into a pack like mentality hours ago, increased their stride length without the need of encouragement at the same rate Chase?s horse did. Chase could feel Brenda?s hold on him tighten as her posture became rigid as she finally learned the news that they were to hop on board the train in Stone Grove. Any hopes she had that they were merely going to find a place to bunk down and make a ransom demand were dashed. Yet, she remained perfectly quiet as if Chase would forget that she was even there if she didn?t make a peep.

He didn?t bother to tell her that it wouldn?t work. He didn?t bother to tell her that he didn?t want her company any more than she wished to provide it. This was his job and it was not his place to question orders.

?We?ve got to get going, guys. As fast as we can.?

Chase was a frequent client of the Rhovnik healers. In fact, he joked the last time he was laid up in a med unit that he should get one of those cards like customers at sandwich places got. You know, buy four subs get the fifth free? He should get the fifth gunshot/protruding bone/stabbing taken care of for free. One of the doctors -- a humorless SOB -- had pointed out that Chase never paid for his medical care. All of it was provided for free as a Rhovnik Enterprises employee. After that, he?d decided not to joke with the healer/doctor types anymore. Bunch of stuffed shirts.

The lights had been kept dim in his room so it didn?t take him long to adjust as he blinked them open. The semi-magical restorative sleep that the healers induced to speed up the recovery process dramatically always left him with a foggy sensation as if he were blindly stumbling his way through a pea-soupy sort of morning. The discomfort was well worth it for their ability to keep his down time to a bare minimum.

He released a heavy exhale and turned his head to the side but the woman asleep in the chair to his left was not the face he?d been expecting to find. Still, a friendly face was a friendly face after a week in the Sutton Province. He lifted his undamaged right arm and plucked a piece of ice out of a glass sitting on the tray beside his bed by a thoughtful nurse who knew he?d wake with a parched throat.

However, he didn?t drop it into his mouth but instead tossed the piece of ice at his visitor. It plunked off her shoulder and fell to the floor. She stirred but didn?t fully wake up so Chase reached for a second and struck her again -- this time in the knee. As he reached for a third piece of ice with a slight grin, he heard the voice he was expecting, albeit rough with sleep.

?What the hell, Chase??

He dropped the piece of ice into his mouth, tossing Sophie an innocent smile. She grumbled incoherently, running a hand through her mussed hair as she straightened in the chair. ?So. Debrief me,? he stated quickly.

?Later,? Sophie replied, crossing one leg over the other and her arms over her chest as she leaned back comfortably in the chair.

Chase scowled slightly at the dismissal, unwilling to give up so easily. ?At least break down what I?ve missed. How long have I been asleep? Lenwe and Eric okay? And how?s Brenda handling everything??

?Twelve hours,? Sophie replied after a quick glance at her watch to note the time. ?Lenwe and Eric are fine. Brenda?s settling into her accommodations at the manor here in RhyDin. Mrs. Stanley set her up with a couple rooms and a great view of the gardens. She?s enjoying modern amenities, fashion magazines, and all the designer clothes she can get. I?m going to start negotiations with her father tomorrow. I don?t want to keep her any longer than necessary. She?s a real pain in the ass.?

The description of Brenda drew a distant smile to Chase?s lips. Headstrong and arrogant, the teenager was probably bossing her guards around without an ounce of fear. However, his mind didn?t linger on her long before it jumped back to the woman he had been hoping to find beside his bed. ?Where?s Cait? Did she have to step out for a bit or something??

It only took a split second of Sophie hesitating over a response for Chase to see the truth. Cait was not allowed at his bedside. His jaw tightened as Sophie shrugged carelessly and rose from the chair to stretch her back. ?I didn?t think it was a good idea.?

?You didn?t think it would be a good idea,? Chase repeated slowly. He was surprised by the chilly calm in his own voice. It was the gentle breeze before a raging storm blew in. ?Does she even know what happened to me? Does she know that I?m okay? Do you know where she is??

?I guess she?s wherever you left her, Chase,? Sophie shot back, leaving Chase stunned. Wherever he left her at? As if Cait were some sort of inanimate object? No, that?s not what she was saying. As if Cait was his mistress, a kept woman. That?s where Sophie was placing her. Mistresses aren?t emergency contacts. They hear the information second or third hand. Sensing the sting of her words was not settling well, Sophie quickly amended the statement. ?I?m sure that Eric has relayed everything to his girlfriend. I heard him mention earlier that Julia was with Cait.?

And with that, the cork on his bottled anger popped. ?Christ, Soph!?

Sophie was as used to Chase?s temper as he was to her inability to handle the emotionally charged situation that her wedding had become. Yet, even she was surprised by the force of the burst. Her lips pursed into a thin line and she remained on her feet, hugging herself a bit tighter. ?This is ridiculous. You want to have this argument now? That girl doesn?t know what she?s getting into. She can?t handle this life.?

?That?s not your decision to make,? he shouted back at her as he violently pushed the blankets off of his body. Thankfully, Eric had retrieved a pair of sweat pants out of Chase?s locker and at some point during his near coma-like sleep the nurses must have coaxed him into them. He didn?t want to deal with heading home in those dusty bloody clothes.

Their voices were too loud not to be heard but there wasn?t a sole in the med unit who would even dare remind them that Chase was recovering from a gunshot. Her anger was slower than his but it was beginning to stir. ?Really? I?m the heir to this family and any marriage has to be cleared by Grandmother and I. No way am I going to clear this and watch you end up like my father -- abandoned by some silly girl who has a romanticized view of you and our life.?

?Your mother is a self-absorbed bitch,? he tossed out as he swung his legs over the edge. Wordlessly, Eric appeared in the doorway with a long sleeve ?Rhovnik Enterprises? tee and sneakers in hand. He had clearly prepared for the inevitable, knowing that as soon as Chase awoke and realized that Cait wasn?t present, he?d be anxious to get home. There would be time for thanks later. For now, Chase merely snatched the clothes from him, drawing the shirt on despite the cry of pain from his shoulder as he lifted it. ?She would have left you and Yaya even if your dad wasn?t a Rhovnik and you and Yaya were two perfectly girly beauty queens. She doesn?t have it in her to be a mother.?

The words rang true and for a silent moment Sophie watched him shove his feet into the shoes. Stinging from the pain, her voice was quieter when she finally found it. ?For once stop thinking about what you want and think about what?s best for her.?

He heard the change in her tone and while he ached with his cousin?s hurt, he was in no mood to be sympathetic. Let her lean on Alain for a change. It would do her some good to admit to him that she wasn?t uber-perfect Superwoman for a change. He did manage to wash his voice of the acrid bite. ?We?re done with this conversation for tonight, Soph. I?m going to find Cait and I?m taking a couple days off. I?ll talk to you later.?