Page 14 of A Dangerous Heart (Wind River Mail-Order Brides #4)

Perhaps it was time to be honest. To share the truth about Victor and her true self.

In this fleeting moment, standing alone in the crisp autumn air with the water rippling nearby, Clare could admit it.

She was drawn to Isaac McGraw. Yesterday, at the river, he’d laughed.

A sound so unexpected that just thinking about it still made her heart flutter and her breath hitch.

She shook her head at the notion and reached to remove the clothespin from the line outside that stretched from the lean-to to a tall pine a few yards away. The stiff, dry garments bucked in the breeze. As she reached for a clothespin, she heard squabbling between Ben and Eli.

“I’m tellin’ Aunt Clare.” That was Ben.

“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you,” Eli snapped, the harshness in his voice sounding too much like their pa.

She dropped the folded trousers in the woven basket and moved around the side of the lean-to to check on them.

“You said you would feed him. You promised.”

“I forgot. It’ll be okay. We’ll just give Bullet extra feed today.”

Clare heard the scuffing sound of a metal cup hitting the inside of the feed bag and the soft sifting of feed pouring into a metal pail. Ben’s sniffle was cut off by Eli’s angry command.

“Stop bawling like a baby!” Eli’s irritated anger set Ben to crying louder. Alarmed, Clare raced to the lean-to. Eli had already poured a mountain of feed into Bullet’s feed bucket.

“Stop!” She grabbed the cup from him and began furiously scooping feed back into the sack, hands shaking. “You cannot make up for not feeding Bullet by giving him double. That could make him very sick. If you didn’t feed him last night, why did you tell Isaac that you did?”

“We didn’t want him to get mad at us.” Ben’s face was streaked with tears and his voice wobbled. “Eli said he would sneak out after bedtime and do it.”

She rolled her eyes. Like Eli could slip past a former U.S. marshal.

Eyeing the small but neat space, she noticed that only a few bales of hay separated Isaac’s sleeping area from his horse. His bedroll with the extra folded blankets lay nearest the inner wall, and a chest occupied the other end,

She caught movement from the corner of her eye.

The former marshal was suddenly in the doorway of the lean-to.

Oh dear, had he heard their conversation?

She looked at the cup in her hand and quickly shoved it back into the sack.

Then she remembered this was Isaac. She didn’t need to shield the boys.

He would treat them fairly. Even when they’d been…

what was that old saying? Caught red-handed.

But Isaac’s attention went right to Ben.

“Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?” His eyes shifted to Eli.

Her nephew folded his arms over his chest and tightened his jaw, biting down on his lips. He wasn’t going to fess up.

Isaac’s attention swung back to Ben, who dropped his eyes. “I was really tired last night.” Ben paused, his voice breaking. “When you asked me if I fed Bullet…I lied.” He sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t want to get up and go out in the cold. So I said that I fed him, but I didn’t.”

“And this morning you guys were going to give him double the feed to make up for it, right?” Isaac locked eyes with Clare, silent understanding flowing between them.

Ben nodded, his chin wobbling. Clare braced. Isaac had a right to be angry. Victor would have slapped the boy silly. Isaac crouched before Ben, eye level. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Ben still flinched.

“Your aunt’s right, that extra feed could be really bad for Bullet. He’s kind of a pig. He’ll eat all the food he’s given, even if it bloats his stomach.”

More tears slipped down Ben’s cheeks as he wailed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want Bullet to be sick.”

“That’s the thing about lying and covering up. Sometimes innocent people, or horses, get hurt.” Isaac pulled a hankie from his back pocket and offered it to Ben. “Even if no one is hurt, lying is still wrong.”

His eyes went to Eli.

Eli’s expression remained stubborn. “My pa says sometimes a good lie is the only thing to keep you out of trouble.”

“Eli!” Clare gasped. The words to reprimand him were on her lips.

Isaac stood. His gaze took in both boys. “If a thing is not true and right, even if it’s spoken by your pa…or a brother”—his eyes went to Eli—“you can’t heed the advice.”

Clare saw the moment Isaac’s own words registered on his face.

Sure, he’d taken her and the boys up to his cabin so that they would be safe, but he’d been living this far away, isolated from his family, before she’d ever met him.

What truth was he hiding? Their eyes tangled briefly.

He frowned and turned his attention back to Eli and Ben.

“After the war, my pa left his past behind and moved here to Wind River Valley to make a new start. Told us boys that the Lord was good to us in giving us the land. And the McGraws should honor God by always living with honesty and integrity. Seems to me, your aunt is doing the same thing for you boys.”

Joy mixed with guilt. He’d bought her lies.

“My pa taught us boys that you make a reputation by your actions,” Isaac said.

Clare detected a fleeting trace of sadness on his face. An agony so intense it left her feeling heartbroken.

Isaac continued speaking, his calm composure back in place. He gently ran his hand down Bullet’s neck. The horse nuzzled up against Isaac’s shoulder.

“Bullet and I were on the trail of a man who lied about stealing items from people on a train—money, pocket watches, jewelry. He turned himself over to me in Beaver Creek. Said he knew he’d done wrong and wanted to make amends.

He turned in everything.” Isaac gestured to the west, where the faint outline of the Wind River Range was visible.

“He lives up there in the mountains, owns a little cabin where he traps, fishes, and hunts. He’s got a wife now and a son about your age, Ben. I consider him a friend.”

As Clare listened to Isaac’s story, hope bloomed like the tall autumn goldenrods she’d found growing behind the cabin. Ben’s face radiated admiration. Even Eli was listening, though he was pretending to stare at the chest on the wall.

This was what the boys needed. A strong man to lead them. A man of God. This was what Anne had wanted for them.

“A good man decides he’s going to tell the truth, even if it gets him in trouble. Swear to your own hurt. That’s what the Proverbs say.”

The words cut. Swear to her own hurt? Was that what she should do?

Tell Isaac the truth—that her family name was a curse, tied to lawlessness and bloodshed?

That she’d kept this from him, lied to him by omission, afraid that if he knew, his sense of justice would leave him no choice but to send her away?

Because he would. He had to protect his own family.

Another proverb surfaced in Clare’s mind, one Anne’s grandfather used to quote.

A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, loving favor rather than silver and gold.

Anne had chosen to hitch herself to the Barlow name.

And her grandfather had taken his grief and disappointment to his grave.

That’s what the Barlows brought, even to the people that loved them.

A good name is to be chosen. A good name is to be chosen. A good name is to be chosen. Around and around, those words circled in her brain. She’d come to Wyoming as a mail-order bride to give her nephews a good name. Her own conscience pricked.

You are a hypocrite, Clare Barlow.