Page 70 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“Someone needs to stay and look after the ranch, Pa,” his son Luke called. “And after our women. Knowing them, they’ll be armed for bear, riding hell bent for leather, and arrive in Cheyenne before we do.”
“You read my mind, husband,” Wisteria quietly replied, Charlotte’s story hitting closest to home with her, after her unwilling stay at Madam Josephine’s.
“Meet me at the jailhouse at noon,” Seth directed the men.
“If not sooner,” Heath declared, assisting Jenny into the carriage before heading to his horse. Aaron, Luke, and Henry did the same and were riding toward Silverbend in minutes.
“The rain is picking up. We should get going, too.” Seth guided her to his horse. Charlotte was about to close her umbrella so he could boost her up, but he stayed her hand and dipped under it with her.
“I have a confession, too. Me and Thorn go back years.”
She blinked away the raindrops from her eyes and lashes as she waited for him to continue. So long, she thought he wouldn’t.
“Only a few in town know this about me, but I think you deserve the truth. He rode with us for a short time,” he finally admitted.
“Us? I don’t understand.”
“My father was Deadeye Bill Hartigan, an outlaw. People hereabouts called the men who rode with him the Hartigan Gang.”
Charlotte jerked away from him, horrified. “You were on the train with them?”
“No. I was in Cheyenne hundreds of miles from there. We’d lost my father, shot during a bank job, and were taking some time to regroup. We joined up for another job about a month after—our first without Deadeye Bill—and things went bad. That’s why I was at the Pleasure Palace the night of the fire. My brother Judd was shot.”
“I’d been there for a week by that time,” she said, relieved Seth wasn’t involved. “But I don’t understand. How does an outlaw become a lawman?”
“It happens more times than you’d think. My brother died that night, and it was the last job for me. We were thieves, Charlotte, no denying it, but we didn’t do the vile things Thorn seemed to take glee in.”
“I was only twenty-one when my pa and Judd died. I needed to earn a living. Robbing banks was all I ever knew. But I was good with a gun, and a surprisingly good tracker. Bounty hunting made sense, and it became a full-time job. Henry said I’m the best of the best, but that isn’t true, or Thorn wouldn’t still be terrorizing you.”
“It isn’t your fault he escaped.”
“It is, actually. I had the option of bringing him in dead or alive. I chose wrong,” he said, a dark determination shadowing his features. “Herny wasn’t wrong. Thorn is the devil incarnate. I think he had something to do with my uncle’s death. As for my brother, he would have left him to bleed out in the dirt without batting an eye. And there’s no forgiveness in Heaven or on Earth for what he did to you.”
She gripped his forearm, her fingers digging in. “Find him and end this—for us both.”
“I won’t rest until that happens, Charlotte.” He laid his hand on her cheek, his touch gentle as he asked, “Am I mistaken thinking that’s not your real name?”
She closed her eyes, the pain of losing who she was, still sharp to this day. “My parents named their daughter Rowena Charlotte. But she died on a St. Louis-bound train a long time ago.”
His voice was husky with intensity when he vowed, “What happened to you is damn unfair, but a reckoning is coming. I swear it is. For now, let’s get you home.”
Had she ever considered the Red Eye, much less Laramie, in that light? Only one place had ever been home in her heart, but it was forever lost. The trajectory of her life took her from cherished daughter to unwanted burden, to wife, chattel, and, ultimately, to survivor. Now, with Fenton gone, it was about to change again, and she faced the future alone.
The sheriff lifted her into the saddle then swung up behind her. With his arms surrounding her, she leaned back against his broad chest. When was the last time she felt protected?
Fen did his best, but look how his life ended. Carson was as green as she was heading west, and much too young. She hadn’t felt truly safe since before her mama died.
A raindrop trickled down her cheek, followed by another, and another. She wiped them away, but soon they were coming too fast to keep up with. When one dripped off her chin and splashed on the back of her hand, the warmth made her realize it wasn’t rain.
Seth held her tighter, his lips brushing her hair, but remained silent, which she appreciated. Words would only make things worse. Sobbing in his arms didn’t fit the strong, capable image she wanted to portray. His presence was enough as the tears flowed endlessly. They were for Fenton, for Carson—denied a proper burial and a last farewell—for all those in her life she’d loved and lost, and for herself.
Chapter 17
Itching to End It
The trees were taller, the undergrowth denser, yet the years hadn’t changed the old cabin where he’d grown up. The scent of pine and the towering Bur Oak he climbed countless times as a boy brought back memories. Now, the massive tree concealed him as he watched the front door, his hand resting on his Colt.
Fifty feet away, Aaron mirrored his stance. Heath, Luke, and Joseph covered the sides and back of the small building should anyone try to escape through a window.
