"He didn't think you'd be in danger. The Garveys were going to double cross him. He knew it. He took the gold and ran."
"Why didn't he run to Sam Houston—let him be shot to death, left to the wolves. Why—"
"The pack horses were so loaded down, Kennisaw knew they couldn't outrun the Garveys forever. Kennisaw dumped the gold on your pa's land, hid it, and rode for help. He never suspected the Garveys would track him to Stormy Ridge."
"You're telling me my pa let him do that?" Garret's head reeled. It was impossible. Tom MacQuade had hated war of any kind. Countless arguments about patriotism and duty rang through Garret's mind, memories of how Tom had told him to let some other bloodthirsty fool throw away his life over ideals. He'd just stay on his own land and grow corn. "No," Garret said. "I can't believe—"
"Your father didn't know," Ash interrupted softly. "Kennisaw thought it would be safer for all of you that way."
"Safer!" Garret raged. "For God's sake, if Pa had known, had been able to give them the gold, maybe they would have left Ma and Beth alone. Let them live."
Yet even before he looked into Ashleen's wide, pain-filled eyes he knew in his gut that Garvey would have killed them anyway and laughed while he pulled the trigger.
"He should've told Pa. At least we could've been ready. Waiting for the bastards when they rode in. As it was, Ma practically asked them to supper. Thought they were travelers—needed home-cooked food. I can still remember the way she was smiling up at them, all pretty and sunshiny, when they pulled their guns."
Garret's fist clenched so tightly the tendons threatened to snap.
"Damn it, why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he ever tell me? Twenty years I shared a fire with that bastard. Trusted him. Twenty years he looked me straight in the face and lied."
He wanted to see outrage in Ashleen's face, wanted her to share his fury at Kennisaw Jones. But she only stared, sorrowful, at the fingers clasped in her lap. "I think he wanted to tell you," she said, "but he was afraid."
"Afraid?"
"Afraid that you would hate him. That he would lose you. If what you say is true—that Kennisaw loved your mother and Beth, that he was your father's closest friend—" Garret felt her draw in a deep breath, sensed she was searching for words that wouldn't wound him. But it was too late. She already had. "Garret, you were all he had left. And he... he was the only one who could take care of you. If you had known the truth—"
"I would've hated him. I hate him now."
"You might wish you did, Garret, but you don't. There's no hate in you."
"He betrayed us. Led my family to the slaughter."
"I'm not condoning what Kennisaw did. It was wrong. No one knew that better than he. When you were telling me about the day he found you, you said it was as if... as if someone had torn his heart out. I think Kennisaw had done so himself."
"He lied. Damn it, he lied. To me. To Pa."
"Kennisaw wanted to make it right with you. Before he died he begged me to tell you what had happened. He wanted to tell you himself. I think that was what kept him holding on so long, wanting to ask your forgiveness."
"If it was so all-fired important to him, why didn't you tell me as soon as we met? You knew all along I was torn up with grief over a man who had killed my family sure as if he'd pulled the trigger. Why didn't you tell me the truth?"
Her eyes glistened, her voice wobbling, just a whisper. "What good would it have served, Garret? It wouldn't have changed what happened. Wouldn't have brought your parents back to life. Wouldn't have given you back your sister. All it would have done was steal away the only thing the Garveys left to you that day—Kennisaw."
Even through his own pain Garret could hear the anguish in her voice, and he hated it, hated hurting anyone so vulnerable, so infinitely sweet.
But when she raised her gaze to his it was strength that shimmered in those summer-sky eyes, strength and love, and so much understanding he loathed himself.
"Damn it, Ash. Damn it to hell." It was an apology. The closest he could come to one.
Silence fell. Long minutes fraught with pain. Kennisaw had betrayed him. Betrayed his mother. His father. Kennisaw had lied. But it wasn't Ashleen's fault. Any more than the happenings on Stormy Ridge had been little Beth's.
Wearily Garret dragged limp fingers through his hair, arching his head back to rest against the wagon bow. It had all happened so long ago. A lifetime ago. Why couldn't he lay it to rest?
Because it's not over... will never be over, a voice whispered inside him.
Until Cain and Eli Garvey are dead.
Garret's jaw hardened, his gaze sweeping the cozy confines of the dimly lit wagon, the shadowy, sleeping forms of Renny and Liam, Shevonne and little Meggie. Slowly he turned his eyes again to the face of the woman beside him. The woman who had taken the cold gnawing deep inside of him and made him warm again. The woman who had surrounded him with laughter, with love, who had terrified him with the depths of emotion she had stirred in his zealously guarded heart.
He let his eyes drift shut and imagined the cabin at Stormy Ridge, bustling again with activity, hard work, laughter, love. He could see Ashleen at the fireplace stirring a pot of stew while the little ones played about her skirts. He could hear the shouts and laughter as Renny and Shevonne scampered barefoot through the rich, fresh-turned fields. He could feel Meggie's hand slipping trustingly into his, clinging, so sweet, so warm, to his fingers.
