“I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. I’ve been here thirty years and what’s going on turns my stomach.”
Seth turned and left the room. He paused outside the door, grateful to Abe. The man had been afraid, that much was obvious, yet he had given his advice. A warning. And, more importantly, a place to stay.
Seth decided to leave the back way. He had no desire to see those uniforms again. Nor a marshal. He wanted no confrontations. Not until he fetched his sister.
Chapter Three
ELIZABETH READ TO Marilee as she waited for her father to return from town. Elizabeth hugged Marilee closer and settled the storybook in her lap. She hoped the story would relieve some of the child’s terror.
Marilee had heard the shots but she had stayed in her room as instructed by Elizabeth. It wasn’t the ?rst time threats had been made, or guns ?red.
Elizabeth had found her huddled on her bed, her face pale. She had watched her father die and her brother wounded. Only Trini had kept her from running after her brother, Dillon, as he’d been dragged away by Union soldiers. Three nights later, friends had broken him out of jail.
For weeks, Union soldiers had surrounded the ranch, hoping that he would return. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that they had left, detailed instead to hunt Dillon Sinclair in the hills.
Elizabeth had worried about his return, that he would try to take an already shaken young girl, and about what would happen to the child if he succeeded. Marilee was fragile, more than fragile, and haunted by a cough. What would happen if she accompanied a fugitive?
The newest Sinclair looked no better. He’d looked desperate and dangerous. Not only that, he wore the remnants of a uniform.
The men who had killed Marilee’s father wore uniforms.
If only her father and Howie returned. Then they could ride for help.
Howie and the other four hands were out searching for cattle, though she was sure they had been rustled. Her father had gone into town to complain to the federal authorities about the latest theft and to ask for help.
It had taken more than an hour to soothe Marilee after the intrusion. “It was just a stranger who needed water,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t be struck dead for what she was leaving out.
“I heard shots,” Marilee said.
“A stranger. I just didn’t want him near the house,” Elizabeth said. “He took his water and left. Everything is ?ne now.”
“I want Dillon,” Marilee said suddenly.
“He’s gone, sweetpea,” she said.
“I don’t care. I want him.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“He’s not dead?” Marilee sought reassurance.
“No.”
“Then why doesn’t he come to see me?”
“I don’t think he can,” Elizabeth replied. For two months after she and her father arrived, Marilee hadn’t said a word. Then she gradually started to speak. The nightmares were rarer, but she still woke up screaming.
“I want my daddy.” It was the ?rst time Marilee had mentioned him since Elizabeth had ?rst seen the little girl in Trini’s small house on the ranch. Her heart had gone out to the silent child who had trembled when Elizabeth had stopped at the small foreman’s house after she and her father moved in.
Trini had kept her hidden, in fact, for several weeks, afraid that she would be ordered away, and the child with her.
Then Trini had died and Marilee had suffered still another loss. How much could a child bear?
Elizabeth was determined to protect her as much as possible.
Was she doing that by keeping her away from the man who claimed he was her brother?
If only he hadn’t looked like the worst of renegades.
She looked up at the grandfather clock. Afternoon. When would the man who called himself Sinclair return? Could she stay here without any help? Would he bring others when he returned?
Her father had been gone half a day, more than enough time to see to his errand and return. But she knew him too well. Once in town, he often became involved with others. He was a gregarious man who loved stories and an audience and he often forgot about time.
She reluctantly made the decision to go into town. But she didn’t want to take Marilee with her. The road was too dangerous. If they were caught out alone…
“Let’s go see Robert,” she suggested to Marilee.
Robert was the son of a neighboring rancher, another newcomer. Elizabeth refused to think of either of their families as carpetbaggers, the derogatory term that had often been thrown at them.
All the other children shunned Robert. Marilee, who instinctively was for the underdog, had become his good friend.
Marilee’s face brightened. “Can I?”
“Of course. I need a few things in town and I’ll fetch you on the way back.”
“Will you bring some peppermint candy?”
“Always,” Elizabeth said.
The thought of her favorite treat, and a few hours to play with Robert, was obviously a partial cure. Marilee fetched her bonnet as Elizabeth went down to hitch the horse to their buggy. She added the shotgun at the last moment. It would be more effective than a ri?e if they ran into trouble.
In minutes, they were on the road. She had been forced to use Ornery, a horse well named for his stubborn ways. But today he had been unusually cooperative, probably due to the apple she gave him.
Miriam Findley, Robert’s mother, was delighted to see them and readily agreed to keep Marilee for a few hours. “Be careful,” she warned. “Bud Garner was stopped and robbed last week. Rebels, he said.”
“I’ll be careful,” Elizabeth said. “I have a shotgun with me.”
“I’ll send Mr. Findley after you if you aren’t back by sundown.”
Elizabeth nodded her thanks and got back on the buggy. Marilee had run inside to see Robert. “By the way, I had a visitor this morning. He said his name was Seth Sinclair. He looked like a saddle tramp, though.”
“Another Sinclair. Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t think you should go alone.”
“I’ll be ?ne, truly I will,” she said. “I want to tell Major Delaney, though, and the sheriff.”
Miriam Findley looked doubtful. “I hate this country. I told Mr. Findley I want to leave.” She always called her husband Mr. Findley. Never just Gary.
“Oh, don’t. Please. It will get better.”
“It’s a hellhole,” Miriam said, then backed away, her face ?ushing as if she’d said something she shouldn’t. “Be careful.”
Elizabeth couldn’t argue. She loved the country. She loved the streams and the hills and the wild?owers. But the hate among the Texans was an open wound, deep and festering.
She snapped the reins and Ornery stepped quickly through the gate and onto the main road. She glanced down at the shotgun at her feet. Her father and she had both learned to use both ri?e and shotgun during their ?rst weeks here. She hated the weapons but she’d learned to conquer those feelings in the past several months.
After a mile, she relaxed. The day was lovely. Light clouds shaded the sun and a breeze cooled the usually hot temperatures. Bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush colored the hills.
A sound of a gunshot shattered the silence. Its report echoed in the hills and bounced back. The horse’s ears went up, then he jerked in the harness.
Elizabeth tightened her hold on the reins as another shot ripped across the hills. Then a loud ungodly yell.
Her heart thundered as she glanced behind the buggy. Four masked men approached from the east.
She snapped the reins to speed the horse, then realized she didn’t have to. Ornery bolted and raced down the
