Chapter One
TEXAS OCTOBER 1865
HOME!
From the brow of the hill, Seth Sinclair looked down at the ranch nestled in the valley. A suffocating sensation in his throat took his breath away.
Four and a half years and a journey to hell since he had been there.
Anticipation replaced the deep exhaustion he felt from his sixmonthlong journey from a prison camp in the East. He had been ill and weakened from a fever, then had walked much of the way, stopping to work for food. He’d ?nally found a horse in nearly as bad shape as he’d been. The two had healed physically along the way, though he wondered whether his soul ever would.
At least the ranch was still there. So much of the South had been destroyed. Homes. Farms. Plantations. Ranches.
He continued to gaze below. He wanted to ride in. And yet… his heart ached as he remembered the day he’d ridden away to war with his two brothers. He was returning alone. He didn’t even know whether his father and last remaining brother knew of the deaths. Or his sister. She would be nearly seven now. She’d been only a babe in arms when he’d left.
He absorbed every detail. The house looked the worse for wear. Some of the fences were broken. But the old swing under the one giant cottonwood moved with the breeze. The barn and bunkhouse appeared intact. So much the same as he had remembered, except there was little movement. No bustle of cowhands riding in to change mounts.
Instead, it seemed as if all human presence had been removed. Maybe his brother and father were out tending cattle. Marilee would be with Trini, the family’s housekeeper.
He urged his horse forward. He had written a letter about the deaths of Jason and Jared, the twins, but he had no idea whether his father had received it. It would break his heart.
The twins had been the adventurous members of the family, and he knew they had been his father’s favorites, although Garrett Sinclair had tried his damndest not to show it.
Seth closed his eyes for a moment: seeing the twins together again, racing the road, laughing. Always laughing and pulling tricks on one another and the other members of the family.
Neither he nor his youngest brother had ever resented the place the twins had in their father’s heart. It would be impossible for anyone to resent them. They had been so full of goodwill, good cheer, good spirits.
They had died together at the Wilderness, the same battle in which he had been taken prisoner. He had refused to leave them when his own men scattered after his unit was overrun. Thank God they died quickly. He could still hear the screams of the wounded as the ?res advanced.
He forced the memories away. No time to think of that, nor of the months of nearstarvation that followed.
First thing he would do was shake his father’s hand, hug his little sister, and take a bath. He hadn’t had a proper bath in years. It had taken every penny he could earn, steal, or borrow to get home. There had been no money for extras such as a hotel or barber or public bath.
He would probably scare the devil at the moment. He had stopped at a muddy stream to try to clean but ended up even dirtier. He had a beard and had cut his own hair. It was long and ragged, but what the hell. Trini could ?x it for him.
He leaned down and ran his hand along Chance’s neck. He’d named the horse Last Chance and in the last few weeks of traveling together, they had gotten to know each other.
Even now if he tried to run the gelding for long, he would probably kill him. He took it slow and easy, savored the smell of grass untainted by blood, a sky so vast and blue it made him hurt inside, and a sun that looked close enough to touch it. Damn, he had missed that bold and brassy Texas sky.
He stopped at the closed gate, leaned down from the horse and unlatched it, then rode through. He dismounted, closed it, and remounted. Something was wrong. Then he realized what it was. The Sinclair sign was gone.
Still, he could look around and see that other structures needed repair. Perhaps this was far down on the list. Worry knotted in the pit of his stomach. That should have been one of the ?rst things ?xed.
The ranch had been in Sinclair hands since before Texas was freed from Mexico. His grandfather had bought a Spanish grant from a family who’d tired of Indian raids. His grandfather had fought off Indians, Mexicans, outlaws. His father had done the same.
The land was nourished by Sinclair blood as well as the river that ran alongside its west boundary. It was the river that made the land valuable.
He reached the well and dismounted. Just then the whine of a shot echoed in the warm afternoon sun. Earth spit up just a foot away. Chance shied away and protested with a loud neigh.
Instinctively, Seth dove behind the well and drew a pistol. He had stolen it from a northern farmhouse. It was the one item he’d needed above all else. For food. For protection in a land that was lawless in the chaos following war.
He glanced around and saw a ri?e protruding from a window.
“What’s your business here?” came a woman’s voice.
“No, you don’t. This is the McGuire spread.”
He stilled.
“My name is Sinclair,” he shouted. “My family has owned this place for decades.”
“You alone?”
“Yes.”
“Throw your gun out.”
He would be damned if he would. He would never willingly give up a gun again.
“Your gun,” insisted the feminine voice again.
She must be alone.
He wondered how accurate the woman’s aim was.
He knew Texas women who could shoot as well as any man. It was a necessary skill since women were often alone in their homes while their men were farming or herding cattle.
Where was his father? His brother? His sister?
What in the hell had happened?
He probably should have stopped in the nearby town but he’d been so damned eager to get home.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t mean you any harm. I just want to know where my family is.”
“Then drop the gun.”
“The hell I will.”
Silence.
A standoff.
She couldn’t get to him behind the brick well, but neither could he move. How long before her husband returned home?
His stomach turned over. His father would never have relinquished this land, not as long as he had a breath in his body. Neither would Dillon, his hotheaded young brother.
“I just want some answers. Where’s Major Sinclair?” His father had always been “the Major” to everyone, even his sons.
“I told you. This ranch is ours. Throw your gun out. Then you can leave.”
“My horse is thirsty. So am I. And I’m not leaving until I know what happened to my family.”
