He wasn’t a man given to flights of fancy, but maybe, just maybe, Hannah was smiling down at him from her place in heaven, approving of their move to Serenity and the hiring of Tresia Morgan. He wouldn’t be surprised. For as kind and gentle and sweet as Hannah had been, she also had backbone and determination, which she had passed along to their daughter. Would she approve of Tresia taking care of Avery? Yes, she would have. Before he went back to his letter, he had one last thought that in another time and place, he was certain Hannah and Tresia would have been friends.
CHAPTER 7
“Think you can bring me in?”
The voice came from behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know that it belonged to the man he’d been chasing for so long. He didn’t need to turn around to know there was a pistol pointed at his back, either. He could feel it though it wasn’t touching him. What he didn’t know was how Big Bill Cassidy had gotten the jump on him, managed to sneak up on him when every muscle, sinew, and nerve in his body was attuned to everything around him.
“I don’t think it, Cassidy, I know it.” His hand lowered oh so slowly to the revolver at his hip.
“Uh uh, don’t you be movin’!” Cassidy stopped him, his voice filled with derision and—was that a touch of fear?
Maybe it was and if it was, then he might just have a chance to escape this encounter with his life.
“Put your hands up and turn around real slow. Don’t be making any sudden moves.” Cassidy laughed, though there was no joy in the sound. “My trigger finger’s a little itchy.”
Devlin did as he was told, raising his hands up and turning slowly to face the man who needed to be brought to justice for the horrible crimes he’d committed. It only took a moment tosize up the bandit, notice the bloodshot eyes filled with hate, and the sneer of contempt spreading his lips.
“Drop the holster.”
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was either that or get shot right where he stood. Cassidy wouldn’t hesitate. He hadn’t before, and unless he was brought in, he wouldn’t again. Some men just liked killing and Cassidy was one of them.
Slowly, so as not to raise suspicion, Devlin reached for the buckle of his holster, even as his mind went over the various scenarios, only one or two of which would leave him not dead, though at this moment, he didn’t care if he died. Life without Hannah was too hard.
Still, Avery needed him. Hell, he needed her. And once Cassidy was brought in, he could be with her again.
He unbuckled the holster but didn’t let it drop to the ground. Instead, he lowered it until it rested on the dirt then straightened, going over all the possibilities in his head to get out of this alive.
“Who are you?”
“Devlin Goodrich. U.S. Marshal.”
Cassidy nodded, the gleam of recognition shining in his dark eyes. “Heard about you. How’d you find me? No one knows about this place.”
“Been looking for you for a long time, Cassidy. Caught up with your buddy, Smiley Burdette. He’s sitting in my jail cell right now and talking up a blue streak.” He tilted his head, knowing he was antagonizing the man who held his life in his hands, hoping, praying that something he said would make this man act irrationally, giving him a chance to act. “He told me where to find you.”
He awoke, startled and disoriented, and sat up quickly, the dregs of the nightmare still in his head. It took a moment or two to orient himself. He wasn’t in the high mountains of NewMexico—he was in his own bed, in his own home. Moonlight streamed into the bedroom, not the high glare of midday sunlight that had made him squint when he’d finally found Cassidy’s hide-out.
He let out a sigh. He’d never go back to sleep now. He never could after one of his nightmares. Fortunately, those nightmares were becoming less and less frequent though they still had the power to scare the living daylights out of him.
He rose slowly, grabbed a pair of socks, trousers and a shirt from the bureau and slipped into them, then padded down the hall, boots in hand. He pushed open the door to Avery’s room carefully, praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak then tiptoed in, leaving his boots in the doorway. He didn’t need to light the lantern; he was able to see his daughter quite clearly in the moonlight. She lay sprawled on her bed on her stomach, one arm around Cecily, the other arm under her pillow. The blanket half covered her and one foot hung off the bed.
He smiled. She slept like her mother—hard, deep, and unplagued by the nightmares he himself suffered.
He moved closer to the bed, slowly brought her foot up so it was covered by the blanket, then straightened the covers around her shoulders. She sighed in her sleep, clutched Cecily a little closer, but didn’t awaken.
He stood there for a moment, just watching her, listening to her breathe. Pure love filled his heart. It was his duty to keep her—and the world around her—safe, a duty he was proud to perform. Secure in the knowledge that he would never again let someone try to keep her away from him—like Frances had tried to do—he carefully stepped out of the room.
Grabbing his boots, he closed the door, though not all the way. He wanted to be able to hear her if she should call out, then headed downstairs, careful to avoid the riser that creaked. As he passed through the parlor, he noticed that it was only alittle after five in the morning. He had another hour or so before Tresia breezed into the house and started breakfast. Her hours, when he hired her, were seven to seven but that seemed to have gone by the wayside. She frequently arrived before that time and stayed well after. She didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t either. He rather enjoyed sharing a cup of coffee with her after Avery went to bed.
He wandered into the kitchen, slipped into his boots and went about making a pot of coffee then sat at the table and just waited for it to be ready, at odds with himself and the reason he wasn’t still sleeping. He couldn’t just sit there, though, his fingertips tapping out a rhythm. He had to do something…constructive…instead of simply waiting for the coffee…and Mrs. Tresia Morgan.
He rose from his chair and went into the small study, grabbed the rolled-up tube of new Wanted posters that had been delivered yesterday, and brought them back to the kitchen table. He untied the neat little bow that held them together and spread them out in front of him, placing the sugar bowl at one corner of the papers and the creamer at the other to keep them from rolling back up again. He poured himself a cup of the finally done coffee, then made himself comfortable at the table and studied the posters as he always did, committing the names and faces to memory. If any one of them wandered into his town, he’d make sure they never did again.
The kitchen door opened, startling him, as Tresia entered the house. She stopped for a moment as her gaze landed on him before a big smile spread her lips. “I didn’t expect you to be up.”
“Avery’s still sleeping.” He gestured to the coffeepot on a trivet on the table. “I made coffee.”
“You look tired. Didn’t you sleep?”
