Prologue

1868

How do you tell a four-year-old girl that her mother is dead?

U.S. Marshal Ben Masters worried over the question as he stood on the porch of Mrs. Henrietta Culworthy’s small house. Then, squaring his shoulders, he knocked. He wished he really believed he was doing the right thing. What in God’s name did a man like him, a man who’d lived with guns and violence for the past eight years, have to offer an orphaned child?

Mary May believed in you. The thought raked through his heart. He felt partially responsible for her death. He had stirred a pot without considering the consequences. In bringing an end to an infamous outlaw hideout, he had been oblivious to those caught in the cross fire. The fact that Mary May had been involved with the outlaws didn’t assuage his feelings of guilt.

“Sarah. Promise you’ll take care of Sarah.” He would never forget Mary May’s last faltering words.

Ben rapped again on the door of the house. Mrs. Culworthy should be expecting him. She had been looking after Sarah Ann for the past three years, but now she had to return east to care for a brother. She had already postponed her trip once, agreeing to wait until Ben had wiped out the last remnants of an outlaw band and fulfilled a promise to a former renegade named Diablo.

The door opened. Mrs. Culworthy’s wrinkled face appeared, sagging slightly with relief. Had she worried that he would not return? He sure as hell had thought about it. He’d thought about a lot of things, like where he might find another home for Sarah Ann. But then he would never be sure she was safe. By God, he owed Mary May.

“Sarah Ann?” he asked Mrs. Culworthy.

“In her room.” The woman eyed him hopefully. “You are going to take her.”

He nodded.

“What about your job?”

“I’m resigning. I used to be a lawyer. Thought I would hang up my shingle in Denver.”

A smile spread across Mrs. Culworthy’s face. “Thank heaven for you. I love that little girl. I would take her if I could, but—”

“I know you would,” he said gently. “But she’ll be safe with me.” He hoped that was true. He hesitated. “She doesn’t know yet, does she? About her mother?”

Mrs. Culworthy shook her head.

Just then, a small head adorned with reddish curls and green eyes peered around the door. Excitement lit the gamin face. “Mama’s here!”

Pain thrust through Ben. Of course, Sarah Ann would think her mother had arrived. Mary May had been here with him just a few weeks ago.

“Uncle Ben,” the child said, “where’s Mama?”

He wished Mrs. Culworthy had already told her. He was sick of being the bearer of bad news, and never more so than now.

He dropped to one knee and held out a hand to the little girl. “She’s gone to heaven,” Ben said.

She approached slowly, her face wrinkling in puzzlement; then she looked questioningly at Mrs. Culworthy. The woman dissolved into tears. Ben didn’t know whether Sarah Ann understood what was being said, but she obviously sensed that something was very wrong. The smile disappeared and her lower lip started to quiver.

Ben’s heart quaked. He had guarded that battered part of him these past years, but there were no defenses high enough, or thick enough, to withstand a child’s tears.

He held out his arms, not sure Sarah Ann knew him well enough to accept his comfort. But she walked into his embrace, and he hugged her, stiffly at first. Unsure. Then her need overtook his uncertainty, and his grip tightened.

“You asked me once if I were your papa,” he said. “Would you like me to be?”

Sarah Ann looked up at him. “Isn’t Mama coming back?”

He shook his head. “She can’t, but she loved you so much she asked me to take care of you. If that’s all right with you?”

Sarah Ann turned to Mrs. Culworthy. “I want to stay with you, Cully.”

“You can’t, pumpkin,” Mrs. Culworthy said tenderly. “I have to go east, but Mr. Masters will take good care of you. Your mother thought so, too.”

“Where is heaven? Can’t I go, too?”

“Someday,” Ben said slowly. “And she’ll be waiting for you, but right now I need you. I need someone to take care of me, too, and your mama thought we could take care of each other.”

It was true, he suddenly realized. He did need someone to love. His life had been empty for so long.

Sarah Ann probably had much to offer him.

But what did he have to offer her?

Sarah Ann put her hand to his cheek. The tiny fingers were incredibly soft—softer than anything he’d ever felt—and gentle. She had lost everything, yet she was comforting him.

He hugged her close for a moment, and then he stood. Sarah Ann’s hand crept into his. Trustingly. And Ben knew he would die before ever letting anything bad happen to her again.