Jesse sighed and put down the bread he’d been in the process of buttering. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded parchment and pushed it across the table. It would’ve been easier just to push the paper back without opening it, because he knew if he did that something was going to change in his life. Something out of his control.
But he picked up the folded parchment anyway and opened it to discover it was actually three separate pages. He looked at the likeness of the man on the first page and laid it flat on the table. And then he did the same with the second man. He looked at the likeness of the third man, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and his gut knotted. He barely noticed Jesse laying a shiny silver star, identical to his own, on top of one of the likenesses.
The third man’s face he knew. Almost as well as he knew his own. Better than his own, maybe, because when you grew up with someone, when you shared not just a room but a face, you learned to see the subtle differences that no one else noticed. They shared the same clear eyes the color of a winter sky—though Riley’s had always held a wildness Cole had never possessed, a recklessness that drew people in like moths to a flame. The same dark hair that fell across their foreheads in the same stubborn way. The same crooked smile that their mother had given them, or so their father had said on the rare occasions he’d spoken of her.
But where Cole’s smile came slow and hard earned, Riley’s had always come easy, quick and charming and just a little too slick. Where Cole had learned to think before acting, Riley had always leapt first and dealt with the consequences later—or more often, left Cole to deal with them.
And for nine months, they’d shared the same womb, two souls that should have been one, split down the middle like a coin sheared in half. But they’d never shared the same sense of duty or belief in right from wrong. That had been the fundamental crack in the foundation of their twinship, the fault line that had finally split them apart completely.
Cole stared at the sketch, at the face that was his face but wasn’t, and felt something cold settle in his gut. His brother. His twin. His mirror image. And now, his responsibility to stop.
“He’s your spitting image. The government remembers you fondly from the war. You’ve not only got the skills to fight with guns and your hands, but you’ve got the skills to fight with your mouth. Without you, the treaties signed with the Sioux might not have happened.”
“They offered me an army to command,” Cole said, the taste of coffee bitter on his tongue. “And when that didn’t work they offered me a position high up, sitting behind a desk and talking about how we were going to change things. I told them no thank you, took the deed to the land that expanded what my grandfather had staked a claim to, and never looked back.”
Jesse rubbed a hand over his beard and then refilled his coffee. “Politics can be a pain in the backside. We’ve all got to deal with it one way or another. There’s no such thing as just serving and protecting without strings attached.”
Will rolled Jesse’s meal out on a cart and placed it in front of him. It was hamburger steak covered in thick gravy and served with mashed potatoes and peas. Normally, Cole’s stomach would’ve been growling, but the thought of food made him sick.
“Enjoy your din…” Will started to say. And then he noticed the silver star on the table. “Holy wow, Sheriff O’Hara. Is that what I think it is?”
“Marshal Calhoun was just letting me look at it. Don’t get too excited.”
But it didn’t do any good. Will wheeled the cart back to the kitchen with its lingering scents as fast as his legs would carry him.
“Congress and the president, of course, are aware of your brother and his efforts during the war, just as they’re aware of yours. Though your brother’s efforts were quite a bit different than yours,” Jesse went on. “It wasn’t too difficult to decipher that it was Riley O’Hara at the helm of the Silver Creek Bandits once his image started making the rounds. But you need to take caution. Bounty hunters and other lawmen might not know you’re twins and will be looking for someone fitting your description.”
The corner of Cole’s lip tilted up in a smile. “We used to trade places when we were kids. Lord, we’d take a beating for it if we were found out. But Riley always liked to test the limits. And I’d found it was a whole lot easier to agree with Riley than to go against him.” Cole had gotten plenty of whippings from his father because he’d listened to Riley instead of the sense God gave him.
“He’ll come to you eventually,” Jesse said. “He’s jealous. You’re the one who’s always recognized. You’re the hero. You’re the fastest draw. He’ll want to challenge that. To see if he can get away with what he’s been doing right under your nose.”
“And if he shows up in Laurel Valley, I’ll meet him on my turf, my way. I don’t need to be a marshal to do that.”
“It widens your authority,” Jesse insisted. “You’re one of the best trackers in the country. You learned from the Sioux during your travels. You could find him and bring him in. You could find all of them.”
Cole shook his head, the realization of his answer sinking in for the first time. There’d always been a conflict inside him when faced with becoming a US marshal. But knowing what his brother was capable of, and knowing that he had an obligation to protect his wife and community, answered the question for him with a clear conscience.
He pushed the star back across the table. “My place is here, with my wife and this town. My duty is to them first. The job you’re asking me to do is meant for a younger man without any ties. I’m not going to pick up and leave my wife for months at a time to track outlaws. There’s plenty of good I can do here, with the badge I already have.”
“A wife is just a wife,” Jesse said. “But this is your chance to go down in history.”
Cole laughed. There was nothing just about Elizabeth. “I never asked to go down in history. I’m just doing the best I can to make the world we live in the best it can be. I want a family, and I don’t want to let them inherit a world of wars and violence.”
“War is in the nature of man,” Jesse said. “It’s been that way since Cain and Abel. And here we are, a whole bunch of years later with the story of two brothers.”
Cole had been watching the street, subconsciously seeking out his wife. He was starting to get worried that she’d gotten stuck somewhere. She should’ve been there by now.
And then, almost as if he’d conjured her, she came through the window of visibility, the snow that had been falling since dawn swirling around her. She’d left her head uncovered, and loose strands of dark hair had come out of the long braid that rested over her shoulder. Her long coat that had seen better winters swirled around her legs, and her pistols were slung low on her hips. Unlike any other woman he’d ever met, she chose to wear men’s trousers in her day-to-day work at the ranch. He’d never actually seen her in a dress. But he definitely appreciated what she did to a pair of men’s pants.
Jesse saw her too, and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
“Good Lord,” Jesse rasped.
“She’s something, huh?”
Jesse blew out a breath and put his fork down. “Oh, good. You see her too. I was afraid maybe I’d died and she was an angel of death.”
“There are worse ways to go,” Cole said, smiling.
