Revealed

by Tamera Alexander

‘‘I’d love to. Just let me tell Shannon and Sadie.’’

  She returned a minute later. As they were leaving, Matthew reached for his rifle by the front door, and Annabelle gave him a pointed look.

  ‘‘I just thought it might be wise, since we’re not familiar with the countryside yet.’’ Before she could say more, he took hold of her elbow. They descended the porch stairs, and he offered her his arm. She tucked her hand through. ‘‘What are Shannon and Sadie doing?’’

  ‘‘Shannon was reading your father a story, and Sadie looked like she was enjoying it as much as he was.’’

  He was torn between gratefulness that Sadie was finding some happiness and the continued anger and regret that churned inside him. He chose a path that led them past the barn and corrals and toward the western foothills. The murmur of cattle in the fields carried to them, and the scents of hay and manure mingling with the cool evening air reminded him of being on the Jennings’ ranch back in Colorado.

  He estimated another half hour of daylight—and then a while longer before the low-hanging glow in the west would completely surrender to darkness. Not that he minded being in the dark with Annabelle. He was almost tempted to see if he could get them ‘‘lost’’ for a while just to spend more time with her.

  ‘‘Are you going to remember how to get back?’’ A soft gleam lit her eyes as though she had read his thoughts.

  He feigned hurt at the comment. ‘‘In the last nine hundred miles, have I gotten us lost once?’’

  She laughed. ‘‘No, you haven’t. But I’ve learned to read you pretty well in the last few weeks.

  Smiling, he slowed his steps and then stopped. ‘‘Okay, why don’t you tell me what you read right now?’’

  She reached up and brushed back the hair from his right temple. ‘‘I see a man who’s struggling with years of bitterness and hurt, who has unanswered questions that he knows might never be answered now. I see a man who’s made mistakes in his life—no greater than anyone else’s—and who wants to let go of all that far more than he wants to hold on to it. But he doesn’t know how.’’

  Matthew let out the breath he’d been holding for the past few seconds. He’d expected a far less serious answer. ‘‘Next time could you be a little more honest with me? Don’t hold back so much.’’

  Annabelle flashed him a knowing smile.

  He motioned to a boulder jutting from the side of the mountain and jumped up first, then leaned down and pulled her up beside him.

  She promptly sat down, stretched out her legs, arranging her skirt around her, and leaned back to enjoy the view. He joined her, and for several moments, they sat in silence.

  She was right. He had years of questions stored up inside him, and he wanted answers. He wanted his father to apologize for what he’d done. For beating Johnny. For causing their mother such heartache. For being overly harsh and placing an unbearable weight of expectation on his youngest son’s shoulders—a weight that had crippled him in many ways. And for not living in their home the tenets he had preached so ardently from the pulpit year after year after year.

  ‘‘You know, Matthew, there’s a question you’ve never asked me, and somehow I always thought you would.’’ Annabelle hesitated, staring out across the plains, not looking at him.

  He knew the question she meant, but somewhere along the way the answer to that question had grown less important to him. And the woman she’d become, far more. ‘‘How you came to be at the brothel.’’

  She nodded.

  ‘‘I wondered, especially at first. But then after that night in Parkston, in the saloon, I realized that however it had happened, you would never have chosen that life. Then when you told me about Sadie . . .’’ He paused, not wanting to speak the thought that was forming in his mind, for fear of what she would tell him next.

  ‘‘I was so angry . . . so sick inside, that I didn’t ever want to imagine something like that having happened to you.’’ And he prayed even now that it hadn’t.

  Though she didn’t move an inch, he felt her withdrawal, and he knew the truth.

  His throat tightened. She began to tell her story, and after a moment, he turned away in order to hide his reaction.

  ‘‘. . . And then the next morning, when the sun rose, there was a swath cut in the earth about a half-mile wide where the buffalo had churned up the ground. I wasn’t ever allowed to see the bodies.’’ Her voice had fallen to a whisper. She didn’t speak for a moment. ‘‘They just told me that my parents and Alice were gone.

  Twelve people died in the stampede that night. Another family in the group took me in. I could tell right off the wife didn’t like me, but the husband—’’ Her voice faltered. She blew out a breath. ‘‘He’d always been especially nice to me, along with some of the other girls.’’

  The sick feeling in the pit of Matthew’s stomach expanded. He wanted to stop her, to reach over and tell her it didn’t matter. But he couldn’t. Because it did.

  ‘‘I traveled and lived with them until the wagons reached Denver. They were headed to Oregon, and that’s where I thought I was going too.’’ She scoffed. ‘‘But one night the husband asked me to go into town with him.’’ She took a breath and let it out slowly. ‘‘He said he needed me to help him carry back some supplies. By then, I already knew what kind of man he was and what he was capable of.’’ Meaning weighted her words. ‘‘He had a foul temper, so I did what he said. We got to town that night and that’s . . . that’s when he told me he was leaving me there. He took me to a house and introduced me to a woman. I actually thought it was a school for girls at first.’’ She paused again. ‘‘I know it’s hard to imagine, but I really was nave at one time.’’

  Matthew heard the gentle sarcasm in her voice and turned back toward her. The sun had set, leaving only the faintest veil of gray light over the land. He couldn’t see her expression and wondered if she was waiting for him to say something, but even if he could have thought of something to say, he couldn’t push words past the knot in his throat.

  ‘‘Before he left I asked him if I could follow him back and get some things from my parents’ wagon. We hadn’t brought any of my clothes or other things with us into town. I wanted something to remember my family by. The woman spoke up and said I wouldn’t need any of those things there. But she was wrong.’’ Her voice became weak, strangled. ‘‘I needed those things more then than I ever had before.’’ She let out a held breath. ‘‘The man left me there, and I never saw him again.’’

  Matthew stared at the halo of orange left by the sun’s departure. ‘‘How ol—’’ He stumbled over the question, anger and disgust choking the words. Full well knowing this was in her past, the sudden desire to protect Annabelle was overwhelming. His heart felt as though it would pound straight through his chest. ‘‘How old were you?’’

  Silence lengthened and with every beat of his heart, he imagined her having been younger and younger.

  ‘‘I was twelve the night my parents and little Alice were killed.’’

  A pang tightened his gut. He’d never wanted to kill a person before. But in that moment, if given the chance, he knew without a doubt he could have killed that man for what he’d done to her, to her life.

  She’d drawn her knees up to her chest. Her forehead rested against them, face hidden. Annabelle had endured far more pain and betrayal in her life than he ever had at his father’s hand. Yet she didn’t seem to carry a weight of bitterness inside her at the wrongs done to her—not like he did. How was that possible?

  And how could there have ever been a time when he considered himself better than this woman?

  ‘‘You were right, Annabelle, when you said I’ve made mistakes in my life.’’ Remembering how he’d treated her when they’d first met two years ago, then again with Johnny, and at the Carlsons’ home, shamed him. He’d treated her as if her life had been her choice, and he’d thrown it back in her face at every opportunity.

  ‘‘If you want to talk about it, Matthew, I�
�m a pretty good listener. When I put my mind to it,’’ she added with a soft laugh.

  The sincerity of her voice tugged at Matthew’s guilt, but not firmly enough. ‘‘Some things you have to work through on your own.’’

  ‘‘On your own.’’ She repeated the words back slowly, her tone gentle, yet he sensed a soft reproach in them. ‘‘There’s something else I’ve needed, and wanted, to say to you, Matthew. Remember when you got Jonathan to admit that I didn’t love him?’’

  Woundedness had slipped into her voice, and Matthew saw her turn toward him. He kept his focus ahead, wishing—as he had many times—that he could take back those words.

  ‘‘You were right. I wished I could have loved Jonathan like a wife is supposed to love her husband. I tried, but—’’ ‘‘Johnny knew how you felt about him. He said you were honest with him from the start, Annabelle. I said those things that day to hurt you.’’ This time it was his turn to look at her. He studied her profile in the fading light, remembering what Johnny had said to him in the shack that night and wondering at the timeliness of his brother’s words now. ‘‘People can’t give what they haven’t got. You gave him what you could, and . . . I can see now how Johnny would’ve loved you like he did.’’

  She bowed her head.

  He had honored Johnny’s last desire in seeing her safely to this place where she could begin her new life. Johnny had started the journey, and Matthew was grateful to have been given the chance to finish it. He only wished he could stay and watch her life unfold, to be a part of it. But he couldn’t offer her something he wasn’t capable of giving. There was still something he had to do. A debt he had to pay.

  And oddly enough, the one person who he couldn’t bring himself to reveal his past to was the very woman who had given him the courage to face it.

  On the way back to the cabin, Annabelle waited for him to say something. Anything. But as they passed by the barn, Matthew still hadn’t so much as whispered a word. And since rising from the rock and briefly helping her down, he hadn’t touched her either.

  She had calculated the risk in telling him the details about her past, but she’d felt an inner prompting to share it and had convinced herself he wouldn’t hold it against her. Not after everything they’d been through. And she honestly didn’t think he held it against her now. It was more than that—something deeper. By the time they made it back to the cabin, she had decided what it was.

  She remembered his sickened expression when she’d first told him about Sadie, and that same look had crossed his face tonight when he had helped her down from the rock. Matthew still cared for her, she was certain of that. He simply couldn’t look at her the way a man looked at a woman—not with knowing what he knew.

  He’d even said as much. ‘‘I can see now how Johnny would’ve loved you like he did.’’ How Johnny had loved her . . . but not Matthew.

  When he opened the front door of the cabin, their eyes connected for the briefest of seconds. Then he looked away and turned back inside himself. He motioned for her to precede him, and Annabelle felt the gap between them widen.

  Shannon met them in the front hallway. ‘‘So you did manage to find your way back. I was beginning to wonder.’’ A smile lit her face.

  When Matthew didn’t answer, Annabelle jumped in. ‘‘Yes, we did, thank you. We walked all the way down to the edge of the property, by the big rock.’’

  Shannon opened her mouth, then closed it and nodded. ‘‘Well, good, I’m glad.’’ She motioned down the hallway. ‘‘Mr. Taylor has retired for the night, and I’m going to do the same. Sadie’s still up reading in the front room. Your beds are made and ready for you. You know where my bedroom is, so please knock if you need anything. And Mrs. McCutchens . . .’’

  Annabelle smiled at the formal address. Twice this afternoon she’d encouraged the young woman to call her by her given name, but apparently it hadn’t swayed Shannon’s determination.

  ‘‘You’ve already had a caller this evening.’’

  Annabelle managed a casual tone. ‘‘Really?’’

  ‘‘I didn’t think you’d be this long, so I asked him to wait in the front parlor. He stayed for a while and then left. Said he’d be back tomorrow. His name was . . . Mr. Caldwell, I believe.’’

  Annabelle’s stomach went cold. She sensed Matthew’s tension but didn’t look at him.

  ‘‘Did he say what he wanted?’’ Matthew asked. ‘‘Or who he was?’’

  Annabelle cringed inwardly at Matthew’s questions, then remembered the rifle in his hand. Had he suspected something already? And worse, why would Rigdon Caldwell come to see her here? That wasn’t part of their agreement.

  ‘‘No, he didn’t give any details. Just that he wanted to speak with Mrs. McCutchens.’’

  Annabelle moved toward the stairs. ‘‘I bet he’s from the bank in town. I think I’ll head there first thing in the morning and see if I can catch him.’’

  ‘‘I’ll go into town with you.’’ Matthew’s tone said he wouldn’t brook any argument, so Annabelle gave none.

  Shannon said good-night and started down the hall. ‘‘I’ll have breakfast ready for you by six-thirty.’’

  Annabelle was halfway up the stairs when she remembered Sadie. She turned back to find Matthew still standing at the base of the stairs, watching her.

  ‘‘I’m leaving tomorrow, Annabelle. After I see you safely into town and then back here.’’

  She gripped the banister and slowly descended, stopping on the last step, standing at eye level with him. ‘‘Leaving? For where? Will you be back?’’

  He didn’t answer for a moment, and she found herself praying he would tell her the truth. About his past, about his feelings for her . . . or lack thereof.

  He shook his head. ‘‘I don’t know.’’

  She searched his eyes, looking for a clue as to what lay behind his carefully guarded expression, and hoping for one that would disprove her suspicion about his not seeing her the same way anymore. She had read him so easily before—why couldn’t she now?

  ‘‘Would you come back, Matthew . . . if you could?’’

  A frown shadowed his features. ‘‘I wish I could undo the past, Annabelle . . . but I can’t.’’ He lowered his head, then slowly looked back at her. ‘‘Thank you for sharing with me what you did tonight. I know that wasn’t easy. And I’m—’’ He paused. ‘‘I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.’’

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded, his answer confirming her earlier suspicion. Loneliness swelled inside her. Stepping past him, she went to check on Sadie.

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - SIX

  MATTHEW BOLTED UPRIGHT IN BED. Heart racing, senses alert, he gripped the rifle beside him, cocked it, and searched the shadowed corners of his room. Waiting.

  Listening. He heard it again.

  A muted thump.

  He pulled on his pants, grabbed the rifle, and opened the door. The hallway was dark. The door to Annabelle and Sadie’s room was closed, and the crack beneath it was absent of any glow. He slowly opened the door. Seeing the prone outlines of their bodies on the bed, he pulled it closed again.

  He peered down the staircase leading to the first floor, the set of stairs resembling a dark hole from where he stood. Pressing back against the wall, he began the descent, easing his weight on each stair in hopes of avoiding a creak. Halfway down, he saw a shadow cross at the base of the stairs. His heart beat double time.

  Caldwell was the foremost suspect in his mind. Annabelle may have thought the man who’d visited that night was from the bank, but Matthew’s gut told him different. He didn’t know how the man had traced them here, but he was betting it was the bounty hunter he’d glimpsed first in Willow Springs and then again at the post office in Rutherford. Concern shuddered through him as he wondered how the man had learned Annabelle’s name and why he was trying to contact her.

  Matthew eased his weight onto the next to last step, stopping when a creak sounded beneath his b
are foot. A single bead of sweat wove a path down his spine. When he heard movement in the main room off to his left, he bypassed the last step and padded silently to the front hallway.

  He tightened his grip on the rifle. He didn’t plan on shooting the man—that had never been his intent. He only hoped to buy some time to talk to him. Maybe persuade him to work out a deal, as if he had anything left to bargain with. Matthew pressed back against the wall behind him.

  Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner and saw the man standing in the threshold of the kitchen. He was staring straight at him.

  ‘‘Pa?’’ The name was out of Matthew’s mouth before he could fully process it.

  ‘‘Who goes there?’’

  His father’s deep voice sounded so authoritative that, if Matthew hadn’t known better, he might have been intimidated. He gently released the hammer on the rifle, set the safety, and laid the gun aside.

  ‘‘It’s me, sir. It’s Matthew.’’ As if that would tell his father anything. Sure enough, his father’s expression remained a blank slate.

  ‘‘I’m the man you met this afternoon.’’ Matthew crossed to the woodstove, opened the side door, and stoked the warm embers.

  They flickered to life again.

  ‘‘Ah . . . you’re the young one who wouldn’t let me use the stairs!’’

  His father’s voice gained a reprimanding tone Matthew had once been accustomed to hearing. Strange to hear it now and not feel that old sense of wariness. Using a piece of kindling, he lit the oil lamp on the kitchen table. Instantly, a warm glow blanketed the kitchen.

  ‘‘What brings you down here in the middle of the night, sir?’’

  ‘‘Why do you keep calling me sir?’’

  ‘‘Does it bother you?’’ His father had always demanded it of both him and Johnny, and had threatened the leather strap when they forgot.

  His father harrumphed. ‘‘I guess not too much.’’

  An unexpected smile came at his father’s response. ‘‘Are you hungry, sir?’’ He moved to the pantry and opened the door.