He’d taken a life.
The memory played across his mind, clear as if it had just happened yesterday. LeClere, a man he’d befriended had brought another man to the table that night. A big fellow named Desroches who rarely spoke. But he had a mean eye for cards, and at first, Beau thought the man was simply a good card player. But as the night went on, it dawned on him that the fellow was cheating.
Beau’d had just enough to drink to give him the courage to stand, throw down his cards, and level the accusation across the table. LeClere had tried to smooth things over, but Desroches stood too, irate at the accusation. He tossed the table to the side as Beau began to wish he’d simply folded and gone home, out the money but wiser in the knowledge of who to play. In two steps, he’d pinned Beau against the wall, one large hand pressed against his throat and cutting off his air. As Desroches raised a fist, Beau saw the look in the man’s eye.
He wasn’t going to survive this.
Without thinking and hardly able to breathe, he drew the small pistol that had been his father’s, the one he always kept in an inside pocket of his jacket, and he shot.
Desroches fell backward, blood pooling against his shirt and vest.
Beau would never forget that image or the fearful look in the man’s eye. He stood there watching until LeClere shook him back to the present, yelling at him to go. Desroches had friends—dangerous friends—and they wouldn’t forgive this.
And so Beau left. He made it through a month, when Desroches’ friends found LeClere and got Beau’s name from him.
He packed hastily and left town that night, hiring a coach to Shreveport and then a train north.
And now he was here, with his guilty secret and men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if they knew where he was. No one knew his location, save for his mother.
If he told Faith, would she look at him differently? Would she judge him for the poor choices of his past?
He wasn’t certain. What he did know was that they couldn’t follow him here, and his mother was safe without him around. All was well.
He took a deep breath of the fresh air, expelling the ghosts of New Orleans. The past was the past, and he’d do well to leave it where it was and put his focus on his future—with Faith.
