A serious, solid man wearing dark clothes and spectacles burst out into the sunlight and raced toward the back of the wagon. Nettie wanted to help, but feared there was nothing she could do. She was not a nurse. She could not breathe life back into Hank Callahan if he was dead. She could only pray that he was still alive, or pray for the state of his soul.
"Mama?" Sam held up a fistful of white-and-brown clover flowers.
She smiled at him. She could protect her son. Kneeling down, Nettie accepted the flowers.
Sam stared, worry deep in his brow, watching as the doctor and Jake hauled Hank out of the wagon.
She was told by the doctor to wait. She pulled out Richard's pocket watch from her reticule and studied the time. Although she'd arrived plenty early for the funeral, Nettie had been counting on running errands before the service. She thought of the horses, hot and thirsty, and wandered outside hoping to find a water trough.
There wasn't one close. She boosted Sam onto Emmanuel's broad back. The placid horse stood patiently in his harness while the boy squirmed excitedly. Nettie placed one hand on his leg and led the horses into the dappled, pleasant shade. Out of the direct sunlight, they would be cooler.
"Nettie." Jake strode toward her, his eyes dark. A ring of sweat gathered below the band of his hat, matting his hair and beading along his brow. "Doc says it'll be a long wait. Why don't you go on over to the funeral. I got me a few errands to run, but I'd be happy to escort you."
Nettie stared at him, unable to speak. She'd known this man for years. He'd been a friendly neighbor when Richard lived, a helpful neighbor after Richard died. A friend whenever she needed one. Now, in the span of hours, he'd become a stranger to her.
"I want your word there will be no more violence against that man in there." Nettie swallowed, her throat dry and raw. "Promise me, Jake."
She watched him set his square jaw and some glimmer of doubt twisted through her like a snake in the tall bunchgrass. She couldn't see what he intended to do. She wasn't sure she could trust what he would do.
"I can't trust a man who'd lie to me."
The stiffness in his strong shoulders ebbed. "You have my word. I'll see that he's left alone."
Nettie studied him, weighing the sincerity of his tone against the steady firmness of his eyes. "Is that the truth?"
Jake sighed. "It's the truth."
Nettie pulled Sam down and balanced him on her hip. He was heavy to hold, but she clung to him despite the heat. "I have errands of my own," she told him plainly as she set her son on the wagon floor. "I'll look for you at the funeral."
Jake tipped his hat, clearly displeased with her. With her stomach so twisted up in knots, Nettie didn't care how unhappy he was or what he thought of her for not harboring the same hateful vengeance he did. She only hoped she could trust him to keep to his word. She only hoped Hank Callahan would recover, leave town, and never return.
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Also Available from Jillian Hart
The Rancher's Return
Jonah's Bride
The Wedding Vow
MacLain's Wife
About the Author
Jillian Hart makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not writing away on her next book, she can be found reading, going to lunch with friends and spending quiet evenings at home with her family.