Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens
she gasped.
He took a step toward her and she dashed into his arms.
“Papa!” She sobbed and hung on to his neck. He seemed shorter than he had, thinner, too, but she hugged him as if he was her lifeline.
“Is it really you?” He cupped the back of her head, holding her close. “My little girl?”
“It’s me.” Relief flooded her. She was home and Papa held her in his arms. Everything would be all right now.
“We gave up hope.” She felt his chest heave then cave.
“I’m sorry, Papa. I can’t tell you how sorry.”
They hung on to each other for a long moment, hugging and weeping.
“Mama!” Flynn called.
At last she pulled away. “Papa, there’s someone I want you and Mama to meet.”
She gazed into eyes that didn’t seem like her father’s. They used to be snapping blue, his expression always on the verge of a laugh. Now they were clouded... It was all her fault.
“I’m sorry, baby...truly, truly sorry, but your mama...she passed on two years ago.”
Papa turned her about by the shoulders. Her heart had stopped. Surely it had. Through a dizzy haze she faced the neighbor who looked as though steam might spout from her ears.
“And this is your stepmama, Dixie.”
“Mama!” Flynn cried out, reaching his arms over the side of the wagon. “Hold you!”
If Melody had heard her son, Reeve would be surprised. The shock and the grief had to cut to the bone.
The creaking of his saddle leather when he got off his horse and Flynn’s distressed cries were the only sounds that filled the anguished silence.
He crossed the yard quickly, then stood behind Melody. He wanted to touch her in comfort but figured it would be best to simply be there.
Despair had to be slicing her off at the knees but she stood tall with her back straight and her features set.
“Why, you wicked girl,” Dixie murmured, allowing her gaze to roam over Melody, from head to toe and back again. “Devil give you credit, breaking your daddy’s heart, coming home bold as blazes and not just you but a passel of brats.” She glanced at Reeve, her gaze roaming subtly where it shouldn’t. “And a man.”
He’d met this kind of woman before. Unless he missed his guess she was a whore who had become too old to ply her trade and so had latched on to a susceptible widower.
“Marshal Prentis,” Melody said in a voice so brittle he wondered that it didn’t crack. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even appear to be breathing. “Would you kindly take the children to the hotel?”
If it weren’t for the fact that her composure was probably holding on by a brittle thread, he would have touched her, offered comfort.
“Of course, Mrs. Travers,” he said instead. At least her father would know that Melody had been married. He guessed Dixie had been hinting that she was not.
In time it would come out that Melody had been married to an outlaw, but that time was not now.
“Come with us, Mellie,” Libby called gently from where she stood in the wagon bed. “It’s not a time to be alone.”
“I’ll be along.”
Reeve noticed the effort it took for her to speak those few words. Her lips trembled ever so slightly.
Another woman might have collapsed where she stood. In spite of her delicate appearance, Melody Dawson was as strong as iron.
While many had gone from girl to woman sheltered and coddled, Melody had grown up among thieves and ruffians. Through it all she had gained a sense of integrity, not lost it.
Joe walked up and touched her elbow. “Come on, Melody.”
“I’ve got to speak with my father alone, but I’ll be along.”
“Not on your life!” Dixie Dawson claimed her husband by latching on to his coat sleeve and tugging him down the walkway.
“Papa?” Melody hurried after her father.
“You’ve done enough damage for one lifetime, young woman.” It was fair to say that the stepmother actually growled.
“Papa, don’t you want to meet your grandsons?”
The man stopped and turned. His eyes brightened for an instant but they still seemed drawn and weary.
“Grandsons?”
“Those brats don’t have anything to do with us. They’ll only cause trouble.”
“I’d like to see—”
“Come along, Porter.” Dixie pulled Mr. Dawson down the path. He didn’t protest again even when his wife shooed him up the front steps of the house across the road as if he was a chicken being put away for the night.
Melody’s shoulders trembled; her hands twisted into white fists.
“I’m home for good, Papa,” she called. “I’ll be staying at the hotel until I get settled.”
“Your mama left you the house,” Porter Dawson answered while his wife tried to drag him inside. “The back door is open.”
“You old fool,” he heard Dixie grumble. Without trying to hide what she did, she yanked her husband’s ear. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“The sky’s clouding up. We’d better get the children out of the weather before it snows,” Reeve said, touching Melody’s shoulder to urge her toward the wagon.
“I don’t know him. He’s my father, but he’s not the one I left behind.” She looked up at Reeve, her amber eyes wide and hurting. “My daddy was so strong. Whatever happened to him is my fault.”
“We can talk about it later. First we need to get the children fed and settled.”
He wished that she would lean into him for comfort. It would feel natural to hug her close. The one thing he wanted at this moment was to ease her grief. He knew, of course, that he couldn’t. It was impossible.
All one could hope for was to wade through the pain. To come out on the other side stronger, and if not exactly healed, at least able to feel life’s joy again.
He knew she had the strength to be all right in the end, but all of a sudden it felt wrong to leave her.
He’d spent his life being a protector, but he’d never felt the need to watch over another person who wasn’t kin. Maybe it was because of the children, her own and the ones she had taken on. Or it might be that her inner strength combined with her delicate beauty touched him in a way he hadn’t been touched before.
Whatever it was that called him to her, he could not abandon her, just now, to pick up the threads of her life alone.
* * *
Reeve sat on his bed and took off his boots. It was late, the fire in the grate had fallen to embers and it was well past time to get some rest.
Unfortunately, restlessness had been his companion much of the evening, keeping him pacing the floor and watching the snow drift beyond the window.
Melody was in a fix, and he wondered what he could do to turn things around. She hadn’t returned home to the welcome of her parents as she had expected. Even the parent she had left was in no position to give her support.
It wouldn’t be right to ride off, leaving her and the children with their