“Possibly,” Amey said as she resumed walking. “There is a creek further down this way and that’s where I found the structure.”
He removed his gun from the back of his trousers and held it in his right hand. He didn’t know what they were up against, but he wanted to ensure that he was prepared.
Amey pointed in the distance. “Do you see it?”
“I do,” he said as he spotted a small wooden structure. “Come on, let’s see if anyone is home yet.”
As they approached the structure, Lincoln grew tense, not knowing what they were about to encounter. He kept his gun trained on the door as he whispered, “Go open the door and stand back.”
Amey did as he bade and opened the door. Instead of stepping back, she peered inside and announced, “It’s empty.”
“That means whoever is making this moonshine will return shortly.”
“And we’ll be here waiting for them,” she said, closing the door.
He tucked his gun away. “Let’s go find a hiding spot far enough way that we won’t be detected.”
“That’s a smart move, Mr. Lead Agent,” Amey joked as she picked up a branch and wiped away their tracks.
He pressed his lips together. “I wish you would stop calling me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m beginning to recognize that you don’t need someone looking over your shoulder,” Lincoln replied as he moved toward some bushes on the opposite side of the creek. “I find you to be an efficient agent.”
Amey quickly caught up to him and matched his stride. “Careful. If I wasn’t any wiser, I would think that you’re offering me a compliment.”
“I am,” he replied.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I must admit, your compliments are getting better.”
He glanced over at her. “You seem surprised by my remarks.”
“Frankly, I am,” she replied. “I’m afraid I have a hard time getting a read on you.”
“Is that so?”
She tightened her hold on the fabric. “I see the mistrust in your eyes when you look at me.”
He stopped next to the bushes and got low to the ground. “It’s not just you,” he replied. “I don’t trust anyone.”
“Why?” she asked, crouching down next to him.
Sighing, he said, “You once asked about Paul.”
“I did.”
He closed his eyes as he admitted, “Paul is dead because of me. He made the mistake of trusting me.”
Amey placed the fabric down onto the ground before she put a hand on his sleeve. “May I ask what happened?”
“Paul was our color bearer,” he shared. “He was sixteen years old.”
“Isn’t that a little young to be in the war?”
Lincoln nodded. “It wasn’t unheard of. The captains were more than happy to overlook a young man’s age, assuming he knew how to shoot a rifle.”
“Could Paul shoot a rifle?”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head, “but the captain let him be the color bearer anyway, instructing him to stay out of the line of fire. Also, he had forty-six soldiers protecting him.”
“Why so many?”
Lincoln grew solemn. “You never want the enemy to capture your flag. It ruins morale and can turn the tide of a battle.”
“That does sound logical.”
“My job as a sniper was to kill anyone who got close to Paul,” he revealed. “But on this particular day, the Confederate soldiers were determined to capture the flag. I couldn’t kill them fast enough.” His voice hitched. “They just kept coming and coming.”
“Did they capture the flag?”
“No,” he answered. “We held them off, but not before one of them shot Paul and mortally wounded him. Being the ever-diligent soldier that he was, Paul was able to hand off the flag to another soldier before he died.”
Lincoln swiped at the tears forming in his eyes. “I wasn’t good enough to save Paul, and…” His voice trailed off. “He died because of me.”
“Weren’t forty-five other soldiers protecting him, as well?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I was the sniper assigned to protect him.”
“Were you in some way shirking your responsibility?”
“No, but—”
She spoke over him. “Then it wasn’t your fault, Lincoln.”
He shook his head, not daring to believe her. “I should have been better, quicker…”
Amey’s eyes filled with compassion. “You were doing the best you could,” she replied, cutting him off. “It’s time for you to recognize that you were doing everything in your power to save Paul that day.”
“But—”
“No, buts,” she interjected. “You’re a good man, Lincoln Hoyt.”
A tear rolled down his cheek. “I don’t feel like a good man. I feel like a failure.”
Amey brought her hand up and cupped his right cheek, forcing him to look at her. “I’ve only known you for a brief time, but I know you’re an honorable man. You are a man worth knowing.”
“Do you truly believe so?”
She nodded. “I know so.”
He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “You’re an amazing woman, Amey Hoyt.”
“I would agree with you there.” She smiled.
“And humble, I see,” he teased, returning her smile.
Amey opened her mouth to respond when he heard a twig breaking in the distance. He put his finger up to his lips, indicating she should remain silent.
They watched as a lone, lanky man emerged from the trees. It wasn’t long before he recognized who it was.
“That’s John Croft,” Lincoln revealed in a hushed voice.
Keeping her eyes trained on their suspect, she asked, “Jonathon’s son?”
He nodded his head. “His older son. I met him when we were bringing in the wood from the pile out back.”
Amey gripped her revolver tighter. “Should we approach him?”
“Yes, but let’s make sure that he’s alone first.”
“Good call,” she replied, ducking lower behind the bushes.
It seemed John didn’t have any inclination that he was being spied on. He walked right up to the crude structure and opened the door. He stepped inside and disappeared from their view.
“Let’s wait until he steps out before we approach him,” Lincoln said, his eyes scanning the woods. “We don’t want to risk catching the structure on fire. If that happens, it could ignite the tree and cause a wildfire.”
Amey rose slightly from