Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(87)

A chill swept through her. The last time he’d come here it was to bring news of Robert’s death. She slipped a peg onto the sheet to hold it in place and started to walk toward him. He pulled up on the reins and slid from the horse. His hat shielded his eyes, but she recognized the grim line of his mouth and braced herself for what was to come.

“Afternoon, Rachel.” Even his voice sounded forbidding. She tried to steady her breathing. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more bad news.

“What is it?” She couldn’t make herself ask who. Brody and Caleb were both unaccounted for, and she knew there was no bracing herself for the loss of either one of them. If that was what Hunter had come to tell her, he may as well dig her grave now. She’d taken as much as she could carry.

Hunter stopped in front of her and reached into the pocket of his shirt. He pulled out a piece of folded paper and handed it to her.

Rachel recognized the paper even before he set it in her outstretched hand, but she unfolded it anyway and glanced down at the familiar words. It was the deed to her land. Returned to her.

“Where did you get this?”

“You know where I got it.”

Hunter was right, but that knowledge did nothing to stop her heart from pounding against the walls of her chest until she feared it would break every last one of her ribs. Caleb had promised that so long as he drew breath Shamus Kirkpatrick would not harm her or her family. And he was a man who kept his promises.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Was he wearing his guns?”

“He was.”

Fear assaulted her from every angle. Caleb was going to confront Kirkpatrick. And he didn’t expect to return.

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Ain’t a crime to be wearing guns, Rachel. I had no cause to arrest him.”

Desperate, she grabbed for the only piece of information she thought might help. “But he killed Robert!”

Hunter dipped his head then nodded. “I know.”

“He—he’s Sinjin Drake!” Anxiety raised her voice several octaves until she barely recognized it. Why was Hunter being so calm? What did she have to do to get him to get back on his horse riding after Caleb, to haul him to jail where he’d be safe?

“I know who he is and I’m guessin’ he told you what happened just like he told me. Beckett didn’t do anything any other man wouldn’t have done in the same situation. Only difference being Beckett was a much faster draw than most men. Even if Robert did have his guns the outcome would have been the same, and the fault would have still been his.”

“He’s riding to his death!”

“Man’s got a right to ride where he feels the need to go, Rachel. I can’t stop him. No crime has been committed.” Hunter pointed at the deed now crumpled in her hand. “He wanted you to have that and he wanted you safe. That’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve been able to do. If Kirkpatrick isn’t dealt with, who knows what else he’ll try, and I won’t be able to stop him. Let Beckett take care of this, Rachel.”

A scream of frustration burst out of her, bringing Freedom running. Rachel shook her head at the other woman’s questions, unable to articulate answers beyond her fear and anger. This was her fault. She’d been so hell-bent on killing Shamus, seeing it as the only way to stop him—and maybe it was—but now Caleb had taken the job from her and was riding out to confront the man. If it was just the two men facing each other, maybe she wouldn’t be so scared. But Shamus never sullied his own hands with the dirty work. He’d have a posse of thugs to do it for him. Caleb wasn’t riding into a one-on-one showdown, he would be facing a gauntlet of men who would love nothing more than to gun him down the moment he set foot on Shamus’s land.

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Or so Hunter claimed.

With another shout of frustration, Rachel shoved the deed into Hunter’s chest with enough force to set him off balance. She used this to her advantage and bolted past him to his horse, throwing herself up onto it and grabbing the reins before he could stop her.

“Rachel!”

She ignored him, jerking the horse around. It reared up in protest, forcing Hunter to stumble back to avoid the kicking hooves. Rachel dug her heels into the horse’s sides and bent low over its neck, leaving Hunter cursing after her. The wind pulled at her skirts and her mind raced with possibilities, none of which offered her any peace.

She prayed she wasn’t too late.

This was her fault for acting in anger, for lashing out and sending Caleb away. If he died—whether by Shamus’s hand or hanging for his murder, his blood would be on her hands. She had wasted her days hoping he would return without her swallowing her pride and going after him.