Her only answer was a slight movement of her face until their lips met again in a kiss so pregnant with promise, yet so bittersweet with understanding, that Clint knew he was lost between heaven and hell.
Jack Randall felt his world crumble as he looked down at the telegram.
Sara was dead!
There was a daughter.A daughter whose existence his wife had kept from him because Sara had so hated what he was.
He crushed the telegram in his hand.He had used what little cash he had left to hire a detective in Boston, adding a bonus for quick results.
It hadn’t taken long.A day.A day to find a death certificate and a birth certificate.For a daughter named Shea.His heart pounded so hard, so fast, he had to grab the counter to keep standing.Sara.Dead.Every hope he’d ever had died with her.
“You all right, Mr.Randall?”
It took a moment for the voice to penetrate his shock.MisterRandall.He had worked the last ten years to earn that title, that respect in the man’s voice.He had always believed he would someday lure Sara back and show her he had changed.
“I’m fine, just a bit of a shock.A friend … died.”
“I’m sorry, Mr.Randall.Is there anything I can do?”
Jack shook his head.“No.No, thank you.”He turned around blindly, searching for the door, finding it and stumbling out into bright sunlight.
He headed for a saloon.
Sara had despised him so much, she had never told him he had a child.Only one thing in his life had ever hurt more: the day he’d returned to their boardinghouse room and found her gone, a note lying next to the bank bills she’d found.
And now he knew exactly why she had left.Sara would stay with a thief, but she wouldn’t allow her child to do the same.
He was indifferent to the others in the saloon, going straight to the long bar.“Whiskey,” he told the barkeep, and quickly swallowed the glassful.“Another.”
He hoped the liquor would numb the overwhelming pain, but it only made brighter the memories.Sara’s startling blue eyes that had once looked at him as if he were a god.He had saved her from a pair of runaway horses on a Boston street and then had charmed her into running away with him when her father had objected to his lack of family and a steady job.
He should have known better.She was as honest as he was dishonest.He had been raised to see nothing wrong in relieving careless people of their money.She had been raised to see everything in black and white.And he had turned out to be very black indeed.
Until he met Sara, he’d never had a conscience.And in truth one didn’t sprout then, either.Stealing had been so damnably natural for him.When Sara had first caught him at it, he’d sworn he would never do it again.But he had.Even then she’d stayed with him until … until she was with child.
He gulped down another whiskey.He’d never stopped loving Sara.After she left him, he’d had brief liaisons with women who expected little more than a few gifts, but he’d always hoped he could win Sara back.The army payroll was part of that scheme.It would provide enough money for him to go back East for her, convince her that he had changed.
But she’d seen that blasted article, and though he had continued sending money, he never again received any acknowledgment.
A daughter!
A daughter who had disappeared.
A daughter who had traveled all the way from Boston to see him.
He had tried to find out his daughter’s whereabouts while awaiting information from the Boston detective.Someone at the hotel said a man had met a young woman the morning after his daughter’s arrival.No one knew more.The description of the man fit a thousand men.
What had happened to her?Why hadn’t she reached the Circle R?
Considering the robberies and McClary’s information, he had a damn good idea.His hand closed around the whiskey glass tightly.Rafferty Tyler!
Rafferty Tyler had found his revenge.
Ben stayed overnight.Shea knew it was because he didn’t trust her, but she was grateful just the same.The medicine and bandages he’d brought for her were useful in treating Rafe.Ben also had rudimentary doctoring skills Shea did not.
A legacy from the war, he’d explained as his hands had explored Rafe’s wound.“There were few doctors, and we learned to do for ourselves much of the time.”
He made the remark as he undid the bandage on Rafe’s arm.He looked at her with surprise after examining the stitches.“You did this?”
