According to Hoyle

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Authors: Abigail Roux
Tags: Romance MM, erotic MM
that Dusty Rose had gotten away in Colorado. To this point, Rose was the only hitch in his plan. What sort of unholy fiend could utilize an act of God like an earthquake to escape an otherwise perfectly conceived murder?
    The very providence of it grated something fierce, and the train he rode could not go fast enough for Baird’s taste to get him to St. Louis. He had received word by telegram that Rose was being brought to St. Louis by a US Marshal, en route to New Orleans to stand trial for killing the two boys Baird had sent after him.
    It was hard not to plot his revenge on Rose, knowing they might very well be crossing paths in Missouri. Rose had somehow gotten out of a second scrape alive, killing the two men Baird had hired to track him down and murder him, but even a cat only had nine lives. Baird was determined to make sure he took every one of Rose’s lives even if he had to fill the man with lead himself.
    That would have to wait, of course. And it was possible he might be hanged before Baird could get to him. That didn’t sit well with Baird. He wanted to do it himself. He hadn’t anticipated Rose being captured for the killings. It made it easier to find him, but it would be difficult to get to Rose while he was in custody. It would require a little cunning and even more luck.
    Baird had to remind himself again that Rose was a secondary concern. His primary goal was to reach the Oil Cake before it sailed.
    T HE fire was giving off just enough warmth to keep the cold from getting to Flynn and Wash, and the prisoners were safely chained to the wagon wheels not far away. The fire popped and sizzled. It didn’t have the same cheerful smell that a wood fire emitted, but a man made do using cow chips as added fuel. They were trying to conserve their store of wood in case they hit trouble by using whatever they could find to supplement their fire. It was cold enough that Flynn could pretend he had his bandana over his nose and mouth to ward off the chill, and not the pungent odor.
    The night was quiet and peaceful, but Wash still seemed restless as they hunkered down against the cold.
    “You okay?” Flynn finally asked of him.
    “My back’s cold.”
    Flynn raised an eyebrow at him questioningly and tried not to smile. He refrained from making any comments about Wash living the easy life back in town for too many months.
    “I’m not complaining,” Wash added quickly, huffing at Flynn like he knew what Flynn had been thinking. He gave a nod of his head toward the three prisoners “It’s just, if my back’s cold, they’re all over cold.”
    Flynn turned and glanced over his shoulder at them. All three of the unfortunate men were curled as tight as a person could get against the cold. Rose and Hudson weren’t bickering for perhaps the first time since leaving Junction City, and none of them were moving save to shiver. Because Rose and Cage were chained to the same wheel, they had scooted together as close as they could, resting their backs against each other and trying to share their body heat.
    “They do look cold,” Flynn agreed as he turned back to the fire. He could feel Wash’s eyes on him, and he tilted his head and glanced sideways at the man. Wash stared at him with one eyebrow raised. Even behind the cloth he had over the lower part of his face, Flynn could tell Wash was smirking at him.
    “Yeah, all right,” Flynn said to him with a grunt as he tossed the piece of tall grass with which he had been playing into the fire and pushed himself up.
    He stomped gracelessly over to their horses and fished two extra bedrolls out of his and Wash’s saddlebags, then walked over to the wagon. Hudson looked up at him and raised his head eagerly, already anticipating the warmth of the wool blanket without giving so much as a promise of good behavior in return first. Flynn made certain to extract such a promise from the man before handing him the blanket, though he didn’t really expect Hudson to

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