“I’m glad you survived it, Miss Rachel. I know a few other things, but I’m not saying another word until I’m sure I’m not going to hang for what I done. And I don’t want to spend any more time in a cell.”

Wyatt looked around the group. A lot of purely suspicious expressions in this room. None of them believed Randall was all that innocent.

“What’s more . . . I know . . . well, no.” Randall’s eyes went flinty. “I’m not saying another word. Except you’re going to need my help, and you’re not going to get it unless I can walk free from this jail cell.” Randall glared at Sheriff Gatlin for a long minute, then he turned sideways to lie down on the cot.

Despite questions, he refused to say another word.

Twenty-Five

They didn’t all go charging out to the Hawkins Ranch.

Molly had to go because she knew exactly where the safe was. Win stayed behind because she couldn’t stand to be part of it. Kevin stayed behind because he couldn’t leave Win alone and unprotected, and he didn’t count Sheriff Gatlin, who stayed behind to guard Kingston and protect Win. Rachel stayed because the ride to town had worn her out.

Wyatt knew exactly how many hands were working out there, and the caliber of men they were. He’d assured everyone there’d be no shooting trouble from the cowhands. They were too lazy to fight for the brand. None from Hawkins, either, unless there was a chance to do some back-shooting.

Molly bent low over the saddle, the horse’s hooves pounding as they galloped at full speed. Wyatt had gained the lead because he had a fine stallion to ride, McCall right with him, but the rest of them were close behind. Everyone wanted to be a part of bringing Hawkins to justice.

He was a killer. That’s what his older brother had called him.

“I was a thief. Clovis a liar and a cheat. Oliver a killer.”

Kingston had said that. And he’d been so calm about it. “I was a thief.” A hard thing to say about yourself, especially when you want to get out of jail. But compared to being a killer, he probably thought it sounded decent. Even knowing he’d shot Rachel—and there she’d stood, looking him in the eye—the man thought he had something they’d bargain for.

“Clovis a liar and a cheat.” Well, seeing as how three brothers had lived a life created through Clovis’s lying and cheating, they had to agree with that description.

“Oliver a killer.” Those words had come out as if it was a childhood chant that he’d known all his life.

Thief, cheat, killer. A dark legacy for one family to dole out into the world.