All that time he’d been lying to her.
All that time he claimed to be Caleb Beckett, in truth he’d been Sinjin Drake. The man who’d killed Robert.
She had fallen in love with her husband’s murderer.
“How could you do this to me?” As if it was all his fault and she’d had no part in it. As if she hadn’t craved his touch, or needed to hear the sound of his voice or see his warm smile. It was easier to think that way for the moment. She might feel differently later, but she would deal with it then. Not now. Now she had all she could handle.
Caleb straightened and looked at her, his eyes pleading for a forgiveness she couldn’t muster. The killing she could almost understand. He had acted out of instinct, a sense of self-preservation honed over years of being a target and needing to survive. She knew what a hothead Robert had been. How he reacted when desperate and angry.
But to not tell her? To live each day knowing what he had done and never telling her? It was the ultimate betrayal. How did she forgive him for that?
She didn’t know if she could.
“Rachel, let me—”
She held up her hand, cutting him off. She’d heard all she could stand. “I need you to leave. I know this is your land and I have no right to it, but I need you to leave all the same until I can make other arrangements.”
He stared at her for a long moment. She could feel his gaze upon her but couldn’t meet it. She waited until it dropped away before she looked over. His gaze had fallen to his hands—hands that had killed Robert. The same hands he’d gently explored her body with, teasing her skin, delving inside of her.
She closed the door on her memories. They no longer mattered.
“I’ll get my things,” he said, standing. His voice held no surprise, as if he’d known all along what the outcome would be, the damage it would cause.
He had been right.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, his hand resting on her shoulder. She should have brushed him off, moved beyond his reach, but she didn’t. She needed to feel him, to savor one last touch before it was lost forever.
“It doesn’t matter.” They were just words now. They didn’t change the truth.
His hand slipped away. He paused when he reached the doorway, his head turning far enough for her to see the strong lines of his profile, and for one last torturous moment, she remembered the touch of his lips on hers and the sense of home she’d found there.
It had been nothing more than an illusion.
Pain lanced her heart and she closed her eyes, unable to watch him leave.
The door hit the frame, announcing his departure. Sobs choked Rachel’s throat. She tried to fight them back but the pain was too great, refusing to be buried or pushed aside. She doubled over and let it come, hugging her arms across her middle.
Caleb nursed the drink in his hand as he rested his elbows on the bar. He hadn’t had decent whiskey since he’d left Laramie, and the watered-down liquid in front of him was a sorry substitute. It hardly mattered. Even the strongest drink wouldn’t numb the pain of losing Rachel.
He’d come within a hair’s breadth of happiness, but it had all been a lie. He’d known it from the beginning. What he didn’t know was why he fooled himself into believing it could ever be otherwise. He was a murderer. He’d finally lived up to his grandfather’s low opinion. It brought him no satisfaction.
He touched the deed to her land where it rested on the bar. The saloon was all but deserted at this hour, though he knew business would pick up soon. He planned on being long gone by then.
But first he had one last item of business to take care of.
“Heard you wanted to see me.”
Sheriff Donovan hooked a foot on the rung of an empty stool next to Caleb. He didn’t sit down, an indication that he had no intention of staying.
Caleb swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass then finished it off. It barely burned going down. He set the glass on the bar and, with one finger, slid the land deed toward Donovan.
“What’s this?” The sheriff picked up the piece of paper and glanced at it, doing a double take when he realized what he was holding. “What are you doing with this?”
“Sutter lost his land in Laramie. To me.”
Donovan’s weight shifted and he sunk hard onto the stool. “You own the Sutter ranch? You have owned it all this time?”
Caleb didn’t bother answering the obvious. “I need you to give this to Rachel. I’ve signed it back over to her.”
This was enough to pull the sheriff’s attention away from the paper in his hand. “Why don’t you give it to her yourself?”
“She doesn’t want to see me.” The admission drove nails into his heart.