Mary wore a high-necked dress and looked serious because she had believed smiling ruined photographs.
Clara reached toward the frame.
Her fingers stopped an inch from the glass.
“You knew her.”
Jack dropped the firewood.
Clara spun around.
“No.”
“You knew Mary.”
“Jack—”
“You called me Jack.”
They had remained Mr. Turner and Miss Vale for nine days.
Now both noticed.
Jack stepped toward her.
“How did you know that song?”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“How did you know the shawl?”
“I didn’t.”
“Why do you stare at Mary’s picture when you think I’m outside?”
Clara pressed a hand over her mouth.
Jack’s anger rose.
Not because he hated her.
Because he was beginning to care whether she lied.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Lily still needs me.”
Jack stared.
“And if I knew the truth?”
“You might send me away.”
The words sliced through him.
He glanced toward Lily’s cradle.
“Is she in danger?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt Mary?”
Clara recoiled as though slapped.
“No.”
“Did you know what happened to her?”
Tears spilled down Clara’s cheeks.
“I knew enough.”
Jack’s blood turned cold.
He caught her arm.
“What does that mean?”
She winced.
Jack immediately released her.
His fingers had closed over the bruises.
“Who did that?”
Clara backed away.
Before she could answer, horses sounded outside.
Several.
Fast.
Jack reached for his rifle.
Clara went white.
“No.”
“What?”
She rushed toward Lily.
“Clara.”
“Lock the door.”
“Who is it?”
“Lock it!”
A fist struck the door.
“Turner!”
A man’s voice.
Jack recognized it.
Sheriff Amos Reed.
“Jack Turner, open this door!”
Clara clutched Lily to her chest.
Jack looked at her.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why is the sheriff here?”
Another pounding knock.
“Turner!”
Jack opened the door halfway, rifle in hand.
Sheriff Reed stood beneath the porch roof with two deputies and a tall, broad man in an expensive black coat.
Jack knew the stranger by reputation.
Edwin Vale.
Owner of Vale Freight and three silver claims near Leadville.
One of the wealthiest men west of Denver.
His gaze moved past Jack.
Found Clara.
And became ice.
“There you are.”
Clara backed away.
Jack blocked the doorway.
Sheriff Reed sighed.
“Jack, Miss Vale’s father says she’s unwell.”
“My father lies.”
Edwin Vale’s jaw tightened.
“You see what I endure?”
Clara’s fingers gripped Lily’s blanket.
“She stole from me,” Vale continued. “Money. Documents. A horse.”
“The horse belonged to my brother.”
“Your brother is dead.”
“Because of you.”
Sheriff Reed looked uncomfortable.
Jack glanced at Clara.
“Is he your father?”
“Yes.”
Vale smiled.
“Finally, some honesty.”
Jack looked at the bruises.
Then at Vale.
“Did you put those marks on her?”
The sheriff shifted.
Vale’s smile vanished.
“My daughter suffers episodes.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“That’s what he calls disagreeing with him.”
“She needs medical supervision.”
“I need distance from you.”
Vale pushed toward the doorway.
Jack raised the rifle.
Everything stopped.
“Turner,” the sheriff warned.
Jack’s voice remained calm.
“She doesn’t want to go.”
Vale stared at him.
“You barely know her.”
“I know enough.”
“No, Mr. Turner.”
Vale’s eyes shifted toward Lily.
“You know almost nothing.”
Clara made a sound behind Jack.
“Father, don’t.”
Vale smiled slowly.
There was cruelty in it.
“Has she told you why she came here?”
Jack did not answer.
“Has she told you what she stole from my desk?”
“Stop.”
“Has she told you whose photograph she has carried for eight years?”
Clara’s face crumpled.
