Read Online According to Hoyle by Abigail Roux - Free Book Online Page B

Rose and Cage, hoping to throw Wash off the scent. “Either of ’em.”
    “Why?” Wash asked in a low voice. Again, Flynn heard the warning in his tone that betrayed the fact that Wash might be offended, or at least wary of the subject. It was obviously one to be careful of.
    “Don’t rightly know,” Flynn answered gruffly with a shrug, quickly veering away from the topic once more. Wash obviously didn’t appreciate discussing such business no matter which way he was inclined.
    Flynn settled back into his own bedroll and pulled his hat low over his eyes, signifying the end of the conversation. He crossed his arms over his chest, wrapping his duster around himself tight to ward off the chill of the night.
    He could feel Wash’s eyes on him, watching him expectantly, but he sat motionless, willing himself to sleep and praying that his mind would find a new rail to run on by morning.

Chapter 4

    I T WAS midday of their second day of travel when Flynn noticed that they were being followed over the grassy plains. After roughly ten minutes, he halted his horse and stood in the stirrups, turning and peering behind them into the distance.
    “How many?” Wash asked as he continued to drive the mule along the trail without slowing or turning to look. His shotgun sat in his lap, ready to use if they needed it.
    “One,” Flynn called back. He settled back into his saddle with a shake of his head. “Four-legged,” he added bemusedly as he urged the horse back into a canter that caught him up to the wagon.
    “Rider?” Wash asked with a confused frown as Flynn came abreast of him.
    Flynn shook his head and smirked. “I think it’s a dog.”
    “He would appreciate it if you left some scraps along the way,” Rose told them suddenly.
    Flynn turned to look at him and saw that the man was watching their back trail avidly.
    “He’s probably thirsty too,” the Englishman added, sounding worried for perhaps the first time Flynn had noticed.
    “What?” Flynn asked with a sigh, almost hating to question it but curious despite himself.
    “That’s my dog, Marshal.”
    Flynn had found that he was beginning to hate the way Rose said the word “marshal.” He didn’t even know why it rubbed him the wrong way. He thought maybe anything Rose did put a burr under his saddle. Just on principle now if for no real reason.
    He grumbled and shook his head. “His dog, he says,” he muttered to Wash.
    “Like it says in the dime novel?” Wash asked Rose in amusement. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Rose, who tore his eyes away from the trotting dog in the distance and met Wash’s eyes.
    “I wouldn’t know,” he answered coldly.
    Flynn looked back at him in surprise. The mention of the dime novels had brought the first hint of true anger to Rose’s emotions. He had seemed the type to bask in the limelight of fame, not scorn it. He was becoming increasingly puzzling the more Flynn was exposed to him. It was grating.
    “Well, here’s the papers,” Hudson said as he held up the crumpled dime novel Flynn had tossed into the back of the wagon several days before. “See for yourself,” he sneered as he flapped the worn papers around.
    Rose looked at the man steadily as the wagon hit a rut and jostled them all. He didn’t seem surprised to see the dime novel seemingly magically produced. In fact, Gabriel “Dusty” Rose, also known as the Desert Flower, didn’t seem to be surprised by much of anything.
    Flynn found all that grating, too.
    When Rose answered, his voice was quiet and calm, as smooth as honey. “Why don’t you read it and find out.”
    Flynn knew the chances of Hudson being able to read or write even his own name were slim to none. He looked away and rolled his eyes before he could see Hudson’s response. He heard it, though, and chose to ignore the rest of the sniping.
    “Are you going to feel guilty if that dog starves back there?” Wash asked him in a low voice.
    “Puppy, really,” Rose