Chapter 3 - The Man With No Wound
Mara’s first instinct was relief.
Her second was terror.
Caleb stood beneath the pines twenty yards away.
His gray shirt was clean.
No blood.
No torn fabric.
Nothing.
Ethan dismounted.
“Stay on the horse.”
Caleb raised both hands.
“Mara, it’s me.”
She pulled the note from her pocket.
“What happened October fourteenth?”
Caleb stopped.
His expression remained calm.
Too calm.
“What?”
“October fourteenth.”
“Mara, we don’t have time.”
She felt something inside her break.
The Caleb she knew always answered questions with another question when he lied.
“What happened?”
He looked at Ethan.
“Rourke’s men are behind me.”
Ethan’s voice was flat.
“Answer her.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t remember every date from our marriage.”
Mara did.
October 14 had meant nothing to her until thirty seconds ago.
But apparently it meant something to the man who had written the warning.
She looked at his shoulder.
“You were shot.”
Caleb glanced down.
“Grazed.”
“Your shirt was covered in blood.”
“I changed it.”
“In the woods?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
Caleb’s eyes flicked toward Ethan.
That was enough.
Ethan drew.
“Don’t.”
Caleb’s expression changed.
“Walker—”
“Hands where I can see them.”
“Mara, tell him.”
“No.”
She barely recognized her own voice.
Caleb looked at her.
“You think I’m working with Rourke?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
“You’re my wife.”
“I was also your widow.”
That landed.
Caleb slowly lowered his hands.
Ethan stepped forward.
“Where’s your horse?”
“Lost him.”
“Where’s the bloody shirt?”
“Back there.”
“Show me.”
Caleb hesitated.
Ethan cocked the revolver.
Caleb’s face hardened.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Probably. Been making them all my life. One more won’t hurt.”
Mara almost laughed despite herself.
Then Caleb moved.
Fast.
His hand dove toward his coat.
Ethan fired.
The bullet struck the tree beside Caleb’s head.
Caleb froze.
“That one was a warning,” Ethan said.
“You missed.”
“No.”
Caleb looked at the hole in the bark.
Then at Ethan.
Understanding appeared.
Ethan Walker had placed the bullet exactly where he wanted it.
“Take the coat off,” Ethan said.
Caleb obeyed.
“Shirt.”
Caleb pulled it up.
No wound.
Mara closed her eyes.
“Who are you?”
The man who looked exactly like her husband gave a tired sigh.
Then he reached behind his neck.
His fingers caught something beneath the hairline.
He peeled away a thin piece of flesh-colored material.
Mara stared.
A scar appeared.
Then another strip came free from his cheek.
Not a mask.
Not exactly.
Small theatrical pieces.
Wax.
Hair dye.
Enough alteration to make a similar man appear almost identical from a distance.
When he removed the final piece, the face remained familiar.
But it wasn’t Caleb.
Mara knew him.
“Samuel.”
The man smiled.
Caleb’s younger brother.
A man she had not seen in seven years.
“You remember me.”
Mara nearly slid from the horse.
Ethan caught her.
Samuel Bell looked very much like Caleb.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same thin frame.
But Samuel had always been restless, bitter, hungry for money.
He disappeared after stealing two horses from a neighboring ranch.
“Why?” Mara whispered.
Samuel shrugged.
“Rourke needed you moving north.”
“Why?”
“So you’d lead us to the box.”
Mara’s stomach dropped.
Samuel’s eyes went to the brass key in Ethan’s hand.
“There it is.”
Ethan closed his fist.
“So Rourke doesn’t know where the box is.”
“Not exactly.”
Mara remembered Caleb’s words.
Under the kitchen floor.
“My farm.”
Samuel nodded.
“Rourke searched it three times.”
“Why didn’t he find it?”
“Caleb was smarter than we thought.”
“Is Caleb really alive?”
Samuel hesitated.
Mara stepped forward.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was that him in town?”
Samuel smiled.
“Mostly.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed.
“Mostly?”
Samuel looked at Mara.
“Rourke has been using Caleb’s survival to control people for months. Sometimes Caleb appears. Sometimes I do. Nobody gets close enough to tell.”
Mara felt sick.
“Why would Caleb help him?”
“He didn’t.”
“So where is he?”
Samuel’s smile disappeared.
“Last I heard, locked beneath Rourke’s mill.”
Mara stopped breathing.
Ethan studied Samuel.
“You came here alone?”
“Would’ve been stupid.”
“Yes.”
Samuel frowned.
“Yes what?”
“You coming alone would’ve been stupid.”
Ethan glanced toward the ridge.
Samuel’s face changed.
Ethan fired into the brush.
A man screamed.
Three riders burst from the trees.
Ethan grabbed Mara and pulled her behind a fallen log.
Samuel ran.
One rider chased him.
Ethan fired twice.
One man fell from his saddle.
The second horse reared.
Mara saw a rifle lying beside the log.
She grabbed it.
Ethan looked at her.
“You know how?”
“My father taught me.”
“Good.”
She fired.
The bullet struck a branch above the third rider.
He ducked.
“I’m rusty!”
“Still useful.”
Ethan fired.
The rider fled.
Samuel had disappeared.
Mara stood.
“We have to get Caleb.”
“No.”
She stared at Ethan.
“No?”
“We have to survive long enough to get Caleb.”
“He’s in the mill.”
“According to a man who just tried to lead us into an ambush.”
Mara hated that he was right.
Ethan reloaded.
“We go to my cabin.”
“The box—”
“Still buried.”
“Rourke knows we know.”
“He doesn’t have the key.”
Mara looked at Ethan’s fist.
“He could kill you for it.”
“Been tried.”
“That doesn’t comfort me.”
“It wasn't meant to.”
They rode north.
By dusk, the trees thickened.
The path narrowed.
Ethan’s cabin stood beneath a stone ridge beside a creek.
It was larger than Mara expected.
Simple.
Strong.
A porch.
Two rooms, exactly as promised.
Inside, Ethan lit a lamp.
Mara stood near the door.
He noticed.
“You can leave it open.”
“It’s cold.”
“Then close it.”
She did.
Ethan placed the brass key on the table between them.
“You sleep in the bedroom.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Chair.”
“That chair looks terrible.”
“It is.”
For the first time in months, Mara laughed.
A real laugh.
It surprised both of them.
Ethan looked away.
Mara smiled.
“You’re embarrassed.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m hungry.”
“That wasn't the question.”
He opened a cupboard.
Beans.
Flour.
Coffee.
Dried venison.
Mara approached.
“You cook?”
“Enough to live.”
“That sounds like no.”
“It’s close.”
She took the flour.
“I’ll cook.”
“You don’t owe me.”
“I know.”
Ethan looked at her.
She smiled.
“That’s why I’m offering.”
He understood.
Choice.
Not debt.
That mattered.
They cooked together.
Poorly at first.
Then better.
For twenty minutes, there was no Rourke.
No stolen farm.
No dead husband who wasn’t dead.
Just a woman kneading dough and a mountain man pretending not to watch her.
After supper, Mara opened her bundle.
The ledger lay inside.
She began reading every page.
Ethan sat across from her.
Names repeated.
Rourke.
Pike.
Sheriff Danner.
Then another name appeared.
E. WALKER.
Mara stopped.
Ethan saw it.
“What?”
She turned the ledger.
His initials were written beside three payments.
E. WALKER — $500.
E. WALKER — $800.
E. WALKER — $1,200.
Mara looked at him.
“Tell me that isn’t you.”
Ethan stared.
His face became unreadable.
“That isn’t me.”
“Do you have family?”
Silence.
“Ethan?”
“One brother.”
“What’s his name?”
Ethan did not answer.
Mara suddenly knew.
“E?”
He nodded.
“Elias.”
“Where is he?”
“Haven’t seen him in eleven years.”
“Why?”
Ethan stood.
Mara closed the ledger.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Yes.”
He walked to the window.
“My brother liked money more than work. He borrowed. Gambled. Lied. Our father paid his debts until he died. I stopped.”
Mara waited.
“One night Elias stole my horse and left. Heard rumors later. Denver. Cheyenne. Montana.”
“You think he worked for Rourke?”
Ethan stared at the numbers.
“I think I’m going to find out.”
Outside, the creek moved beneath moonlight.
Mara looked toward the bedroom.
She was exhausted.
But sleep felt impossible.
“Ethan?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you live alone?”
He thought for a long moment.
“Because people leave.”
Mara understood that answer too well.
She stood.
“Well, tonight somebody’s here.”
Ethan looked at her.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Two lonely people recognizing the same wound.
Mara took the lamp.
“Good night.”
“Night.”
She entered the bedroom and locked the door.
As promised.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
For the first time since Caleb’s funeral, she felt safe.
Then she heard a sound beneath the floor.
Scratching.
Mara froze.
Another scratch.
She lowered the lamp.
A loose board near the bed moved.
Someone was underneath the cabin.
“Ethan.”
No answer.
Mara stood.
“Ethan?”
The board lifted.
A hand pushed through the gap.
Mara stumbled backward.
The bedroom door handle turned.
It was still locked.
Then a voice whispered from beneath the floor.
“Mara, don’t scream.”
May you like
She recognized the voice.
It was Caleb.
