Page 37 of A Dangerous Heart
Her warning came too late. She threw aside her mending and sprang to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isaac approaching from the river.
“You can’t kill Pa!” Eli cried. “And don’t you say he’s a bad man.”
He hurled his stick aside and charged at his little brother, knocking him off his feet so that he hit the ground with a hollow thud. Her mind raced as she ran to stop Eli from pummeling Ben. Isaac reached the fighting boys first and swiftly yanked Eli off Ben. His arms formed a tight band around Eli’s torso, but the boy kicked his arms and legs like a beetle turned on its back.
“Stop!” Isaac ordered as he strode a few yards to the cabin stoop and set Eli down. “Stay here. Don’t move a muscle fromthis step.” He paused for a moment, his mouth grim, waiting to see if Eli obeyed.
He moved back to Ben and picked him up. The boy threw his arms around Isaac’s neck, sobbing and sniveling.
She took a few steps toward the two of them, arms extended. Her breath hitched. “I can take him.”
He ignored her, avoiding her eyes and setting Ben on his feet again in the clearing a few yards from the stoop. He straightened Ben’s torn shirt. Like a loving father would do. Clare blinked away tears—saw it then, a gold star pinned to Ben’s dirty shirt. And the gun belt that lay in the dirt and pine needles near Isaac’s feet. How had she not noticed they’d gotten into Isaac’s things?
She maneuvered between Isaac and Ben. “I’m so sorry—they should know better. Stealing is not?—”
“Enough, Clare,” Isaac said, quietly resigned.
Eli, mulish, snarled from the step, “We didn’t steal nuthin’.”
Ben wiped at his eyes, leaving dirty streaks. “I didn’t steal. It’s right here. I can give it back.” He fumbled with the star on his shirt, and it tumbled to the ground.
Isaac swept it up and shoved it into his pocket.
When Ben tried to throw his arms around Isaac’s leg, the marshal held him in place with a hand on his shoulder.
“Go sit on the step next to your brother.”
Ben did as he was told, lowering himself next to his brother. Eli gave Ben an evil side-eye, his left eye swelling from Ben’s kick.
Clare’s stomach knotted. What could she say? How could she fix this?
She moved to hover near the stoop.
Isaac reined in his anger, didn’t lash out at the boys, but it was there, simmering under the surface.
He didn’t crouch or kneel, didn’t put himself on the boys’ level like he had when he’d caught Eli brawling in town. This was Isaac, the marshal, with arms crossed and a stormy frown.
“I’ve never met your pa, but from what I just heard, you boys have some disagreement about the kind of man he is. One thing I do know, from what your aunt has told me—your ma was a good woman who raised you according to the Good Book, just like my ma raised me. So you know right from wrong. Doing right or doing wrong is like a path that you choose to take. Paths lead to somewhere.” Isaac jerked his chin toward the path that led to the river. “Like that path to the river.”
“The one that leads to a good life is narrow, and not many men choose it. Know why? Because it’s hard to do what is right. The path that leads to destruction—it’s wide. When I was a marshal, the men on this path were the ones I had to catch and arrest. Lying, cheating, stealing may seem easier at times. But men who take that path meet a bad end.”
Ben, so much like his tenderhearted mother, broke the silence with a small and earnest cry. “I want to take the good path, Isaac.”
Clare’s heart squeezed.
Ben wore his adoration for Isaac like the star he’d pinned to his shirt.
Eli scowled at his brother, but it was Isaac’s impassive expression and silent fury that twisted the knot in her belly tighter.
“Go on and start your chores. Clean the ashes from the fireplace and sweep the floors.”
Eli looked like he might protest, until Isaac clapped his hands, the sound like a clap of thunder in the quiet clearing. Both boys scattered like startled birds.
“Isaac—”
He cut her off with a quelling glare. Pulled off his hat, swept his hand through his hair, and shoved it back on again. A gesture he made whenever he had finished talking and wanted to move on. A muscle in his cheek jumped as he jerked his chin toward the far side of the clearing. She followed him away from the cabin and the boys’ listening ears.
“Victor Barlow is the boys’ father?” His words were ice cold and hard, his eyes the same.
