“We leave in fifteen minutes.”
Rachel stared at him.
“For Blackstone Ridge?”
“Yes.”
“What about Crowe?”
“He'll return to find an empty house.”
“And when he realizes where we've gone?”
Daniel buckled his gun belt.
“Then we'd better make sure we're not there when he arrives.”
But as he turned toward the hallway, Abigail caught his arm.
“Daniel.”
It was the first time she had called him by his given name.
He stopped.
She looked directly into his eyes.
“You don't have to do this.”
He said nothing.
“We came here because we were desperate. We never meant to bring your past back into your life.”
Daniel looked at her hand resting against his sleeve.
Then he looked toward Eleanor's photograph.
For five years, he had believed the past was something a man could escape if he rode far enough.
Now he understood that some things followed a person because they were unfinished.
He turned back to Abigail.
“Your aunt died trying to expose these men.”
Abigail's eyes filled with tears.
Daniel's voice softened.
“I couldn't save her.”
He glanced toward Rachel and Lucy.
“But I can still help you.”
Outside, the first pale line of dawn appeared over the mountains.
And somewhere in Silver Creek, Caleb Voss received a message that made him smile.
Daniel Mercer had opened his door to the Whitmore sisters.
The man who had once destroyed his life had finally given him a reason to fight again.
Voss folded the message.
Then he summoned Wade Briggs.
“Get the men ready,” he said.
Briggs looked surprised.
“Mercer?”
Voss nodded.
“Bring me the notebook.”
“And the women?”
Voss stared out the window.
“Alive, if possible.”
Briggs waited.
“And Mercer?”
Caleb Voss smiled without warmth.
“Five years ago, I made the mistake of letting that man live.”
He turned from the window.
“I don't intend to make it twice.”
CHAPTER FIVE: THE ROAD TO BLACKSTONE RIDGE
By the time the first gray light spread across the eastern sky, four riders had left the Mercer ranch.
Daniel rode his black gelding, Midnight, a powerful animal with a scar above one eye and the stubborn temperament of a mule.
Abigail rode a chestnut mare named Willow.
Rachel had been given Daniel's fastest horse, a lean bay gelding called Copper, while Lucy rode a gentle gray mare that Daniel normally reserved for hauling supplies into town.
They traveled north.
Not along the main road, where hoofprints would be easy to follow, but through the narrow timber trails that climbed toward the abandoned mining settlements.
The rain had stopped.
Mist hung low between the pines, and water dripped from branches onto the riders' shoulders. The ground smelled of wet earth and crushed sage.
Daniel led the way.
Behind him, Abigail kept glancing over her shoulder.
Rachel noticed.
“You're going to wear a hole in the back of your neck.”
Abigail ignored her.
“Do you think they're following us?”
Daniel answered without turning.
“Not yet.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because if Briggs had found our trail, we'd hear him.”
Rachel frowned.
“Maybe he's trying to be quiet.”
“Briggs isn't a quiet man.”
That earned the faintest smile from Lucy.
It was the first time she had smiled since arriving at the ranch.
Daniel noticed.
He also noticed how carefully she held herself in the saddle.
“Lucy.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“That's the second time I've asked, and the second time you've answered too quickly.”
Rachel glanced toward her sister.
“Lucy?”
“I'm fine.”
Daniel stopped his horse.
The others halted behind him.
He turned in the saddle.
“Show me your left arm.”
Lucy hesitated.
Abigail's expression changed.
“Lucy?”
The youngest sister slowly pulled back her coat.
A dark stain spread across the sleeve of her dress.
Abigail gasped.
“Why didn't you tell us?”
Lucy looked ashamed.
“I didn't want to slow everyone down.”
Daniel dismounted.
“Let me see.”
He approached carefully.
Lucy held out her arm.
A bullet had grazed the outside of her upper arm, cutting through the fabric and leaving a long, angry wound.
It was not deep enough to have struck bone.
But the skin around it was swollen.
Daniel examined it.
“When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
“At the crossing?”
She nodded.
Abigail closed her eyes.
“Lucy.”
“I thought it would stop bleeding.”
Daniel removed a small leather medical pouch from his saddlebag.
“It's not as bad as it looks,” he said.
Lucy tried to smile.
“That's good.”
“But it needs cleaning.”
He poured water over a clean cloth.
Lucy winced.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It's all right.”
He worked gently, washing away the dried blood and wrapping the wound with fresh linen.
Abigail watched his hands.
They were large, scarred hands.
Hands that looked better suited to hauling fence posts and breaking wild horses than tending injuries.
Yet he moved with surprising care.
“You've done this before,” she said.
Daniel nodded.
“More times than I'd like.”
“During your years as a deputy?”
“Mostly.”
Rachel dismounted and tied her horse to a pine.
“Did you ever serve in the army?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Then where did you learn to shoot?”
“My father.”
“Was he a lawman?”
“No. A farmer.”
Rachel looked surprised.
“Farmers don't usually teach their sons to shoot like you.”
Daniel finished tying Lucy's bandage.
“Mine did.”
He stood.
“And he taught me something more important.”
“What?”
“That knowing how to shoot doesn't mean you should.”
Rachel looked away.
Daniel repacked the medical pouch.
“Lucy, if you feel feverish or dizzy, you tell me immediately.”
She nodded.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They resumed their journey.
The trail grew steeper.
By midmorning, the trees began to thin, revealing a broad valley below. Silver Creek lay somewhere beyond the southern ridge, hidden by mist.
Abigail rode beside Daniel.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then she said, “You loved her very much.”
Daniel knew whom she meant.
“Yes.”
“Eleanor.”
He nodded.
“She sounds like someone I would have liked.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“She would have liked you.”
Abigail looked down.
“How can you know?”
“Because you're stubborn.”
She laughed softly.
“That's not always a compliment.”
“With Eleanor, it was.”
They rode in silence for several minutes.
Then Abigail asked, “Were you happy?”
Daniel's expression changed.
The question was simple.
The answer was not.
“Yes,” he said finally. “For a while.”
Abigail watched the trail.
“I don't remember much happiness in our house after Mother died.”
Daniel said nothing.
“Father tried. He really did. Every birthday, he'd bake a cake, even though he couldn't cook. Every Christmas, he'd bring us some small gift he'd carved himself.”
She smiled sadly.
“One year he made Rachel a wooden horse.”
From behind them, Rachel called, “It looked like a goat.”
Abigail laughed.
“It did not.”
“It had horns.”
“They were ears!”
“They were horns.”
Lucy giggled.
For a brief moment, the forest seemed less threatening.
Daniel glanced back at the sisters.
He had spent years believing that grief was something a person carried alone.
Watching them now, he wondered whether he had been wrong.
Abigail continued.
“Father used to tell us that a family isn't measured by how much land it owns or how much money it has.”
“What did he say it was measured by?”
“By how many people still come to the table when there's nothing left to eat.”
Daniel considered that.
“Sounds like a wise man.”
“He was.”
Her voice broke slightly.