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“That’s a lie!” Cat screamed, an underlying sob to her voice. “He isn’t dead. Not Ty. Not my brother!” Amy Trumbo stepped up and attempted to wrap her arms around Cat in comfort, but she was rigid in them. “It can’t be true,” Cat protested. “It can’t be.”
“We don’t want it to be,” Amy murmured. “But we both know Stumpy wouldn’t lie.”
A horrible moan of pain came from Cat as she sagged against Amy and sobbed brokenly. All the while Jessy stood beneath the heat of the sun’s full glare, cold to the bone. A hand moved onto her shoulder, but she barely felt it. It was almost as though the person behind her were touching someone else.
“You’re white as a sheet, Jessy.” It was Ballard’s soft voice that came from somewhere near her shoulder. “You’d better sit down.”
“No.” She rejected that suggestion out of hand and looked straight at her father. “How? How did he die?”
Stumpy knew better than to pull any punches with his daughter. “Chase thinks he might have been stabbed.” He passed the reins to one of the other riders and moved to Jessy’s side, wrapping a fatherly arm around her. “Ballard’s right. You need to sit down.”
Making no objection this time, Jessy let him guide her to a campstool. Somebody put a cup in her hand.
“Drink this,” the cook ordered.
Almost trancelike, she took a sip then drew back in distaste. “It has sugar in it.”
“It’s good for shock,” the cook told her. “Drink it.”
Shock, was that what she was feeling? It felt like a great raging emptiness—with a giant ache where her heart should be.
“Where’s Chase?” The sudden and sharp question came from Ballard.
“He stayed with the body,” Stumpy replied.
The body. It was a cold and final phrase. Pain closed around her throat, briefly shutting off her air. In desperation Jessy gulped down more of the disgustingly sweet coffee.
“You left Chase out there by himself!” Ballard thundered. “That was a fool thing do. What if Haskell’s still out there?”
Jessy’s head came up, his question slicing through her own emotional haze. “You have to go back,” she said to her father. “You can’t let Chase stay out there alone. It might not be safe.”
When Stumpy wavered, equally concerned for her well-being, Ballard spoke up, “You stay here, Stumpy. I’ll take some of the boys and ride back.”
“You do that.” There was deep-felt gratitude in the look Stumpy sent him. Turning, he called to the others, “Jobe, Hank, Ben, you ride with Ballard back to the Three Fingers and keep an eye on Chase.”
Ballard hesitated, watching as Trey toddled up to Jessy and patted her knee for attention. “Mama?” Young though he was, Trey sensed the change in atmosphere. It showed in the uneasy worry in his expression.
His eyes were the dark brown of a Calder. For an instant, Jessy saw Ty in them and gathered Trey into her arms. Here was the tragedy—that Trey would grow up without ever knowing his father. She hugged him close. For once, Trey didn’t object.
“You might want to take Jessy and the twins back to The Homestead,” Ballard suggested. “There is really no reason for them to stay here. It’ll be another hour or more before Logan shows up. Once he’s here, it’s probably gonna take him a long time to check everything out.”
There was truth in what he said, and more in what he had left unsaid. The investigation into Ty’s death had yet to begin. Which meant it would be hours before the body would be taken away. Jessy would accomplish nothing by staying. And she had two very good reasons for leaving—their children.
Rising to her feet, she shifted Trey to her hip. “Come on. Let’s find your sister and go home.” Her voice was thick with the tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed.
Trey scowled. “See Daddy.”
His innocent demand ripped through her. Jessy struggled to find her voice, at last managing to utter a choked, “Not today, sweetheart.”
Not ever again.
A purpling dusk pressed against the windows of The Homestead, something bleak in its darkness. Chase stood in front of the fireplace, a booted foot propped on its raised hearth, a hand gripping the mantel. He stared into the blackened opening, the heaviness of his lo
ss weighing on him, his mind turning back.
“Chase?” Logan’s questioning voice penetrated his reverie.
Rousing himself with an effort, Chase threw a glance at his son-in-law. “Sorry,” he said and dragged in a long breath. “My mind drifted.”
