“James thought it mattered.”

“You just gave birth to two children.”

“And apparently my dead husband kept enough secrets to fill a bank vault.”

Ryan looked toward the door.

Natalie waited.

Finally he said, “My mother worked for James’s father.”

Natalie said nothing.

“She was seventeen.”

Ryan’s voice hardened.

“Thomas Foster was married.”

Natalie slowly understood.

“No.”

“James didn’t know about me until he was sixteen.”

“You’re saying—”

“James was my half-brother.”

The shack seemed to tilt.

Natalie stared at him.

Ryan Patterson.

James Foster.

The gray eyes.

She saw it suddenly.

Not strongly.

But enough.

The shape of the brow.

The way Ryan pressed his lips together when angry.

James had done exactly the same thing.

Natalie covered her mouth.

“Oh, my God.”

“His father paid my mother to disappear.

She married a man named Patterson later.

A decent man.

That’s where I got the name.”

“Why didn’t James tell me?”

“Because our first meeting ended with me breaking his nose.”

Despite everything, Natalie blinked.

Ryan shrugged faintly.

“We improved after that.”

A laugh escaped her before turning into a sob.

Ryan crouched beside the bed.

“James was ashamed of his father.

Not of me.”

“Did you love him?”

Ryan looked away.

That was answer enough.

Natalie touched the letter.

“How did he die?”

Ryan did not respond.

“Tell me.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ryan’s eyes returned to hers.

“The timber collapse wasn’t an accident.”

By morning, the storm was gone.

The world outside had been washed clean.

Rainwater glittered across the sage.

Patches of sunlight appeared between broken clouds.

For a few precious minutes Natalie almost believed the worst was over.

Then Ryan walked outside and found hoofprints.

Fresh ones.

Three horses.

He returned immediately.

“We need to leave.”

Natalie looked down at the babies.

“I can barely stand.”

“I know.”

“You want to put two premature infants in a wagon?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Ryan crossed to the rear wall.

He began pulling loose boards away.

Natalie stared.

“What are you doing?”

“This wasn’t only a line shack.”

Behind the boards was a narrow storage space.

Inside sat an old rifle, two blankets, canned beans, ammunition, a medical tin—

And a leather document case.

Natalie went still.

“You’ve been here before.”

Ryan nodded.

“James and I used this place.”

“You told me you happened to know it.”

“I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“You lied.”

“Yes.”

“About anything else?”

“No.”

She almost asked whether she could believe that.

Then a horse whinnied outside.

Ryan grabbed the rifle.

“Get down.”

Natalie pulled the babies against her.

Voices came from outside.

“PATTERSON!”

Ryan’s expression changed.

Not fear.

Recognition.

A man called again.

“We know you’re inside.”

Ryan moved toward the window.

Three riders stood beyond the shack.

One was broad and heavy with a black mustache.

Natalie recognized him.

Her breath caught.

“Mr.

Voss.”

Ryan glanced at her.

“You know him?”

“Edgar Voss.

He came to my farm after James died.”

Voss had called himself a representative of the Lucky Banner’s creditors.