“Another man, you mean?”
“Right. Look, Mary. I thought the world of Cole. We all did. Even Pa. And you know Pa.”
She nodded. “Cole was a good man.”
“Right. But there are other good men in the world.”
“Perhaps. But mine lies yonder.”
“Look, all I’m saying is give it time. Come home with us. We’re your family.”
“I know you’re my family,” she said, “but that’s not my home anymore. This is my home. And I must rebuild. What I need is the help of a man. The help of you, George.”
Her brother’s eyes swelled a little. Her direct appeal for help was doubly powerful, because she had tied it to the question of his manhood, just as she suspected her father had known she would.
Because even though her request was sincere—she did need George’s help and James’s, too—she also knew what she was asking was in George’s best interest, as well.
What better way to cement his burgeoning manhood than to set his interests aside and help his sister rebuild her home?
She could tell he was thinking and suspected he might even be treading some of the same thoughts she’d just run across, but she could see he was struggling, too. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it again.
“I really need you,” she said, putting it as straight as she could.
George, bless his heart, cared. She could see that, could see that her direct appeal had struck him. But he still struggled. “But Pa…”
“Pa will be fine,” Mary said. “You already pulled in the harvest and put up the last of the hay.”
“Yeah, but he’s all alone.”
“All alone in a warm house with plenty to eat. If you want to help family, help me. I will be grateful forever.”
George frowned again. He looked at her then looked away, glancing back in the direction from which he’d ridden, back to where their little brother was trying to catch fish with his bare hands. “What about James?”
“I could use his help, too. I need as much help as I can get.”
“What do you plan to do?”
In fact, she knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to rebuild the house and somehow build the barn she and Cole had been planning. She was going to stock up, ride out the winter, and plant again next spring. She’d break more ground, too. Push things out. And when she could, she would try to replace their stock.
But she didn’t say these things because again, this wasn’t just about rebuilding her life. It was also about helping her brother—and maybe both of her brothers—attain manhood. “I would like to talk to you about that. Where do you think we should start?”
George brightened at that. He stood a little taller and looked around. “I reckon you’ll need a house.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Where will you put it?” he asked and cast his gaze around the place.
She knew where to put the house: right where the old house had stood. Cole had chosen the best place on this amazing acreage.
And if George was half the man he aspired to be, he would see that, too.
But instead of discovering this truth, George pointed toward the lane. “Who’s that?”
Mary’s heart gave a little leap. Had the killers come back?
She turned, ready to take the shotgun off her shoulder, and saw two men. One drove a heavy wagon pulled by several mules. The other rode a horse and trailed another.
Mary didn’t recognize them, but they didn’t look like they meant trouble, especially when the man on the horse raised a hand and smiled and called out, “Afternoon, Mrs. Sullivan. All right if I come over and talk?”
