by Pam Hillman
Mariah’s lip trembled. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
Night fell, and Mariah dozed only to start awake over and over, the events of the past two days seared into her brain. Slade’s chest cushioned her head, his arms wrapped securely around her. She was safe. Safe in his arms. Frederick—
No, she wouldn’t think about Frederick. Or Red.
“We’re almost home.”
She sighed and tightened her arms around his waist. “I don’t think I ever want to ride a horse again,” she murmured.
He chuckled.
She grew serious. “Do you think Buck and the others found the cattle?”
“I don’t know. But if they didn’t, we’ll manage. Isn’t that what your grandmother always says?”
“Yes. Grandma has a lot of faith.”
“Then we’ll have faith and take it one day at a time. Together.” He brushed her temple with a featherlight kiss.
Together.
She liked the sound of that.
The ranch house came into view. It looked like every lamp, lantern, and candle in the place cast out a beacon of light to welcome them home. Slade stopped at the front door and dismounted. He reached for her, and she slid into his arms, her hand on his makeshift bandage. Her stomach flipped anew at how close she’d come to losing him.
She swayed on rubbery legs, exhaustion taking over. Slade slipped an arm around her waist and led her toward the door.
“They’re back!” Jim yelled as he raced through the doorway, Buck right on his heels. Jim barreled into Mariah, nearly knocking her down, but she hugged him tight, thankful to be home.
Buck grabbed Slade in a bear hug, the two of them slapping each other’s backs. No words were exchanged, but Mariah figured none were needed.
Jim looked up at her, his eyes bright. “Buck led the posse that caught the rustlers.”
“They got the herd back?”
“Yep. Every single one.”
“Praise the Lord!”
“Mariah?” Her grandmother stepped through the door.
Mariah let the older woman wrap her in her arms.
“Are you okay, child?”
“I’m fine, Grandma. Really.” Mariah shook her head, dimly aware of others—a woman and two young girls—in the shadowed doorway. “Just so tired, I can hardly stay upright.”
The other woman stepped forward. “Slade?”
“Ma?”
Mariah’s weary gaze focused on the middle-aged woman standing in the doorway behind her grandmother. She blinked once, then twice.
Slade’s mother had finally arrived.
Mariah woke not long after sunup. Lying still in her bed, she let the events of the last forty-eight hours wash over her. Nightmares of the ordeal plagued her, but she prayed they’d fade with time. Her thoughts turned to home. Last night, she’d been so tired she couldn’t think straight, let alone take in the implications of the arrival of Slade’s mother and sisters.
Worry inched its way into her heart. Would the fact that his mother had finally come make a difference? He’d said they would take it one day at a time. Together. Had he meant it? Had he meant they could share a future together?
There hadn’t been time to discuss anything. Had she and Slade overcome their differences and battled Frederick only to face more obstacles?
What was his mother like? Did she hate Mariah’s father the way Slade had? Did Mrs. Donovan blame Seth Malone for stealing the gold and leaving her husband to die? If she did, Mariah would feel the brunt of her anger and bitterness just as she’d faced Slade’s.
Trying not to worry, Mariah dressed and made her way downstairs. Nervously she entered the kitchen and found herself gazing into a pair of eyes the exact shade of Slade’s.
“Hello, dear.” Slade’s mother turned to the stove. “I made some coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”
Mariah shook her head, wondering at the smiling, friendly woman. “No, not at all.”
Still feeling weak, Mariah sat at the table. Mrs. Donovan placed a cup of coffee in front of her and patted her on the shoulder. Anxiously Mariah glanced toward her grandmother’s bedroom.
“I peeked in on her a few minutes ago. She’s still asleep.” Mrs. Donovan took a seat across the table and caught her gaze. “It’s a good thing I got here when I did last night. She was fit to be tied, and I don’t blame her. What a terrifying ordeal.”
“For you, too, what with Slade gone.”
“True.” Mrs. Donovan smiled, her clear, blue eyes kind. “The lot of us just buckled down and began to pray. That’s all we could do.” Mrs. Donovan traced the wood grain on the table with one finger, a frown creasing her forehead. “There is one thing, though.”
“Ma’am?”
“Last night, your grandmother introduced herself as Sarah Malone. You wouldn’t happen to be related to a man named Seth Malone, would you?”
Mariah took a deep breath. “Seth Malone was my father.”
Mrs. Donovan’s face paled. “Oh, my, what has Slade gone and done?”
Slade knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the kitchen. He glanced at Mariah’s stricken face and then at his mother’s.
“What’s wrong?”
His mother released a sigh. “I’ve just discovered that Seth Malone was Mariah’s father.”
“I didn’t want to tell you in a letter. I thought it best to wait until you got here.”
“I don’t understand.” His mother frowned. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning. Or at least explain how you found the Malones.”
Mariah spoke up. “Just before he died, my father confessed to stealing Mr. Donovan’s share of the gold, and I wrote a letter asking his forgiveness.”
“I see—”
“Your father stole all of the gold. None of it belonged to him.”
“Half the gold belonged to him.” Mariah threw him a defiant glance.
So they were back to square one?
“The deed—” Slade cut in.
“She’s right,” his mother interrupted.
Slade stared at his mother. “What did you say?”
She looked apologetically at him. “I’m sorry, Son, but if you had just told me you had gotten that letter . . .”
“What are you saying?” Dread clutched at his gut.
“Slade, your father was a violent man. You know that.” Her gaze begged him to understand. “Buck and the girls were too small when he died to remember much of his rages, but I know you do.”
Slade clenched his jaw, remembering all too well his father’s temper. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Then you’ll also understand why I never argued with him or contradicted what he said.”
He waited, knowing there had to be more.
His mother took a deep breath. “When Jack and Seth Malone became partners, I thought it was the best thing that could have happened to Jack. Seth seemed like a decent sort. I hoped Jack would straighten up and quit drinking. But it didn’t help. They started prospecting and before long, they found gold. They didn’t want to leave the site unattended, so Seth agreed to stay while Jack went and filed a claim. But greed overtook your father, Slade, and he filed the claim in his name only.”
Slade tried to make sense of it all. “Then how did Seth Malone end up with all the gold?”
“When he found out what Jack had done, they had a terrible fight.”
“Did Papa shoot Mr. Donovan?” Mariah asked. “The wanted poster . . .”
“I’m sorry, Mariah, but yes, he did. They were both pretty riled up by that time.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Seth took the gold they’d found and left town. He said if Jack wanted the claim that badly, he could have it. But by then, the vein had just about petered out. There wasn’t much more gold to be had.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Slade clenched both fists. “All these years, I thought Pa told the truth about the gold.”
“After he died, I didn’t see any point in bringing it up.” She shook her he
ad. “I never dreamed Seth’s daughter would try to make amends. I’m sorry.”
Slade glanced at Mariah, who gazed at him with wide, accusing eyes. He felt as if his throat might close up and choke the life out of him. “Yeah,” he croaked, “I’m sorry too.”
Then he bolted for the door.
Blindly he strode past Mariah’s garden, down the thorny path, toward the creek behind the barn. He stopped, breathing heavily.
Why? he railed silently. Why hadn’t his mother told him the truth? If she had, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have made a fool of himself and taken Mariah’s home away from her.
Every unkind word he’d said, every time he’d declared the ranch—the entire ranch—belonged to him and his family came back to taunt him.
He’d thought he was doing the right thing. But all along he’d been in the wrong. His father had cheated Seth Malone first, but he’d never seen fit to share that fact in his drunken rages.
Slade slammed his fist against a tree, and pain shot through his injured arm. He growled, relishing the throbbing ache. Why hadn’t he seen it? He should have known his father would twist everything to his own purposes. But he hadn’t wanted to see. He’d wanted someone to blame for the poverty they lived in. For never having enough to eat. For living on the wrong side of the tracks. For being laughed at because of his threadbare clothes. And his own father had been the one to blame. Not Seth Malone.
Gradually his anger leached out of him, until he stood broken and ashamed, weighed down by the guilt of what he’d done, the hurt he’d caused.
Forgive me, God. I’ve made a mess of things. My stubborn pride has cost me the woman I love. What do I do now?
The only answer was the light breeze that stirred the trees lining the creek bank. He closed his eyes and sighed.
He’d gotten the same answer today that he’d gotten from God two days before. Silence. And he couldn’t blame God either. Slade had brought this trouble on himself. If he hadn’t come to the Lazy M and demanded the deed to the ranch, things would be exactly the way they had always been.
Slade just wanted to provide for his family. He’d believed all the gold had belonged to his father. He thought back to the first day he’d shown up at the Lazy M. Even then, Mariah had insisted half of the gold belonged to her father, but he hadn’t believed her. The deed proved otherwise. But even the deed had been wrong.
And now, so much bitterness stood between the two of them that she would never forgive him. He couldn’t even forgive himself. He stared at his reflection in the sparkling stream. Only one thing would make this right. He slapped his hat on his head and headed for the barn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“YOU’RE LEAVING.”
Slade froze at the sound of Mariah’s voice. Then he pulled the cinch tight. The slap of leather against leather resounded in the quiet barn. “That’s right.”
“You weren’t even going to say good-bye.”
His gut twisted at the accusation in her voice. He rested his forearms on the saddle. How could she say that? He’d almost ruined her life, had tried to steal her ranch, and she wanted him to say good-bye?
“Right again.”
“What about your family?”
“They’ll head for the train station tomorrow. Buck will see that they get back to Galveston.”
“I can’t believe you’re just going to ride away.” She moved in front of him, her brown eyes sparking with anger. “Like nothing’s happened. You talk about caring for your family and how you want to make things better for them, but when the going gets tough, you run away.”
He glared at her. “I’m not running away.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Aren’t you?”
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. He wanted to kiss her and tell her he’d never leave. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. Instead, he turned away. “No. I don’t belong here. I never did. All my life, I thought my father was in the right, and then I find out he lied to me. He tried to cheat your father. Not the other way around.”
She flung out both arms. “Half of that gold belonged to your father, Slade. They both tried to cheat each other. So we’re even.”
“We’re not even. Not after what I did.” He reached for the reins of his horse.
“All right! Leave, then.” Mariah turned away, her whispered words barely audible. “You’ve got a chance to make something of this ranch, something of your life. But you’re throwing it away because of your thickheaded pride.”
Slade reached her in two strides. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him. Sparkling tears clung to her lashes and pooled in her brown eyes, nearly undoing him. “I can’t stay here. Don’t you understand? I almost destroyed your life. And your grandmother’s and Amanda’s.” He faltered, his chest tight with bottled-up guilt. “I asked God to forgive me today, and nothing happened.”
The tears shimmering in her eyes spilled over as she reached up and touched his face. He trembled at her gentle touch.
“I forgive you, and God does too. I know He does,” she whispered. Her gaze searched his. “You came here intending to take the ranch away from me, but you’ve given it back. If it hadn’t been for you, Frederick and Red would have drained off the cattle until there wasn’t anything left.”
He shook his head and pulled away. Stalking to his horse, he gathered up the reins again. “People don’t forgive and forget that easily.”
“They do when they love someone.”
The softly spoken words pierced his tightly held remorse. He turned and found her gazing at him, her eyes pleading with him to reconsider. He dropped the reins and closed the distance between them, stopping within inches of her. He stared into her heart-shaped face.
“Do you?”
Her lips parted. “Do I what?”
“Do you still love me?” His heart pounded as he waited for her answer. “After . . . after finding out the truth?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I love you.”
His heart took wing at the small, feathery sound of her admission.
Unable to stop himself, he gathered Mariah to him and lowered his mouth to hers. “I love you too.”
Her lips were sweet and gentle and everything he’d dreamed they would be. Finally he lifted his head and gazed down at her.
“I’ll stay. On one condition.”
“What?” She gave him a dreamy smile, twining her arms around his neck.
“Will you marry me?”
Epilogue
THE WAGON SEAT must have lengthened at least a foot since the first time they’d ridden into town together. Somehow there was plenty of room for both of them now.
Mariah released a contented sigh and snuggled close to Slade’s side.
He smiled at her and, holding the reins in one hand, wrapped his other arm around her waist and kissed her soundly.
Trying to hold on to her good sense, she swatted him on the arm. “Slade, somebody might see.”
He laughed and glanced around at the open countryside. “There’s not anybody around for miles and miles.”
“Wisdom is just over the next rise, and you know it.”
“Well, I’d better be quick then.” He grinned and pressed another kiss to her lips.
“Stop that.” She laughed, leaning away.
As they rode through town, Mariah couldn’t help but feel as if everyone they saw was staring at her. But she didn’t care. Let them look. She’d found the man of her dreams and wanted everyone to know it. Soon she’d be Mrs. Slade Donovan.
The Lazy M ranch house would be overflowing with her grandmother and Slade’s mother and sisters, especially when Amanda came home, but they’d make do.
“Whoa.”
Mariah glanced at the bank. “Why are we stopping here? I thought you wanted to get some things at the mercantile.”
Slade jumped down and held out his arms. “I do.” His large hands spanned her waist as he lowered her to the ground. “But we�
��ve got a little business with Mr. Tisdale first.”
The banker welcomed them into his office. “Mariah. Mr. Donovan. What can I do for you?”
“Morning, Mr. Tisdale.” Slade reached into his shirt pocket. “About this deed . . .”
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CHAPTER 1
Natchez Under-the-Hill on the Mississippi River
May 1791
Connor O’Shea braced his boots against the auction block and glared at the crowd gathered on the landing.
Vultures. Ever’ last one o’ them.
The stench of the muddy Mississippi River filled his nostrils, and the rude shacks along the riverfront reminded him of the roiling mass of humanity in the seaports back home in Ireland. Hot, cloying air sucked the breath from his lungs, and the storm clouds in the sky brought no relief from the steam pot of Natchez in May.
Dockworkers shouted insults at each other. Haggard-faced women in rags scuttled past as grimy children darted among the wheels of rickety carts. One besotted fool lay passed out in the street, no one to help him or care whether he lived or died. As far as Connor knew, the man could be dead already, knifed in the dead of night when no one would be the wiser.
A commotion broke out at the back of the crowd and all eyes turned as a gentleman farmer shouted that he’d been robbed. The man chased after a ragged boy, but the moment they were out of sight, his compatriots turned back to the auction, the incident so common, it was already forgotten.
Connor ignored the chaos and focused on the high bluff overlooking the wharf.
Ah, to be up there where the wind blew the foul odor of rotting fish away and the scent of spring grass filled a lad’s nostrils instead. And be there he would.
As soon as someone bought his papers.
“Gentlemen, you’ve heard the terms of Connor O’Shea’s indenture,” James Bloomfield, Esquire, boomed out. “Mr. O’Shea is offering to indenture himself against passage for his four brothers from Ireland, an agreement he had with his previous master.”
