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He made it out to the porch and laid his faithful housekeeper
down. “Hang in there,
dearie
.” His voice cracked at the use of her beloved endearment. “We’re going to get you help.”

Without a second to lose, Woody rang the bell by the porch. Hopefully one of the men would come running.

Miguel rounded the corner before Woody let go of the rope. Thank God for answered prayer.

“Boss?” The man spied Mrs. Goodman.

“I need you to run as fast as you can to the brining barn and get the old wagon hitched up. I’ve got to get Mrs. Goodman to town. She’s hurt pretty bad.”

Miguel ran off without another word.

Woody went inside and wet down a towel to lay over Mrs. Goodman’s face. He found a few blankets in the closet and would use those to cushion her in the wagon. As he ministered to the older woman, his gut clenched. As soon as he brought Mrs. Goodman in, he knew what conclusion the people would come to. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

The older woman moaned. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Mrs. Goodman . . . Mrs. Goodman . . . can you hear me?”

She mumbled something and then winced and cried out in pain.

“Who did this to you?” His heart broke. Who would do such a thing? And why? Twice he’d failed to protect those he loved. The sound of horses brought his head back up.

Miguel made it back in record time with the wagon. He set the brake, then jumped down and held the bridle strap of one of the horses while Woody tossed the blankets to him and then carried Mrs. Goodman down. He carefully placed her on the blankets.

He turned then to Miguel. “Please tell the men what happened. We’ll need someone to guard the house. Someone broke
in and attacked Mrs. Goodman.” Woody noticed the blood on his hands and wiped them against his pants.

“What about the irrigation, sir?”

Woody climbed into the driver’s seat and picked up the reins. “Right now all I care about is getting Mrs. Goodman to the doctor. Tell Sam he’s in charge and to do whatever he can. I’m going to need all of you working.” He shook his head. “No, I’m going to need a miracle.” Woody released the brake and slapped the lines against the horses’ backs.

“
Sí.
” Miguel nodded, his expression most somber. “We’ll take care of everything, Mr. Colton.”

The long road ahead of him was a bumpy one, but Woody pushed on. He couldn’t allow anyone else to die because he hadn’t been there.

But as the light waned and Mrs. Goodman’s moans increased, he wondered if he would make it to town in time.

And would he ever get to see his son again? Or would the townspeople just string Woody up from the nearest tree?

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
WO

S
omeone kept patting his face. “Jimmy . . . wake up, Jimmy.”

It wasn’t his father. And it wasn’t the reverend. But another man was telling him to wake up. He didn’t want to. The bed was warm and his throat hurt. He was tired of his throat hurting.

“Miss Porter, maybe if you came over here and spoke with him. He doesn’t want to wake up for me, but his eyes keep fluttering.” The man’s voice stopped.

Then he felt a kiss on his forehead. “Hey, sleepyhead. It’s time to wake up.” Miss Lillian’s voice washed over him. He tried to open his eyes.

Everything was blurry at first, but when the haze cleared, there she was. Right above him. Smiling.

“There’s my big guy.” Her smile got even bigger. “The operation is all done. And the doctor said you did great. So in a few days, you’ll be feeling all better.”

He nodded.

She leaned in and hugged him. “I love you so much, Jimmy.”

That made him smile. She loved him and hugged him just like Mama used to.

The man came back—he must be the doctor. “How are you feeling?”

Jimmy looked to Miss Lillian.

The doctor chuckled. “It’s okay. You can just whisper. I don’t want you talking too much the next few days, but it won’t hurt you.”

Jimmy shook his head.

Miss Lillian touched the doctor on the arm and whispered, “He hasn’t spoken aloud since his mother died.”

The doctor nodded and looked back at Jimmy. “That’s all right. You just rest, and I’ll make sure that Miss Porter knows exactly what you need.” The man took Miss Lillian by the arm and walked her out of the room.

“I’ll be back in just a minute,” she called over her shoulder.

Jimmy wanted her to stay. He didn’t like being alone. All the happenings of the past few days came back to him. Church, visiting Mama’s grave, their picnic, and then the bad man coming back. Jimmy shivered and closed his eyes. He had hoped so much that the bad man was dead.

“Is something bothering you, son?” Pastor Seymour’s voice came from the corner.

Jimmy opened his eyes and saw him.

The reverend stood and came to his side. “I’m here if you need me, son.” The man grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Why don’t we pray?”

For several minutes the nice minister prayed for Jimmy to heal and for everything to go well so that he could go home and be with his family right away. But Jimmy prayed a little differently.
God was the only One who knew the truth. The only One who could protect them all from the bad man.

God knew the words that Jimmy couldn’t say and why he couldn’t say them.

Lillian stood outside the doctor’s office and breathed in the fresh evening air. The heat had been so intense for weeks, it was nice to feel a cool breeze tonight. The sun had long set, but there was still light to enjoy the evening. Lots of people were out and about in town, and she found the noise and ruckus made her long for the quiet of the farm. But the doctor assured her that after a night or two she’d be able to bring Jimmy home to finish his recovery. His fever had already diminished, and he’d had several sips of water before falling back asleep.

She stretched her limbs one more time and prayed that Woody would make it back into town soon. As she turned to go back into the clinic, the reverend was coming out.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll head on home now. My wife is used to me disappearing, but she’ll start to worry if I don’t show up for supper.”

“Thank you, pastor. I can’t tell you how much it meant to have you here today.”

“If you need me, just send someone for me.” He tipped his hat to her. “I’ll keep praying.”

“Thank you.”

The man left, and as she watched him walk away, a wagon came barreling down the street. Reverend Seymour stopped.

Lillian raced down the stairs. “Woody!”

He climbed down from the wagon and caught her as she jumped into his arms and hugged him tight. “I’m so glad you
made it!” Her words rushed out. “He’s going to be fine. Just fine. He had quinsy and had to have an operation to have his tonsils removed, but he’s already made it through the surgery just fine and he woke up and—”

Woody’s hand came over her mouth. His mouth formed a grim line. “It’s Mrs. Goodman, Lillian. It’s not good.” He gently lowered her until her feet touched the ground again.

Looking into his deep brown eyes, she shivered. Something shook her to the core. “What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze to the back of the wagon.

Reverend Seymour looked over the side to where the older woman lay unnaturally still. “What happened?”

Woody lowered his eyes to hers again. “I don’t know. I had come into town for tools and went back to the irrigation ditch to dig when John told me what had happened with Jimmy. I raced back to the house to get a fresh horse and to let Mrs. Goodman know that I had heard and was headed into town. When I got to the front door, it was standing wide open and she was collapsed at the top of the stairs.”

“Oh no.” Lillian went to her friend. “Oh no. Mrs. Goodman . . .” Tears shook her frame. “Who would do this to you?”

“I’ll tell you who did this!” The sheriff’s loud voice boomed across the street. He stomped toward them. “The same man who murdered his wife. I’d heard tell the Colton boy was in the clinic, and I came to see why. This is even worse than I thought!” Several men came to join them from across the street.

The reverend came forward with his hands up. “Now, wait just a minute, sheriff. Mr. Colton did not kill his wife. And why would he bring Mrs. Goodman to the doctor for help if he was the one who did this to her?”

“I don’t rightly know,
reverend
,” Hobart sneered, “but I
don’t have the mind of a murderer. It’s all too clear what has happened here.” The man waved at the woman lying in the wagon. “Look at her bruised face! I’ll wager she’s been beaten just like Rebecca Colton, and by the same man.”

The men behind him murmured as yet more people began to gather.

The sheriff seemed to feed off the growing crowd. “What?” He got in Woody’s face. “Did you throw this one down the stairs, too? What’d you do to your boy?”

Lillian pushed forward and stood between the sheriff and Woody. “How dare you? You don’t even have any proof! Mr. Colton had been in town buying tools needed for the farm when Jimmy got really sick. I brought Jimmy into town and Mrs. Goodman stayed to let Mr. Colton know what had happened.”

“Exactly.” The sheriff nodded. “You weren’t there, so how would you know? Your testimony means nothing.”

Woody seemed to be at his wits’ end. He pointed his finger right into the middle of the sheriff’s chest. “I didn’t hurt Mrs. Goodman, nor did I kill my wife.” He glanced around at the growing crowd. “I’m pretty much sick and tired of being accused of something I had no part in.”

“Once again a woman in your household is beaten—maybe she’ll even die,” Hobart countered. “That seems too much for coincidence.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Woody all but growled. “I think you probably hit the nail on the head when you said the same man who murdered my wife did Mrs. Goodman this harm. But I’m not that man.” He leaned closer to the sheriff. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you just fine, but I don’t believe you.” Calls of support for the sheriff came from the crowd.

Lillian couldn’t help but wonder where Woody’s friends were. Why was no one there to lend him support?

“I don’t much care what you believe,” Woody said. “I didn’t do anything to hurt either woman.”

“Do you have witnesses who can defend your innocence?” The sheriff crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Well?”

Lillian couldn’t take any more. “What about the men who work for Mr. Colton? Have you talked to them? What if they saw something? They were there waiting to let Woody know about his sick son. Who just had surgery, I might add.” She placed her hands on her hips. Standing up to bullies seemed to be her new calling in life. “I won’t stand for you accusing a man falsely. And when Mrs. Goodman—who needs medical attention immediately—wakes up, I’m sure she will be able to clear it all up.”

“It’s all right, Lillian. You don’t have to fight this battle for me.” Woody looked at her for a long moment and then turned back to the sheriff. “Now, I suggest you get out of my way so I can get Mrs. Goodman the help she needs.”

The sheriff didn’t move. “Or what? You gonna beat me up, too?” Someone in the crowd had the audacity to laugh out loud. Others just encouraged the sheriff to arrest Woody right then and there.

The doctor came out of the clinic. “What is going on here?” He spotted the wagon and Mrs. Goodman. “Good grief, men! Get this woman inside.” He turned to the sheriff. “I suggest you get rid of this crowd now, Sheriff Hobart.”

The lawman turned to Woody. “We’re not finished yet.”

The crowd roared in approval.

Lillian stood her ground and stared the man down. “We’ll be in the clinic, sheriff. I suggest you do your job and go find who almost killed my friend!”

The hours passed in a slow torture of waiting. Woody watched his son sleep and prayed for Mrs. Goodman. The woman had been there for him for years. She was family. How did this happen?
Again!
Whoever beat Mrs. Goodman must’ve been the one who killed Rebecca. Woody didn’t know how to prove it, but in his gut he knew it was true.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. If he didn’t get ahold of his anger, who knew what he would do? And that wouldn’t be good. Jimmy needed him. The farm needed him. Lillian and Mrs. Goodman needed him. If only that rat of a sheriff would do his job and find the real criminal. Why were the men of this town allowing someone to terrorize their women?