“Why?” Corvin whispered.

Elena’s eyes filled.

“Because you inherited everything.”

Samuel had placed the ranch in Corvin’s name.

Not Gideon’s.

If Corvin died as a child, questions might be asked.

If Gideon raised the boy as his own, however, he could control the property until Corvin was old enough to sign whatever documents Gideon required.

But Corvin had grown stubborn.

He refused to sell the ranch.

He refused to borrow against it.

He refused every rail-company offer.

Seven years ago, Gideon realized manipulating Corvin had failed.

So he staged his death and began working from the shadows.

Corvin sat down slowly.

“Why didn’t you come for me?”

The question hurt Elena more than anything else had.

She turned her face away.

“Because Gideon promised that if I approached you, you would die.”

Corvin closed his eyes.

“For thirty years?”

“We watched.”

His eyes opened.

“What?”

Elena touched Naya’s hand.

“We always knew where you were.”

Corvin stared at them.

Rage rose first.

“You knew?”

Naya stepped forward.

“You knew, and you left me with him?”

Tomas translated.

Naya’s face tightened.

She answered.

Tomas hesitated before translating.

“She says they came twice.”

Corvin said nothing.

“The first time, when you were nine. Gideon had six armed men watching the road.”

Naya continued.

“The second time, you were sixteen. Elena reached the hills above the ranch.”

Corvin turned toward his mother.

Elena whispered, “I saw you breaking a horse.”

Her lips trembled.

“You fell.”

Corvin remembered that day.

A gray colt.

A broken fence rail.

He had looked toward the hills afterward because he thought he heard someone crying.

Elena continued.

“Gideon was standing behind you with a rifle.”

Corvin lowered his head.

All the empty places in his childhood suddenly filled with ghosts.

The first shot came at one twenty-three in the afternoon.

Corvin knew the exact time because the kitchen clock stopped when the bullet entered the wall.

Glass shattered.

Elena flinched.

Naya threw herself across the bed.

Outside, warriors moved with breathtaking speed.

Corvin grabbed his Winchester.

Tomas rushed toward the door.

Another bullet punched through the porch roof.

Then a voice carried across the yard.

“CORVIN!”

Corvin froze.

He knew that voice.

Older.

Rougher.

But unmistakable.

His father.

No.

Not his father.

Gideon.

Corvin walked onto the porch.

Naya seized his sleeve.

He looked at her.

“I need to see him.”

She shook her head.

“I need to.”

After a moment, she released him.

Across the southern pasture stood nearly eighty armed men.

Some were ranch hands Corvin recognized.

Others wore deputy badges.

At their center sat Sheriff Merrick Voss.

Beside him was a tall man on a black horse.

White hair.