Whiskey probably stolen from his cabin. Wyatt tested the ropes again, twisting his wrists, searching for any weakness in the knots. Nothing. Whoever had tied him knew what they were doing. Time crawled.
Minutes felt like hours. The barn door was cracked open just enough for moonlight spill across the floor in a thin silver line. Wyatt watched it creep across the boards, marking the passage of time he didn't have. Then he heard something else. Footsteps, light, deliberate, coming closer.
The barn door creaked wider and a figure slipped inside. Small, moving like a shadow. Wyatt's heart slammed against his ribs. "Ayla." She pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes gleaming in the darkness.
She moved toward him in a crouch, keeping low, a knife clutched in her hand. When she reached him, she dropped to her knees and started sawing at the ropes. "What the hell are you doing here?" Wyatt hissed. "Saving you," she whispered back, her breath coming fast.
"Be quiet." "You were supposed to run." "I did. Then I came back." "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"Shut up and let me work." The knife was dull and the rope was thick. It took precious seconds, each one stretching taut as a wire. Wyatt kept his eyes on the door, listening for any change in the voices outside. If Harlo's men came back now, they were both dead.
The last strand of rope gave way. Wyatt pulled his hands free, biting back a groan as blood rushed back into his fingers. Ayla helped him to his feet, and he nearly collapsed. His legs had gone numb from the cold and the lack of circulation. "Can you walk?" she asked.
"Yeah, just give me a second." She handed him a pistol, the revolver he'd given her days ago. "There's three of them left. Harlo, the thin one called Davis, and one other I don't recognize." "Where?"
"Front of the cabin, drinking. They think you're secure in here." Wyatt nodded, his mind already working through options. Three against two. Bad odds, but better than six.
And they had the element of surprise. "All right," he said quietly. "Here's what we do." You go to the corral, get the horses ready. Soon as you hear shooting, you ride.
Don't wait for me. Just go. Ayla's eyes flashed. No, "Ayla." I'm not leaving you again.
We do this together or not at all. There was no time to argue. Wyatt could see it in the set of her jaw, the way her hand gripped the knife. She'd made up her mind, and nothing he said would change it. "Fine," he said, "but you stay behind me, and if things go bad, you run."
"Understood." "Understood." They moved to the barn door and peered out. The three men were exactly where Ayla said they'd be, sitting on the porch steps of the cabin, passing a bottle between them. They looked relaxed, confident.