Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(68)
Falcon led the way into the main cabin, and it was the work of two seconds in the single room to see it was empty.
“He’s been here.” The sheriff pointed to a few unwashed dishes sitting on the table. A skillet on a small potbellied stove. The sheriff went to the stove. “The fire has burned down, but there’s still some heat. He must’ve slept here last night.”
There were three cots in the room, one on each wall except for the side with the fireplace. The entry door was pushed far to one side of the building so a cot would fit.
“All three of them must’ve met here.” Falcon looked around, but there wasn’t much else to see. “Wyatt said Hawkins was known to go off for a few days now and again. I’ll bet he and his brothers met here, talked over who all they’d robbed and killed lately. They probably did it when Clovis was still alive, then the two of them kept at it after he died.”
“And when they couldn’t get away, they’d send a homing pigeon to talk to each other.”
“Or arrange a meeting date.” The sheriff rubbed his hand over his mouth as he considered it.
“I told Cheyenne I’d be staying inside, waiting for Hawkins to come.”
“You left your woman out in the cold while you’re inside?” John smirked at him as if he liked taunting.
“Yep, she’s a tough woman, and she knows I’m better finding a trail than her, and better hiding one.”
“I’m married to a tough woman, too.” John’s smirk changed to a genuine smile. “She saved my life the first time I met her by knowing her way around in the wilderness. She’d’ve stayed outside, too, if we decided it was best.”
John studied the room. “Not much here, but let’s look under the cots, under everything. If I was gonna stash information about my lawbreaking, where better than a secret hideout?”
Falcon headed for a crate on the floor, shoved under the closest cot. It looked to hold a few clothes and not much else, but he had to start somewhere.
Wyatt didn’t let go of her, and she desperately needed him to.
“I don’t know where to start.” Molly tugged away and faced the trail.
Wyatt rested his hands on her upper arms and pulled her around to face him. When she met his eyes, she felt a chill rush down her spine.
Somehow, right now, being held was like being taken prisoner. It was like the sheriff and his shackles, the prison door swinging shut.
“Please, let go. I-I can’t tell you this if—if we’re touching.” She swallowed hard. “When I’m done, you may not want to touch me ever again, and it will tear me apart to feel your hands leave me in disgust.”
He let go. “What happened, Molly? What could a sweet little woman like you do to—”
“I killed my father.” She shoved the words out. Words she’d never spoken aloud before. Not even to Kevin. She covered her face with both hands, so she couldn’t look at Wyatt, couldn’t see what was in his eyes. A bone-deep trembling that she couldn’t control threatened to break her apart. Her face felt flushed. Her head, her whole body, felt as if a fire burned inside. As if her great, dark secret was consuming her.
“I v-vowed—” Her teeth chattered until she couldn’t speak. She’d kept fear inside for years and years, and now she’d said the truth aloud. Now she might hang. She deserved to. “I vowed to never speak those words. I’ve prayed for God to forgive me for what I’ve done and protect me from the punishment I deserve. But it’s like holding in terror that builds until it has the pressure of a steaming kettle. Now that I said it, I can feel that it’s been grinding inside me from the moment that gun blasted and my pa clutched his chest, dropped to his knees, and pitched forward next to my ma’s body.”
She stopped speaking again and covered her face more tightly with her trembling hands. It was still as vivid as the moment it happened. She could remember the roar of the gun. The way Pa staggered back, looking at her with stunned eyes. She could smell the blood, smell the sulfur, the stench of the smoking gun.
“You killed your father?” Wyatt’s voice sounded as if he were far away.
His question helped her go on. “Yes, I shot him dead. I came in to find Ma on the kitchen floor, bleeding, unconscious. Pa turned on me. And it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. But he never hurt me like he hurt Ma. This time though, there was such fire in his eyes. Such a love of hurting Ma, and now those eyes were on me. He swung a fist, and I lurched back. Hit the wall. There was a gun belt hanging from a nail behind the door. I was so afraid and so angry. He’d hurt Ma so many times.”
“That’s where you learned healing, doctoring your ma?”
She nodded. Glad Wyatt had interrupted her story and taken her out of that room full of death. “After years of cruel beatings, he’d finally gone too far. But I didn’t know that yet. I’d seen Ma on the floor, not moving, plenty of times before. I fumbled that gun out of the holster and aimed it. He laughed, taunted me. ‘You gonna shoot your lovin’ papa, little girl?’”
She thought of those words, that ugliness. “I—I pulled the trigger. If—if I’d done it because I was afraid, only afraid, I would believe it was self-defense. But I hated him. I’d hated him for so long. I know in my heart how badly I wanted to kill him.” She started shaking again. She felt like there were tears inside her, but they’d turned to stone in her chest, and she couldn’t make them fall. She had to bear the hard pain of them forever.