Molly rode Pecos to the northwest, across flat prairies and small ravines, the landscape familiar but hardly soothing. Too many memories existed for her in this place, both in the past and the present. By sundown her destination became clear—what was left of the Hart ranch.
Darkness descended as Pecos trotted into the protected valley where the long-empty ranch house stood. The structure was still as it had been several weeks ago, when she had spent a rainy night inside with Matt. It all seemed a lifetime ago. So much had changed in such a short time.
A wave of grief hit her. She missed her mama profoundly, with a sharp and twisting pain. So many questions unanswered, and a future now uncertain again. If she could see her mama once more, what would she say about Davis Walker? Did Walker even live at this moment? Molly would probably never know. Perhaps it would be best to leave Texas altogether, leave the past behind once and for all, and never look back.
She glanced at the tombstones on the hill, the final resting place for her mama, Robert Hart and a little girl named Adelaide. The wind blew hard, whistling around Molly’s ears. The spirits were restless tonight. With a shiver, she wondered if her mama was among them.
As darkness descended, the decision to ride farther was made for her. She would spend the night here, then move on in the morning.
Taking Pecos to the dilapidated barn, she attempted to get her settled from the piercing tempest outside. As soon as she latched the stall, the sound of another horse startled her so much she jumped.
Molly couldn’t understand where the other animal had come from, but she noticed tack resting nearby.
Someone else is here.
Instinctively, she started saddling Pecos again, but a man’s voice stopped her cold.
“It’s the snake lady,” he said from behind her.
Stunned, Molly recognized the voice. It was the man with Walker that night by the creek. What was his name? Sawyer? As she glanced over her shoulder, the rifle he pointed left no doubt in Molly’s mind the man was dangerous.
“But you’re not just a snake lady, are you?” He smelled of heavy liquor. “You’re a Hart. Come home to visit, did you?”
Releasing the saddle, she turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“Came back for old time’s sake.” Sawyer shrugged. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Staring at him, a flicker of something swirled in her head, but it wouldn’t stick.
“Well, I remember you,” he continued. “You’re Molly, the middle girl. What a load of trouble you were back then. Who would’ve thought you’d rise from the dead? I really thought Davis was full of shit when he told me, but I guess you showing up here just proves it.”
In a rush, it all came back. George Sawyer had worked for her family, here at the ranch, ten years ago.
It was midday and all the men were out working, doing whatever they did around the ranch. Molly was never quite sure, was never really that interested anyhow. But today, Matt, Cale and Logan were repairing a portion of the corral, so it was the perfect opportunity to pester them. Usually, they didn’t hang about so close to the house during daylight hours.
Molly was using The Wren to practice her aim by shooting rocks off the far side of the enclosure, small splinters of wood flying in all directions each time she hit her target. The three young men were swearing at her, threatening her with a dunking in the horse trough if she didn’t stop.
Molly just laughed, and threatened to tell her mama and papa about their coarse language. Then, the sound of fabric tearing could be heard as Cale dropped one of the horizontal posts and it caught on Matt’s shirt.
“That’s just great,” Matt said, shaking his head.
Cale laughed.
Molly saw her opportunity. “I’ll go to the bunkhouse and get you another one, Matt.” She smiled sweetly as she trotted off to the building a few hundred yards away. Cale’s voice trailed behind her.
“What do you want to bet she hides some sort of rodent in it?”
She smiled again over her shoulder, causing Logan to laugh and Matt to look worried. She’d show them. She just needed to figure out where to hide her pet. It was a harmless brown snake, but she was certain it would still give one of them a good scare. Under Cale’s pillow seemed the most appealing spot, but the reptile probably wouldn’t stay put.
Pushing open the door to the bunkhouse, she started reconsidering her plan since Cale would probably shoot the darn thing.
It took a moment for Molly’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the large, empty room, bunks lined along the far wall. She stopped short; she wasn’t alone.
George, a young, wiry ranch hand held her younger sister Emma at the far end of the room. At first, Molly didn’t understand what she witnessed as the youth handled her little sister so roughly the girl was crying. But then comprehension hit her, along with a wave of fear and nausea. Without thinking, she reached into the pocket of her dress and grasped one of the larger rocks she had collected earlier in the day. Using her slingshot, she shot George Sawyer in the back of the head.
Using words she’d picked up from Matt and Cale, she yelled, “You son-of-a-bitch! You let her go!”
Rubbing the back of his head, George spun around. “What the hell?” His pants hung open from his hips.
Molly couldn’t believe what this sickening man was trying to do to her eight-year-old little sister. She loaded another rock and shot it into his face.
“You little piece of shit,” he cried, covering his face with his right hand while trying to pull his pants up with his left. Blood oozed between his fingers.
“Emma,” Molly said urgently. “Come here, quickly.”
Her little sister ran to her side.
“You’ll be sorry about this mister,” Molly said, her voice shaking. She put an arm around Emma and held her close.
“I’ll be sorry?” George cackled. “You little witch! You’ll regret this.”
“No,” Molly said calmly. “You’ll regret this. I’ll make sure of it.”
George made a move to lunge for her but stopped when Matt’s voice could be heard outside.
“Molly? You better be behaving yourself in there.”
George hesitated, then turned and went out the door at the back of the building.
When Matt entered, Molly still rigidly held Emma to her side.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
She almost told him, but a sob from Emma stopped her. Although unsure as to exactly what had happened, she did know it was bad. She also knew she would do anything to protect her sister.
“Nothing’s wrong. But I need to see my papa immediately.”
Matt seemed ready to argue, but she quickly moved past him, pulling Emma with her.
After calming her sister down, Molly found her father and without flinching lied to him, slowly and carefully. Instinctively, she knew how she told the story would determine George Sawyer’s fate. So, she told her papa how Sawyer cornered and attacked her in the bunkhouse. She also included several other incidences, untrue of course, but Molly suspected maybe that hadn’t been the case for Emma.
At all costs, she would protect her sister. Any shame on the victim would be shouldered by Molly. She and Emma agreed later that night not to speak of it again, to anyone. And the next day, George Sawyer was gone.