“I’d like to go for a walk.” She headed for the door.
Nash rose to his feet. “It’s not safe to be out there alone.” He hesitated as if uncertain what her reaction would be.
“I’d be glad of your company.”
Nodding, caution lingering in his eyes, he joined her.
Night had fallen, soft and pine-scented. Stars filled the sky like sparkling raindrops. They sauntered along the clearing’s perimeter and paused at the trail they’d so recently traveled.
“Nash, you must wonder at my behavior today.”
“Yeah.” Caution rang in his answer.
“I’d like to explain what happened.”
“Do you want to sit?” He indicated the grass-covered slope that provided a natural bench.
She lowered herself to the ground and then wished she hadn’t as he stood over her. “Sit.” She patted the spot beside her.
He hesitated, then joined her. Although their shoulders touched, a vast chasm separated them.
“I wanted to leave Shorty’s place as clean as when we got there.” That information had nothing to do with what she wanted to say, butplanningto ask about that name proved easier than bringing the words to her mouth. “After I cleaned the floor, I thought I’d tidy the things hanging on the hooks by the door.” No need to tell him of all the items she’d moved nor to describe the hooks, yet that is what she almost did. Get on with what you want to say.But, both the painful memories associated with that name, and the idea that Nash had a connection created a dam against her words.
“I fail to see how that offended you nor how it turned you against me.”
“Your saddlebags were there. I meant to straighten them. That’s when—” She gulped. “I made out letters burned into the back.” Her whisper growled from her throat. “Sturm. Why do you have something with that on it? Do you know awful things are associated with that name?” Agony quivered on her words. The dip of his eyelids informed her that he did.
“It was given to me.” His hands hung over his knees as he leaned forward, tension rippling across his forehead. “I tried to scratch it out, but I never could.”
She rocked back and forth. It seemed a reasonable explanation.
Nash slowed his breathing.He must never let anyone guess how troubling that name was to him. He shouldn’t have kept those saddlebags. They’d belonged to his father—a shameful part of his past that he wished to never remember. But they were good quality. He’d done his best to erase the letters branded on the leather’s backside. No one before had made them out.
It didn’t surprise him that she recognized the name. Surely, everyone west of the Atlantic Ocean had read about the horrible murders of a young, innocent couple. The motive had been abundantly clear. The husband had done well in business. Nash’s father wanted to benefit from the man’s efforts.
Nor did Addie’s reaction surprise him. No one could read or hear about that event without bitterness surging up their throat.
“I’m glad you told me the truth.”
She nodded. “I judged you based solely on five letters on a piece of leather.” She twisted her fingers together so hard the tips grew red. “It was wrong of me.”
“I understand how you must have felt to see that name. I think anyone would have had the same reaction.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t fair. I wanted to be honest.” Her dark eyes bored into his. “I wanted an explanation from you.” A smile softened her intensity. “And you’ve given it. Thank you.”
Thank you? What sort of explanation had he given? Certainly not the truth. How would she respond if he confessed the whole truth?
His throat worked at trying to swallow. He’d hidden it for a long time. Finding safety in denying his name. But he wanted Addie to see him for who he was—the son of a murderer—and accept him as a good man who, through hard work, earned everything he had.
He coughed to ease the tension in his throat. “My father gave me those saddlebags.” Would she understand what he meant?
“They’re good quality.”
A truth jolted through him. Good quality? Pa always insisted on the best. Had he stolen them? Or purchased them with money he’d robbed from an innocent victim?
“I should never have kept them.” Every word dripped with bitterness.
“But why? They were a gift from your father. Surely, they mean something to you.”
