you could take more time off.”
Did he want to confide in her about his past? The night seemed right for private talk, with the storm wailing like a forlorn ghost and the two of them safe behind the glass. So late at night, it seemed that they were the only people alive with just the tick of the clock and their voices to fill up the night.
What had happened, what he had done to his family, was no secret, but he rarely spoke of it and they never did.
After tomorrow, it was unlikely that he would ever see Melody Dawson again. Sometimes, it was easier to talk to someone just passing through your life than it was to your own kin. At this time of year the guilt gnawed at him hard.
“I can’t take the time off for a pair of reasons.” He set down his tea, leaned back then folded his arms across his chest. If anyone could understand his sin, it would be Melody. “I’m the sole support of my crippled mother and my youngest sister. The reason that I am is that I trusted someone and it ended up getting my father killed. It put my mother in a wheelchair.”
If she was revolted by his confession, it didn’t show. Her gaze softened and she set down her tea. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on her folded hands.
Melody Dawson was an exceptionally becoming woman, with her golden-blond hair falling softly over her shoulders and her warm, caring eyes looking at him with understanding.
“I’m so sorry, Reeve. Would you like to talk about it?”
He didn’t want to talk, but somehow he needed to unburden himself. Given her own past mistakes, she might be the one person to understand.
“Growing up, I was the oldest. I told you about my three sisters. The girls were always up to mischief. Ma and Pa were busy making a living. My folks were jewelers and had a shop in town so they were gone much of the time. It fell to me to keep the girls in line.
“But I was eighteen and didn’t want to stay in line, myself. One day I met a couple of fellows who were my age and full of the dickens. I admired them because they were free to do the things I could not.”
She nodded her head but did not comment.
“They took me in, acted like I was one of them. I wanted their respect so badly that one day I began to boast. How could it hurt if I confided a secret? So I bragged and told them there was a safe full of money in the store. I realized later that the only reason they befriended me was to get at the safe. It was December tenth. Our family was supposed to go to a Christmas music recital that night, but Ma and Pa stopped by the store first while I went on with my sisters.”
Melody bit her lip. She gave a slight shake of her head, probably guessing where the story was going.
“Pa went after the intruders with a gun. My bravado cost my father his life and my mother her legs.
“The criminals disappeared and my family was broken.”
There was her touch on his hand again, hesitant at first but gaining courage as her fingers warmed his skin.
He couldn’t help but wonder what she had gone through to make a simple touch so difficult. For all that she flinched at the contact, her touch was powerful in its emotion. It gave him the strength to finish his story.
“I worked odd jobs to see Ma and the girls fed and sheltered, but those were hard times. When I came of age I became a lawman, in part so I could find those men.”
“And did you?”
“Within that first year. The two of them will spend the rest of their days behind bars.”
“I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have just shot them. Maybe the Traverses got to me more than I know.”
“I wanted to...almost did. The gun shook in my fist, I wanted to do it so badly.”
“What stopped you?”
“It would have been one more betrayal to my folks. They had tried to raise me to be law-abiding and honorable. Those fellows lured me from that path once. I wasn’t going to let them do it again.
“Besides, over time I’ve found that justice lasts longer than revenge.”
She nodded, then turned her face to watch the sleet slide down the window. It was a moment before she spoke.
“Have you been able to forgive yourself, Reeve? I’m not sure that I can, for what I did.”
“I don’t know that I’ve forgiven myself. But I have learned to get on with my life and live it in a way that honors my parents. Whenever I lock up a criminal, I’m doing that. It’s a hard life, on the move. I don’t think I’ll ever have the comfort of settling down in one place, but I reckon that’s my penance.”
“Someday, Reeve, I’m certain that one of my boys will act in a way I wouldn’t choose. But I’d be sick at heart if he paid for that by sacrificing his own happiness.”
“Serving up justice makes me happy.” It did. It filled the crater that his transgression had carved in his soul. As long as he could do that and provide for his mother and his sister, he would be content with his life.
His nieces would stand in for his own children. And as far as never having someone of his own—a wife? Well, that was also part of his penance.
* * *
Cottonwood Grove had not changed in three years. Melody stood in the wagon bed gazing down upon it from the hilltop north of town.
From up here, one could see that the town was designed like a wheel. Grove Circle, the business district, formed the hub of the wheel and the center of town. Radiating out from it, like spokes on a wheel, was the residential area.
Come spring, the whole town would be shaded by huge leafy trees. The open land spreading away from town consisted of miles of lush grassy hills cut by three creeks lined with cottonwoods.
Cottonwood Grove was a world away from the Broken Brand.
This late in the afternoon, smoke rose from chimneys all over town as folks got ready to settle in for the evening. The familiar scent of burning wood floated up the knoll.
Melody’s heart squeezed so tight she thought she might bawl out loud. The sights and sounds of home made her want to leap from the wagon, run down the hill and hug the first person she saw, stranger or not.
Did the boardwalk in front of Miller’s Dry Goods still squeak? She spotted Mary Weller coming out of her bakeshop. Did she still bake the most delicious cinnamon muffins in the county? A hammer striking an anvil told her that the blacksmith was working late, as had always been his custom.
And there, the last house on the spoke of town leading due west, was the home she had grown up in. Its three stories gleamed white in the late-afternoon sunshine.
It was odd that no smoke rose from the chimney. Mama loved nothing better than a cozy fire, and Papa loved nothing more than pleasing Mama.
“Are you ready?” Reeve’s voice snapped her away from a dozen memories that crowded her all at once.
She
