“It won’t bring Laurette or your baby back.”
Trey squeezed his eyes shut. “I know that.”
How many nights had he lain awake, alone? Always alone, always grieving. Only for a few brief moments, when he was championing little Molly Taylor, had he felt a little less empty. It wasn’t something he could put into words. It just…was.
As if his friend could read the direction of Trey’s thoughts, he said, “Well, singling out Molly won’t bring her parents back, either.”
Trey struggled to find his breath, his control. His reasoning. “I can’t explain how I know this, but Molly needs me more than the others do. And for the first time since I failed Laurette, the fact that another human being requires my protection doesn’t scare me half to death.”
Leaning back in his chair, his friend steepled his fingers under his chin. “Want to know what I think?”
“No.”
Marc continued as though Trey hadn’t spoken. “I think it’s time you moved past this poisonous need for vengeance. Start over. Begin a family of your own.”
Rebellion swept through him, and Trey had to swallow the fresh agony rising out of his grief. He couldn’t start over. Not yet. Not ever. The memory of his wife and unborn child deserved his total devotion, his complete concentration. And until Ike Hayes was made to pay for murdering Trey’s family, there could be no talk of starting over. “It’s too soon.”
“It’s been four years.”
Trey grimaced. Had it been that long since he’d held his wife in his arms, since he’d smelled the fresh scent of her hair? Four years since the soft lilt of her laughter filled his home? “I still miss her.”
“Me, too.” Marc’s face softened, and Trey knew his friend was remembering his sister, the one he’d entrusted to Trey’s care. The one Trey had failed.
“No one can replace Laurette,” Trey said, his voice thick with familiar emotion. “She was sweet, innocent, compassionate. Gentle, through and through.”
“Careful, Trey. Don’t rewrite history with the prejudice of your guilt. As her big brother, I agree that Laurette was special. But she was human, too, a woman with flaws.”
“I don’t remember any.”
“Maybe you should.”
Trey’s chest ached too much to respond. Even after four years, he couldn’t think of his wife without his mind filling with the image of the last time he’d held her in his arms, pregnant and dying from a bullet that should have found him.
At Laurette’s funeral, several members of his church had spoken of God’s will. They’d told him Laurette was in a better place, free from the pain and sorrow of this world.
Trey hadn’t believed their words for a minute. He would never accept that his wife’s senseless murder was part of some divine plan for his own life. And with every additional murder he had to investigate, the chasm between him and God widened.
Settling his head into the cushioned softness of the chair, he tried desperately to free his mind of the painful memories. But intense longing for what he could never have again tightened in his throat. The ugly role he’d played in Laurette’s death waged a battle inside him, choking the breath out of him. “If only I had been there to protect her and the baby she carried, maybe then—”
He broke off, unable to put into words the self-condemnation that haunted him still.
As though sensing his inability to continue, Marc changed the subject. “How long will you be in Denver this time?”
Thankful for the reprieve, Trey lifted his head and focused his thoughts on the present. “At least a month, maybe two. I don’t plan to leave until the trial is over.”
“You think you’ll get a conviction?”
Uncompromising resolve spread through him. A month ago, Trey had caught Ike’s younger brother, Drew, and had brought him in for trial. With one Hayes in custody, it was only a matter of time before Trey captured the other.
“I’ll get the conviction and I’ll find Ike,” he said. Laurette deserved nothing less from him. “They don’t call me ‘Beelzebub’s cousin’ for nothing.”
Marc’s lips twitched. “Oh, you’re dangerous—except when you’re up against a ferocious schoolteacher.”
“I can handle Molly’s big sister.”
“Like you did today?” Marc’s expression was too innocent, deceptively so.
Trey ground his teeth together and dug his heels into the rug. “Yeah, well, she got lucky.”
As if she’d planned her entrance for effect, the object of their discussion marched into the room, arms wrapped around her waist. Her glare pinned Trey in his chair.
Well, now. If that’s the way she wanted to play it. His earlier feelings of shame at sparring with this woman instantly disappeared. Perhaps it was time to put Miss Rigid-Rule-Setter on the defensive for a change.
With deliberate slowness, he took in her appearance, concentrating on the streaks of dirt on her cheek, the smudges on her once-crisp white blouse.
So Molly had fought to the end.
Good girl.
As he linked his gaze with Katherine’s again, he noted the sudden flicker of uncertainty flashing in her eyes before she covered it with her usual prissy determination.
Interesting.
She squared her shoulders. “I’d like that word with you, Marshal Scott. Now.”
Trey didn’t like her attitude, nor was he overly fond of the riot of emotion spinning in his gut. “I’m not in the mood for a discussion.”
“Perfect, because I plan to do all the talking.”
Marc rose and slapped Trey on the knee. “Go get her, Beelzebub’s cousin.”
Chapter Three
By the time Marc left the study, Katherine’s frustration threatened to steal the remaining scraps of her composure. Trey Scott, with his challenging stare and unyielding presence, didn’t help matters. He looked too masculine, too intimidating for someone who had just championed a five-year-old over a bath.
With the arrogance only a lawman could pull off, he lifted a single eyebrow, relaxed back into his chair then propped a foot on his knee. “So talk.”
His attitude made Katherine forget all the reasons why this big, hard man alarmed her. “Marshal Scott, you are a disreputable, ill-mannered disturber of the peace.”
There. Very pleasant under the circumstances.
He returned his foot to the floor, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Don’t hold back, Miss Taylor.
