all the insolent, rude—
“Our business here is concluded, gentlemen. Time to get a move on.” Wellington’s long legs ate up the distance to the wagon.
With a troubled light in his coffee-colored eyes, Reid sidled closer to his twin sister. “I’ll stay here with you.”
“We can take turns.” Nodding, Brett looked to his oldest brother for confirmation.
“Out of the question.” Evelyn planted her hands on her hips. “You have your own claims to tend to.”
Theo shouldered closer, his hair falling in his eyes. “The Thorntons—”
“Are not murderers, Theo. I’m in no danger here. You heard the officer. Gideon Thornton would be an idiot to try anything.” All three men’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Not that he would,” she rushed to say. “You saw the way he acted. I doubt we’ll exchange so much as a single word.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Reid,” she reminded him quietly, determined not to be railroaded.
For the first time in five years, since her wedding to Drake, she felt free. It was a liberating feeling, buoyant and carefree, but not without a measure of guilt. Her husband was dead, after all. Shouldn’t she be mourning his absence? Her lack of reaction confounded her brothers. All three had been watching her since the funeral, expecting her to dissolve in a heap of tears. She’d even heard Theo mention the word shock.
How can I mourn a man who found fault with my every move?
Her five-year-old son watched them with wide, solemn eyes, unnaturally silent. Reaching out, she caressed his silken cheek. When was the last time he’d smiled? Or uttered a word? Always a quiet child, he’d stopped speaking altogether the day of Drake’s death.
How can Walt miss a father who’d basically ignored him?
Determination pulsed through her veins, washing away the doubts, the fears.
She would move heaven and earth to help her precious child. Her hope was that a new home, a change in routine and surroundings, would draw him out. While her brothers meant well, they didn’t know what was best for her son. They would not be allowed to sabotage Walt’s chance at a normal life.
When she held out her hands, he lurched forward into her arms. Soon he would be too heavy for her. Settling his familiar, reassuring weight against her hip, she half turned so that all three could see her face, see she meant business. “It’s my decision to make, and I choose to stay here and wait it out. Alone.”
The memory of Gideon Thornton’s ice-cold eyes sent a shiver of foreboding down her spine. May she not come to regret this decision.
Chapter Two
Temper boiling over, Gideon kicked an empty pail and sent it sailing through the air to bounce across the yard. Beneath the anger and resentment churned very real concern. What if the judge ruled in her favor?
A lifetime of living at the mercy of other men’s whims had sparked within his soul a desperate craving for independence. For control. The chance to shape his own destiny. And now, thanks to the Chaucers, his dream of running his own ranch was being threatened.
His gaze touched on the corral and the partially-built stable, the trees he’d felled and readied for use. All this effort—the planning, the sweat and toil and time—would’ve been for nothing.
His hunger forgotten, repressed energy making him jittery, he stalked around back and lugged another log closer to the rear wall. While he worked, he pondered the stakes. If Drake had indeed summoned the strength to switch them, where had Gideon’s disappeared to? Just didn’t make any sense.
He’d tried to help a dying man and his repayment was this—a problem he couldn’t readily fix, one he couldn’t have foreseen. Yet another tangle with the troublesome Chaucers. A year and a half ago, he would’ve gotten on his knees and sought God’s direction. Not now.
He was itching to inform his brothers of this new trouble. True to form, Lije would suggest he pray about the situation. Not happening. Lawman Clint would be more inclined to action, but what could be done? As much as he needed to mull this over with them, he didn’t feel right leaving his claim just yet, not when the Chaucers were sure to return with the widow and her son.
Wedging another log into place, he caught his thumb in the indented corner. With a muttered oath, he tugged the glove off and sucked on the throbbing finger. Should he abandon the project? After all, there was a very real chance he was actually building this shelter not for himself but for a hateful family who did nothing but point their fingers at him and his brothers, unfairly blaming them for their own misfortune.
But he’d never been a quitter. Call it determination or plain old stubbornness—he wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t stop fighting for his dream until the judge gave his ruling.
Two hours later he was downing a quick lunch of buffalo jerky and two-day-old biscuits he’d snagged from Alice’s table when Mrs. Evelyn Montgomery returned with a mountain of belongings. Trunks and barrels and carpet bags were piled into the wagon driven by her twin, Reid. Where did she think she was gonna stow all that?
Perched on an upended crate near his tent’s opening, the towering cottonwoods high, crooked branches providing welcome shade, he did not go out to welcome them. His dogs, Lion, a golden-haired beauty with a wise face, and Shadow, a shaggy black mutt with a playful spirit, lifted their heads from their outstretched paws. Bringing them to Oklahoma had been the right decision. The dogs were good companions, loyal to a fault.
Reid stopped the wagon in front of the stable and, after assisting his sister and nephew down, began to unload her stuff.
“Where will you sleep?” Reid’s question carried on the breeze.
She glanced Gideon’s way and, catching him staring, arched a provoking eyebrow. “Mr. Thornton and I will sort that out.”
Seeing the direction of her gaze, her brother tossed him a scowl. “I wish you’d let me help you get settled at least.”
She turned her back and her response was lost. Burrowed into her skirt, the raven-haired boy twisted his head to stare at Gideon. The absence of animation on his face was unnerving. He was what? Four? Five? For certain he was missing his pa but the watchful stillness wasn’t typical of a child that age. Especially a boy.
Gideon found he couldn’t look away. Memories burst into his mind. A little girl’s giggles as he twirled her up in the air. The sweet scent that clung to her blond curls and skin as she nestled in his lap for a bedtime story.
Surging to his feet, he discarded the now-cold coffee behind the tree and rinsed his mug in the stream, deliberately blanking his mind. He’d spent little time around children in the past year or so. Only natural that the boy’s presence would resurrect the past.
Best thing to do is keep your distance. Let the two of them tend to their own business while you focus on yours. It’s not like you have extra time on your hands anyway.
“Mr. Thornton?”
He stiffened, turned to see mother and son standing by his stone-encircled fire pit. Beyond them the wagon ambled in the direction of the hastily-constructed town, which so far consisted of a single bank, mercantile, café and jail.
So. This was it. They were well and truly stuck with each other.
“I see you haven’t built a cabin.” She indicated the undulating fields around her with a sweep of her arm. “Where do you suggest we sleep?”
At odds with her military-like posture and assertive manner, she kept a tight hold on the boy, the white in her knuckles betraying her unease.
“Got a tent somewhere in all that baggage?”
Studying his tent with distaste, she reluctantly admitted, “I’m