Blake rode along the dusty road almost without thinking. The seven years he’d been away had not erased the memories accumulated in a lifetime of riding those hills. He passed the oak grove where he’d asked Hannah to be his wife. He paused near Siler’s Hollow to recall the times he’d chased Dix and Marty Cabot through the high grasses. But the hollow was now flooded by an ocean of water. And Carpenter Creek . . . well, it was little more than a hog wallow.
The ranch appeared to have prospered in his absence. There were fences along the boundaries now, and the peach trees he and Hannah had planted on their wedding day stood tall alongside the creekbed. He saw hundreds of cattle on the range, tough steers ready for market, cows that would provide fresh milk and increase the herd, and three powerful bulls for breeding. But the trees appeared dry, and the animals seemed thirsty.
Another week and the creek would be barren. What then?
The one eternal truth of West Texas life was that without water, a ranch was only so much dust doomed to blow in the wind. All the building, the back-breaking work done by three generations to build the Bar Double B was useless if Carpenter Creek dried up.
“What manner of man waves his hand and brings death to all this?” Blake asked himself as he surveyed his former homestead from the crest of a small rise. Across the creek stood the house. His eyes swept from the vegetable gardens to the corral, from the swing which hung beneath the tall white oak to the distant barn.
He then started across what was left of the creek, carefully avoiding the stretches that seemed likely hosts for quicksand. As he started up the hill toward the house, he drew his horse short and stared at two small boys playing near the chicken coop.
They were far too young to be Carter or Zach. There was a girl, too, a small thing dressed in a bright yellow sun dress. His eyes lingered as they fell on a more familiar figure, a woman whose petite frame and flowing blond hair concealed an inner strength he’d known but once in his entire life.
“Hannah?” he called to her.
She waved, not with the excitement he’d expected, but casually, almost as if performing a scene from a play. As Blake approached, a man stepped out of the house, a large, muscular man with thinning brown hair and a large black mustache.
Blake slowed his horse and sat atop the saddle for a moment, watching her, waiting, trying to think of something to say.
“I, uh, I came,” he finally stammered.
“I knew you would,” she said sadly.
Blake dismounted, leaving his horse to chew the soft grass on the hillside. He wanted to reach out and hold her, lift her off the ground with a whirl the way he used to.
“You remember Marsh Merritt,” Hannah said nervously. “I wrote you . . . about us.”
“How are you?” Blake asked, extending a reluctant hand toward the man.
“Don’t know what point there was to sending for you, Blake,” Marsh said. “This is my place now. I’ll tend to Simpson.”
Blake glanced around. He hoped to catch a glimpse of his boys, but they were nowhere to be found. The younger boys had Marsh’s dark hair, his thick shoulders. But the girl was Hannah reborn.
“There’ve been a lot of changes since you left,” Marsh went on. “We concentrate on cattle now, only raise enough horses for our needs.”
“Oh?”
Marsh went on to point out the new barn, the expanded gardens. Blake nodded, but he didn’t pay much attention.
“I guess it was a mistake my cornin’,” Blake said, frowning. “I’ll ride on to Dix’s place.”
“No, wait,” Hannah said, taking Blake’s hand and holding him there. “Caulie, stay.”
“He’s got a right to do as he will,” Marsh said.
“I know this is hard on you, Marsh,” she said, releasing Blake’s hand and turning toward her husband. “It’s going to be a strain for us all. But I asked him to come, and it’s not proper to turn him away now. Besides, we do need him.”
“I can do anything that needs to be done,” Marsh growled, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “There’s not room here for the both of us, Hannah.”
“It’s better I go,” Blake said. “I don’t mean to come as an intruder.”
“Intruder?” Hannah cried. “You grew up on this ranch. You built half the house with your own hands. You owe it to the boys, to yourself to stay. And I wouldn’t have sent the letter if we didn’t need you. Marsh,” she said, turning away from Blake, “will you fetch Carter and Zach? Tell them they have a visitor.”
Marsh frowned. Reluctantly he started back to the house.
“You have to understand, Caulie,” Hannah said quietly as she led the way to the veranda. “We’ve been very happy.”
“He seems a good man. Why did you send for me? He appears willin’ and able to deal with the problem.”
“Marsh is good and kind and gentle. He’s got a natural way with growing things. But he’s never fired a shot in anger, not even at a prowling bobcat. He wouldn’t know how to answer Henry Simpson.”
“And I would?”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “You did once.”
“And it cost me everythin’ I ever held dear.”
“I know,” Hannah said, looking away. “Why is it we do and say things we don’t mean, Caulie? Why do we let pride and duty get in the way of what’s really important?”
“Duty is important, Hannah.”
“Not that duty. If only you could have turned away. But you couldn’t. I know that. You never back down. Simpson knows that, too. He remembers. And that’s why you’ve got to stop him damming the creek.”
“Can’t be done, not the way you want,” Blake said, getting to his feet and pacing back and forth beside the bench. “I saw him today. He’s older, but the hate’s still there. None of it’s mellowed. The fightin’s got to be done in a way he understands. He knows power. He respects it.”
“I wish there was some other way.”
“You do, I do, Dix does, but there isn’t any other way. We’re not fightin’ some kind of crusade, Hannah. This isn’t one of your King Arthur stories. It’s real.”
“I’m afraid they’ll kill you this time.”
“If they can.”
“Simpson’s got a lot of men. He practically owns the town.”
“All my life someone’s been after me, Hannah. I’m still here.”
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I don’t see how we could ever have drifted apart.”
“That was Simpson’s doin’, too. Hannah, I never stopped lovin’ you.”
“It would have been better if you had,” she whispered. “I’ve got another husband now. He’s a good man, Caulie. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“I understand. I’m only here to stop Simpson.”
“Caulie, I’m hoping you’ll have a chance to get to know the boys again. They’re so much like you. Zach rides like a devil, and Carter’s gotten so tall. You’ll hardly recognize him.”
“You’ve done a good job with ’em then. And the little ones?” He asked, pointing to the girl in particular.
“Her name’s Sally. She was five last week. The twins are Todd and Wylie. They’re almost four.”
“You always did want a big family.”
“A ranch takes a lot of hands.”
Blake laughed, remembering how she’d said the same thing years before when they’d held hands in the oak grove.
“Of course five seems enough,” she said, pointing to the lines of washing hanging behind the house.
“What you want done, Hannah, won’t be easy. It means startin’ with the dam. Simpson might deal with you on it. More likely he’ll just squeeze.”
“How?”
“Block the markets. Cut your credit.”
“You seem to know a lot about this.”
“I’ve seen it before. Big ranchers never seem to be content with what they have. They want more.”
“So first we bargain.”
“Or try to.”
“And then?”
“It’s war, Hannah. We can blow the dam. Simpson can knock down fences, run off cows, and shoot the bulls. He’ll try to isolate you, pick off your friends one by one.”
“He’ll come for you first.”
“No, last. He’ll want me to watch. It’s you and the children that are most vulnerable. He’ll go after you.”
She shuddered, and he let her lean against his side. His great strong hand held her tightly, and for a second the clock moved back. It was spring and they were thirteen again. But it didn’t last. She wriggled free and walked toward the door.
“I’ll see what’s keeping the boys,” she told him.
He stepped down from the veranda and stumbled over beside the swing. He felt his eyes moisten. It’s strange, he thought. How can two people who shared so much, loved each other so completely, have ever come to this? He wiped his eyes and stared out across the creek, toward the Diamond S and the town of Simpson, toward the white-haired old man who’d been the cause of so much pain.
Blake hadn’t shed a tear in thirty years, not since the winter of 1850 when his mother died. At this moment he could have, possibly should have. For if all their buried dreams and grand plans for a boundless future weren’t worth crying over, nothing ever would be.
A door slammed, and he shook himself out of the gloom. Two boys appeared on the steps, a tall, solid fourteen-year-old with straw-colored hair and a thin, somber-faced boy of thirteen. Blake felt his legs wobble a bit as he walked toward them. The boys stood frozen to the steps, unable or unwilling to move.
“Carter? Zach?” Blake called to them.
The eldest, Carter, nodded his head. Zach backed away a step.
“I’m your father,” Blake announced.
“Our father’s inside,” Carter said. “You left us years ago.”
“Zach?” Blake asked, reaching out for the younger boy.
“Why’d you come back?” Zach asked, moving behind his brother. “We don’t need you. We don’t want you.”
The words cut like daggers through Blake’s heart. Never had he imagined they wouldn’t want him. Didn’t they remember the mornings they’d spent in the pond, the long rides into the hills, the nights he’d stayed up fighting their fevers or dosing a cough?
He wanted to grab them both, hold them tight and try to explain. He longed to tell them he wanted them, he needed them. But it wasn’t in him. He stepped back and stared at them. His sons. How could he tell them he’d come back to help them?
“Ma said we should see you,” Carter said. “We’ve seen you.”
Blake reached out his hand, but the boys backed away.
“I wrote,” Blake mumbled. “Every birthday and each Christmas.”
They stared at him with blank looks.
“I sent money, all I could spare.”
“It’s hard to go hunting with a Yankee greenback,” Carter said. “You could’ve come for a visit, even a short one.”
Now it was Blake’s time to stand silently, searching for words. How could he explain something he himself didn’t fully understand?
“How could you run from them?” Carter cried out with tearful eyes. Zach said nothing, but the smaller boy’s eyes were just as moist.
“I’m not runnin’ now,” Blake said stiffening his spine. “Maybe after a time, you’ll find a way to understand.”
“Understand what?” Carter asked accusingly. “How you left without so much as a good-bye? How you never once cared enough to ride by?”
Never cared? Blake felt all the brightness, all the warmth within himself die. How many times had he stayed up wondering how they were faring, imagining what they looked like? How many sleepless nights came when a winter blizzard struck, just because he wondered if they were warm?
“I’m here now,” Blake mumbled. “For what it’s worth I’ve missed you. Maybe after the sting is gone, you’ll ride out and visit a bit.”
They turned their heads and returned to the house.
“They’re only boys,” Hannah told him afterward. “They’re confused. And hurt. They’ll come around.”
But as Blake mounted his horse and headed for Dix’s ranch, he couldn’t help wondering. Forgiving came hard at thirteen or fourteen. And he wasn’t able to forget the cold, hard look in their eyes.