“Why?”
“Because I killed them.” If his statement upset her, she tried not to show it, but he knew her too well now. He could see the slight change in the color of her eyes, hear the subtle indrawn breath.
“Killed who?”
“My brother.” He swallowed over the constriction in his throat and continued, “His wife. Their son, Matthew.”
“I don’t believe that, Eamon,” she cut him off. “I don’t believe you killed anyone, least of all your family. You’re a good man. I see it in how you treat the children and the animals. I see it in how solicitous you are of Granny. What’s more, I know this here.” She laid her hand over her heart.
“I may not have pulled the trigger,” he shook his head, and for a moment, her image blurred as his eyes misted with tears, “but it’s my fault they’re dead just the same.”
She didn’t say a word, didn’t refute his statement, but simply looked at him. There was no condemnation on her face, only kindness and love, but it was the soft glow in her eyes that finally convinced him he could reveal everything. He grabbed the brandy and filled her glass, then poured one for himself. He took a swallow and allowed the warmth of the liquid to help loosen his tongue. Then, glass in hand, he resumed pacing.
“We had a good life growing up, even though we moved around a lot. Da was a lawman, but never liked to stay in one place for very long. Mam and us kids followed him from place to place, town to town, until we settled for good in Colorado. Da loved it here. So did Mam.”
He glanced at her. She sat in the same position, but her body wasn’t nearly as stiff. She sipped at the amber liquid, raising the glass to her lips, but she never took her eyes off him. Encouraged, he continued, “My oldest brother hated moving around so much. He swore he’d never move again once he ‘growed’ up, and he didn’t. He married Mary Campbell, a lovely young widow with a son and a ranch on the verge of bankruptcy. He put down roots, and he was happy—loved Mary, loved her son and their daughter, loved working the ranch together. It was a hard life, but a good one. They were beginning to make a profit, breeding racehorses, like you do. I was so proud of them and happy they’d found each other.”
He stopped pacing, slumped into the chair opposite her, and picked up the pipe resting in a glass dish on the table. He gestured with it. “My father’s pipe. Mam gave one to each of us boys after Da passed away.” He studied the fine wood grain of the pipe’s bowl, assailed with memories of life before the Logans changed everything. The scar on his chest throbbed, and he put the pipe back in the dish. “Teague became deputy, then took over as sheriff after Da died. Brock was already keeping the peace in Colorado Springs by that time, and I was a U.S. Marshal, traveling from place to place. We managed to see each other as often as possible, even more so after Mam passed away a few months after Da.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face, weary deep down in his bones, still afraid to tell her everything, but knowing he must, whether he wanted to or not. Knowing and doing were two different things, but if he wanted any kind of future with Theo—and he did—he had to try, no matter how much it hurt. “It all changed so fast, I . . . ” He swallowed the rest of his words along with his brandy, then poured them both more, leaning across the space between the bed and his chair.
“What happened?”
“The Logan Gang.”
She gasped but, otherwise, did not interrupt.
“They tried to steal Kieran’s horses. The older members of the gang had gotten away—along with several valuable horses—but the youngest member, Jefferson, hadn’t been so lucky. Kieran caught him and dragged him to town. Teague locked him up.” He took another drink, then placed his glass on the table.
“I wasn’t there at that point—I was in Canon City with a prisoner, but my understanding from Teague was that the moment Jefferson was put in the jail cell, he started promising—threatening really—that his brothers would spring him, no matter what it took. We all knew about the Logan Gang, knew what they were capable of, had seen the destruction and devastation they could leave in their wake, so Teague took the threat seriously. How could he not? He telegraphed Brock and me.”
He stood and strode to the window, resting his hands on the sill as his gaze took in the stable and Granny’s garden in the moon’s glow. “Traveler and I left Canon City immediately, and I admit, I nearly killed my horse, forcing him to run too hard for too long—”
His words ran dry, but the pain in his heart remained. He’d always heard that confession was good for the soul, but it certainly wasn’t helping him. His heart hurt just as much as it always did. The scar left from Logan’s bullet throbbed with each beat as he confessed to the event that started his lonely journey, until he found Morning Mist Farms—and her. “I was late anyway, Theo. I was supposed to help Brock move Kieran and his family to a safe place, but Traveler picked up a rock in his shoe and I lost valuable time removing it. When I finally arrived at Whispering Pines, I thought everything was all right . . . but I was wrong.”
He licked his dry lips. “I heard the back door banging against the house—at least, that’s what I thought it was at the time—but it wasn’t. The sound I’d heard was the shots that killed Kieran, Mary, and Matthew. The only ones who had survived the shooting were Brock and Desi Lyn, Kieran’s young daughter, and Brock almost didn’t make it. I couldn’t save them.” He drew a deep breath, unable to help the shiver that raced up his spine. “Hell, I couldn’t even save myself. Tell Logan shot me on the front porch. Stood not twenty feet away and pulled the trigger. And he smiled as he did it. Teague found us later.”
There was more, so much more to tell her. He swallowed, and forged on despite his pain . . . and hers, for surely that would come. “He’d come to the ranch after the Logans shot up the town in their attempt to free Jefferson. So many dead, including most of the Logans. So many wounded. Too much heartbreak.” He took a breath and finally admitted his deepest secret. “I . . . I could have stopped it before it even happened, Theo. I could have chased down and caught the Logans when I had the chance several weeks before . . . before they rode into town, before they shot up everything and everyone, but it wasn’t possible at the time. I already had three prisoners I was bringing to Canon City . . . ”
He stopped, unable to continue without looking into her beautiful eyes, even though he was afraid of what he might see. Fear. Revulsion.
He didn’t see any of those things when he turned around. Instead, her eyes were wide in her pale face, bright with the tears that filled them, her lashes spiky from those that had already fallen down her cheeks. Her body trembled so violently, he thought she would break apart. The brandy glass slipped from her hand but didn’t break as it dropped to the thick rug on the floor. He rushed to her side and pressed the palm of his hand to her cheek.
She moved, purposefully dislodging his hand from her face, but her gaze continued to bore into him.
“Theo? Are you—?”
“Kieran MacDermott was your brother?” She interrupted him before he had a chance to finish asking his question, her voice so tight and filled with anguish, he winced, feeling her pain as keenly as he felt his own. He wanted to touch her, hold her, give comfort as all the truths settled in her mind, but she wouldn’t have allowed that . . . and he knew it.
“Yes.”
“The little town where all this happened was Paradise Falls, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Almost three years ago now.”
She drew in her breath sharply, a gasp of horror that changed to a cry of utter pain as she jumped to her feet and ran from his room. From him. As he had feared, but he couldn’t let her go.
Theo made it past the water pump and nearly to the gypsy wagon turned playhouse before she stopped and dropped to the ground. She held herself, arms folded across her stomach, as if in physical pain and rocked. She didn’t cry, didn’t wail to the heavens over her loss, although he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. He came up behind her, sank to his knees, and wrapped his a
rms around her. Or tried to. She pushed him away and held herself tighter.
His heart thundered in his chest at her rejection. “Theo? Talk to me.”
She gulped air, then wiped her face with the back of her hand, and turned to face him. “I was there. We were there. In Paradise Falls. That’s where . . . ” She inhaled deeply and swallowed, her throat moving. The pain in her eyes and on her face was almost his undoing. His heart hurt, the pain worse than anything he’d ever experienced. Even getting shot didn’t compare to what he felt now.
He tried once more to wrap his arms around her, afraid she’d run from him again, but she didn’t want him. He let her push him away. Defeated and utterly ashamed, he rose to his feet and just stood there, waiting for what she would do next, not knowing what to say or do to ease her pain.
“That’s where I lost Henry. A shootout in the streets of that quiet little town. Henry and I were leaving the hotel when the shooting started. We had just bought Daphne from Whispering Pines, from Kieran, and were making arrangements to come home.” Her eyes wide and shiny with tears, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze searched his face. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” Her breath hitched as she swiped the tears from her eyes, her cheeks. “You’ve known all along who I was and what happened to Henry.”
Eamon shook his head. “I swear to you, I didn’t know who you were when I first came here. How could I?” He hung his head. He’d known telling her would be hard, would probably break his heart, but he hadn’t expected the pain would be this devastating. “I . . . I realized later. Something Quincy said struck a memory for me, but I . . . I couldn’t tell you. I was a coward. I thought about leaving so many times. I could have been gone and you’d never know, but I . . . I fell in love with you, Theo.” Her eyes widened at that, but she didn’t interrupt. “And this place. The children . . . ” He swallowed over the lump in his throat and blinked back the tears blurring his vision.
“I couldn’t leave, couldn’t force myself to walk away like I’d done so many times before. You helped me—you all did—made me see that despite what happened, I was still a good man, I still had value. I was worthy.” He took a breath and searched her face, looking for forgiveness and for what he saw in her eyes when they made love. “Don’t hate me. Please.” His voice cracked, the constriction in his throat so tight, he could hardly speak. “I don’t think I could bear it.”
She studied him, her gaze intent, the moon’s glow clearly showing her indecision—and pain—as those emotions played over her features. She was hurt—so very hurt. He’d known she would be, which was why he couldn’t tell her of his past and the part that he had played in hers, however inadvertently. “Am I still worthy, Theo? Can you forgive me?” He held out his hand, palm up, his breath stuck in his lungs, his heart pounding much too fast.
If she didn’t take his hand, he’d know.
It only took a moment before she placed her hand in his, but in his heart and mind, that moment seemed to take forever.
“There is nothing to forgive, Eamon. I understand why you didn’t tell me. It hurt too much for both of us. I don’t blame you for what happened.”
Her voice, normally hoarse and throaty, was crystal clear, and the relief washing through him nearly brought him to his knees. How he remained standing became a mystery.
“And I could never hate you. I love you too much to hate you.”
She loves me. She forgives me. He helped her stand so he could pull her into his arms. She came willingly and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. The scent of roses wafted from her hair, filling him with a sense of peace, despite the knowledge that come morning, he’d be gone. Despite the fact he loved her and she returned the feeling—perhaps because of it—he would never be able to live his life in peace while Tell Logan still breathed. And he would never be able to hunt for the man who’d almost killed him if Theo hadn’t forgiven him.
Theo pulled away from him but remained in his embrace. She studied his face, then tilted her head. “There’s more, isn’t there? More you want to tell me. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to hear it.” She gave a shaky, nervous laugh just before her knees buckled.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to his room where he laid her on his bed, then picked up the glass from the floor. He turned away, grabbed the bottle of brandy from the small table, and poured the amber liquid, filling just the very bottom of her glass, then thought better of it and added another dollop. She’d need it for what he needed to tell her now.
“What is this?”
The strident tone in her voice startled him, and he ended up pouring more of the liquor into the glass than he intended. He took a deep breath, put the bottle down, and turned to see Theo sitting up, the pillow on her lap, his gun belt in her hand, and her face—dear Lord!—her face was so pale, even her lips. He struggled to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He had wanted to explain to her why he needed to go after Logan in his own way, in his own time, but his time had run out. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”
Eamon tried to give her the liquor, but she wouldn’t take it. He set it down on the little table, let out his breath in a long sigh, and took his gun belt from her hands. “Yes. I’m going after him.”
“Why you, Eamon?” She shot up from the bed, her movements quick and agitated. “Let the law handle it. Report what you’ve seen and what you’ve heard to the sheriff, and let him arrest this Logan person.”
“I’ve already been to the sheriff, Theo, while you and the children had ice cream. He’s not going to do a thing about it. He told me as much.”
“Eamon, you can’t . . . ”
He studied her, his gaze roaming over her face. Anxiety and fear made her eyes darker. Her voice trembled, as did her entire being. Despite what he saw and how it broke his heart, he simply shook his head. “I have to do this. That man . . . that man left me for dead. That man is responsible for killing innocent people. That man, I believe, is the one who set your stable on fire.” He grabbed her, then drew her close even though she stiffened in his arms. “I’m doing this for you. For us.”
She pulled away from him as fresh tears filled her eyes. “You’re not doing this for me. It’s for you. So you can have your revenge.”
“It’s not revenge, Theo. It’s justice.”
“The hell it is!” She yanked herself out of his arms and stumbled across the room, once again running from him. This time, he had to let her go. She gulped air as she opened the door and stood on the threshold. “He’ll kill you, Eamon. His brothers took my Henry from me, and he’ll take you, too.”
“I’m sorry, Theo.”
“I love you, damn it, and I want to build a life with you, but if you do this—if you leave to search for him—don’t come back.” She closed the door softly behind her. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to not chase after her again. He closed his eyes and silently counted to ten, then ten again. Finally, he strapped his gun belt around his hips, the weight familiar, like an old friend. He fitted his hat to his head, grabbed his bedroll and the saddlebags he’d packed earlier, and took one last look around. Spotting his pipe, he swiped it from the tabletop and slipped it into his shirt pocket. His gaze drifted to the bed. Memories assailed him, and he forced himself to turn away. He blew out the lantern, leaving the room in darkness—like his heart.
Theo was nowhere in sight as he made his way into the barn and lit a lantern. Traveler nickered at him as he pulled his worn leather saddle from the shelf where it had been since he rode onto the farm. “Are you ready to ride, my friend?” The horse tossed his head and shuffled around his stall, seemingly anxious to run as Eamon placed a blanket, then a saddle on his back and tightened the cinches.
He led Traveler past the barn’s big, open entrance, went back inside to blow out the lantern and close the door, and then climbed into the saddle and gently nudged the horse into a walk. He did not look back—his resolve would have faltered if he did—as he guided Traveler dow
n the drive and turned onto the road that would bring him to Pearce . . . and the possibility he would meet his Maker sooner rather than later.
Chapter 16
He was gone.
Theo had stood by the window in her bedroom last night and watched Eamon ride away. He never turned around, never looked back. And she hadn’t moved since, standing like a statue in this one spot, her gaze focused on the drive where it turned onto the road to Pearce. The last image she had of him was his broad back and the moonlight reflecting off the silver band on his hat.
Regret filled her while a litany of recriminations abounded in her mind. She shouldn’t have walked out on him. She shouldn’t have let him go. She certainly shouldn’t have told him not to come back, but she had hoped by doing so, she’d make him realize what he would lose if he left. It hadn’t—which hurt her even more. And made her angry. It was one thing to keep his past a secret, especially when it involved her, no matter how indirectly. She could forgive him for that—and had—but it was another thing entirely to purposefully put himself in harm’s way. Seeking out Tell Logan bordered on insanity.
He’d get himself killed . . . leaving her once again to mourn a man she loved.
It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed not to ride out after him and make him stop this madness. It wouldn’t have done her any good if she had. He was determined to see this through, and nothing she said or did would change his mind. After all this time, she knew him well enough to know that.
Theo wiped her eyes for the hundredth time and forced herself to breathe. She’d cried all night. From the moment she closed the door to Eamon’s room and moved across the barnyard like a ghost, she hadn’t stopped crying, her heart broken in so many pieces. She hadn’t slept either, and her eyes were gritty and swollen. Her chest and throat hurt from sobbing, and her head pounded in unison with her heart.
She had to pull herself together. Gabby and Charlotte would be here any minute so she could brush their hair. They’d know instantly she’d been crying. And they’d want to know why. There would be the inevitable questions—questions she didn’t want to answer. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d have to tell the children one of the farm hands had left, but this was different.
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