Chance neighed plaintively as if he understood exactly what was being said. He wandered a few more feet away.
“Get your water and leave.” The woman’s voice was determined.
“Where’s the Major?”
The gun wavered again, moving slightly to the left. He turned around and saw the small burial ground under the huge cottonwood tree. It was protected from cattle by a fence made of iron, strong enough to discourage the largest of bulls.
He stood, careless now of the woman’s ri?e. He put his pistol in his holster and walked over to the cemetery.
He saw a new grave. An unfamiliar one. A simple cross stood vigil over it. He opened the gate and walked in, oblivious now of the woman in his house.
The cross held the words
His heart ached. So many miles to ?nd yet another grave.
He knelt on the ground and bowed his head. Not in prayer. He no longer believed in prayer. Not after the last few years.
In respect. In love. In sorrow.
Anguish settled in the deepest part of his soul. He thought he had become immune to grief, but this… this was like being branded inside.
He had arrived too late. If he had traveled more quickly…
If…
He closed his eyes against the onslaught of pain. “I’m sorry, Major,” he said. “I couldn’t protect the twins. I couldn’t bring them back to you.”
Without rising, he glanced around the small fenced area. His grandfather. Two uncles were buried there. One had been a Texas Ranger who had been killed by Mexican bandits. The other had died of snakebite. His grandmother. Several babies who hadn’t survived. His mother. Now his father.
No marker for Dillon. Or Marilee.
Relief ?ooded him, mixed with grief for his father.
Dillon and Marilee were somewhere. Alive. He had to ?nd them. He had to bring together what was left of his family.
Damn, the woman would tell him…
He rose and turned back toward the house. A woman stood on the porch, her hands clutching a ri?e. She was tall, taller than most women, and her hair was caught in a long, untidy braid.
Her face was more striking than pretty, possibly because of the determination that hardened the lines. Her eyes were hazel. Cool and yet he thought he saw a momentary sympathy in them. He didn’t want her sympathy. He wanted to know what in the hell had happened here.
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned. Her hands shook slightly. She wasn’t as sure of herself as she wanted him to think.
He ignored her and walked closer. Her dress was a plain gingham that did nothing for her toothin body. Who would leave her here alone? There should have been a cowhand or someone. Well, that was none of his business. “I want to know about my family,” he said again. “I want to know what happened to my father.”
She seemed to ?inch but she didn’t take a step back. He knew he looked frightening. Bearded. Dirty. His clothes old and torn.
“I wasn’t here,” she said. “They say he tried to shoot a Union soldier.”
“My brother, Dillon? My sister, Marilee?”
Emotion crossed her face. “Your brother is an outlaw. He’s tried to kill my father more than once.”
He breathed easier. At least Dillon was alive. Marilee must be with him. Or at least with a neighbor. “Your husband?” he asked. He had assumed she was married to whoever was trying to claim this land.
“My father owns this place,” she said, de?ance in her voice.
“The hell he does.”
“The law says he does.” Bright red spots appeared on her cheeks.
He wondered whether it came from defending the indefensible. “Your father didn’t pay the taxes. If my father hadn’t bought it, someone else would have.”
“How long ago?”
“Five months.”
“Don’t get comfortable. Miss…”
“McGuire,” she replied in a tight voice.
He gave her a look of contempt. He would ride into town, ?nd friends. He would ?nd his brother and Marilee, then decide how best to dislodge these squatters.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said with sarcasm.
She lowered the ri?e slightly. “I’m sorry…about your father.”
“Why? You took his land.”
She started to say something, then shrugged. “Get your water and go.”
He started to say to hell with the water, but stopped himself. It was Sinclair-not McGuire-water. His grandfather had built the well.
He could do without, but Chance deserved more. He lowered the bucket into the well water and drew it back out, transferring the contents into a second bucket there for that purpose.
Then he offered it to Chance, who drank thirstily.
“Easy,” he said, curtailing the intake for fear the horse would get sick. He would walk the animal the several miles into town, then ?nd a bathhouse and get cleaned up. A bath. A shave. Fresh clothes. To hell with the cost. He could get credit in town.
Then he would pay a few calls.
He would ?nd his brother and sister.
Then he would reclaim his family’s heritage.
If it was the last thing he did.
Chapter Two
ELIZABETH TOOK A deep breath as the stranger rode away.
Her hand shook as she replaced the ri?e on the shelf above the ?replace.
Had she done the right thing?
The intruder had looked dangerous. Even if he was who he said he was, his father had threatened a government of?cial. His brother was an outlaw who had been rustling their cattle. This man had looked more than capable of both.
Marilee was safe here.
Elizabeth told herself she couldn’t just hand the child over to someone she didn’t even know for sure was related to her young charge.
He would be back, though, if he was who he said he was. He would ?nd out in town that she had taken the youngest Sinclair into his former home.
But she hadn’t wanted to let him into the house. She and her father had been threatened repeatedly. And maybe he wasn’t even telling the truth. Maybe he was a friend of the past owners, trying only to get inside. She kept telling herself that.
She had heard of the Sinclairs, knew there were three brothers missing, but when they hadn’t been heard from for months and months, the town and military of?cials believed them dead.
Why hadn’t he returned earlier if he were really Seth Sinclair? And where were the other brothers? Would they join with the one already outlawed?
If only her father had a few more men, but they’d had dif?culty ?nding good experienced hands. Most local men
