Seven

The ranch was unusually quiet the following day as everyone went about their business with a kind of respectful reserve. After discussing it with Trey, Nell decided it would be best to leave Joshua with Lottie until after the funeral. She would follow Addie’s advice and stay away until then. Trey had one of his men deliver her note to Lottie. The only reply was the cowboy’s report that Lottie had said Joshua was welcome to stay as long as he liked.

Nell observed the preparations for Javier’s funeral and helped wherever she could, although she felt completely out of place. The truth was, she was torn as to where she truly belonged. On the one hand, Henry was her brother. They had never been close, but he was still blood kin. On the other hand, Trey was her husband, and his evident heartbreak over the loss of his best friend had her worried. He blamed himself, and on the night before the funerals for both men, she woke to find his side of the bed empty. Terrified his grief had found its way to anger, she hurried barefoot down the hall that separated the bedroom wing from the rest of the house. The front door was closed, and the only light came from the candles that Juanita had insisted remain lit in the room where Javier’s body lay.

A shadow cast by the flickering light took on a human form. Nell hesitated before entering the room, not wanting to disturb Juanita or Eduardo, should they be sitting with their son. But it was Trey who stood motionless next to his friend, his hand resting gently on Javier’s coffin. Relieved that her husband had not gone out seeking revenge, as in her experience, men were prone to do, she stepped back into the darkness of the hall.

“He was more than a friend, Nell,” Trey said softly, inviting her into the room with his comment. “Growing up, he was my brother in every way but blood. Out there—” His voice broke, and he shook off the emotion as he ran his fingers over his forearm where the mark of his wound was still evident. “Out there, we became true brothers, his blood mingling with mine.”

Nell moved closer. “I’m so sorry I will not have the chance to know him better, Trey.”

“He wasn’t the man who raided your place, Nellie. I mean, he was there all right, but he got caught up with a gang who believed their livelihoods—the futures of their families—were in danger. Even when Pete Collins decided against being at the meeting, Javier came. He chose to try and work this out. That says a good deal about the kind of man he truly was.”

It occurred to Nell that from what Trey had told her of the meeting at Deadman’s Point, none of the other herders had come with Henry—just Ira and Ernest. There was so much bitterness, resentment blossoming into outright hatred. And now Trey would be caught in the middle. Having married her, he had alienated both sides. Her people thought he had tricked her to get her land. Trey’s friends would question his loyalty to their cause.

“Trey, I—”

“Somebody took a shot at me the other night after I stopped over at your brother’s place, Nell.”

Nell drew in her breath and gripped his arm. “Did the boys or Ernest see you there?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t one of them. That’s what whoever fired wanted me to think. I’ve been studying on it ever since, and I’m pretty sure it was a cowhand, maybe one of Collins’s boys. Maybe Pete himself.”

“But why?”

He withdrew the hand he’d used to cover his wounded forearm and pulled her close to his side. “I expect to make the point that the time has come for me to choose sides.”

“But you have chosen. There’s a third side in all this, Trey. The side that has us all living together in peace. That’s your side.”

He kissed her temple. “Pretty lonely standing on that side with just you,” he said.

“Nonsense,” she replied. “There are many who would like to see an end to this business—Javier’s family, your family…”

“And yours?”

It was a question she couldn’t answer. “Come to bed,” she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You go on. I just need a few more minutes.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “Go on, now. Sun will be up before we know it.”

Reluctantly, she returned to the beautiful room his parents had shared. Not for the first time, she wondered if she and Trey could find the kind of happiness and joy that Isaac and Constance Porterfield had found there. And not for the first time since learning of the carnage played out first at Deadman’s Point and then at her ranch, she wondered if perhaps it might not be best for everyone—especially Trey—if she just left.

* * *

Juanita was overwhelmed by the turnout for Javier’s funeral. Every cattle rancher in the area was there, each man bringing his family and what hired hands could be spared, to pay their respects and offer their support to Juanita, Eduardo, and Rico.

The day had dawned with a vivid blue sky streaked with swaths of pink and pale purple, the kind of sky Javier had once called a rainbow sky. Juanita smiled at the memory. He’d been five or so the first time he’d named it and had come running into the kitchen while she was trying to get breakfast on the table for the Porterfield family.

“Come, Mama,” he’d pleaded, tugging at her skirt. “It’s a rainbow sky. You have to come now, or it will go away.”

The entire Porterfield clan had followed Juanita and her son to the yard where he pointed at the sky as he jumped around with excitement. “See? I told you. Trey, get your stuff. You have to paint this right now.”

And because Trey and Javier were the best of friends, in spite of the difference in age, Trey had hurried back to the house. His wheezing had echoed across the courtyard as he emerged seconds later with his sketchbook and box of pastels.

That crude drawing still hung in the room Javier had once shared with Rico. Juanita glanced across the open grave to where Trey stood with his siblings—and his new bride. The boy was as much her son as Rico and Javier were, and yet if he hadn’t drawn Javier into his fight to bring the herders and cattlemen together, would they be here at Javier’s grave today?

She was so stricken with grief that nothing made sense to her, least of all where her loyalties should lie. It was hard to forgive Trey for his naïveté in thinking he could even start to solve the fight between sides so simply. And to have married the herder woman without letting her family know? Juanita was well aware Trey had feelings for her, but to act so impulsively was completely out of character. It was the kind of thing she might expect of his brother, but Trey had always been so steadfast, even guarded in his actions.

As the priest droned on, she focused her gaze on Nell Stokes—Porterfield, now. Nothing to be done about that. It was hardly the young widow’s fault that things had come to pass this way. On the other hand, she should have known marrying Trey would open a hornet’s nest of trouble. She was a grown woman and seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, so why hadn’t she refused Trey?

The herders thought Trey had tricked her so he could take over her land, but what if the shoe was on the other foot? What if she had been the one to trick him? Certainly, she had no future on her own. There was no way she could manage that sheep ranch without help—financial and otherwise—and Trey was a good catch. Any number of families in the territory knew that, and several had made their bid to have him take note of their unmarried daughters. How had Nell Stokes managed to steal his heart?

The woman was trouble, at least for Trey. Juanita frowned. She had suffered the loss of one son; she would not lose another in the bargain. Nell Stokes Porterfield had best watch herself, at least when in the presence of Juanita.

* * *

Following the graveside service, Trey moved among the crowded rooms of the ranch house like a ghost. He heard friends and neighbors speaking of Javier in low, respectful terms. Occasionally, he would hear a burst of laughter as someone told a story of Javier’s antics out on the range. Once or twice, he stepped up to the circle of men and tried to share in the memories, but it was evident his presence made them uncomfortable, so he moved away. They blamed him, and why not?

His sister Amanda carried a tray loaded with food from the kitchen to the tables set up in the courtyard. Trey wondered at the need for people to express their condolences through food. Something to do with sustenance, he thought, although he couldn’t quite grasp the connection.

He saw Pete Collins’s wife and looked around for Pete. He was the only rancher who had not shown up for the funeral. Trey crossed the yard, and as he approached Bess Collins, she looked around as if seeking an escape.

“Thank you for coming, Bess. I know the turnout gives Juanita and Eduardo some comfort. Where’s Pete? I’d like to thank him as well.”

Bess twisted a handkerchief and did not meet Trey’s gaze. “Pete? Well, he…that is, there was… I expect he’ll be along directly.”

One of Pete’s hired hands stepped forward. “We had some trouble at the ranch,” he told Trey. “The boss sends his deepest sympathies and said he’d stop by as soon as he can.” He took hold of Bess’s arm and steered her away.

Trey didn’t believe a word of it, but his suspicions about Pete could wait. Javier’s family—and his—should be the focus now.

Juanita sat in the shade, graciously accepting the brief condolences a line of guests offered in turn. Rico stood just behind her, a sentry on guard lest anyone upset his beloved mother. Eduardo shifted nervously from one foot to the other, his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back.

Trey looked around for Jess and saw his brother talking to their brother-in-law Seth Grover, both of them men of the law. Jess was marshal in Whitman Falls while Seth had been elected and reelected to serve as sheriff of the region with headquarters in Tucson. The two of them kept glancing his way. Something was up, and he intended to be full party to whatever decisions they were making.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he reached them.

They abruptly ended their conversation.

Seth glanced at Jess and nodded.

Jess sighed. “You need to turn yourself in, Trey.”

Trey was astounded that they were focused on his part in what had happened at Deadman’s Point rather than what they might do to prevent all-out war. “There’s no cause,” he said. “It was an accident. Galway tripped while he was holding the gun and—”

“Ernest Stokes insists it was deliberate,” Seth said. He placed a comforting hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Just do it, Trey. We’ll get this all worked out, but right now, the less fuss you make…”

Seth had been an undercover detective for Wells Fargo before taking the job of sheriff for the region. If anyone knew how these things worked, he did. Still, Trey had his doubts. “But won’t that make it look like I’m guilty of something?”

“You’re not saying that,” Jess explained. “You’re just trying to do what you can to get this whole business settled. After all, Stokes and Galway’s son will tell a different version of things.”

“We just buried one of those witnesses,” Trey reminded his brother. “That leaves you.”

“And my position as marshal ought to count for something, but still.”

Trey was well aware that Jess didn’t like it when others contradicted what he thought best, especially when that challenge came from his siblings.

“You’re also my brother,” Trey reminded him.

“Lower your voices,” Addie said, coming alongside her husband.

Trey looked around and saw that the mourners were casting furtive glances in their direction. Did everyone assume he was guilty? He could understand if the Galways and other herders believed that, but his own neighbors?

He wound his way through the cluster of people that stood between him and the kitchen door. “Excuse me,” he murmured to those he passed. A few nodded sympathetically and stepped aside while others turned away.

Once inside, Trey walked straight through the house to the front door. And having put the house between him and the mourners, he stood on the veranda and took in a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. He stared up at the sky, overcast now. They would have that much-needed rain before dawn. He walked over to the small fenced cemetery that held the graves of his parents and now held Javier. The mound of sandy dirt that covered the newest grave was covered with flowers. He knelt and picked up a red rose someone had left and remembered the blood, so much blood, that day.

Newly determined, he placed the rose back on Javier’s grave. As he returned to the house, he heard the thunder of hoofbeats in the distance and saw half a dozen soldiers riding in his direction. Expecting this signaled trouble, Trey strode around the side of the house to the yard where all conversation had dwindled to whispers as everyone turned their attention to the approaching soldiers.

Trey joined Jess and Seth, and Nell worked her way through the crowd until she was standing next to him. Once there, she entwined her fingers in his as if she had no intention of ever letting go. “What’s happening?” she asked, her voice shaky with fear. “Why are those soldiers coming here?”

The officer in charge dismounted and strode across the courtyard until he was standing nearly toe to toe with Trey. “Trey Porterfield, you are charged with the murder of Henry Galway and are to be held in custody until such time as arrangements can be made for your trial.”

Seth and Jess both stepped forward. Jess cleared his throat. “Come on, Captain. Galway’s death was accidental,” he said.

“Not according to the witness who came to the fort this morning to report what he observed.” The captain nodded to two of his men, who dismounted and approached Trey.

Nell tightened her grip on his hand and edged close to him.

“Now, ma’am,” the captain said, his voice gentle and soft as if speaking to a child. “I need to ask you to let us do our duty here.”

“Henry Galway is…was my brother,” Nell replied. “Your witnesses are my nephew and my late husband’s cousin. Both of them have reason to want to make trouble for my husband.”

Trey saw a flicker of surprise pass over the captain’s features. “Look, Captain,” he said, “this entire business is tied to the conflict between cattlemen and sheepherders. I had hoped the meeting that day might be a first step toward finding a path through all that, a way we might share the land and get along better. Things got out of hand when Mr. Galway learned that his sister and I had married. I have nothing but respect for the Galway family, and indeed all the herders in the region, but you have to understand they might see things different.”

He was tempted to ask why the soldiers weren’t over at the sheep ranch arresting Ira for killing Javier in cold blood. But one step at a time. “You mentioned a new witness, Captain. May we know who that is?” If Spud was the witness in question, then that was easy to dismiss, since he’d been nowhere near the meeting.

“Peter Collins,” the captain replied curtly. He nodded to his soldiers, who took hold of Trey’s arms, gently prying Nell away in the bargain. The men tied his hands in front and led him from the yard to where the rest of their party waited with a riderless horse. They helped him mount before tying his hands to the horn of the saddle.

“Collins wasn’t even there,” Jess protested. “He was supposed to be, but he never showed.”

“He says he was late, and as he started up the trail, he saw your brother push Galway—”

Any further information the soldier might offer was cut short by Juanita’s feral cry as she fought her way through the throng of people and faced the captain. “This is my boy,” she said, her voice coming in gasps as she pointed to Trey. Then she pointed in the direction of the freshly covered grave in the family cemetery. “And that was my boy,” she continued, jabbing at the captain’s chest to place emphasis on every word. “You speak of cold-blooded murder? What about my son, Javier? What about his killer?”

“Already in custody, ma’am. Now please”—he raised his eyes to include everyone—“let us do our job.”

Eduardo stepped forward and gently led his wife back to the house. No one spoke or moved as the captain strode back to his horse, mounted, and then ordered his men to move out. When Trey looked back, he saw Nell holding Juanita as the older woman sobbed uncontrollably.

Pete Collins hadn’t come to Javier’s funeral, and Trey had thought that strange, but there were all sorts of reasons why a rancher might not be able to get away from his work. After all, Pete had made sure his wife and kids were there to pay their respects. But now he also recalled how nervous Pete’s wife had been when he asked after her husband.

Why hadn’t Trey realized Pete’s wife was lying or at least covering for the man? And what could Pete hope to gain by accusing Trey?

Control.

The answer was as clear as the Arizona sky. Pete wanted—needed—Trey out of the way.

* * *

Nell wanted nothing so much as to go running after the departing soldiers, scream at them to stop and let Trey go. But Juanita collapsed against her, and until Addie and Amanda came rushing to her aid, it was all Nell could do to keep Javier’s mother from sinking to the ground.

As soon as Addie and Amanda led Juanita away, Nell sought out Jess and Seth. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

Both men looked down as if surprised to see her still there. Seth’s gaze was kind, but Jess glared at her with the same fury he’d directed at her after Trey had announced their marriage. “Haven’t you done enough?” he asked and strode away, back toward the house.

Nell watched him go. Behind her, Seth said, “The best thing you can do, Nell, is stay out of it. You have your son to worry about. We’ll take care of Trey.”

She understood Seth was trying to offer comfort and sympathy, but his words set off a fury within her, a fury she realized she’d been holding in ever since the day of the ill-fated meeting. She turned slowly and looked up at this man who was now her brother-in-law, and it struck her for the first time she had inherited Trey’s family. His sisters and brother were hers now, his in-laws hers as well—and she theirs.

“Trey is my husband,” she said calmly. “He is in trouble, and I will not stand by and do or say nothing as others decide his fate.”

She thought she saw a hint of a smile before Seth said, “How can I help?”

“If you would be so kind as to arrange for a horse and buggy that I can use starting first thing tomorrow, I would be much obliged.”

“And just where do you plan to go?”

“I will go to the fort to be sure my husband is being fairly treated, and then—”

“And if he is not being fairly treated?”

That had not occurred to Nell. “Surely—”

“Just making sure you think this thing through, Nell. So you go to the fort. Then what?”

“I need to pay a condolence call on my brother’s wife and his sons, if they’ll see me. At any rate, I need to bring Joshua back here, try to explain to him what is happening, and get him settled. If Juanita and the rest of the family are all right with the two of us staying on here. If not, then I really don’t have any other—” Her eyes welled with tears, and she swiped at them with the back of one hand. She was so very tired—and more frightened than she had ever been in her life.

Seth pulled a clean handkerchief from the pocket of the coat he had worn for the funeral and pressed it into her hands. “Come on, Nell Porterfield. Let’s get some supper, and you leave that horse and buggy to me.”

* * *

The accommodations at the fort were anything but luxurious. The soldiers walked Trey across the parade grounds, past Colonel Ashwood’s headquarters where he had met on several occasions with other ranchers and the colonel, and on to a squat adobe building at the far end of the compound. Now that the native population had been moved to reservations and towns and settlements that dotted the area, there was no longer a need for soldiers to be on hand to protect settlers. The fort was scheduled to close later that spring, and already the number of soldiers stationed there had noticeably declined.

“Watch your head,” the captain instructed as he ducked through an open doorway into a narrow and shadowy passage lined with barred doors on either side. “In here,” the soldier added as he pushed open a rusted iron door.

Trey paused at the entrance. “May I see the colonel?”

“In time. For now, welcome to your new home.” He made a grand gesture mocking the sordid conditions, and Trey stepped past him.

He could stand in the center of the small space and touch the adobe walls with the flat of his palms. He saw a cot—the sort soldiers used when out on patrol, canvas worn thin on the edges and sagging in the middle. In the corner was a battered tin bucket. “Well, at least there’s a toilet,” he joked as he tossed his hat on the cot and walked to the barred window, no more than a slit really. Other than the little sunlight that made its way down the passage where the soldiers waited, it was the cell’s single source of light.

The metal door clanged shut behind him, and he heard the retreating footsteps of the captain and his men. From outside came the chants of soldiers drilling on the yard, along with the familiar noises of someone shoeing a horse and the soft conversation of two military wives as they passed beneath the small window of his cell. He sat on the edge of the cot, his boots scuffing the loose dirt that made up the floor until he unearthed a small rock. He dug it out and used it to mark a single scratch on the cell wall, followed by other marks as, from memory, he drew an outline of his home.

He stopped when he heard a noise from the other side of the wall. Someone was crying and trying hard not to be heard. “Hello?” he called, moving to the bars of the cell so his voice would carry. “Who’s there?”

“Ernest?” The male voice cracked with the high-low of adolescence. “They got you too?”

“It’s not Ernest. It’s Trey Porterfield.”

Silence from the other cell.

Trey recalled the captain’s answer that Javier’s killer was already in custody. “You’re one of the Galway boys, right?”

More silence.

“Ira, right?”

“Stop talking to me. You killed my pa in cold blood.”

Trey felt his frustration build at the boy’s determination to see things the way he wanted and not the way they had really happened. That, along with his rage over the senseless death of his best friend, made him want to lash out at the kid. He forced himself to take a deep breath. If his fight was to prevent more violence, then he needed to start by subduing his own urge to beat the stuffing out of Ira Galway.

“Now come on. You know he tripped and fell. It was an accident.”

“So you say.” The boy choked back a fresh sob. “Didn’t even let me stay past the funeral. I guess you and your cowboys had something to do with that, right? I mean, what chance does my kind have with all of you lined up against us?”

Trey swallowed the bile of his rage. Did the kid have no remorse for killing Javier? “If I had any kind of influence in this business, do you think I’d be locked up next to you?” he asked.

Something metal hit the wall. Trey suspected it was the boy’s tin bucket. “Just stop talking to me,” Ira yelled.

There was a loud thud, one Trey deciphered as the kid collapsing onto his cot. He’s a boy, Trey thought. He’s scared. His innate empathy gave him control over the bitterness he felt toward Ira.

“You’re gonna want to take it easy on your furnishings over there,” he said. “That bucket’s the only toilet you’re likely to see while you’re in here. Wouldn’t want to puncture it and have to deal with a leak, and if you crack the frame on that cot, you’ll be sleeping on the dirt floor.”

“Shut up,” Ira shouted.

Trey imagined him sitting there with his hands over his ears. He went back to his drawing, moving his cot away to give him the full wall as his canvas.

As always when he sketched, he was oblivious to the passage of time. He worked quickly, pausing only to scour the floor for another rock when the edge on one dulled.

“You got rats over there or scorpions or what?” he heard Ira ask after some time had passed. “What’s all that scratching?”

Trey grunted. “I like to draw. I’m using a rock on the wall.”

More time passed.

“Kind of a sissy pastime for a full-grown man.” The boy snorted with derision.

“I guess that depends on your way of seeing things. Me, I use my drawing as time to study on things that might be upsetting to me—like somebody killing my best friend.”

The kid had no comment. Trey kept working on the sketch, but his strokes were more like vehement stabs at the adobe surface.

“Whatcha drawing?” Ira’s voice was soft, but that did not hide his curiosity.

Trey took a step back and looked at his work. The light was fading, and soon, he would have to stop. He set the rocks he’d been using on the deep adobe window sill. “My ranch. Ever seen it?”

“Naw.”

Trey moved his cot back against the wall and stretched out, his hands behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles. “My pa started it from nothin’,” he said. “He was killed before he could see it the way it is today.” He paused. “My pa was murdered,” he added softly, unsure why he would share that with Ira.

“Well, so was mine,” the boy blustered. “You oughta know, since you’re the one who did it.”

Trey grimaced as he tried to measure his words. “Ira, your pa tripped. If he hadn’t been holding that gun, he might have survived the fall. If you hadn’t brought that knife—and pulled it on an unarmed man—my friend might be alive, and you might not be here. You might want to start thinking about the trouble you’re in.”

“So I stabbed a Mexican. Who’s gonna blame me for that? He was threatening me and mine.”

Trey was on his feet and clutching the bars of the cell in one swift move. “Watch your mouth, kid. That man was my best friend—more than a friend. He was a brother to me, and he was worth half a dozen of you.” He hardly recognized his voice. The words came out like rasps of a saw on the wood that had become Javier’s coffin.

He heard footsteps from the compound coming their way.

“Chow time,” a soldier called as he entered the dim corridor. A second soldier accompanied him, holding a lantern. He unlocked Trey’s cell and stood aside while the first man delivered a plate of stew, a hunk of bread, and a tin cup filled with water. The two men silently repeated the action for Ira and then, checking to be sure the cell doors were secure, left.

Trey picked up the spoon on the plate and scooped the food into his mouth, sopping up the gravy with the coarse bread. It was better than he’d expected. He washed everything down with the water, then stacked his cup on the metal plate and set them by the door. He stood at the window, gazing up at what he could see of the sky, wondering how Nell was faring. He was sure his family would treat her with respect. At least Amanda and Addie would. Jess was another matter. She wasn’t one of them, and although she’d had no fault in Javier’s death, Jess would blame her.

He went back to the door, listened for sounds from the cell next door. “Did you eat?” he asked.

“None of your damned business,” the kid growled.

“You should eat. Gonna be morning before anything happens for either of us. You’re not likely to see more food till then either.” He lay down on his cot. After a minute or two, he heard the scrape of a spoon on a metal plate.

Outside, it started to rain.

* * *

After the soldiers arrested Trey and rode off, the courtyard exploded in chatter. Nell filled a plate and escaped to her room, refusing Amanda’s invitation to have supper with Trey’s family after the other mourners had left. Everyone was trying to be kind, but it was clear they were uncomfortable in her presence.

And would it be any different if she were at Lottie’s?

She thought of her son and wondered if he understood why she couldn’t be with him, why, for the moment, he was best off staying with his aunt. But was it true? What were Ernest and the boys saying about her and about Trey? How might Lottie’s grief come out in words that accused and confused? And had her sister-in-law even bothered to give Joshua the note Nell had included for him when the cowhand delivered the message?

She paced the large bedroom where she had slept these last few nights with Trey, her husband and a man she knew so little about. Oh, she knew he was gentle and kind, and he cared deeply about others. She knew the death of his friend had devastated him, and yet, unlike so many of the men she had known over her lifetime, his first thought had not been revenge. Trey’s concern had focused on others and on finding a way to make this right for everyone involved. He was a good man, but there would come a time when he would be forced to make hard choices. Would he choose her or see her as part of the larger problem?

At night, when they lay in bed and he made love to her, she believed everything was possible. In this room, in this bed, being with him felt so right. But in the glare of day, when she left this room and sat at meals with his family, she was not so sure. She wished she could just get Joshua and go home to her own ranch. At least there she knew who she was, where she belonged. But the only home Joshua had ever known was gone, burned to the ground by men who carried only blind hatred in their hearts.

Outside the closed door of the bedroom, she heard the others come down the hall, seeking out their rooms for the night. The house went silent, but the air hummed with the remnants of the day’s events, and the underlying presence of turmoil loomed over the quiet. The sense of foreboding was so pervasive that Nell knew she would get no sleep. Seth Grover had promised a horse and buggy by morning, but that was hours away. If she left now on foot, she would reach Lottie’s just before dawn, perhaps have the chance to talk to her sister-in-law without the boys and Ernest around. The need to do something—anything—was overwhelming. Nell thought if she had to spend one more hour in this house, she would go mad.

It had started to rain, but that was of little concern to her. She needed to hold her son, the one constant in this chaos. Once she had been reunited with Joshua, things would become clearer. She could move forward and find a way to help Trey. She had no doubt his siblings and in-laws had already discussed the matter, but their reluctance to include her in that discussion had been obvious.

Still, he was her husband. Trey and Joshua were the closest family she had in this world, and she would not shirk in her responsibility to either of them. On the other hand, Henry had been family as well, and didn’t she owe some loyalty to Lottie and her boys? Drawing a cloak over her head to protect her from the steady rain, she stepped outside and set out for the long walk to her brother’s ranch. With luck, she would arrive at dawn and find Lottie alone in the kitchen.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Juanita sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee gone cold in her hand. She heard the heavy front door open and close. One of the herd dogs set to barking. Someone going out at this hour? Wearily, she pushed herself to her feet. She reached the window in time to see a small figure walking up the trail that led away from the ranch—a woman in a cloak, her hood pulled up over her head. Trey’s new bride.

She watched until Nell was out of sight. She thought of waking Eduardo and sending him to get her. Wherever Nell was headed, she would be soaked by the time she got halfway there. Maybe she had finally seen the light and realized she and Trey had made a terrible mistake. Of course, Trey would never admit that. He would want Juanita to go fetch Nell home. But what did she owe this woman whose family had murdered her son?

Let her go, she thought as she drew in a dry sob, her tears long since spent. Even with Trey in the house, the woman was a distraction, a presence none of them seemed to know how to face. Now Trey was in jail at the fort thanks to that woman’s family’s accusations. But then Pete Collins had accused him too, a man Javier had known—even admired.

For the first time since Trey had come riding into the yard leading the horse with Javier’s body, Juanita had doubts. Was it possible that Trey had not told the whole truth about the events leading up to Galway’s death? Jess was the hothead in the Porterfield family, but Trey’s limits had never been truly tested. Perhaps he’d finally let his anger and frustration take its natural course.

She shook off the thought. Jess might lie to her to save his skin, but never Trey. That boy was far too honest, too certain of the good in every person he met. He was probably sitting in jail right this minute, trying to find something positive in this whole mess.

And while he was in jail, he would assume that his family was taking care of his wife. Juanita sighed and let the kitchen curtain fall back into place. She walked down the hall to Trey’s old room. Her eldest son’s snores resonated even through the closed door. “Rico, wake up,” she said as she entered the room and shook his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Louisa whispered.

“Trey’s wife has run off, and I need Rico to go get her and bring her back here.”

Rico rolled over and rubbed his eyes. “Where’s she gone?”

“I don’t know. My guess is either she’s headed back to her people or else she’s got some fool idea of seeing Trey over at the fort. Either way, she’s out there on foot, in the rain.”

Rico swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his trousers. “Why don’t you wake Jess? He’s Trey’s brother and—”

“And so are you. Maybe not blood, but sometimes that’s not all that counts. Now get dressed. I’ll fix you some coffee and wrap up some cold biscuits for you to take along. She can’t be far.”

A few minutes later, Rico walked into the kitchen carrying his boots. While he sat and pulled them on, Juanita placed a cup of hot coffee and a package of biscuits wrapped in oilcloth on the table next to him. “Take Trey’s slicker there. That rain is coming harder by the minute.”

Rico stood, swallowed more coffee, and grabbed Trey’s yellow slicker from the hook by the door. “Ma, this woman’s family killed Javier.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—”

“She didn’t kill your brother. And she’s Trey’s wife, whether we like it or not. Trey is family, and now, so is she. We take care of family. Now get going.”

But Rico stood his ground. “I just don’t understand how you can be so worried about her. Why not let her go back to her people and let them take care of her?”

“Because that woman is suffering same as us. Did you forget somebody, probably some cowboys, burned her home to the ground? What did she ever do to deserve that? She has no place in this world right now, Rico. She doesn’t fit here with us, and my guess is her brother’s family won’t greet her with welcoming arms. Her husband’s in jail, and her brother is dead, and she had no say in any of it.”

“She didn’t have to marry Trey. She had a say in that,” Rico reminded her. “And besides, you’ve suffered too—you and Papa. Javier’s dead, Mama.”

She spun around and faced him, taking hold of his jaw and forcing him to meet her gaze. “You think I don’t know that? I know my son’s lying out there in the ground. I also know I can’t change that, but what I can change is how I—and my family—handle our pain. What do you want, Rico? Revenge?”

“Justice,” he said, pulling away from her as he finished his coffee and set the cup on the drain board. “An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what the Bible preaches?”

“And where will that get anybody? Another mother’s son in prison or hanged? Another ranch burned or the stock slaughtered and decent people suffering because they can no longer make a living?” She was shaking as she gripped Rico’s arm. “Go find her, Rico, and let’s start down a different trail to find our way past this.”

Rico wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “All right, Mama. We’ll try it your way. Don’t upset yourself, okay? I’ll go find Trey’s wife and bring her back.”

“Take the wagon.”

Rico shrugged into the slicker, pulled his hat firmly in place, and opened the door. The wind whipped through the kitchen, bringing the rain with it. Rico held tight to his hat and slammed the door shut as he hurried toward the barn to hitch up the wagon.

Satisfied she had done what she could, Juanita turned back to the stove. The others would be up soon, and they would want breakfast. Then they’d have to continue the discussion they had begun the night before about how they were going to get their youngest brother out of jail.