Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(53)

“Yes, yours was worse than mine, yet I hesitate to say you are the lucky one of us.”

“If only I’d grabbed more of those packets in his safe. I got enough to confirm some of our suspicions, but nothing that comes close to proof. If only—”

“Hush.” Win’s hand came up. “I’m doing the same thing, so don’t get me started. ‘If only, if only, if only.’ The truth is, Molly, we both did the best we could. You certainly more than me.”

“Your father was, I’m very much afraid, getting ready to say something all wrong to me when you and Kevin came in.” Molly rubbed her arm again. “The kind of thing that would’ve forced me to leave right then and there. So I’m just torturing myself by wishing I’d had more time. There was no more time.”

Molly suddenly rounded the bed and pulled Win to her feet. She wrapped both arms around her new sister. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life as when you and Kevin came to visit.”

Win hesitated, then her arms came around Molly. “And I have a family, after a whole lifetime of feeling like an outcast. Avoiding my pa, scared to death he killed my ma. Afraid to say anything.” Win’s voice broke, and her arms tightened.

There were similarities in Molly’s deep secret and Win’s. For a moment, Molly teetered on opening her mouth and spilling all her ugly secrets on poor Win.

She might’ve even done it. She thought Win would understand. But Wyatt had to be first.

The hug lasted longer than any in Molly’s life. She whispered, “I’ve always wanted a sister. Brothers can get to be a bother sometimes.”

For some reason, that set Win to giggling. She pulled back, and Molly saw tears on her face while she fought down the laughter.

Molly joined in. No tears, she wasn’t prone to them. But a hug and laughter. There’d been too little of both in her life for a long time.

They got a hold of themselves and turned to look at their sleeping patient.

“Why won’t she wake up?” Win straightened Rachel’s blanket.

“I don’t know, and for all the broth and water we’ve forced on her, she’s losing weight. I don’t know how long she can go on like this.” Molly felt her throat swell a bit, almost like she could shed a tear. Instead, she cleared her throat and rounded the bed to pick up the small glass pitcher that stood empty.

“I’m going to go check on supper. Call if you need anything.” Molly wondered if she’d ever get a chance to talk to Wyatt.



Another day passed and another. The lump on the back of Rachel’s head had gone down. She was awake longer but very confused. She was seeing two of everything, and she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to discuss the information she had about the women who had disappeared after working for Hawkins.

Her cheeks were hollow, and her skin had a gray tone that grew worse by the hour. The wound on her chest was healing, and Molly removed the stitches.

Midafternoon on the seventh day since Rachel had been brought home, Molly was in the kitchen while Win and Kevin sat with Rachel. She looked out the window when she heard hooves clopping softly in the deep snow.

A man came riding in on the cold, windswept trail from Bear Claw Pass. Someone she’d never seen before. He was dressed in a buffalo robe and rode a sturdy, high-stepping brown stallion. He led his horse to the barn, and a cowhand came out to meet him. They talked a bit, and the newcomer handed his horse over, then came to the house.

Calling upstairs, she said, “Kevin, someone’s here, a stranger.”

Her brother’s heavy boots pounded down the stairs. She stepped aside, and Kevin went straight to the door and had it open before the stranger could knock.

Without bothering with polite greetings, the man said, “I’ve come because of the telegram we received from Rachel Hobart. I’m a Pinkerton agent. I’m John McCall from Nevada.”

Molly stepped up behind Kevin and looked around his shoulder. She saw cool competence in the man’s ice blue eyes.

“Come in,” Kevin said. “We were hoping the agency would send some help.”

“Is Rachel dead?” From McCall’s tone, Molly was sure he knew Rachel and felt grief over the question he’d asked.

“She’s not dead.” Molly stepped back as McCall came in.

A wave of relief crossed his face that made it hard for her to tell him the rest.

“But we’re worried sick about her.”



Molly poured coffee while Kevin got the notebook they’d found among Rachel’s things.

“Her notes are in some kind of code,” he said. “We couldn’t make much out of them, and she’s somewhat addled from a blow to the head.”

McCall took the pages and studied them. “It’s a type of shorthand. We’re all taught it at the Pinkerton Agency, though often an agent only uses it on certain cases when they are undercover.”

“So you can read it?”

“Yes.”

“Here are the letters I stole from Hawkins’s floor safe, the one Rachel told me to search for,” Molly said. “She found evidence it existed while she was there. She’d narrowed her search and told me where she suspected it was. Hawkins was coming, so I grabbed a few, hoping he wouldn’t notice they were gone.”