He leaned forward, the chair creaking under him adding emphasis to the severity of his words. “Let me ask you a question, Miss McKinnie.”
“Yes?”
“Have you seen any large hills on Mr. Hardin’s property? One that a wagon would tumble down?”
Part of her wanted to know what really happened, but another part of her was scared to ask. She took a long breath and steadied herself. “What really happened?”
“No one knows for sure.”
“But the bystander.”
“He came along a brief time after the parents had died.”
Dinah was relieved. “Then he didn’t see anything. Mr. Hardin would’ve told me if there was something sinister surrounding his sister’s death.” Even after she spoke the words, she still didn’t believe them. The man didn’t speak about much that mattered.
“Mr. Hardin knows nothing of the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of his sister and brother-in-law. And the bystander wasn’t exactly sure what happened.”
She sighed. “What do you mean, not exactly? Was the wagon turned over and the boy’s parents underneath?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
The doctor shook his head. “Neither did I, when they brought Mr. and Mrs. Allard in here before their burial. Last time I checked, bullets didn’t come out of a wagon. And as far as James not speaking, if you discover why he had a pistol in his hand when they were found, then maybe you can figure out what really happened and help him deal with the truth. Only then is there a chance he might speak again.”
He folded his fingers as if to pray. “But Miss McKinnie, I must warn you, that if he isn’t ready to face the truth and you push him, you could lose him forever.”
Chapter Eleven
Colt stayed well back, hidden by the woods, far enough away that Dinah and the children wouldn’t spot him as they came down the road to the house. He’d known he could never convince Dinah to let him escort them to town or bring them back home at the end of the day, not after what he’d done to her. His midsection tightened with the horror of what he’d done. Each night, the image of his hands on her throat haunted him in his nightmares.
In the morning, after seeing them enter town safely, he’d questioned some men about Gabe’s death, but came up with no new clues to what had happened to his employee, so he returned to the fields to work all morning into the afternoon. Hard labor was the only thing that settled his nerves these days. Now, after watching Dinah and the kids return to the farm and enter the house, he resumed working. Something still didn’t feel right. He hadn’t felt this nervous since he was fighting Indians.
Two men rode hard in his direction. Colt slipped his hand to his weapon and waited. Their hats covered their faces, obscuring their identity even when they drew close. It wasn’t until they dismounted that he could identify them. Inwardly, he swore. The Boltin brothers. He hadn’t seen either David or Charles since all of them had been released from service. He couldn’t help but think it was too much of a coincidence that they showed up here shortly after Gabe had been murdered. Of course, they knew more about Indians than any of them, so he couldn’t imagine they’d leave the scalp behind.
“Well, I guess neither the bottle nor the gun got either of you two sinners, yet,” he drawled out, keeping his tone casual.
“We were gonna say the same ’bout you.” David Boltin slapped him on the back while the quieter of the two, Charles, held the horses’ reins and scanned the horizon. He’d spoken maybe a dozen times in the year Colt served in their Army company against the Apaches along with Andrew.
“It’s been a long journey. You gonna invite us in, or make us stay out in this sweltering sun all day?” David asked.
Colt eyed the house, and then the barn, where he actually lived. Images of the brutality created by their hands made him want to send them away immediately, but he couldn’t. The Boltin brothers were here for something, that he was sure of, and they wouldn’t leave until they got it. “It’s complicated. Let’s go into town, instead.”
“You done and got yourself a woman?” Charles said before he spat on the ground.
“No. As I said, it’s complicated.” Colt fought the urge to keep looking in the direction of the house to make sure the kids and Dinah were out of sight. These men were as dangerous as they came, and he wanted nothing to do with them anymore.
David adjusted his hat, but his eyes were fixed on the home. “Complicated? Sounds like you’ve got something going on here. If so, we want in.”
“Nothin’ going on here. Just have people paying to use the house. I don’t live in there right now.”
David looked to his brother. “Certainly, the lady of the house would welcome some guests and offer us some refreshments,” he said with an air of fake snobbery. “If not, I know what to do with her.”
Colt’s blood ran hot, and he wanted to do something stupid, like take them both on right here.
Charles guided the horses toward the house, but Colt blocked his advance, slipping his hand back to his gun. “As I said, we can go into town.”
“She must be a fine lookin’ woman to make you stupid.” David pointed at Colt’s hand on his gun. “You know you wouldn’t even be able to draw before Charles put you in a grave, right?”
Colt didn’t respond, he kept his focus and knew that the two men he served with were no better when they left the military than he was. Evil, the lot of them.
“You still blame us, don’t you?” David laughed, a cynical, evil sound.
“I blame myself,” Colt said flatly
A slight breeze whipped through the field and fluttered David’s hat brim, as if it were taunting Colt to fight. David held up both his hands. “I didn’t come here for trouble. I came to offer you an opportunity.”
Colt knew the kind of opportunities these men offered, and he wanted nothing to do with whatever the Boltin brothers proposed. “Not interested.”
Charles rounded him so that Colt was forced to stand between the two brothers. David smiled, his mouth one side higher than the other from the scar he’d carried away from the war. An Indian had left his mark before David ended him. “You don’t even know what we’re offering, yet.”
“I said, I’m not interested.”
“He always thought he was better than us,” David said. Charles nodded his agreement.
Colt maneuvered so he could see them both, but Charles only continued his circle around them. The horse neighed and blocked his sight, but he knew Charles had reached for his gun.
Colt tightened his grip on his own. His fingers itched to pull his gun. The sounds of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder and death, all flooded his mind, but he forced them away, back into the little part of his head that kept his darkest pain.
David shook his head. “Charles, we come to talk, nothing more.”
Charles’ hand slipped off the butt of his pistol and hung by his side, but it didn’t make Colt feel any more at ease. Charles was one of the fastest draws he’d ever seen.
“I know you’ve been mixed up with robbing,” Colt admitted. “As much as I hate myself, I still don’t want to swing from a noose. You two enjoy your game. I’m out.”
David moved close, hat brim to hat brim. “We’re brothers. We swore to protect each other. You dishonoring our vow?”
“No, I kept my promise. I killed more people to save you than I can count. I’m paid in full.”
Charles stopped once more behind him, so Colt repositioned. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of James out in front of the house. It was time to get the Boltin brothers out of there before one of the children or Dinah got hurt. “You have a problem with me, then let’s deal with it now. We’ll take a walk, and you can put me in a grave.” Colt had no intention on dying without a fight, but he wouldn’t engage this close to the house, not when a stray bullet could hit James.
David roared with exaggerated laughter, and Charles joined in before they settled down and s
lapped him on the back. “You always were easy to get spun up.” David backed away and took his horse’s reins from Charles. “You don’t want to earn a lot of money quick, that’s your loss.” He mounted his horse and looked down at Colt. “Of course, Mr. Bart Allard didn’t fare so well when he said no.” David dug his heels in and raced off across the prairie, Charles a pace behind.
Colt let out a lungful of air, and when the men were only dots in the distance, he fell to his knees. Why had they come around? And what did they mean about his brother-in-law? Had Bart, been mixed up with the Boltin brothers? Had they murdered him?
No, they’d died in a wagon accident. The Boltin brothers were only trying to get to him again.
A small hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked over his shoulder to find James, holding his shotgun. “Give me that before you hurt yourself.”
James handed it to him, bowed his chin to his chest, and set off back to the house.
Colt swallowed his fear and knew the boy needed more than harsh words. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”
James spun around, a beaming smile on his face, his cheeks tight and high.
“But bravery can get you killed. Do as Miss Dinah says, and stay away from me. Far away from me. I’m nothing but trouble.”
Chapter Twelve
Dinah cleared the dishes from the table, forcing her hands not to tremble. She had to make it look like any other night. She folded the rest of the laundry she retrieved from drying out back earlier in the evening. and handed each of the kids their clothes. Emma practiced her skipping down the hall as she headed to her room for the night, her hair bouncing with each step. Dinah fought the pull to follow her, to care for her. They were good kids. It’s not that she cared, she reminded herself, but living in a home together brought people close quickly. She took a deep breath, and settled her worry. The children would be fine with Mrs. McDaniel. The important thing was that they’d be away from Mr. Hardin and his harsh ways. She touched her throat, remembering his hands squeezing her shoulders, his thumb pressed to her neck. At first, she’d thought he meant to kill her, but then she saw something in his eyes. A sorrow deeper than any she’d ever seen, and she’d seen a lot.
“Emma wants you to tuck her in before she’ll go to sleep,” Anna called from the hall.
Dinah inhaled a steadying breath, then wrapped the bread up and wiped her hands clean. Each step she took toward the children’s room made her heart beat harder against her chest. For the past two nights, she’d kissed them each on their foreheads and told them goodnight. This would be the last night she did so.
Emma sat up in bed, holding her doll. “I know you don’t sleep, so you take Sally. She helps.” Dinah fought tears and the tightness in her throat at the sight of Emma holding up her most precious possession. The girl barely had anything; no parents, a brother who didn’t speak, an uncle who ignored or yelled at her, yet she offered the doll anyway.
“No, Emma. You sleep with her. She wouldn’t be able to rest if you didn’t cuddle with her. Besides, I sleep fine.”
“No. You pace and watch the door.” Emma stroked her doll’s hair as if contemplating the reality of giving her up. “Why don’t you sleep in bed? Tables can’t be confinable.”
“You mean comfortable?”
“Right, comfortable.” Emma smiled, a sweet innocent smile.
Dinah sat on the side of her bed and stroked her hair the way the girl did to her doll. “All the more reason she should stay in bed with you.” She pressed her lips to Emma’s forehead, and for a moment imagined having her own children, someday. With servants to help care for them, of course, and in a house much grander than this one. One where the children could chase each other through the grand hallways like her brothers used to do with her and Elizabeth when they were younger.
She stood, then came over to James and kissed him on the head. He shut his eyes, but grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He didn’t use his words, but with that one squeeze of his hand, she knew what he meant, and it scared her. He wanted her to stay, to be his mother. He opened his eyes, which were now large and pleading, and her chest tightened and ached. If he felt comfortable with her in his home, it was definitely time for her to leave. There was no reason to continue something that wasn’t real. She slipped her hand from his grasp and smiled at Anna. “Good night.”
“Miss Dinah?” Anna asked.
“Yes?”
Anna concentrated on her nails and didn’t look up. “You know Uncle wouldn’t have really hurt you.”
Dinah sighed. “I know, but you do understand that a man should never put his hands on a woman.”
Anna nodded.
“Good. Then get some sleep.”
Anna rolled over, so Dinah turned down the lamp. Her chest squeezed at the sight of the three blond heads on their pillows in bed. She forced a breath and shut the door.
For hours, she sat at the kitchen table with the door bolted, watching the moon rise through the window. Each bark or howl made her pulse beat faster. She thought about packing, but there was nothing to pack. Her only dress that wasn’t made of sackcloth material was the one she was wearing, thanks to Andrew Sanbourn’s generosity.
Everything she’d come out to Iowa for, was finally coming true. She’d have her sisters, and would live with cooks and servants. After Andrew finished divorcing his current wife, she’d have a husband who adored her and enjoyed parties and laughter and frivolity. Perhaps they’d even move back to the South someday. The heaviness that was holding her in a home that wasn’t hers, slowly lifted and when the moon finally reached high enough in the sky, she knew it was time to go get what she wanted.
She tiptoed to the door, removed the wood slat, and set it to the side. She tugged the door open, careful not to make any noise, then turned down the lamp, and made her way out into the night. Even with the bright moon, it was still dark and eerie. Dogs barked in the distance, as if announcing her escape, but when she reached the creek at the side of the house, she could hear the piano in the distance. The promise of people and a real life calmed her nerves. She fluffed the skirts of her new dress, hoping Andrew was pleased with her purchase.
The fresh smell of prairie grass settled around her, and she waited for what seemed like an hour, but had to be mere minutes, before she heard the crunching sound of steps. “Mr. Sanbourn, is that you?” she whispered, but no one responded.
More crunching steps echoed from across the creek, so she abandoned the protection of the small grove of trees and stepped out into the moonlight. A man stood a few paces away, with his hat on his head.
“Andrew?” she quietly called again.
From behind, hands grabbed her arms and yanked her back against a solid chest. She screamed. Her voice echoed into the night. A rough palm covered her mouth, but she bit it and flung her head back, knocking whomever held her in the face. The taste of salt and dirt coated her tongue.
A male voice grumbled, and the man’s fingers uncurled from pinching her skin tight, so she shoved away. She fell hard on her knees. A sting radiated up her legs and back.
The man she’d mistaken for Andrew Sanbourn raced forward. She scrambled to her feet, but the dress tangled around her legs. There was too much blasted material to move fast.
She was too late. The man grabbed her, wrapping his hands around her waist he held her tight. “Get up and get the rope.”
The man she’d knocked to the ground scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the trees. She kicked and scratched and elbowed, but her captor was too strong. Before she could manage a breath, the hatless man returned with a rope in hand. Heat surged through her and she thought she’d faint, but she refused. Instead, she continued to fight. Fight against this man, against the injustices of the world, against the violence, and the horror. She wouldn’t be a victim; her family had been victimized enough during the war.
She managed to spin and break loose long enough to land a good fist on his jaw, but it wasn’t enough. He only grabbed hold ag
ain.
“Get that rope around her, now,” the man with the hat ordered.
Rough, scratchy fibers cut into her skin around her wrists as they were bound; she jerked and spun, but it was too late. She’d been roped like a horse.
In that moment, she realized there was always a price for freedom.
And this one was going to cost her everything.
Chapter Thirteen
A scream slashed through the night air, twisting the peaceful night into something savage. Colt bolted up from his hay bed and listened. Had he dreamed it?
His instinct told him to check on the children and Dinah, so he shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his pistol from the ground next to him, bolted out of the barn, and ran hard to the house. He knocked at the front door. “Dinah? You awake?”
He knocked harder, and the door sprung open under the heavy weight of his fist. Why isn’t it latched? He stopped dead in the doorway. No sounds came from inside, so he nudged the door open with his foot, his gun pointed at the ground but ready to fire.
The room stood empty. His blood ran ice cold. “Miss McKinnie? James? Anna? Emma?”
A door creaked open and out stepped Anna from the children’s room. “I heard a scream from outside. From the creek, I think.” Anna stepped toward him. “Dinah isn’t here.”
“Bolt the door behind me. Now.” Colt flew out of the house and raced down the hill to the trees. A horse neighed. Stomps and grunts drew him to a stop. He peered around the trunk of a tree and spotted a man, a horse, and a woman.
Dinah.
“Let her go!” he shouted. He rushed from the trees, pistol in his hand.
The man whipped Dinah around to use as a shield, his gun raised at Colt.
“Watch out!” Dinah screamed.
A hard object slammed into his side and he doubled over.
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