began shifting in Lacey’s mind.
The fire was all around her. Her skin was burning. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to call for help.
She was afraid…afraid…
Lacey did not feel the strong arm that encircled her waist the moment before Scully swept her from her saddle and settled her on his horse in front of him. She was not aware of the sob that escaped her throat when his embrace closed around her. She felt his breath against her hair and heard Scully whisper, “It’s all right, Lacey. It’s over…in the past. You don’t have to be frightened anymore. I’ll take care of you.”
Shuddering, Lacey burrowed closer against him. She knew it was true. She was safe with Scully. She’d always be safe with him.
Scully filled his canteen at the stream, then looked back at Lacey. She was sitting in the patch of shade where he had left her. Her skin was ashen, her eyes red-rimmed. Strands of pale hair hung loose at her hairline and trailed down the back of her neck, but she was unaware of her dishevelment as she leaned back and closed her eyes.
Crouched beside Lacey moments later, Scully untied the bandanna from around his neck and wetted it, then ran the damp cloth across Lacey’s forehead.
Lacey opened her eyes, then looked away as she said, “I’m sorry, Scully. I don’t know what happened to me. It was really thoughtful of you to think of taking me to see my grandfather’s grave. I should want to see it, but somehow…”
“It was my fault.” Scully’s sober gaze met hers. “I did a lot of talking about it being too soon for you to do things, then I pushed you into something you weren’t ready to face.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I should’ve realized how you’d feel.”
“Scully, please…” Lacey gripped Scully’s hand and held it tight. It was big and surprisingly callused, but she felt only its warmth as she rasped, “How could you realize how I’d feel if I didn’t realize it myself? Besides, I haven’t been completely honest with you. I wanted you to think of me as an adult ready to assume charge of her life, not as a frightened child still plagued by nightmares.”
“Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?”
“Of that day…only they’re all mixed up and unclear. They’ve been more frequent lately.” A chill shook Lacey as she continued, “The heat and the fire are so vivid, but shadows surround everything else. The shadows move, Scully. They twist and turn. They advance toward Grandpa while we’re outside the burning cabin, then they run away. And all the while, Grandpa is dying. He’s trying to talk to me, but his voice is fading. I strain to hear him, but he can’t talk any louder. He puts the Bible in my hand, and I hold it tight. It burns my skin, but I clutch it tighter and tighter, refusing to let it go, even when the shadows return and try to take it away from me. The shadows are suddenly chasing me. I run faster and faster, but they keep getting closer and closer. Suddenly I’m back at the fire again, and there’s nowhere else to run but back into the flames.”
“That’s enough.” Scully’s voice was sharp. He clutched her close to halt her shuddering. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”
“There’s no more to tell. I don’t know how it all ends. It’s all…shadows.”
Scully stroked Lacey’s fair hair as he held her in his comforting embrace. When he moved her away from him at last, he whispered, “You don’t have to be afraid of the shadows anymore, Lacey. That’s what I’m here for…to chase the shadows away.” He smiled and wiped the dampness from her cheeks with his palms, “That’s why your grandpa sent you to me, and there’s no way I’d let that old man down.”
“We share that, don’t we, Scully?” Lacey’s small smile was shaky. “We both loved him.”
“Yeah…we share that.”
“And he loved us both.”
Scully appeared to consider Lacey’s statement for a moment before he responded, “Yes, I suppose he did.”
“He would never think you aren’t respectable enough.”
“Lacey…”
“I’m not moving from the Gold Nugget.”
“Lacey…”
“Not yet.”
Scully looked down into Lacey’s resolute expression. He would pursue that argument another time.
It was happening again.
Barret Gould stood behind the carved mahogany desk in his impressive office, his expression tight as he faced his two hirelings. Blackie Oaks had been an itinerant wrangler who couldn’t hold a job and Larry Hayes had been a waster too lazy to labor honestly to support himself when he’d run across them shortly after arriving in Weaver years earlier. He had used their services openly whenever their meager talents served his purposes as Weaver’s best and only attorney, and as one of its best-respected citizens. His “generosity” in giving the two “good, honest work to do” had been commended by many. What Weaver’s residents didn’t know, however, was that he had also used Larry and Blackie’s services covertly when opportunities to advance himself financially beyond the confines of the law were presented.
In both situations, however, his contempt for the limited mentalities of the two men was boundless.
Barret struggled to control his ire. He had been raised in San Francisco, the only child of wealthy parents. He had made good use of his pleasing appearance—thick brown hair, deceivingly warm brown eyes and even, patrician features—from an early age, and had employed it to great advantage when attending the best schools. Scholastically and socially successful, he had graduated as a lawyer with a great future in store while enjoying a clandestine lifestyle that went unsuspected.
But that was before his father was found to have participated in illegal activities and the family wealth was confiscated. That was also before his father was sent to prison a broken man and his mother took whatever family funds could be salvaged and ran off with her lover.
When he’d discovered he was also being investigated for participation in his father’s illegal affairs and the same fate might follow for him, he made a fast escape. He had chosen the vast, wild interior of the country as the best place for him to hide, yet Weaver, Arizona, had been as far as he had been willing to run.
Barret would never forget his disgust when he arrived in the small, unimpressive town wearing hand-tailored clothes and a deceptive smile. He had since used his practiced facade to become a valued member of the community while silently despising Weaver for its ignorance, for its location in the middle of nowhere and for its lack of proximity to any city of reasonable refinement. He had sworn that he’d find a way to restore himself to the civilized world before his youth was spent.
Eleven years had passed since then, eleven years of silent frustration made bearable only by the sum accumulating too slowly in his name to have made the lost time worthwhile.
Barret struggled to suppress his disdain at Blackie’s undiscerning observances as he said, “You’re telling me Scully and Lacey Stewart rode out into the wilderness with no apparent destination in mind, then turned around and came right back to Weaver. That doesn’t
