Page 35 of A Dangerous Heart
“Sometimes. But Ed and me didn’t.”
“You didn’t what?”
“Let Nick get away with it.” He released a quick sigh. “Ed and me fought all the time. I never gave him an inch.”
She looked at his shadowy profile and couldn’t reconcile this guarded man with the arrogant man he’d described. He’d helped Ed win Rebekah’s heart, hadn’t he? “I didn’t get along with my brothers at all. I was never so happy than when my brother married Anne. For a while, even Victor seemed a changed man. He was happy and charming, determined to win Anne’s favor. Anne fell for him like a summer storm, quick and hard, before she even saw what was coming.”
For all the heartache it’d brought Anne to hitch up with her brother, Clare was forever glad she had. Clare had been fifteen, confused about life, and in need of a friend. God had brought her a sister.
A bolt of unease struck her. She’d let her guard down, and her brother’s name had slipped out. She hurried to cover her mistake.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone. She and her grandpa taught me about God and how to live off the land.”
“Now you’re doing the same for Eli and Ben.” The faint hint of admiration in his voice made her stomach twist.
“I would be happy if they grew up like you and your brothers.”
A moment of tense silence fell between them. The glow of the lantern bounced ahead of them.
“I haven’t been happy in a long time,” Isaac admitted.
Clare was shocked by the quiet admission. Her mind whirled. What could she say to keep him talking, opening up to her?
“Would you tell me why? Sometimes it helps for someone to just listen.”
She waited, not daring to breathe. He let out a long sigh.
“My last case as a U.S. marshal—” He measured his words and took a few steps. She stepped with him. “I was on the trail of a gang of outlaws tearing through several states, robbing stagecoaches and banks in small towns.”
Foreboding crawled along her spine. Had Isaac lost a partner?
“I spent day after day belly up to the counter of the local café, waiting for the outlaws led by a snake named Judd Pickins and scouting the people around town. One of the waitresses had a son. Cody—” He choked on the boy’s name, sucked in a breath, and forced himself to go on.
“The kid followed me everywhere, stuck to me like a tick. He was—” His voice turned rough, like a hand had closed around his windpipe. Clare heard the words die in his throat. A ragged cough escaped him, and she could hear the struggle to steady his voice.
“I let my guard down. I should have sent him away. Should have told him to leave me be. But I didn’t. When Pickins showed, I thought it was all falling into place. I was ready to take him. But then Cody…” He stopped, his throat working as he struggled to go on. “He’d been following me that day. Pickins saw him first.”
Isaac exhaled sharply, a sound steeped with bitterness. “He grabbed Cody. Dragged him into the street, used him as a shield. Held a gun to his head.” He paused, and his jaw tightened. “I ordered Pickins to let him go. Even holstered my gun, tried to talk him down. But the town marshal…” His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes briefly. “He came running in with his gun drawn. That’s when Pickins turned. I had the shot. A perfect shot. Easy.”
Clare saw the fingers on his right hand twitch. Her own hands tingled with a cold kind of tension. “I took it.” His voice was quieter, rougher. “But Pickins moved. He pulled Cody right into the line of fire.”
“Oh, Isaac,” she breathed out, her voice cracking under the weight of his confession. It felt like the sound of her own heart breaking, torn between wanting to comfort him and the helplessness of knowing she couldn’t fix this.
“I shot him!” The confession burst out, as harsh and fatal as the bullet that had killed Cody.
She stopped walking, unable to take another step. Isaac halted too, though he angled his shoulders and face away from her. He ran a hand down his face. The boys’ voices grew fainter and the lamplight smaller in the distance.
Everything came into focus—she could see it clearly now. Isaac’s wound, his tragedy. He was an honorable man. No wonder he had broken under the weight of it.
She reached out and took his hand. Couldn’t stop herself, not when he was in so much pain.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, that you carry that kind of pain,” she whispered.
He blinked down at her.
This close, in the moonlight, she saw the agony cut across his face, then faint surprise.
“I deserve to carry it. I can’t ever forget.”
