Lorraine Heath (2 page)

He dismounted, tethered his horse to the railing, and walked along the alley between the two buildings. He spotted the landing where he’d kissed Becky for the first time. Had Cameron kissed her there? His gut clenched with the thought.

He heard the bump of a crate hitting the ground. As he rounded the corner, within the light cast by the lantern hanging on the back wall of the store, he saw Cameron McQueen heft a wooden crate from the wagon, stack it next to the back door, and reach for another one. If he and Cameron were still friends, he would have given him a hard time about the starched white apron he wore over his crisp white shirt.

Cameron reached for another box, then stilled as though sensing another’s presence. He glanced over his shoulder, his blond hair falling across his brow. With his gaze wary, he approached slowly. “Austin, it’s good to see you.”

“I’ll just bet.” Austin slammed his knotted fist into Cameron’s face. Cameron staggered back and hit the ground with a sickening thud that sounded like a crate of tomatoes bursting open.

“Get up, you sorry son of a bitch!”

Working his jaw back and forth, Cameron rolled over. “I’m not gonna fight you.”

“You don’t have to fight me, but at least give me the satisfaction of pounding you into the ground.”

Cameron pushed himself to his knees, close enough to standing as far as Austin was concerned. He hit him again and sent him sprawling back to the ground. “You were my best friend, damn you! I trusted you!”

Cameron squinted at him, blood trailing along his cheek. “Honest to God, I tried not to love her.”

“Not good enough. Stand up.”

Cameron struggled to his feet and stood, his arms dangling at his sides like the useless broken blades on a windmill.

“At least put your hands up, give me some satisfaction,” Austin commanded.

Cameron shook his head. “You wanna beat the crap out of me, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

Impotent rage surged through Austin. He’d beat the crap out of him, all right—and then some. He brought his arm back—

“Cameron!” the sweetest voice called.

Austin snapped his head around. The light from the lantern illuminated Becky as she stood in the doorway, holding a tow-headed boy close against her breast.

She was the prettiest thing he’d ever set eyes on. The stolen years began melting away, just as he’d known they would.

“Pa!” the boy cried, squirming in his mother’s arms.

The years came crashing back with a vengeance. She wasn’t Becky Oliver, his girl. She was Becky McQueen, his best friend’s wife.

“Cameron, aren’t you finished yet?” she asked softly.

Austin realized then that the shadows hid him, that the lantern light wasn’t touching him. From where she stood, Becky couldn’t see him or the blood trailing down Cameron’s face.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Cameron said quietly, keeping his profile to her.

“Well, don’t take too long. Supper’s getting cold.” She disappeared into the store, and Austin knew she was probably climbing the indoor stairs that led to the second floor, to the home she shared with Cameron.

“Honest to God, Austin, I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way,” Cameron said, his voice low.

Austin took a menacing step toward him. Cameron flinched but didn’t back away. “Think on this,” Austin said, his voice seething with the pain of betrayal. “She loved me first.”

“Believe me, that thought haunts me night and day.”

Austin wished he’d just hit Cameron again and kept his mouth shut. He’d wanted to hurt the man, and he knew by the despair that had plunged into Cameron’s blue eyes that he had succeeded. He didn’t know why that knowledge brought him no satisfaction but only served to increase his anger over a situation that he was unable to change.

He nodded briskly. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Abruptly, he spun on his heel and strode through the alley until he reached the boardwalk. He’d never felt more lost in his life.

Although the family had welcomed him home with open arms, he no longer felt a part of them. His brothers had wives, children, and successful businesses. And what did Austin have? Nothing but a tarnished reputation that he should have never possessed.

Stalking down the boardwalk, he was surprised his feet didn’t split the boards with the weight of his anger as he headed toward the far end of town where the saloon beckoned.

Smoke thickened the air as he stormed through the swinging doors of the saloon. A huge gilded mirror hanging on the wall behind the bar reflected the patrons who occupied the chairs or stood against the walls.

He felt gazes boring into him, and even in the din of male voices and raucous laughter, he thought he heard people harshly whispering his name. He ambled toward the crowded bar and hooked the heel of his boot on the brass railing that ran the length of the bar. The men closest to him sidled away like he had festering sores covering him. He slapped a coin on the counter. “Whiskey.”

The bartender picked up a glass and poured the amber brew, his gaze never leaving Austin. It had always amazed Austin that Beau could serve drinks and never once look to see what he was doing.

“Heard you’d be home soon,” Beau said as he eyed Austin warily.

“Well, you heard right.” Austin crossed his arms on the bar and leaned forward slightly.

Beau set the full glass in front of him. “I don’t want no trouble in here.”

“I don’t plan to start any,” Austin assured him.

With a brusque nod, Beau ambled to the far end of the counter, wiping the shining wood as he went. An icy shiver skittered along Austin’s spine. He despised the sensation of being watched and judged. In prison, guards had glared at him, dogs had followed his every movement, other prisoners had scrutinized him and measured him against their own low standards.

He jerked his head around and locked his blue glare onto Lester Henderson. The portly banker stood at the bar, his dark eyes set in a face that greatly resembled bread dough. Averting his gaze, Lester downed the remainder of his beer. He wiped a pudgy hand across his mouth, straightened his shoulders, and approached Austin.

“I had no choice but to vote guilty,” Henderson said, his voice hitching. “The evidence—”

“I know what the evidence was. I was at the goddamn trial.”

“Can’t give a loan to a man fresh out of prison—”

“Did I ask for a loan?”

“No, but I just wanted to save you from asking.” Henderson scurried away like a squirrel that had spotted the last pecan on the ground.

Austin wrapped his fingers around the glass of whiskey and studied the contents. As soon as he finished the whiskey, he’d set about clearing his name. He didn’t anticipate that it would take long. He had always known that Duncan McQueen had pinned the blame on him.

He brought the glass to his lips, tipped his head back, and caught the reflection of a raised knife in the mirror.

He moved swiftly, but not quickly enough. Agonizing pain tore through his back. He darted to the side, spun around, and plowed his fist into Duncan McQueen’s face before the man could strike again. As Duncan staggered back, Austin grabbed the hand holding the knife and slammed it hard against the wooden counter. The knife clattered to the floor.

Austin caught an unexpected fist just below his jaw. Pain ricocheted through his head as his knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, blackness encroaching on his vision. He scrambled to his knees, struggling to get to his feet, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth.

“You bastard!” Duncan roared before lunging for Austin.

Austin reversed his efforts, dropped to his side, and kicked Duncan in the knee. Grunting, Duncan fell to the floor and grabbed the knife. Hatred burned brightly within his dark eyes as he jumped to his feet. “Five years! That’s all they gave you for murdering my brother because Dallas owns this part of the state. They should have hanged you!” He brandished the bloodied knife in the air. “I reckon it’s up to me to deliver the justice you deserve.”

“Not in my saloon!” Beau said as he rounded the corner of the bar, gun in hand. He shoved Duncan on the shoulder. “Back up.”

His head pounding, his back throbbing, Austin struggled to his feet and glared at Duncan. “What the hell are you ranting about, Duncan? You killed Boyd and made it look like I did it.”

“Don’t see how that could be,” Beau said in a slow drawl. “Duncan showed up here in the late afternoon and sat in that corner right over there until dawn, getting drunk.”

“Why would I kill my brother?” Duncan asked, loathing laced through his voice.

That was the one answer Austin didn’t have.

“Everyone knows you murdered him,” Duncan snarled.

Austin scrutinized the men who had gathered around the bar. The knowledge in their eyes spoke louder than Duncan’s words. He saw no doubts. Not one questioning look. He saw nothing but absolute certainty staring back at him. They all thought he had murdered Boyd McQueen.

“Why the hell else would my brother have written your name in the dirt before he died?” Duncan demanded.

Why indeed?

Austin sat on the back steps of Dallas’s house and stared at the moon. He rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the pain caused by the movement. After leaving the saloon, he had stopped at the doctor’s house, but the man hadn’t been there. By the time Austin had arrived home, the bleeding had stopped so he’d simply changed shirts. No need to alarm his family. They’d had enough worry the past five years. Besides, he’d survived worse in prison.

He heard the door open and the echo of soft footfalls. Looking over his shoulder, he watched Dee sit beside him on the step.

“You were right. You told me five years was an eternity when a person has no freedom,” he said into the stillness of the evening.

Using her fingers, she brushed the dark strands of hair off his brow. “Not all prisons come with walls. Dallas was the key that unlocked mine.”

Austin shifted his gaze to the canopy of stars, allowing a companionable silence to ease in around them.

“What’s their son’s name?”

“Andrew. We call him Drew,” Dee said quietly.

“I hit his father this evening.”

“I’m not altogether certain Cameron didn’t deserve that.” She placed her hand over his. “But I know how much he loves Becky. I think he may have loved her before you went to prison.”

“That doesn’t make what he did right.”

She sighed. “I know this is difficult for you, but Dallas forgave Houston for taking Amelia from him. Maybe in time, you can forgive Cameron—”

“My situation is completely different from Dallas’s. All he gave Amelia was a train ticket. I gave Becky my heart and five years of my life.”

“Becky offered to testify that she was with you the night Boyd was killed, but you wouldn’t allow it. You can’t blame her now for the years you spent in prison. That’s not fair.”

“Life
is never
fair, Dee. Having Houston and Dallas for brothers should have taught me that a long time ago, but I had to learn it on my own.” He looked toward the distance. “So much has changed. Everything is different from what I expected it to be.”

“Not everything. Your violin is the same. I kept it for you just like you asked. I was hoping you’d play something for me tonight.”

He glanced at the silhouette of the instrument resting in her lap. “I don’t hear the music anymore, Dee. While I was in prison, it just shriveled up and died.”

He shoved himself to his feet and walked to the barn. He needed to ride, to feel the wind rushing against his face. He had finished saddling Black Thunder when he heard a thump and grunt come from the back of the barn. He strode to the back room and peered inside. Rawley struggled to move a box. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Austin asked.

Rawley spun around, his face burning bright red. “I wanted to get this room cleaned first. Gotta earn my keep.”

Austin leaned against the door frame. “Rawley, you always worked harder than I ever did, and Dallas never kicked me out.”

“You’re blood, I ain’t.” Rawley walked to the worktable and began to put away tools someone else had left out.

“That doesn’t matter to Dallas—”

“Matters to me.”

Austin studied the boy as he straightened the room. “Is that why you didn’t take Dallas’s name when he adopted you?”

Rawley stilled. “I just figured it was best is all.” He peered at Austin. “I’ve always wondered … what did you do to get a town named after you?”

Austin smiled. “I don’t have a town named after me.”

“Sure you do. I went through a town named Austin once.”

“The capital? It’s the other way around. I’m named after it. Our pa named us after towns—” Austin’s mind reeled with possibilities. “Sweet Lord.”

“What?” Rawley asked.

“I gotta go.” Austin raced through the barn, mounted Black Thunder, and galloped into the night.

An hour later, he pounded on the door of the second floor landing over the general store. When it opened, his voice lodged in his throat. Why hadn’t he considered that he might see Becky if he came here? Why did the pain have to slice through his heart, ripping open the fresh wound?

God Almighty, he wished he could hate her. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to yell at her. But most of all, he wanted to hold her, her body flush against his, her warmth thawing the chill that permeated his soul.

“I need to talk to Cameron,” he croaked.

The shock reflected in her blue eyes quickly gave way to anger. Becky planted her hands firmly on his chest and shoved hard, causing him to stumble back-ward. “Well, he doesn’t need to talk to you. How dare you hit—”

“Becky!”

She pivoted around. Cameron stood in the doorway, one eye discolored and swollen. “Drew’s calling you. I’ll take care of this.”

Austin watched her jaw tighten before she gave him a scathing glare and shouldered her way past Cameron to go inside.

“Did you want to come in?” Cameron asked.

Austin shook his head, wondering why he’d come to the man who had betrayed him. He walked to the railing and stared at the town, light from the lanterns fighting the darkness. Cameron’s quiet, hesitant footsteps as he came to stand beside Austin brought back memories of confidences shared.