* * *
Heaven. Leaning his hip against the edge of the abandoned table, Reed used his teeth to tear off another hunk of meat from the drumstick gripped in his one hand, then took a bite of the thick bread slice he held in his other. He felt as though he was in heaven as he stuffed the rest into his mouth.
“Hey, ’breed!” a voice from behind him called out.
Reed froze, then lowered his drumstick. He turned slowly. Three young men swaggered toward him, eyes full of contempt, bodies tense with challenge and recklessness.
“Don’t want your kind eating food our ma fixed. Go hunt yerself a rabbit.”
Shifting, Reed tossed the chicken leg down, reached out and took another. He kept his eyes trained on the foolhardy boys and deliberately ate more of the tender, juicy meat. Without taking his eyes off them, he finished it and tossed the bone down. Immediately a dog scooted out from beneath the table to take it. The first bone was already gone.
Whipping his hand behind him, Reed pulled out his hunting knife, watched the boys’ three pairs of eyes widen. In one quick flash, he whacked off another hunk of bread, then used his knife to scoop butter out of a wooden container.
No one spoke as he continued to eat.
When he was done, he lifted a brow. “One of your mothers baked this fine bread?”
The same boy who’d spoken before stepped forward. “Yeah. Mine. And she don’t want no ‘breed eating it.”
Reed met each boy’s gaze. One by one each looked away. “Best I’ve had in a long time,” he said, scooping more butter from the bowl and using his knife to spread it on another slice. Speaking as if they were having a normal conversation, he shoved his hat back with the tip of his blade. “Be willing to bet that a woman who bakes as good as this wouldn’t want to see her son do something stupid.”
He stepped away from the table. Waiting until each pair of eyes slid down to his twin holsters, Reed smiled as the trio of troublemakers shot nervous glances at him.
One by one they faltered, giving each other scared looks. “Maybe we don’t want no trouble,” one muttered.
“I should say not!” agreed an angry voice. A woman marched forward out of nowhere. “William Henry, you got mush for brains?” She whipped out a cloth from the basket she carried and smacked the young man. He lifted his hands to ward her off.
“Ma,” he squealed. “Not here!”
“Don’t you speak, William Henry! You get yourself home!” She turned to the other two. “All of you. And don’t think I won’t be telling your mothers what fools they’ve raised! Go!”
Without uttering another word, the trio of troublemakers fled. The woman turned to Reed. “I apologize, sir,” she said, fire in her eyes but nervousness in her voice.
“No harm done, ma’am.”
She nodded as she picked up her crock of butter. “Take the rest of the bread.” With that, she stalked off.
Reed watched as she caught up to her son, gave him a shove toward town. The other two boys quickly moved off on their own.
Reaching down, Reed decided it was a good time to leave, himself. Most of the guests had already taken their leave; only a few families remained. He scooped up the remaining loaf of bread.
A young couple walked past the tables. The young woman had her hand secure on the arm of her beau. They walked close, talking softly. Reed watched as they bumped against one another, so engrossed in their conversation that they seemed oblivious to everything around them.
Unexpected flashes of memory of him and Anne walking exactly the same way, talking with heads close, wrapped up in each other’s presence, struck his heart like bolts of lightning struck the trees on the prairie. The food in his belly churned. Though their life had been hard and the separation from her father had devastated her, they’d been so happy, so in love. Like this couple.
He had to get out of here before the past rose to crush him with its dark fist of grief.
“Make a pretty couple, they will,” came a slurred voice.
Startled, Reed slid his eyes to the man suddenly standing beside him. Involved in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard him approach. Which was stupid. Not to mention unforgivable. A man unaware of his surroundings often ended up dead.
The old man swayed and grabbed the table to steady himself. Great. He was a drunk. The only thing worse than a young hothead was a drunk. Nodding personably, Reed started to move off.
“Damn shame about her first husband, though.” The drunk took out a silver flask, tipped his head back and swigged. “Killed in that fire. Left the woman a widow on their wedding night. Damn shame, if you ask me—a man don’t even get his wedding night.”
Reed shook his head. “Yep. Damn shame.”
Watching several people go over to speak and shake hands with the young man, Reed realized that this was an engagement the town was celebrating. The young man shook hands, puffed up like a peacock, looking exceedingly proud.
Reed’s eyes widened as the boy stared at his fiancée like a smitten pup. Hell, he couldn’t blame the young man. She had an amazing body, and shiny strands of blue-black hair hung past her waist in a glorious waterfall. Every movement of her head sent the shimmering strands into a sensuous dance.
She turned her head, and Reed felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Holy hell! She had a face that made him think of warm honey and silk. This was the most strikingly beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And his awe turned to surprise as his eyes traveled over her exotic cheeks and into eyes that were rich, dark pools of amber.
He’d bet the loaf of bread in his hands that the young woman was Indian. Pureblood. It wasn’t just her raven-black hair, or even her warm, dark skin. Her noble heritage showed in her face: prominent cheekbones, the proud line of her nose, the gentle slope of almost almond-shaped eyes.
Undeterred by his silence, the drunk took another gulp of liquor. He offered the flask to Reed. “Gal’s right lucky to find herself another husband.”
Reed refused the flask by shaking his head. He glared at the drunk. “Why? Because she’s got Indian blood?” His voice was low, tight. If the drunk made even so much as a disparaging comment about ’breeds, squaws or Indians, he would be tempted to knock him on his backside.
Stopping himself, Reed took a deep breath. He tried to be rational. Starting a fight would land him in jail for the night. It would just give Tyler an excuse to have him watched and followed.
The drunk blinked, taking a good look at Reed, then backed away—which left Reed feeling slightly disappointed. In one short hour, his emotions had been rubbed raw—by that kid, the sheriff, the young men and by the memories of his wife. A good fight would have wiped out the blast of unwanted emotions.
But it wasn’t to be. And a good thing. Getting himself run out of town would not help his quest for justice. Deciding it would be wise to simply return to his room at the boardinghouse, Reed turned to go.
A light laugh stopped him. It was the woman, enjoying some joke with her friends and betrothed. He turned. Like the damn moths fluttering against the heated glass of the nearby lanterns, he felt drawn to this young beauty. He moved closer.
The woman’s loveliness drew him, yet there was more. Something deeper. Though she smiled, laughed and chatted with those surrounding her, he sensed the shadows she hid within herself. It was there in her eyes, and in the slightly drooping corner of her mouth as her smile faded. Absently, Reed leaned against a table. Lost in the woman’s haunting beauty, he ignored several wary looks thrown his way.
Without warning, the woman swung her head toward him. Something invisible flared between them, hitting him right between the eyes. Reed felt as though he’d been speared by her wide, dark gaze. He waited until her eyes met his, waited for a reaction to his presence. It didn’t come. Her gaze was on him, yet it seemed as though she were looking right through him.<
br />
She gave no indication that she’d seen him, or that he was at that moment staring into her eyes. Still, there was something powerful and compelling being exchanged between them. He found it unsettling. He willed her to acknowledge him. To see him.
Around her, the group of well-wishers laughed. But she’d gone still. Her smile had faded completely. Her haunted look deepened, and she looked incredibly sad.
Reed took a step forward before he realized what was happening. Unnerved by the strange potency of those eyes, he backed away, following the edge of the table. Then, cursing beneath his breath, he turned and walked off. His steps quickened, but he felt her eyes burn twin holes into his back, one finding his heart, the other his soul.
He shook with fear. What was going on? Cursing, he lengthened his stride. He’d walked away from his share of fights, but he’d never run like this. And he sure as hell had never run from a woman.
Scowling, Reed reached into his pocket and fingered a gold coin. Leo Granger would arrive soon, he’d seen to that. After tracing the murderer to this region, he’d made sure that Leo knew where to find the man who’d organized the bank robbery. With any luck, Leo would find Malcolm—or whatever name Malcolm went by now. And Reed would be right behind him. The man who’d killed Anne was as good as dead.
Still, revenge wouldn’t bring back Anne. It was too late for her. And him. Revenge wouldn’t give him back his children, and his adoptive father had made it clear that Reed would not be allowed to return for any reason. But at least his children would not have to live with their father’s shame.
He clenched his hands into fists. This time, he wasn’t going to leave justice to men who pinned a shiny star to their chest and proclaimed themselves the law. This time, justice would be served. By his hand. And that, he told himself, was where he was going.
Unbidden, the woman’s image returned, blinding him. Reed cursed, his steps quickening. He’d never run from trouble before. But deep inside, he knew he was doing just that, fleeing the unknown.
* * *
Mattie’s heart slammed against her ribs. A pair of startling blue eyes had just pierced the shadows of her mind and captured her mind and body in a way she’d never experienced. The vision had been strong, powerful, compelling.
For once she was thankful she didn’t have her sight, for being blind meant she could close her eyes and no one would think anything of it. Counting each beat of her frantically racing heart, she retreated into her mind to examine what had just happened.
She’d felt him. Seen him! But she didn’t know who he was. Still, the vision had told her two things: the spirits were truly returning her gift, and somehow, the man she had sensed would play an important role in her life.
She didn’t know how she knew this; she just did, for she’d never felt so strong a presence, and she’d never, ever felt a sensation of leaving her body to merge with another. She’d definitely felt herself going to him, felt him welcoming her, and most of all she’d felt safe within those strong arms. Mattie closed out the chatter and activity around her and focused deep inside her mind.
At first she’d felt like a deer who sees a hunter, bow drawn, arrow poised to fly, and then a whisper of warmth had engulfed her—liquid sunshine mixed with the softness of downy feathers and an elusive, woodsy scent.
Then, to her shock, she’d felt herself drawn into a pair of strong arms, and in that brief moment she’d felt wanted. Cherished. Loved. The shock of it still reverberated through her.
Frightened and excited, Mattie opened her eyes. She scanned the darkness, searching for him, but he was gone. She wished she could escape, be alone. She needed time to think and examine everything that was happening to her. There was so much.
Visions had been a part of her entire life. She’d embraced the gift, accepted both the good and the bad, the weight of responsibility and the rewards. And she’d accepted that the blow to her head had destroyed both her eyesight and her gift of Sight. But apparently not forever.
Her world for the last year had lacked color. Only in her dreams and memories did she remember what it was like to live among all the radiant hues of the world. Until now. Her chest tightened. Did this mean her eyesight would also return?
For the first in a long time since the fire, Mattie admitted how much she missed being able to see, both physically and spiritually. The accident had destroyed the very core of Matilda Morning Moon O’Brien, leaving her confused, unsure of who she was and her purpose in life.
Without conscious thought, she pulled away from Gil and rubbed her arms.
“Are you cold, Mattie?” he asked.
She felt him shift beside her, and forced a smile to her lips. “Just tired,” she said. What did this mean for Gil, and her marriage to him? What of the vision of death she’d experienced earlier that morning, and her dreams?
Her heart jumped. Not Gil. And please, not the stranger whose eyes had just pierced the darkness of her world. Do not let them die! Once more confusion swept through her mind. Concentrating on what was going on around her, Mattie swatted an insect away from her face. Gil and his father were talking to her left; her mother-in-law stood across from her, foot tapping impatiently on the ground.
Behind her, Mattie heard Renny chatting with one of the Jensen sisters: Martha—her voice was just a bit softer, her speech more hesitant, shy even. It was getting dark; Mattie felt the coolness of the breeze, heard the buzz of mosquitos drawn to the oily heat of the lamps and the rhythm of grasshoppers along the river.
A hand touched her arm. “Good night, Mattie,” a loud voice called. “Got to get home. Early day tomorrow.”
“Good night, Miss Marley,” Mattie replied softly. She smiled. Was she the only one who heard the hidden excitement in Miss Marley’s voice? Have a good rendezvous with Mr. Potts, she added silently.
She was without her eyesight, yes, but she was not senseless. She heard more than what was said in voices, could tell when someone was not really paying attention, and she even knew when someone was staring at her. She heard the whispered words of pity or gossip from those around her who somehow assumed she’d lost her hearing along with her eyesight; that if she couldn’t see them, she couldn’t hear them.
She chuckled softly. If they only knew just how much she saw.
“You’re having a good time?” Gil asked.
Mattie smiled at him. “Yes. And you?”
“Of course.”
Mattie narrowed her eyes. His voice sounded strained. Forced. She felt his head turn. His shoulder brushed hers. Without turning her own head, Mattie listened intently and heard soft whispering. Beside her, Gil tensed. No one would see the movement, but she felt it.
“Who’s coming toward us?” she whispered. The buzz of conversation was winding down, the scent of food fading, and she heard the cry of tired children being gathered. People were leaving.
“Josiah.” Gil hesitated, just a fraction, then added, “And Francine.”
While the two men shook hands, Mattie accepted a hug from Francine. “You are fortunate,” the other woman said. “I wish you well, Mattie.”
Mattie smiled. Francine was a year younger and had always been friendly toward Mattie and her family. But tonight her voice held an edge—a tenseness that matched Gil’s as he accepted congratulations and some back-slapping humor from Josiah. Josiah, on the other hand, sounded pleased as he announced he was walking Francine home.
She turned to Gil when the young couple walked away. “Gil—”
A hand on her shoulder startled her. “It’s just me, Mattie,” Matthew said. “I’ve got Caitie. She’s nearly asleep. Why don’t you take her back while I round up the others?”
Beside her, Gil agreed. “I’ll let Pa know that you’re leaving. Wait, and I’ll walk you back.”
Mattie frowned but said, “All right.” In truth she was eag
er to leave and get back to the boardinghouse. She was sharing a room with her sisters, but it would at least be a place where she could think, and if what she suspected was true—that Gil and Francine were in love—then she really needed to do some thinking.
Taking Caitie’s hand in her own as Matthew set her down, Mattie started toward the boardinghouse. She didn’t wait for Gil; Caitie could guide her as well as anyone.
That morning, they’d all looked forward to this night in town—a night away from their ranch and the smell of death. But now she just wanted to be alone. Truly alone. Around her, low voices drifted past: other couples and families also headed back toward their homes. Horses pulled wagons; dogs padded down the road after their masters.
“Lead me to the boardwalk, Caitie,” Mattie said after feeling a wagon rumble past, a bit too close for comfort.
When Caitie slowed and hesitated slightly, Mattie did the same, then stepped onto the plank walk that ran past the bank, newspaper and sheriff’s office. Tired and drained, she stumbled, catching her foot in the hem of her skirt.
Without warning, the wooden post to her left exploded. Splinters flew around her as the loud report of a gun deafened her to all other sound. Screaming, Mattie jerked back, lost her balance on the edge of the wooden walk, and fell into the street. Her head struck the edge of the boardwalk, and all went still.
Chapter Four
“Mattie! Mattie!”
The high-pitched screams pierced the fog of pain in Mattie’s head and pulled her out of the hostile grip of unconsciousness. She lifted her head. She lay in the road, feeling the damp from the recent rain seeping into her chest.
Confusion sounded everywhere: men shouting, women screaming, and the ground beneath her shaking with the vibrations of running feet. Worse, chaos reigned in her own mind.
She felt a crowd grow around her: feet scraping the ground, bits of dirt pelting her arms and face, petticoats rustling as women gathered around her.
Mattie rubbed her aching temple, then winced at both the pain and the sticky feel of blood. Her fingers trailed down, finding several slivers of wood embedded in her cheek. Immediately the sound of the gunshot, the feel of the wood splintering returned with the realization that someone had shot at her. Terror skittered through her.
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