Revealed (29 page)

‘‘Disgracing her!’’ He barely managed to stifle a curse. ‘‘She’s a whore, for—’’

The next thing Matthew knew he was flat on his back, sprawled on the dirt floor. Johnny towered over him. The left side of Matthew’s face throbbed. He tasted blood. Johnny held out a hand, but Matthew shoved it aside and struggled to his feet, still unsteady.

‘‘I won’t stand for you talkin’ that way about my wife.’’ Johnny shook his head and rubbed his fist. ‘‘I’m sorry, Matthew. My temper still gets the best of me from time to time.’’

Unable to ignore the sincerity in his brother’s voice, Matthew worked his jaw. ‘‘Nice to know some things haven’t changed in the past eight years.’’ Blinking to clear the fog from his head, he retrieved his hat from where it had landed and knocked it against his thigh.

He could try and take his best shot right now, and he figured Johnny might even let him. He’d grown up being thankful for his brother’s size—the same brute strength that had just laid him out flat had also saved his life, more than once.

Matthew shifted his weight. ‘‘If you knew the only reason she married you was to get out of the brothel, why’d you do it?’’

Johnny lifted a brow. ‘‘I never said that was the only reason she married me. I was agreein’ to the part about her not loving me.’’

Johnny’s gaze trailed to the closed door as he crossed the small space in four long strides. He added another log to the flames and watched the sparks shoot up the crumbling chimney as he eased his tall frame into the rocking chair. The wooden joints creaked in complaint, as though at any moment they might admit defeat and surrender. ‘‘I know Annabelle doesn’t love me, Matthew.’’ His voice grew soft. ‘‘Not yet, anyway—not like that. But she will, given time. I’m trustin’ she’ll learn to love me.’’

‘‘Trusting she’ll learn to—’’ Matthew gave a sharp exhale. ‘‘Do you really think a—’’

Johnny’s eyes flickered with warning.

This time, Matthew heeded it. ‘‘That a
woman
like her can learn to love a man? After all she’s done? After what she’s
been
?’’

‘‘That’s exactly what I believe. People can’t give what they haven’t got, Matthew. But I think people can change, if given a chance. With the right strength in them.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘Look at me. I’ve changed.’’

Matthew fingered his jaw again, nodding. ‘‘I can see that.’’

Johnny began a slow, methodical rocking, evidently choosing to ignore the sarcasm. ‘‘You remember the filly that found her way out to our farm when we were kids? She’d been all beat up. She had those scars crisscrossin’ her withers?’’

Matthew fought the urge to roll his eyes, already seeing where 206 this was headed.

‘‘She wouldn’t come to anybody. She was scared and hurt and hungry. Everybody else said to put her down.’’ With his thumb and forefinger, Johnny made an imaginary gun and pulled the trigger. ‘‘They couldn’t see what I saw.’’ He shook his head and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, long legs spread wide. ‘‘She would’ve eaten the entire bag of oats that first afternoon if I’d let her. Took me all winter just to calm her enough where I could get close . . . where she trusted me enough to let me touch her. Remember how she’d come when I whistled for her?’’ A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. ‘‘And you used to try and whistle for her all the time, and she wouldn’t even look at you.’’

Matthew remembered the horse. She was an ugly thing—even fleshed out and fully grown. All scarred up with that mangy coat growing back in uneven patches. Running his tongue along the edge of his bloody lip, he decided to keep those thoughts to himself.

‘‘Some people are like that, Matthew. They’ve been hurt.’’ Johnny’s whisper grew more hushed, the creak of the rocker competing with his voice. ‘‘They’re broken inside, thinkin’ they’re not worth much.’’ He took a cup from the table by his leg and slowly poured its contents on the dirt floor beside him. ‘‘They think their lives are like this water here—all spilled on the ground, it can’t be gathered up again.’’ A small puddle formed at first, then fanned out in tiny rivulets. In a sweeping motion, Johnny brushed his hand across the dirt floor until the thirsty ground had consumed all traces of moisture. ‘‘But I’ve come to believe that God doesn’t just sweep away the lives of people who feel that way about themselves. And I don’t think we should either. We need to give each other second chances, whether we deserve them or not.’’ He resumed his rocking, slow and steady.

Matthew looked at the dark spot of dirt by Johnny’s chair and caught the sheen in his brother’s eyes. He was unmoved. Johnny had always possessed a soft spot for lost things, whether they were stray critters or wounded animals. But to think that Johnny had been duped, that somehow this woman had gotten him to think he was on some mission of mercy . . .

That was more than Matthew could stomach.

Even with their frequent disagreements, Matthew had always admired his brother. How could he not? Johnny’s shirt hid the scars, but Matthew knew the faint stripes from his father’s thick leather strap were still there, across Johnny’s broad back and shoulders.

Johnny had always been weak when it came to women, and apparently Annabelle Grayson had found a way to use his weakness— and her expertise—to her own advantage. But he wouldn’t stand by and let Johnny take another beating, or pay the price for someone else’s mistakes. Not again.

‘‘You’re being duped, Johnny. Can’t you see that? She’ll leave you as soon as she gets what she’s after.’’

‘‘And just what do you think it is she’s after?’’ Johnny suddenly stopped rocking. ‘‘Or do you just figure that no woman could ever care for a big, clumsy oaf like me.’’

Matthew refused to be sidetracked by this old wound, though he remembered it well. ‘‘She’s after whatever money you’ve got. And no doubt she knows how to get it too.’’

Emotions had flashed across Johnny’s face so rapidly that Matthew hadn’t been able to settle on what his brother’s next reaction would be. But he’d readied himself for another one of Johnny’s punches, just in case.

Matthew stared into his empty coffee mug and grimaced, remembering how that night had ended. He looked back at the eastern horizon now cloaked in darkness, and a high-pitched whinny jerked him fully back to the moment.

Then a sixth sense brought him slowly to his feet.

Night blanketed the prairie outside the circle of firelight, and he found himself blind to what lay beyond the soft glow. He searched the direction where he’d tethered the horses, roughly twenty feet from where he stood, then focused in the opposite direction, where Annabelle had gone.

‘‘Annabelle, are you all right?’’

He waited, listening, then called her name again. From the short distance the moon had traveled, he estimated no more than half an hour had passed since she’d left.

Another high-pitched whinny. The horses snorted.

Matthew felt down beside him for his rifle, and his hand closed around it. He stepped into the shadows, impatient for his vision to adjust. The prairie, indiscernible to him seconds before, slowly became a shaded world of varying grays.

To his right, the horses suddenly reared back, fighting the restraints. A low growl sounded off to his left, and an icy finger of dread trailed up his spine. The horses pawed the ground, their frantic neighs splitting the night.

Matthew whirled and cocked his rifle, ready to take aim.

Snarling. The scurry of paws. Then a pair of reddish eyes emerged through the gray. Head slung low, the animal loped toward him on spindly legs. In his peripheral vision, Matthew sensed movement to his right, near the horses, but kept his finger on the trigger, taking dead aim on the wolf’s skull.

He squeezed tight, and the animal dropped. Heart pounding, he spun in time to see two more wolves lunge at one of the grays. The horse reared up, kicking, and let loose a frenzied scream. Matthew squeezed off another round. The larger wolf yelped, veered to one side, and retreated into the night. The other followed on his heels.

Matthew quickly reloaded. He circled, searching the darkness and the livestock, fighting to hear above the pounding in his ears. Then he ran toward the creek, slowing only once he neared the ridge.

‘‘Annabelle?’’ His breath came hard. When she didn’t answer, he feared the worst.

A splash sounded downstream. He raised his rifle, cocking it and taking aim in one fluid motion.

‘‘Matthew . . .’’

He exhaled, then saw a shadow peek up over the hill. He lowered the gun and stepped forward. ‘‘Are you all right?’’

‘‘Yes, but stop! And turn around . . . please.’’

He did. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but still he looked away.

‘‘Are they gone?’’ The quaver in her voice gave away her fear.

He uncocked the rifle. ‘‘Yes . . . for now. I killed one, wounded another, and then they ran. Not sure how many there were.’’

‘‘Are the horses safe?’’

He shook his head at that, smiling. ‘‘Yes, I think so. And I’m fine too. Thanks for asking.’’

He heard a soft chuckle.

‘‘You’re the one standing there with the gun, so I figured you were fine. Now . . .’’

He heard a rustling of grasses on the bank where her voice was coming from.

‘‘Would you mind heading back to camp so I can get dressed?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am, I do mind. I’m not leaving you out here alone.’’

He took a few steps away from the ridge, keeping his back to her.

‘‘I promise you, I won’t look.’’

No movement sounded behind him, then he heard her mumble something indistinguishable, which made him smile all the more. A few minutes later, she climbed up over the embankment, a bundle in her arms. Her wet hair hung in dark strands over her shoulders and down her back, and as she walked—wordless but watchful— beside him back to camp, he caught the scent of lilacs.

Matthew gave the livestock a thorough check. He cooed in low tones to the horse the wolves had tried to get at, calming her until she would let him run a hand over her legs. She wasn’t favoring any of them, so that was a good sign. He made a sweep around the camp perimeter before returning.

Annabelle was sitting by the fire, her back to him. Her hair was freshly combed, and she held something up to her face. As Matthew came closer, he realized it was a mirror. She held it at different angles, turning it this way and that, then stopped and brought it closer to one side of her face. She lifted a hand to her right temple and seemed to trace a path there.

Feeling as though he were intruding, Matthew purposefully scuffed his boot in the dirt.

She instantly lowered the mirror and tucked it down beside her.

‘‘Are they gone?’’

‘‘All’s clear. None of the horses were hurt, and the cow’s fine.’’

‘‘That’s good.’’ She looked up at him, then back down again. ‘‘Matthew . . . would you mind if we were to share the same fire tonight? Under the circumstances.’’

He didn’t answer immediately, letting his silence coax her attention back. He still detected traces of fear, though he knew she’d be hard-pressed to admit to it. ‘‘I think that’d be fine.’’

Smiling her thanks, she spread her bedroll out on the opposite side of the fire from his and lay down, staring into the flames.

He stretched out, rifle close at hand, and searched the night sky.

‘‘Thank you, Matthew.’’

In the softness of her voice, he sensed something deeper than a simple expression of gratitude, and it touched a place inside him.

‘‘Just doin’ my job, ma’am. After all, I am the hired help,’’ he whispered back.

His body was tired but his mind raced with unspent energy. After a few minutes, he heard Annabelle’s even breathing and rose up on one elbow. One of her arms was cradled beneath her head and a hand was tucked beneath her chin. She had a peaceful look about her. He stared at her for a long moment, then lay back down, knowing sleep was far off for him.

What on earth was he doing out here with her? He sighed, knowing what his original reason had been—the land waiting in Idaho.

‘‘Come with us, Matthew,’’ Johnny had said to him that night in the shack. His brother’s voice was so clear in his memory. ‘‘Come with us to Idaho. I’ve got some property there, like we used to talk about having when we were kids. There’s enough for the both of us.’’ Johnny leaned forward in the rocker as he described the meadows and streams clustered in the foothills of the mountains. His face nearly glowed as he talked about it.

Matthew managed to hide his surprise at the offer, while his gut told him that Johnny was exaggerating. Wouldn’t be the first time. ‘‘Where’d you get money for land like that?’’

‘‘I sold the homestead in Missouri. So half of that land’s rightfully yours.’’

Matthew laughed. ‘‘Our old farm wouldn’t bring the kind of money you’d need for acreage like that.’’

Johnny shrugged. ‘‘I managed to get things turned around in the last few years, plus picked up some extra jobs here and there and made enough to lay some aside. The homestead sold for more than you might—’’ ‘‘No thanks, big brother.’’ Matthew held up a hand, shaking his head. ‘‘I’ve got a chance for a real ranch of my own down near San Antonio. Got a man down there who says he’s willing to back me.’’

He surveyed the shack with its sagging roof and slumped walls, and slowly crooked one side of his mouth. ‘‘Besides, if this is any proof of how well things have worked out for you, I think I’ll stick with Texas.’’

Hurt showed in Johnny’s expression, and though Matthew wasn’t glad about it, he saw an opportunity. He never could beat his brother physically, but he’d always been able to best him in an argument. Johnny had muscles, Matthew had words. They had always been his advantage with his older brother, and he would use them again if it would get Johnny to see what a mistake he’d made.

Even if it meant hurting him in the process.

Johnny clasped his hands between his knees. ‘‘Why don’t you come home, Matthew? I think it’s time.’’

His brother’s question caught Matthew off guard. ‘‘Home.’’ He scoffed. ‘‘Do you think Idaho would be home to me?’’

‘‘It could be,’’ Johnny said, his voice soft. ‘‘I think you’d find what you’ve been searching for out there for all these years.’’