36

Logan jogged through the woods, ears tuned for footsteps and heavy breathing. The occasional cough fell like a breadcrumb, creating an audible path for him to follow, yet the farther they removed themselves from the smoke, the fewer coughs sounded.

Benson seemed to be heading south, but he jigged and jagged so often, it was difficult to determine his destination.

Logan stopped to listen for another breadcrumb, but nothing out of the ordinary met his ears. He looked southeast. Would Benson head for Ben Franklin and the townsfolk who would rally around him and make a confrontation difficult? He shifted his gaze southwest. Or would he return to the schoolhouse, gather what he could, and make a run for it? Logan blew out a breath. Or maybe the crafty devil had stashed a mount somewhere in the woods and had a completely different escape route planned. There was no way to know.

Figuring that he would hear a horse, Logan opted to head southwest. The schoolhouse offered immediate shelter and anonymity. If Benson went to town, there would be witnesses to report which way he had gone.

By the time Logan hit the clearing on the outskirts of the schoolyard, sweat ran down the sides of his face. The pudgy schoolmaster was spryer than Logan had given him credit for. Of course, a man’s survival instincts provided remarkable fuel.

Recalling the shotgun, Logan dashed toward the cover of the outhouse. A shot fired, but not at him. At least he didn’t think so. It sounded too muffled. Raising his own rifle into a ready position, he peered around the side of the privy.

The back door of the school flew open, and a black-suited, bald-pated ball of a man rolled heels over head down the rear steps and sprawled on the ground, his back slamming into the packed dirt. A dark, avenging angel followed him out. Face fierce, Zacharias Hamilton tossed away the weapon that Benson must have tried to use on him.

Hamilton strode forward. Benson whimpered and floundered like an upside-down stink beetle in a hopeless effort to get away. Hamilton grabbed him by the shirtfront with one hand and lifted the teacher’s head and shoulders off the ground. He drew back his right fist but paused before throwing the punch.

“Where’s my brother?” he growled.

Benson shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whined. The smug bully who’d not half an hour ago shot an old man and threatened a woman had turned into a whimpering weakling when confronted by a man he couldn’t intimidate.

Hamilton’s fist slammed into Benson’s jaw. His head banged against the dirt, and he actually started crying.

“Where’s my brother?” The question was a roar this time.

Logan grinned. One would think a schoolmaster would be smart enough to figure out what came next if he didn’t give the correct answer. Yet all Benson did was cower, shaking his head as if that would dissuade the man above him.

Disgusted yet driven to speed things up, Logan stepped out from behind the outhouse right as Hamilton drew back his arm to deliver another blow. “Seth’s up at Earl’s cabin.”

Hamilton kept his grip on Benson’s shirtfront, but his fist fell as he turned his head to regard Logan striding toward him.

“He’s in a bad way,” Logan said, knowing Eva’s brother would care more about family than punishing the man at his feet. “The smoke did a number on him, but Christie’s with him. Hopefully Eva will be too, pretty soon.”

Logan had hated leaving her behind, alone with a dying man. She might have acted tough on the outside, shooing him away with common sense and a competent bearing, but he knew her sensitive heart would take a blow. It wasn’t easy to watch a man die. His mother had never fully recovered from the experience.

Hamilton straightened, bringing Benson’s upper body with him as if it weighed next to nothing. “Where’s Evie?”

“With Earl.” Logan jerked his chin toward the schoolmaster. “Benson shot him. She bore witness. And I bore witness to him trying to silence her like he did his ex-partner.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed to slits. His fist drew back and struck like lightning. Benson’s head snapped back, and he lolled unconscious.

Logan stared at Benson as Hamilton dropped him into the dirt where he belonged. “Great. Now I’m gonna have to carry him to the marshal’s office.”

“I’ll leave you my horse,” Hamilton said, voice dry.

Logan shrugged. “Good enough.”

“He needed my fist in his face.”

“Yep,” Logan agreed. “Wish I had an excuse to bestow a second helping.”

Hamilton grunted. Logan took it as agreement.

“Seth?” Hamilton lifted his head to consider a landscape other than Benson.

“There’s a path to the north there.” Logan pointed just past the privy. “It’ll take you straight to the house. I’ll drop Benson off at the marshal’s office, then notify the undertaker to bring a wagon out for Earl.”

Hamilton reached for something inside his coat, then shoved two thin books at Logan. “Found Benson inside, pryin’ up a floorboard when I got here. These were in the space beneath.”

Logan stared at the ledgers, his blood surging. The proof they needed.

“Testifyin’ against him is all well and good,” Hamilton said, “but a snake like Benson can twist words and popular opinion to suit his purposes. Proof in his own handwriting is harder to deny.”

Logan tucked the thin volumes into the back of his waistband. “I’ll make sure the marshal understands their significance.” He glanced up at Hamilton. “Tell Eva I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Hamilton nodded.

They still had rocks the size of boulders between them, but nothing impossible to navigate, given enough time and willpower. For Eva’s sake, and perhaps even his own, Logan would clear the debris on his end and pray that Hamilton would do the same.

His former nemesis and future brother-in-law, if Logan got his way, took off at a jog, and Logan scowled down at the still unconscious schoolmaster.

“All right, Benson,” he grumbled as he hunkered down and slung the man over his shoulder, “time to pay the piper.”

Two hours later—who knew the marshal would make him write out his entire statement, or that the undertaker would have to be dragged away from the barbershop?—Logan finally made it back to where Earl’s body lay. The marshal had more questions about what transpired, so he followed Logan to the cabin while the undertaker headed back to town. He interrogated each of the Hamiltons along with Miss Gilliam. Christie added another ledger to the pile of evidence collected. Apparently, Earl had kept his own record of barters, listing all the moonshine he had supplied the schoolmaster believed to be a pillar of morality in the community.

Thankfully, Seth had made a full recovery and was easily able to relate his version of events, but it was Eva’s haunted recounting of Earl’s murder that finally removed the last speck of doubt from the marshal’s mind. By the time the lawman was ready to return to Ben Franklin, he’d worked up quite a temper and was ranting about calling an emergency city council meeting the moment he returned. Between the school board, Benson’s investment group, and the hangman, there was no shortage of people who would be out for the man’s blood.

Yet as satisfying as that was, Logan felt no closure. Not when heartache lingered in Eva’s eyes. She’d been through a lot today, seen things no young woman should have to see. She put up a feisty front, assuring everyone she was fine, but Logan sensed the bruises on her spirit.

Eager to put this place behind them, everyone began to mount up. Christie and Seth rode double on one of Earl’s wagon horses, Christie carrying the prized lockbox and a flour sack filled with what meager belongings she’d chosen to keep—two changes of clothes, a hairbrush, a Bible, and a photograph of her parents on their wedding day. Hamilton, sitting atop Jack, turned and raised an eyebrow at Logan.

“Go on ahead.” Logan waved him on. “We’ll meet you back at the house in a bit.”

Hamilton scowled, opened his mouth as if to argue, then promptly shut it and gave a curt nod.

Trust and permission had been granted. Reluctantly, but granted nonetheless.

Logan held Hamilton’s gaze, an unspoken pledge of honor passing between them, then watched as the three riders left.

Eva stood silent, petting Shamgar’s neck. Head down. Shoulders slumped. Gently, he placed a hand at her waist and turned her to face him. She came without resisting, but her chin remained down, hiding her wonderful eyes from him.

“Eva,” he pleaded, “look at me.”

Her chin lifted first, then, gradually, her lashes. Her brown eye seemed vulnerable and sad, while her blue eye shimmered with uncertainty.

“Is it really over?” she whispered.

Logan tugged her close and reached a hand up to stroke her hair. “Yes, love. It’s over. Christie’s safe. Benson’s behind bars. Everything’s—”

She grabbed him so tightly, she squeezed off his words. With her face buried in his chest, her body shook with the force of her sobs. He wrapped both arms around her and laid his cheek against the top of her head. She’d been strong for so long. For Christie. For Seth. She’d even been strong for him, sending him after Benson while she dealt with Earl. He’d seen the body when he returned with the undertaker. A gruesome mess. How much worse must it have been while Earl was still alive?

His cheerful wood sprite had faced death three times today. With Seth. With Earl. Even on her own. It was no wonder her spirits had been depleted. It was a miracle she was still standing. She deserved to unload her burden, and the fact that she’d chosen him for the task over one of her brothers made his heart swell so full, if his ribs weren’t there to cage it, it would surely have burst from his chest.

After several minutes, her grip loosened and her head lifted. She gave a little sniff and started to apologize, but he stopped her.

“No sorrys, darlin’. I’m here for you. Always.”

A shaky smile curved her lips as her gaze met his. “I love you, Logan.”

He closed his eyes and touched his lips to her forehead, lingering, savoring the closeness, thanking God for keeping her safe. The chilling image of Benson’s shotgun aimed directly at her midsection would be burned into his brain for years.

“I love you, too,” he said as his lips separated from her skin. “And I never want to let you go.”

“That’s good.” Her smile grew steadier, her eyes reclaiming the teasing twinkle he so adored. “Because I don’t plan on escaping any time soon.”

As happy as that declaration made him, he had one of his own to make—one he hoped would lay a better foundation for their future than the slipshod work he’d done thus far.

“Eva, I have a favor to ask of you.”

She must have noticed the seriousness of his tone, for she blinked and leaned back a little, choosing an angle better suited to examining his face. Yet no worry shone in her eyes, only trust.

Logan swallowed. No matter what he did from here on out, he’d never deserve this woman. But he’d do everything in his power to ensure she never regretted choosing to share her life with him.

“I need six months,” he blurted before he lost his nerve. “Six months to finish the cabin, purchase a starter herd, and prove that I can provide for us without gambling.” He blew out a breath, then dove in for the rest. “I need time to put things right with my mother,” he rushed on, not quite able to meet her eyes, “which will take me away for extended periods. It’s not ideal for courtin’.” He dug at the ground with his boot heel.

“But it’s important.” Her words echoed verbatim the thought running through his mind, as if she’d peeked inside his skull and read it written there.

Logan found her eyes, and the utter acceptance gleaming in them melted away his last insecurity.

“Your mother is family, Logan. Taking care of her, loving her, is your God-given duty. All I ask is that you let me help. Bring me into your family just as I have brought you into mine.”

Her plea so humbled him, he tugged her to his chest so she couldn’t see the moisture gathering in his eyes. “You’re already there, darlin’,” he murmured, the words hitching only slightly over the emotion clogging his throat. “You’re already there.”