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Nathan’s wife, he reminded himself bitterly, not Noah’s. Noah Blake had no wife. But he couldn’t erase the past that had once belonged to him, or the dreams of a wife that had been his, no matter how hard he tried.
And now she was in danger.
Because he hadn’t watched out for her.
He sat down and stared at the picture. It was bad enough the man she had loved had died, but the haunted shell that was left hadn’t even been able to watch out for her.
He ran his finger over the picture, down the curve of her cheek, as he closed his eyes and remembered her smile. Remembered touching her. As he let himself remember, outside his dreams, of loving her.
“Go síoraí,” he whispered, breathing in the scent of those memories. “Forever, Sabella. I’ll love you forever.”
And the first crack in Noah Blake’s shell appeared.
“Nathan.” His name was breathed into the darkness as Sabella came awake. As though the past six years had never happened, as though she had never lost him. She heard his voice in the darkness. Those words. The ones she had never asked the meaning of. Go síoraí.
She stared into the dimly lit room. No Nathan. Nathan wasn’t there. Dry eyed, aching, she lay back down and closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Nathan,” she whispered back, wishing she could still cry. Wishing the pain could be shed so easily. “I miss you.”
CHAPTER TWO
The little shack that sat in the middle of the sprawling Rocking M Ranch looked just as weathered, just as faded and familiar, as it ever had even in the dark, beneath a bleak, black night.
Noah moved through the darkness like a wraith. He jumped the little wrought-iron fence and moved to his grandmother’s grave.
Erin Malone. Go síoraí. Forever. They were the only words on her granite tombstone. His grandfather had chiseled them in himself.
Kneeling by the tombstone, Noah stretched out his left hand, touched the stone, and lowered his head. His grandfather had always paid homage to their grandmother in this fashion. All her children had except Grant Malone. And Noah did now. He wondered if his brother Rory did as well.
He lifted his head and stared at the shack. It was dark, shadowed, but he knew his half brother was there.
He eased back from the grave then and bounded back over the fence before moving to the cabin.
Rory was quick. He was suspicious. He had known throughout the day that someone was watching the cabin, but Noah hadn’t tried to hide it.
He moved around the shack on silent feet. He flowed with the shadows, became a part of them, used them to his advantage until he stood at the end of the back porch and stared at the young man who sat in the aged rocker.
Rory was twenty-five, a man grown, and he looked too much like Nathan had at that age. He was broader in the shoulders and his muscles were heavier, but not as effective.
Rory sat silently, his rifle resting across his thighs, his body tense.
“I know you’re here,” his brother muttered. “If I haven’t scoped you by now, I’m not going to. You might as well take the shot.” Disgust lined his voice, filled his expression as his head lifted.
Rory thought he was dead, just as everyone else did. And Noah needed to ensure no one else suspected. Except Rory. Nathan would need his help.
As silent as moonlight he was over the banister of the porch, the rifle pulled from Rory’s grip, the barrel across his brother’s neck as the rocker tilted back to the wall.
It wasn’t a harsh grip, it was a warning one. He didn’t want to wake the old man. He didn’t want to add to Rory’s grief, or to his own shame.
“Stay silent,” Noah hissed in Rory’s dark face. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Rory’s expression was frankly disbelieving. But Noah would have been surprised if he’d reacted any other way.
“You have one chance to know what I know about your brother,” Noah warned him quietly. “One chance. Blow it, and it will never return.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed. Startling blue eyes, true Malone eyes.
“My brother’s dead,” he bit out quietly. “What could you tell me about him that my uncle couldn’t?”
Noah leaned closer. “Bràthair, what could I tell you that you want to know?”
