“Maybe.”

“Caleb—”

“There’s a ravine behind the barn. Moses knows the path. If things go bad, follow him north.”

He took his rifle from above the fireplace.

Mae stared at him.

“You said your father fought them.”

“Yes.”

“And he died.”

Caleb opened the door.

“Then perhaps he deserves a son who learned something.”

The riders stopped fifty yards from the porch.

Sheriff Nathan Drayton led them.

Beside him sat Owen.

Mae hadn’t seen her husband since before sunrise the previous day.

Yet the sight of him erased every mile she had run.

Tall.

Handsome.

Gray coat.

Polished boots.

Golden hair combed neatly beneath an expensive hat.

Owen looked less like a monster than Caleb did.

That had always been Owen’s greatest weapon.

“Morning, Rusk,” Sheriff Nathan called.

Caleb stepped onto the porch.

“Sheriff.”

“We’re looking for Mrs. Drayton.”

“Why?”

Owen leaned forward.

“My wife is ill.”

Caleb’s hand tightened around the rifle.

“She wandered from the ranch yesterday while suffering confusion.”

Owen raised his voice, ensuring every rider heard.

“She’s harmed herself before.”

Mae almost laughed from inside the cabin.

There it was.

The story.

Already written.

Caleb said, “Funny.”

Owen’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.

“What?”

“She seemed pretty certain who harmed her.”

Silence.

Nathan’s hand drifted toward his revolver.

“Is she here?”

Before Caleb could answer, Mae stepped through the doorway.

Owen’s eyes found her.

For one terrible second, she became the woman at the dinner table again.

The woman laughing while he joked about bruises beneath her sleeves.

Then something changed.

She saw Caleb standing between them.

Not in front of her.

Between them.

There was a difference.

One hid her.

The other gave her somewhere to stand.

Mae walked forward.

“I left him.”

Owen smiled gently.

“Mae, sweetheart—”

“Don’t.”

His smile remained.

“You’re frightened.”

“Yes.”

The smile widened.

“See?”

Mae looked directly at the sheriff.

“I’m frightened because your cousin beats me.”

One deputy shifted uncomfortably.

Nathan sighed.

“Mrs. Drayton—”

“And because the Drayton family murdered Jacob Rusk.”

The world stopped.

Owen’s smile disappeared.

Caleb looked at Mae.

The sheriff’s face went blank.

And that blankness told Mae everything.

Nathan recovered first.

“That’s enough.”

She pulled the brass key from her pocket.

Owen saw it.

His reaction lasted less than a second.

But Caleb caught it.

So did the deputy beside Nathan.

Owen said quietly, “Where did you get that?”

Mae almost smiled.

“Your office.”

Nathan dismounted.

“Mrs. Drayton, I’m taking you into protective custody.”

Caleb raised his rifle.

Nathan stopped.

“You interfering with the law?”

“Depends what you’re calling law.”

The riders behind him shifted nervously.

No one wanted to shoot Caleb.

Not because he was powerful.

Because everyone knew him.

Caleb had delivered calves for poor ranchers without charging.

He repaired widow Parson’s roof every winter.

He once rode sixty miles through snow to find a missing boy.

Killing Caleb Rusk would require Mercy Bend to swallow another lie.

Perhaps the town’s appetite was finally getting full.

Owen turned to the men.

“You heard her. She’s delirious.”

Mae walked down one porch step.

“No.”

She lifted the key.

“I’m inconvenient.”