Chapter Seventeen

Cole hitched his thumbs in his gunbelt and considered her—her stance, her words, her determination. He knew what drove her, what ate at her. And he respected all that. But it was time she faced the truth. “I’m not worried about my horse, Kate. It’s you I’m worried about. You honestly think you can make the land run yourself?”

“I do. I’m a married woman now, remember? The law says a married woman—”

“I know the law, Kate. I’m the one who told you about it. And you also know that’s not what I mean.”

A nod of her head accompanied her words. “I know. But if I have to, Cole, if you force me to, I will. I’ll make the run myself. Somehow.”

“Somehow?” Stubbornness to match hers rose up in Cole. This was not the time for a battle of wills—especially one he appeared to be losing. He gestured sharply her way, pointing out her own fragile stance to her. “You can’t even let go of that wagon to stand on your own.” Instantly she let go of the wagon and put her hands to her waist … and wobbled in place. Cole exhaled sharply. “Look at you, will you? You’re beat to hell and weak as a kitten. You couldn’t run that horse race across open land—even if you did know how to ride a horse.”

Defiantly she said, “I’ll do what I have to. I always do.”

In an effort to calm himself, Cole concentrated on breathing in and out. Finally, he spoke quietly, firmly to her. “Yes, you do, Kate. You do what you have to do. I admire that about you. But it doesn’t always work out like you planned, does it?”

Her chin quivered, her gaze wavered … but then she looked him in the eye. Her expression mirrored her pleading words. “Help me, Cole. Please. It’s all I’ve got left.… that land. I can’t lose it, too.”

His heart suddenly melting for her, Cole could only stare her way, and give in to his own suspicion that he’d move heaven and earth to get her anything she wanted. Before he’d met her, he’d never known such a strong, determined, yet warm and loving woman as she was. In fact, he’d never admired another woman, except his sister, as much as he did Kate. One minute she was as strong as an oak, and in the next, she was as fragile as a weeping willow. But either way, she didn’t hesitate to stand against a world at odds with her. Cole understood that; he’d had to do much the same thing his whole life.

When he didn’t say anything, and she perhaps misinterpreted his silence, Kate turned away, showing him her slender back with a cascade of shiny black hair draped around her shoulders. Again she held on to the wagon and appeared to look around as she waited for him to give her his answer. Cole wanted nothing more than to reach out to her and take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. Because there was a war going on inside him—not just the question of whether he should make the run or make their getaway. He felt he needed to understand and then win this bigger battle inside himself before he could help her with hers.

Before I can help her? Cole didn’t like the cowardly feel of that. Why at this late date, he asked himself, was he hesitating about helping her? Especially given all she’d already done for him. What all she’s done for me? What does that mean? Surprised to learn that he’d obviously been holding back, if not harboring actual doubts, Cole tried to think his way through this. He directed his gaze away from Kate’s back, settling it instead on the ground, the better to concentrate on what was inside him, driving him. What has she done to help me—except with the kids? He gave his mind a chance to go where it would … and suddenly the truth burst before his eyes like fireworks. Cole’s breath left him in a sharp exhalation of sound.

Kate immediately turned to face him. “What’s wrong, Cole?”

Staring into her face, seeing his salvation there in her green eyes, and feeling his heart racing, Cole shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Kate. I need some time to think.”

Concern edged her eyes. “How long, Cole? The race begins at—”

“I know. At noon. I don’t need long, Kate. Just a few minutes. Please.” He’d never said please in his life that he could remember. But he was saying it now.

Kate considered him a moment, managing to look as if she still feared he’d take off the minute her back was turned and leave her pregnant and stranded with three kids. But then she agreed. “All right. I’ll go check on the kids, while you think about … whatever it is that’s troubling you.” With that, she turned around and walked away, slowly making her way through the tangle of underbrush that would eventually lead her to the creek and the children.

Cole watched her go. He watched the swing of her hair and of her hips. He watched the way she held her shoulders so straight and square. He watched the sway of her steps, the very way she walked—until she was out of sight, swallowed up by the tangled oaks she passed through. Only then did he admit to himself exactly how she’d helped him. Only then did he allow himself to consciously think what only a moment ago had surprised him so.

What Kate had done was make him realize that he—Cole Everett Youngblood, a thirty-year-old hired killer—could feel love. The truth of it nearly crushed his chest. Cole suddenly wrenched around, setting his hand to any task he could find—banking the fire, straightening the scattered belongings they’d pulled out of the wagons—anything mindless that allowed him to concentrate on his thoughts.

If he felt love for Kate—and he did—then didn’t that mean he was worthy of such love in return? He’d never before thought such a thing. Cole let drop from his hand the tin dishes he’d been stacking, and concentrated as hard as he could on the message taking shape in his head. A message that suddenly and clearly told him that the miracle of Kate, for him, was that never before—before her—had he thought he was someone a woman like her could love. Before her, he’d always kept his heart closed off, hadn’t allowed anyone to get close to him.

Absently, Cole ran a hand over his mouth … and wondered if he’d kept himself shut off because everyone he’d ever loved—his mother, his sister, and of course his father—had been lost to him. His mother and his sister had died. But his father had abandoned him and Charlotte. Cole frowned and wondered if it was when his father left that a tender heart, a heart not afraid to love and to hurt and possibly even to lose, was just too painful? Had he decided then that it was better to tell yourself you didn’t care—rather than to risk caring at all?

“Son of a bitch.”

Cole stared now into the distance, seeing the horizon and the rising sun as a new day in more than one way. Suddenly, to him, his old way of doing things seemed downright cowardly. As it turned out, he hadn’t been the tough loner all his life. No, he’d been the hurting little boy afraid to love. He now glanced in the direction Kate had gone—as if he could still see her there—and knew. Never again would he shut himself off. He knew that no matter how she felt about him—because she’d never really said—he loved her and would risk everything to win her love in return. It was that simple. And that hard.

He marveled now that all it had taken for him to understand this miracle of a tender heart was forgiving his father for leaving him and his sister like he had. Cole’s knees stiffened. Forgive him? Forgive my father? The old hardness in his heart reared its head. Cole fought it, telling himself no, telling himself he had to forgive and try to understand. He owed the old man that much. Cole put a hand to his forehead and rubbed there as if trying to erase the notion that he owed his father anything. Could it be true? Had he been inflicting wound after wound, all these years, on his father’s memory? He now realized yes, that was exactly what he’d been doing. Inflicting wounds.

And for that, he needed to ask for and to beg forgiveness. I do? Cole had trouble grasping this. Would seeking and offering forgiveness be easier to do since he now truly understood—in ways he never had before—his father’s desperation and his fears? Could it be that Abel Youngblood, all those years ago, had simply done what he’d felt he had to in order to secure a better life for his family? Cole found he could now accept that it might be so. After all, wasn’t that exactly what faced him today with his own little put-together family?

Yes, it was. Always before, Cole now realized, his father’s decision to leave his children behind while he searched for a way for them all to be together had been to Cole a bad decision, one that had never made any sense. Only now did he grasp another outcome to that long-ago decision. If he and Charlotte had been with their father and something had happened to him, then they could have been killed, as well.

Cole frowned, looking inside himself … and suddenly knew in his heart that was what had happened to his father. The man had been killed by someone. Or had suffered some fatal accident. He’d always meant to come back for his children but had been prevented from doing so. For the first time since he’d watched Abel Youngblood ride off twenty-three years ago, Cole allowed himself to accept that perhaps his father’d had no choice—just as Cole now had no choice in this matter of the land run. Either he made the run, or he lost Kate because she’d never forgive him if he didn’t.

So wasn’t he preparing to do the same thing he’d held such a grudge against his own father for doing: leaving his family behind? And couldn’t he be killed while hunting for that plot of land or when trying to stake it? Yes, he could. So how, Cole asked himself, was his father’s plight any different from his own today? The answer was simple—it wasn’t. What was different was Cole’s adult understanding of his father’s reasons for what he’d done, for how he’d gone about things. He realized now, from having to explain himself to three little kids—a first in his life—that they couldn’t always understand the reasons behind what he did. But he knew why he did things the way he did. And he always acted with their best interests at heart. Just as his father had done.

Cole shook his head. Son of a bitch. The old man didn’t leave because he didn’t care. He left because he did care. With that conclusion, one Cole had never before accepted because he’d never before today risked his own heart, a great weight was lifted from him. He suddenly felt strong and whole. And he had Kate Chandler Youngblood to thank for that. At once overcome with what he felt for her, with his fears for her, with his love and respect for her—no matter how she might feel in return—Cole saw again, in his mind’s eye, her warm and loving face. He looked up now to the blue sky above the tree-lined horizon … and saw a wheeling eagle high overhead.

He watched it a moment and then said, softly, directing his words skyward, “I’ve been wrong. Can you forgive me, Dad?”

Then … he waited. Within moments, a warm beam of sunshine seemed to settle on him, bathing him in its yellow glow.

Almost immediately upon its heels, he heard someone coming through the underbrush. Cole quickly swiped a hand under his nose, denying the emotion clogging his throat, and turned to see Kate coming back his way. Straining for composure, not wanting to be seen like this, Cole adjusted his Stetson and then sought her gaze, latching on to those green eyes that had set his world on fire.

“Are the kids doing what they’re supposed to be doing?” he asked, managing to impose a gruff tone into his voice, one that didn’t betray him.

She nodded. “They are. Like always.” She stopped a number of feet from him and stood there, looking everywhere but at him as she twisted her fingers together … and waited.

Cole smiled, his heart going out to her. He knew for what she waited. Still, right now he wanted nothing more than to stroke her cheek with his fingers and tell her how much he loved her. But he did none of those things, instead staying where he was as he softly called out her name. “Kate?”

She jerked her attention back to him as if he’d yelled. Her eyes were rounded with expectancy. “Yes?”

“I did my thinking.”

“And?”

“And you win. I’ll keep my promise to you. I’ll make the run and get you that land.”

Closing her eyes, as if immensely relieved, Kate nodded and exhaled. Finally, she opened her eyes, smiling shakily as she stepped up to him and went into his embrace … at last allowing him to hold her close. “Thank you, Cole. That’s all I’ve ever asked you to do.”

*   *   *

So it had all come down to this. The land run of 1889. About an hour away, as best Kate could figure it. And in the end, she was going to miss it. A humorless chuckle escaped her. Life sure seemed to turn in funny ways, she decided, thinking now of life as a living, breathing thing that purposely set out to throw your plans and dreams right back into your face—when you least expected it.

She felt she had proof of that fanciful notion, too. Because, less than a week ago, when she’d finally arrived in Arkansas City, she now recalled, she’d wanted nothing more than to claim her own land herself. But then she’d found out how impossible that was—and had forced Cole to marry her before he made the run for her. But once she’d gotten married, she’d decided again to make the run herself, thinking that was the only way she had to spare the children, should some hired gunman come looking for her and take out his wrath on them, too. Only that killer turned out to be Cole.

But he hadn’t been the only one. She’d become a killer, too.

Kate swallowed, overcome again with the horror of what she’d done last night. She could never have foreseen that she’d take the life of anyone, much less Norah Talmidge. Kate scrubbed her hands over her face, barely able to withstand the words—“I killed Norah Talmidge”—or the thought of the act behind them. For as long as she lived, Kate didn’t think she’d ever forget the sound of that rock thunking against Norah’s skull. Or the sight of all the blood. There’ll be a price to pay for all that, she reminded herself.

Because the murder of someone of Norah Talmidge’s wealth and social prominence wouldn’t simply go unremarked. Even if she survived Mr. Talmidge’s wrath—he may have fancied her in his bed, but he’d not forgive her for taking his wife’s life—then surely the law out here would have something to say about murder, even if it was committed in self-defense. But who would believe her, a penniless maid on the run from New York City?

Kate finally lowered her hands and turned her face up to the sun, gulping into her starved lungs great draughts of fresh air. It was all falling apart—her plans, her life, maybe even her sanity. She wasn’t sure she could stand here another minute, atop the crest of this gentle slope of a hill where they’d made camp last night, and do nothing. Especially in light of all the activity going on below. Down there, on the plains for as far as the eye could see, was all the excitement and pageantry she’d been used to seeing in the huge parades in New York City. Only out here on the plains, with nothing as witness but the open land itself, it was all too much to take in.

Kate didn’t know where to look first. She could scarcely believe the sheer numbers of would-be settlers here for this event. Thousands upon thousands of folks milled about below as they readied themselves for the run. Even up here she could hear their noise and bustle, could almost taste their excitement. Somewhere among them was Cole. Kate wondered what that was like, being him and sitting there atop that tall, long-legged roan and taking in everything. She wondered if he thought of all the other folks surrounding him as his adversaries, since any one of them might end up trying to stake the same hundred and sixty acres he meant to claim for her.

That thought frightened Kate. She sure as heck hoped he was the first one to stake that section close to Guthrie Station that they’d talked about. Already in her heart that plot of earth was her home. She wasn’t sure she could stand it if she lost that, too. Kate fought back the tears. No. I won’t think about that now. Later. Not now. She ought to rest, to lie down, she knew that. Her body needed the quiet time to heal. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even as tired and wrung out as she was, why should she? There was no more point to conserving her energy.

Besides, right now she had too much else to worry about. She looked behind her and saw a sprawling campsite chock-full of three kids playing, four mules grazing, two wagons hunkered down low to the ground, and a napping dog named Kitty. An unexpected and perhaps lifesaving chuckle escaped Kate. She decided that maybe she’d been looking at this all wrong. She should—instead of counting the tragedies—be counting her blessings. That seemed like such a hard thing to do. Especially today of all days. But maybe she should try. Because she had many blessings in her life. Many.

Kate bowed her head and swore right then that from here on out, she’d be the best and most loving mother and fierce caretaker of everything in her keeping that she could be. She had to be, she felt, or maybe they too would be taken away from her. She looked up, feeling the tightness in her chest, like iron bands wrapping around her and constricting her breathing. If that happened, if she lost one more thing she held dear, well, then, she wasn’t sure she’d want to live. As if hearing her own maudlin tone, Kate rushed to assure herself that she wasn’t being an overwrought miss, by any means. Just a practical one.

After all, if she couldn’t even hold on to one tiny thing that mattered to her, if she continued to lose everything and everyone who did matter, if she was never right, no matter how good and kind she tried to be, well then, maybe she just didn’t know how to live. It was really that simple. And that hard. Because sometimes, it seemed to her, certain folks just didn’t make it. They got eaten up by their troubles and never seemed to recover. They just dried up and blew away in a wind very much like the one blowing now. Was she one of those lost people? she wondered. Or could she go on?

She had no idea. She just figured that the day-to-day living would bear out her fate. And her measure of toughness. Kate paused there a moment in her thoughts. She’d never thought of herself as tough. That word, to her, seemed more likely to fit someone like Cole. Kate smiled. Cole. He was such a good man. Before he’d ridden off for the border, he’d given her strict orders to stay here and stay hidden until he got back. He’d then handed over his rifle to her and had even shown her how to fire the weapon. Her arms still hurt from the rifle’s weight. She hadn’t proven very good with firearms, but Cole had told her if worst came to worst, just aim and shoot. It’d make an impression on anyone threatening her, he’d assured her.

Also before he left, as he’d sat atop his roan and had looked down at her—surrounded by three kids and an old hound dog—he had told her again that he loved her. Just right out loud and in front of them all. The boys had gasped in embarrassed surprise and Willy had poked at Joey until Cole had told him to settle down. With Lydia wrapped around her legs and caught off guard like she’d been, Kate had lowered her gaze to the ground … and nodded. That was all. A nod. She hadn’t known what to say. He’d quickly covered the awkward silence by telling them all to stay put and that he’d be back as soon as he could.

Kate took the time now to think about her feelings. Did she love Cole Youngblood … her husband? She did. His nearness made her yearn for his touch—and she’d never thought, after Edgar Talmidge, that she’d ever want a man to touch her again. But she did. She wanted Cole’s touch on her skin, his kiss on her mouth … and only his. The truth was, she wanted nothing more than to be able to lie in his arms for the rest of her natural days. She wanted every morning and every night to hear his words, his voice … they were music to her ears. And his laughter healed her.

Yes, she loved him. But she couldn’t afford to allow herself to be taken over by her love for him. Because he didn’t intend to stay with her once her home was built. A stab of pain knifed through Kate’s heart. Of late, she reflected, her life had been about losing—everything and everyone she loved. Especially Cole. It was plain to see that his home was his saddle. And his comfort was his gun. She knew that and had no reason—his professed feelings for her aside—to believe that he’d stay forever. And that being so, saying those three words aloud to him and thereby making them even more real and hurtful to live with once he was gone from her life—well, it just made no sense.

Exhaling her cares and woes, as well as her thoughts of Cole, Kate focused on the moment and all its problems. Looking about and turning slightly, she hit her foot against something. Looking down, she saw the loaded rifle she’d laid beside her on the spongy ground when she’d come up here for a few minutes by herself. She certainly hoped she didn’t have occasion to use the gun today. It seemed to her that she’d lived through enough excitement and horror in the past two weeks to last her a lifetime. So hopefully today would come and go without a hitch, and by this evening, she and Cole and the kids and Kitty would be resting on her land.

Her land. It was hers—despite its also being in Cole’s name and despite him being the one to actually make the run. And yes, she painted a pretty picture in her head of how it would be, she knew that. But the truth was that as the day wore on, she hardly cared if it rained or shined. She hardly cared if Cole got the land for her or not. She’d said she cared. She’d told him the land meant everything to her. And it did. Or it would … later. But not today. No, today—on a morning already too full of loss—all she wanted to do was lie down and cry and think about her baby. But if she did that, if she began crying, she feared she’d never be able to stop.

Just then, the mid-morning April breeze blew cool and lifted the long hair off Kate’s neck and shoulders. Its kiss felt strangely like a warning and made her shiver. Heeding it, and recalling Cole’s warning to be on the lookout for Edgar Talmidge, she again looked all about her. But nothing out of the ordinary met her eye. She hadn’t expected it would … because poor old beat-up Kitty wasn’t barking. When he was quiet, all was well. Still, Kate chastised herself for relying solely on the hound as her beacon.

Because hadn’t she only just counted, among her responsibilities, remaining vigilant over these three kids, four mules, and one ornery hound dog? That Kitty, I swear. Kate said a silent thank-you that, mercifully, Kitty sported only a lump on his head but no other injuries from his attempt to protect her yesterday. Today he seemed fine. Kate wished she could say the same thing about herself.

No. No feeling sorry for myself. I need to be more like Kitty and not think of myself. I need to stand prepared to do whatever it takes to keep us all together and to let the children know they’re safe and loved. Hearing herself, Kate took a moment to bask in the rightness of that sentiment. It was a good way of thinking. She liked herself for thinking it. And thought maybe Charlotte Anderson would, too.

A smile came to Kate’s face. She felt certain that she’d somehow formed a covenant between herself and Cole’s deceased sister. This filled her with a sense of wonder … and told her that perhaps all was not lost. Because Charlotte Anderson’s children were now hers, and in ways she hadn’t even understood until this morning’s … event. In ways she couldn’t even think about yet. Too much else was pressing in on her right now—in much the same way that her hand was pressing against her swollen belly, Kate belatedly realized. Evidently, while she’d been lost somewhere in her thoughts, a part of her mind had allowed her hand to stray there. My baby. Kate’s chin came up. She closed her eyes, slowly shaking her head … my baby. And wanted to die.

Just then, a childish scream—Lydia’s—rent the air. Wrenched out of her sad reverie, Kate jerked around, looking down the back slope of the hill to where the children had been moments ago when she’d last checked on them. She expected to see one or the other of the brothers messing with the little girl. That always got a squeal out of Lydia—

Kate gasped … and froze with fear. Her heart leapt painfully in her chest as a cold numbness seeped through her. Her warning for the boys died on her lips. She lowered her hand.

At the base of the hill stood Edgar Talmidge … with a howling Lydia clutched tightly in his arms. Next to him, holding the reins of their two horses, stood his driver, a surly, rough-looking fellow who, Kate knew firsthand, had no qualms about his employer’s underhanded goings-on. Yesterday, more than once, he’d been pleased to handle Kate roughly.

“Good morning, Kate,” Edgar Talmidge called out to her, a triumphant yet conniving smile on his face, even as he fought to keep a hold on the crying and protesting Lydia. “Did you sleep well last night after murdering my wife?”

Kate licked at her lips, felt her chest tighten. Edgar Talmidge looked plumb crazy. All wild and dirty, much as if he’d spent the night in the woods, perhaps digging a grave with his own hands. While one part of Kate’s mind paid strict attention to the danger that he posed, another part insisted on running through a litany of fearful concerns that crowded her consciousness. Where are the boys? Where’s Kitty? Why didn’t he bark? What’s Mr. Talmidge done with them? Kate, pick up the gun. Use it—no, be careful. He might shoot you before you can pick it up. Watch out for Lydia. I can’t shoot at them. I might miss and hit the baby. Oh, Cole, where are you?

Spurred by Lydia’s cries, and by all her worries, Kate lurched forward … toward her hated and very dangerous enemy. But his driver instantly pulled his gun and trained it on Kate. She stopped, afraid of what he’d do, afraid he might choose to shoot one of the children instead of her. Kate cut her gaze back to Mr. Talmidge. With his arms wrapped around Lydia, he looked as threatening as a big poisonous snake.

“Let her go,” Kate called out. “You’ve got no quarrel with her. Just put her down and leave her be.” She couldn’t believe the calm steadiness of her own voice—or the pleading note that came into it with her next words. “She’s just a baby.”

Mr. Talmidge smiled … an evil sight, to be sure. “A baby, huh?” He turned the scared and sniffling little girl about in his arms, looking her over as if he’d not realized it before now. “I believe you’re right, Kate,” he called out, again directing his gaze up the hill to where she stood. “I came here to get a baby. And look … now I have one. Imagine that.”

He means to keep Lydia. Fright burst through Kate, weakening her knees. Fighting it, she fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms. “I said let her be. It’s me you want. Not her. Just put her down.”

As she watched—and agonized over her own helplessness, even with such a powerful rifle so close at hand—Edgar Talmidge, a bearishly thick man of light coloring, again held Lydia out at arm’s length and looked the little girl up and down. Kate feared he meant to dash the crying child to the ground. Over my dead body, he will, she thought … as she surreptitiously eyed the rifle at her feet.

A metallic click—a trigger hammer being pulled back—accompanied the driver’s called-out warning to her. “Don’t even think it, missy. I see you looking at that gun up there with you.”

Kate tensed, meeting the gunman’s gaze. His eyes were shaded by his floppy-brimmed hat. But Kate remembered from yesterday that his eyes were watery blue and empty-looking, much as if he had no soul. He wouldn’t care what he did or who he shot, she believed, because he had nothing to forfeit to the devil. “That’s a smart girl,” he said. “Now keep your hands where I can see them.” He then turned to his boss. “Go ahead, Mr. Talmidge. Say your piece.”

“Thank you, Hedges,” Mr. Talmidge responded … as if this were a drawing room and they were all polite society. He then turned to Kate. “Now, Kate. At last, it’s just me and you. Like old times, isn’t it?”

A surge of hatred swept through Kate. “There never was a me and you,” she told him. “Never. There was only you taking from me. And I’m not going to let you do it again.”

Looking at him now, watching the effect of her words on him and even seeing his expression harden, Kate wondered why she’d ever been afraid of him. Because suddenly she wasn’t. In fear’s place, a murderous hatred now coursed through her, a hatred that meant his death—if she got even half a chance.

“You’re not going to let me?” His chuckle rang derisively. “I don’t need your permission, Kate. The Talmidges take what we want. You should know that by now. Especially since it’s my seed already growing in your belly.”

Leaving Kate to seethe in her helplessness, Edgar Talmidge turned his attention to Lydia and wiped at her tears as they coursed down her cheeks. He cooed some quiet words at the baby … words that didn’t quite reach Kate. Words that didn’t succeed in quieting the child.

Kate’s breath caught. To have that man’s hands on this child almost killed her. No doubt, he’d made the gesture to prove to Kate that he still had the upper hand … because he still held Lydia. The message wasn’t lost on Kate. Her chest constricted with fear for the little girl. Just then, Lydia shoved Edgar Talmidge’s hand away from her face and shrieked, “No. I don’t want you. I want Kate. Her’s my mommy.”

She called me mommy. Kate’s heart nearly tripped over itself. She looked at the girl’s red contorted face as she renewed her struggles against her captor. She expected Edgar Talmidge to be angry and insulted. But instead of frowning, he was grinning at Lydia. An illness engulfed Kate. She’d been right. He meant to keep her. Oh, dear God. She had to do something—and now. Divert his attention somehow. “Where are the boys? What did you do with them?”

Mr. Talmidge shifted Lydia in his arms—the little girl fisted her hands and rubbed at her eyes while sobbing quietly—and exchanged a glance with his driver, who looked this way and that around the campsite. Then Edgar Talmidge turned to Kate. “Boys, Kate? I assure you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

For some reason, Kate believed him. Relief coursed through her. The boys were okay. But where were they? Had they wandered off and didn’t know what was going on? She immediately rejected that. In the time that had elapsed between her last check on them and Lydia’s scream, they couldn’t have wandered far enough away not to have heard their sister’s piercing yell. Perhaps, having a good hold on Kitty, they were hiding and watching. If so, Kate hoped they stayed hidden. The last thing she needed was three children being held captive.

“But that brings up a fascinating point, Kate. Tell me something,” Edgar called out, jerking her out of her fearful thoughts. “Tell me about this fascinating ability of yours to attract children to you. How do you do that?” When Kate didn’t answer him, he let her know his displeasure. “What’s the matter, Kate? You don’t feel like talking to me? Maybe the cat’s got your tongue.”

Kate swallowed, feeling a trickle of sweat run down her back. She focused on her enemy now, knowing the moment drew nearer when she’d have to risk everything—or lose it all. “Nothing’s got my tongue, Mr. Talmidge,” she finally called out as she started down the hill … slowly putting one foot in front of the other. She divided her attention between the man she hated most in the world and his armed henchman, who still had his six-shooter trained on her—and could at any moment pull the trigger. “I’m coming down now. And I’m leaving the gun where it is in the grass. I’ll go with you—”

“No, Miss Kate! Don’t do it. Don’t go with him!”

Horrified, Kate lurched to a stop and jerked around. Behind her, not twenty feet away, stood Joey at the top of the hill. Willy, wide-eyed and struggling, was next to his older brother and had his arms wrapped around Kitty’s neck. For his part, Kitty strained and jerked against the boy’s hold on him and snarled in the direction of Mr. Talmidge—who held the dog’s beloved Lydia. They must have crawled through the underbrush and then skirted the hill to get behind me, Kate thought.

Before she could move or say a word, Joey did the most heart-stopping thing Kate could have imagined. He grabbed up Cole’s rifle, hefted it to his shoulder, and cocked it. Gasping in fear because she knew that all the men standing below her had to do was move over a few feet and Joey would be their target, not her, Kate stretched out a hand to the armed little boy and yelled, “Joey, no!”

“Get down, Miss Kate,” he yelled right back. “I mean it. I aim to shoot that man holding on to my sister.”

“Joey, for God’s sake, put the gun down!” Kate grabbed up her skirt, meaning to run up the hill toward the boy. But her legs didn’t seem to work right. With her muscles locking and burning, she fell down on her stomach. Pain surged through her, but Kate’s only thought was for the boys. Dear God, help me, she cried out in her mind. Don’t let me lose these children, too. She struggled to her feet and again held out a cautionary hand to Joey. Even though sheer terror for all of them coursed bone-deep through her, she noticed her hand wasn’t shaking in the least. Could it be that her prayer had been heard?

She had to believe that it had. Anything else was unthinkable. And so, she gained in strength and calmness—a calm that allowed her to talk rationally to the scared but brave little boy trying to defend his family. “Listen to me, Joey. I want you to think about something. How would you feel if you missed him and accidentally shot Lydia?”

With the rifle held steadily at his shoulder, Joey sighted down its length, his black eyes never wavering from his intended target. “I ain’t about to miss and hit Lydia. Now, get out of my way, Miss Kate.”

Kate licked at her dry lips and shook her head. “No, Joey. I’m not going to do that. I can’t.”

Joey exhaled sharply. “Why not?” he wanted to know.

Kate wrestled for the right words, even as she wondered why the two armed men behind her were so quiet, why they hadn’t already killed the lot of them. What were they waiting for? Then, with blinding clarity, it came to her. They didn’t shoot now for the same reason that Edgar Talmidge, after hiring a killer to end her life, had apparently changed his mind and come out here himself to stop Cole from killing her. This greedy man, with his father dying and his wife dead, desperately needed Kate’s baby to inherit his money. Therefore, he still needed Kate alive. Although not these three children.

Kate exhaled, felt the day’s growing warmth and her strength’s steady waning. She looked into Joey’s black eyes—so like his uncle’s—and knew she had to find the right words to convince him to put the gun down. Those words, she knew, would have to be the hardest ones of all, the words from her heart. “Joey, honey, I won’t get out of your way so you can kill that man. I can’t.”

His frown said he didn’t like her answer at all. “Why not?”

“Because, Joey … because I love you. It’s that simple. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. But it could if you don’t put that gun down right now.” He didn’t move. The rifle didn’t even waver. Kate swallowed, felt the renewed pounding of her heart. “Please, Joey? I’m asking you to do this for me.”

Tears sprang to Joey’s eyes. He sniffed loudly and cried out, “I can’t, Miss Kate. I’m scared to. He’ll hurt my sister. And all of us. I just know he will.”

Desperation ate at Kate. “No he won’t, Joey. He just wants me.”

Tears spilled over and ran down Joey’s cheeks. “Well, he can’t have you. My Uncle Cole loves you and went plumb crazy when you were carried off yesterday. And so did we. See, me and Willy and Lydia, we love you, too. And I ain’t letting no bad man cart you away again.”

Kate’s heart had never felt warmer … or colder. The children loved her. And were about to get themselves killed because they did. Her worst nightmare come to life. Kate’s pride in Joey’s bravery warred with her urge to shake the stubbornness out of him. How long would the men behind her remain patient? she wondered. After all, as she’d already told Joey, the only one Edgar Talmidge needed was her. Kate felt certain time was slipping away from her. She feared the men would simply sidestep behind her and—

Two shots rang out.

They came whizzing by Kate … from behind her. The bullets missed her, but she screamed and stumbled, falling forward to the hard ground. Immediately, she struggled to regain her feet, clawing at the grass and dirt, crying out and fighting her long skirt, which became tangled around her legs. She feared another bullet would end her life at any moment. But she feared more what the first two bullets had already done.

Because at the top of the hill, she’d seen Kitty take off and had seen the rifle go flying—as if it had been torn from Joey’s hands. At the same moment both boys had yelped as if with pain and had fallen down the other side of the hill.