“He chose not to.”
The words landed harder than Corvin expected.
Rusk’s riders stopped beyond the south fence.
Gideon Rusk surveyed the hills.
For the first time Corvin had ever seen, the cattle baron appeared uncertain.
Then he spotted Corvin.
“TORNE!”
His voice carried.
“Get inside your house!”
Corvin almost laughed.
“Why?”
Rusk pointed toward the ridges.
“They’ve surrounded you.”
“I noticed.”
“We followed them from Willow Wash.”
Mara folded her arms.
Rusk saw her.
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But Corvin noticed.
Recognition.
Fear.
Caleb’s hand went instantly to his revolver.
Mara smiled without warmth.
“Hello, Caleb.”
Caleb went pale.
Corvin turned slowly.
“You know her?”
Caleb said nothing.
Mara lifted the edge of her shirt near the ribs.
A bandage showed beneath it.
Blood had seeped through.
“Your second bullet missed my heart.”
Corvin stared at Caleb.
Caleb recovered quickly.
“She’s lying.”
“Am I?”
“You attacked us.”
“I was carrying Elias Torne’s journals.”
Silence.
Gideon Rusk’s eyes snapped toward Corvin.
That reaction was answer enough.
Corvin stepped off the porch.
“My father’s coffin is behind me, Gideon.”
Rusk’s face hardened.
“Your father has been dead twenty years.”
“Twenty-three.”
Rusk did not respond.
Corvin continued.
“Interesting mistake.”
Caleb shifted in the saddle.
His father shot him a warning glance.
Corvin saw it.
Something inside him became cold.
He no longer needed convincing.
Gideon called out, “Whatever those people told you, don’t be a fool. Let my men through. We’ll get you out.”
“Get me out of my own house?”
“They’re here for the well.”
Corvin glanced toward Mara.
Then back.
“So are you.”
Rusk smiled.
“That well sits on your land.”
“Does it?”
Rusk’s smile vanished.
Mara noticed.
So did Corvin.
That was strange.
Corvin pressed.
“Does it, Gideon?”
Rusk sat very still.
Finally he said, “What game are you playing?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Corvin lifted his father’s satchel.
“But apparently my father left me the rules.”
Caleb drew first.
Fast.
Too fast for Corvin.
But before the revolver cleared leather, an arrow struck the ground between his horse’s front hooves.
The stallion reared.
Caleb cursed and fought the reins.
Across the ridges, hundreds of weapons remained trained on Rusk’s men.
Mara raised one hand.
Nobody fired again.
Corvin looked at her.
Three hundred armed men had obeyed one silent motion.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
She did not answer.
Gideon did.
His voice carried across the yard.
“She hasn’t told you?”
Mara’s expression darkened.
“Be quiet.”
Gideon suddenly smiled.
It was the smile of a man who had discovered a knife on the table.
“Oh, this is beautiful.”
Corvin looked between them.
“Told me what?”
Mara said, “This is not the time.”
Gideon laughed.
“Twenty-three years and she still hasn’t got the courage.”
Corvin’s pulse quickened.
“Mara.”
“Corvin—”
Gideon called out.
“Ask her why your father spent twenty-three years living with her.”
Everything became still.
Corvin slowly looked at Mara.
She closed her eyes.
Just for a moment.
When she opened them, the strength in her face remained.
But something else had appeared.
Fear.
Not fear of Gideon.
Fear of Corvin.
He whispered, “Why?”
Mara did not answer.
Gideon continued, delighted now.
“Ask her why Elias crossed half the territory looking for her.”
“Stop,” Mara said.
“Ask her why he carried a little boy’s shoe in his saddlebag for twenty-three years.”
Corvin’s heart hammered.
Gideon leaned forward.
“Ask her what her name was before everyone started calling her Mara.”
Corvin barely heard himself.
“What name?”
The older Apache leader dismounted.
He walked toward Mara and rested one hand gently against her shoulder.
Not commanding.
Supporting.
Mara looked suddenly less like the towering figure who had ridden into Corvin’s yard surrounded by warriors.
For the first time, she looked tired.
Human.
Vulnerable.
She reached inside her clothing.
