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  ***

  Ben Cantrell did not look back as he rode away. It was crazy, he thought bitterly. Yesterday he would have been terrified of a man like Elijah Wade. He guessed he’d grown up a lot in the past twenty-four hours.

  He and Nathan did not speak until they got back to the ranch. Nathan said he would build a coffin, and Ben numbly nodded agreement. His own job was a bit more difficult: preparing his father’s body for burial. It was hard, the hardest thing he had ever done, especially when he looked at the poor, bloated face, not his father’s face at all anymore.

  But at last Sam Cantrell was in the ground, the final shovelful of dirt thrown on. Nathan read some passages out of the Bible while Ben stared dry-eyed at the naked mound of earth. All his tears had been shed earlier that morning when the preacher came to tell him what had happened.

  Ben had sobbed like a child then, pouring out his grief, while Nathan and Reverend Bates offered what comfort they could. Losing his father was bad enough, a crippling blow to a boy who could not even remember his mother, but the shame of the way his father died made it infinitely worse. Only his anger at the injustice of it all kept him from wallowing in self-pity.

  Ben straightened his shoulders, vaguely aware Nathan had finished his reading. Where had the former slave learned to read? Ben wondered irrelevantly. There was much Ben did not know about the black man whom his father had brought home with him at the end of the war, much that might explain the fierce loyalty and unlikely friendship between a Texan and a Negro.

  “What you gonna do now, Massa Ben?”

  Ben blinked in surprise. Nathan never called him anything but plain old “Ben.” Sam was “Massa Sam,” even though he had never been Nathan’s master in any sense of the word. Now Ben realized the title and the responsibility had passed to him. “What did you say, Nathan?”

  “What you gonna do now? You gonna run off like that no-account white-trash Mr. Wade said, or you gonna stick?” Nathan’s words were a challenge.

  “I’m gonna stick, Nathan,” he replied, the vow coming readily to his lips, as if he had spent weeks considering his options. “I’m gonna run this ranch just like Pa would have, and I’m gonna make a success at it. I’ll show folks around here they can’t beat us Cantrells.”

  Nathan nodded his approval. “Your pa was gonna take a herd north this year.”

  “Then I will, too. We’ll hire us some men, go on a cow hunt—”

  “Won’t be easy. Not many men’ll work for a kid and a nigger.”

  “We’ll hire some men,” Ben repeated, ignoring Nathan’s prediction. “We’ll find somebody’s been to Kansas, so’s he can lead the way, tell us what to do. We got the money for an outfit and grub,” he added bitterly, remembering the mortgage his father had taken out on the ranch, a mortgage from Franklin Hoskins. Hoskins had been in the posse last night. What did the banker expect Ben to do now?

  He could pay off the mortgage, of course. The money was still there, hidden behind a loose stone in the fireplace. Ben could still see his father putting it there. “We’ll take us a herd north, boy,” he had said, “and make us some real money. Then we’ll fix this place up proper, build on another room.” Ben had not understood. Their house was perfectly good, and the place looked fine as far as Ben could see. At first he had thought his father’s plans somehow involved Miss Miriam, the schoolteacher, but then she had married Mr. Hoskins, so it couldn’t have been that.

  Ben hadn’t questioned his father’s plans, though, and later Sam seemed to forget all about them. In the past few months, Sam Cantrell had changed. Usually peaceful and friendly, he had become truculent, drinking and fighting as never before. The fighting made him a suspect in the Fletcher killing and ultimately led to his death.

  Ben had never known what caused the change in his father, but he did know one thing: hanging was a high price to pay for being in a bad mood.

  He wasn’t going to let them get away with it, though. They’d murdered his father, but they’d pay for it someday. Ben Cantrell was going to find out who the real murderer was. He’d bring the man to justice and clear the Cantrell name, even if it took the rest of his life. And even if it took more than that.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MOLLY FINGERED the length of satin ribbon covetously. She really wanted the pink, but it wasn’t practical. She had nothing to match pink. No, the blue would match her best dress, and she could either use it in her hair or make a bow for the collar of the dress. “I’ll take the blue, Mrs. Wells,” she said to the storekeeper’s wife.

  “That’s nice,” Mrs. Wells said. “It matches your eyes, Molly.”

  Molly smiled. At sixteen she was well aware of what matched her eyes, which was why her best dress was blue. “What are you going to get, Julie?”

  “I can’t decide,” her younger sister replied with a frown, examining all the geegaws displayed in the glass case.

  The girls didn’t get the opportunity to make such a decision very often. For the first time in longer than Molly could remember, their father had given them each a dime and told them they could buy whatever they wanted with it. She guessed he was feeling prosperous since he had sold some cattle this year. Both girls knew the chance to buy themselves a treat probably would not come again soon, so they were lingering over it.

  “Take your time,” Molly advised. “If I know Pa, he won’t be along for quite a while.” Molly waited until Mrs. Wells had wrapped up her ribbon and handed it to her. Placing it lovingly in her pocket, she strolled over to the door, which stood open to the warm afternoon sunshine.

  For a few minutes, she watched the Saturday traffic moving in the dusty street, the wagons clattering past carrying families come to town for their weekly visit and the cowboys on horseback come to squander their wages on the pleasures of the flesh. Molly wasn’t exactly sure what “pleasures of the flesh” were, but she’d heard her father say it often enough to know that was what the men did.

  She was enjoying the colorful scene when she saw him. Him, Ben Cantrell, in person. For one awful moment she thought her heart might actually burst, and she put a hand over where it had swelled in her chest as she watched Ben riding down the street.

  He looked different from the way he had the last time she had seen him, but of course he would. She hadn’t seen him for over a year, and that time she had caught only a glimpse as he had ridden by their wagon on the road. In fact, she could count on the fingers of one hand the times she had seen him in the four years since his father had died. She remembered every single time, though, just as she remembered how much she loved him.

  The older she got, the easier it was to love him, too. Sometimes she wondered how she could really be in love with someone she hadn’t even spoken to in over four years, but she was.

  She knew because of the way her stomach sort of ached whenever she thought about him and the way her heart was pounding ominously in her chest at the mere sight of him.

  He was just arriving in town, and her hungry gaze followed him as he rode up to the livery stable and dismounted. He was more handsome than ever. His golden hair had darkened a little over the years, she noticed when he took off his hat for a moment to wipe his brow, but it was still more gold than brown. The skinny, gangly boy she remembered from school had grown tall and straight. The broad shoulders straining the seams of his shirt tapered down to a narrow waist and hips, and he had the long, muscular legs of a rider. Even from here she could see the white flash of his teeth as he smiled at something the man with him had said.

  Suddenly Molly realized this was her big chance. Every other time she had seen Ben, she had been with her parents. Her father, of course, had ignored him or else muttered some insulting remark that Ben had pretended not to hear, and Ben had walked or ridden on by without so much as a glance in her direction. But today was different. Today her father was over at the saloon, bragging about selling his cattle, and her mother was visiting one of the ladies in town. Molly was free to waltz right out there on the street, and if she j
ust happened to pass Ben Cantrell, well, common courtesy demanded she say hello to her old school friend, didn’t it?

  Excitement bubbled up inside of her, and she glanced at Julie impatiently. She’d have to take Julie with her, or else the girl would complain that Molly had left her all alone in town and her father would be angry. “Haven’t you decided yet, Julie?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, hurry up!” Molly turned back to check on Ben’s location. He was still at the livery. She’d have to watch where he went so she could time things properly. She only prayed he didn’t go into the saloon, the only place in town where she wouldn’t be able to follow him.

  ***

  In front of the livery stable, Ben laughed at one of Johnny McGee’s raunchy observations and stepped aside as a wagon rattled up to the building. The man driving it had been in the posse that hanged Ben’s father. “Afternoon, Ben,” the rancher said stiffly.

  “Afternoon, Riggs,” Ben replied.

  Neither man smiled, and Riggs climbed down from his wagon. When he had given instructions to the boy who came for his horses, he turned back to Ben. “I hear you’re doing well.”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Riggs. “Your pa... would be proud of you.”

  “Yeah, if he was here to see me.”

  Riggs’s face turned dull red, but he stood his ground. “We can’t change the past, no matter how much we might want to, Ben.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “A lot of us do.” When Ben did not reply, he said, “If you ever need anything, let me know. We’re neighbors, after all.”

  “Are we?” Ben challenged.

  Riggs sighed. For a second he looked as if he would say more, but then he turned away and headed up the street.

  “Son of a bitch,” Johnny muttered.

  “Ain’t it funny how they all try to be friends? Must be their consciences. You figure it keeps ‘em awake nights, knowing they killed an innocent man?”

  “What keeps ‘em awake is wondering when you’re gonna get your revenge,” Johnny said. “They still can’t figure why you didn’t run off after your pa died.”

  “Yeah, I reckon it sticks in their craw to see me still here and ‘doing well.’ ”

  “Didn’t nobody expect a sixteen-year-old boy could run a ranch. You showed ‘em, though.”

  “And I’m gonna keep on showing ‘em until one of them finally tells the truth.”

  Johnny slapped him on the back. “Come on, we came to town to have some fun. Let’s get a drink.”

  Ben grinned knowingly. “Are you sure it’s a drink you want, or is it the red-haired girl who’ll be bringing it to you?”

  “Both,” Johnny replied cheerfully.

  From what Ben knew about Johnny and women—and he knew a lot, considering Johnny had taken Ben to his first bordello—Ben decided he wouldn’t hold him up.

  “You go ahead. I’ve got some errands to run first.”

  “I ain’t too sure about leaving you on your own hook. What if you run into somebody—”

  “Go on,” Ben said. “I’m a big boy. I can even cross the street by myself now.”

  Johnny snorted. “Don’t be too long, or I’ll have to come looking for you.”

  Ben laughed out loud. ‘The only place you’re gonna be looking this afternoon is under Annie’s skirt, and I promise I won’t be there.”

  Johnny told Ben in no uncertain terms what he thought of his ancestry and his moral turpitude before Ben gave him a friendly shove to send him on his way. Then he crossed the street, all by himself, and set out for the general store to put in his order.

  ***

  Molly watched him cross the street with a sense of panic. He was coming right this way, and here she was, stuck in this stupid store! “Haven’t you made up your mind yet?” she snapped at Julie.

  The girl was holding a tucking comb in one hand and a length of ribbon in the other. “No...” Julie replied thoughtfully.

  “Get the ribbon,” Molly urged.

  “But I don’t want to get the same thing you did,” Julie complained.

  “Then get the comb!”

  “But I’m not wearing my hair up yet.”

  “Then get something else!” Molly cried in exasperation. Ben was taking his time, but he would be passing the store any minute. If she didn’t get out soon, she’d miss her chance.

  “Here, I’ll help you decide,” Molly offered, hurrying over to the counter and quickly surveying all the delights it held. “How about that?” she said, pointing at a small, japanned box.

  “I don’t have anything to keep in it.”

  “Then how about the doll?”

  “I’m too old for dolls.”

  Molly swallowed her frustration. “Then why don’t you get ten sticks of candy,” she suggested with false brightness. “You can eat one every day for ten whole days!”

  “But then they’ll be gone, and I won’t have anything!” Julie wailed.

  “Then don’t get anything! See if I care! I’m tired of waiting for you to make up your mind. I’m going to find Mama!”

  “Go ahead,” Julie sniffed, and turned back to her trinkets.

  With an exasperated huff, Molly straightened her bonnet, whirled around, and ran smack dab into what felt like a wall of granite.

  Like a rubber ball, she bounced back again. Two large hands reached out to catch her, but they missed, and she fell flat on her bottom onto the dusty floor.

  With an outraged gasp, Molly looked up to see who on earth had been so clumsy as to run right into her, but the gasp strangled in her throat.

  “I’m awfully sorry, miss, but you came so fast, I didn’t have time to duck.” Ben Cantrell looked down at her with an apologetic smile. “Are you hurt?”

  Molly thought she might very well die, but she decided not to say so. Not knowing what else to do, she covered her humiliation with anger. “You always were a clumsy oaf, Ben Cantrell.”

  Ben blinked in surprise and then leaned over, squinting to make out the girl’s face in the dim interior light. “Molly?” he asked at last. “Molly Wade, is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Molly wondered dismally what kind of a picture she made, sitting on the floor with her bonnet half-off and her skirt... Oh, good Lord! Her skirt! Frantically, she pushed it down to cover her ankles, but she could tell by the way Ben was grinning that she was too late. He had already gotten an eyeful of her legs.

  “Here, let me help you up,” he said.

  Molly stubbornly ignored his outstretched hand, not really trusting herself to take it. She’d already made a big enough fool of herself. If the touch of his hand was going to make her swoon, she didn’t want anyone to know about it. Tucking her feet beneath her, she prepared to stand under her own power.

  Ben didn’t give her a chance. He reached down, grasped her by the elbows, and lifted her to her feet. Molly thought she must have gotten up too fast. That would account for the way her head was spinning. It didn’t account for the way her heart was fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird, though, or the way Ben’s hands burned like firebrands against her arms.

  A full minute passed before Mrs. Wells tactfully inquired, “Are you all right, Molly?”

  Without thinking, Molly breathed, “No.” Ben was still holding her, still staring at her like she were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. She didn’t want him to stop.

  “Molly?” Julie’s concern cut through the fog.

  “Oh, I mean, yes, I’m fine,” Molly stammered, jerking free of Ben’s grasp at last. Her whole face was flaming now, and she ducked her head, pretending to brush her skirt, in order to hide her embarrassment.

  ***

  Ben was starting to think he would never be fine again. How could all this have happened to little Molly Wade? She had been frozen in his memory as a skinny, pigtailed little girl, all knees and elbows with a pair of big blue eyes. The pigtails were gone, the skinny had fill
ed out rather nicely, and the big blue eyes were even prettier than ever. How could he have been living in the same county with her all these years without ever having noticed her before? Well, he had noticed her now, and things were never going to be exactly the same again.

  “I’m awfully sorry I bumped into you, Molly,” he lied. He wasn’t a bit sorry, but he knew from the furious way she was brushing her skirt that he had better pretend to be. “Seemed like you were in a powerful hurry to get somewhere. Can I walk you there, to make up for it?”

  Molly’s head came up in surprise. Oh, Lord, he was tall! So much taller than she remembered. She didn’t think the top of her head even reached his chin. He was handsome, too, even more handsome than he looked from a distance. And she loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  For a minute Molly thought she might die of sheer happiness as she contemplated the vision of walking down the street on Ben Cantrell’s strong arm. Another vision intruded, however—the vision of what her father would do if he saw them together. “No!” she said, too sharply. “I mean, no, thank you,” she amended, seeing his disappointment. “I don’t think... I mean... my father...”

  She didn’t have to explain any further. Ben’s face hardened, and his beautiful smile faded. She could feel his withdrawal, although he did not move a muscle. At that moment, Molly would have done almost anything to put the smile back on his face. Anything except brave her father’s fury.

  For the first time in four years, Ben felt the pinch of his restricted position in the community. Bitterness left a sour taste in his mouth as he stepped back, silently telling her he understood and would respect her wishes.