Page 3

With a brusque nod, Beau ambled to the far end of the counter, wiping the shining wood as he went.

An icy shiver skittered along Austin’s spine.

He despised the sensation of being watched and judged.

In prison, guards had glared at him, dogs had followed his every movement, other prisoners had scrutinized him and measured him against their own low standards.

He jerked his head around and locked his blue glare onto Lester Henderson.

The portly banker stood at the bar, his dark eyes set in a face that greatly resembled bread dough.

Averting his gaze, Lester downed the remainder of his beer.

He wiped a pudgy hand across his mouth, straightened his shoulders, and approached Austin.

“I had no choice but to vote guilty,” Henderson said, his voice hitching. “The evidence—”

“I know what the evidence was. I was at the goddamn trial.”

“Can’t give a loan to a man fresh out of prison—”

“Did I ask for a loan?”

“No, but I just wanted to save you from asking.” Henderson scurried away like a squirrel that had spotted the last pecan on the ground.

Austin wrapped his fingers around the glass of whiskey and studied the contents. As soon as he finished the whiskey, he’d set about clearing his name. He didn’t anticipate that it would take long. He had always known that Duncan McQueen had pinned the blame on him.

He brought the glass to his lips, tipped his head back, and caught the reflection of a raised knife in the mirror.

He moved swiftly, but not quickly enough.

Agonizing pain tore through his back. He darted to the side, spun around, and plowed his fist into Duncan McQueen’s face before the man could strike again.

As Duncan staggered back, Austin grabbed the hand holding the knife and slammed it hard against the wooden counter. The knife clattered to the floor.

Austin caught an unexpected fist just below his jaw. Pain ricocheted through his head as his knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, blackness encroaching on his vision. He scrambled to his knees, struggling to get to his feet, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth.

“You bastard!” Duncan roared before lunging for Austin.

Austin reversed his efforts, dropped to his side, and kicked Duncan in the knee.

Grunting, Duncan fell to the floor and grabbed the knife.

Hatred burned brightly within his dark eyes as he jumped to his feet.

“Five years! That’s all they gave you for murdering my brother because Dallas owns this part of the state.

They should have hanged you!” He brandished the bloodied knife in the air.

“I reckon it’s up to me to deliver the justice you deserve. ”

“Not in my saloon!” Beau said as he rounded the corner of the bar, gun in hand. He shoved Duncan on the shoulder. “Back up.”

His head pounding, his back throbbing, Austin struggled to his feet and glared at Duncan. “What the hell are you ranting about, Duncan? You killed Boyd and made it look like I did it.”

“Don’t see how that could be,” Beau said in a slow drawl. “Duncan showed up here in the late afternoon and sat in that corner right over there until dawn, getting drunk.”

“Why would I kill my brother?” Duncan asked, loathing laced through his voice.

That was the one answer Austin didn’t have.

“Everyone knows you murdered him,” Duncan snarled.

Austin scrutinized the men who had gathered around the bar. The knowledge in their eyes spoke louder than Duncan’s words. He saw no doubts. Not one questioning look. He saw nothing but absolute certainty staring back at him. They all thought he had murdered Boyd McQueen.

“Why the hell else would my brother have written your name in the dirt before he died?” Duncan demanded.

Why indeed?

Austin sat on the back steps of Dallas’s house and stared at the moon.

He rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the pain caused by the movement.

After leaving the saloon, he had stopped at the doctor’s house, but the man hadn’t been there.

By the time Austin had arrived home, the bleeding had stopped so he’d simply changed shirts.

No need to alarm his family. They’d had enough worry the past five years. Besides, he’d survived worse in prison.

He heard the door open and the echo of soft footfalls. Looking over his shoulder, he watched Dee sit beside him on the step.

“You were right. You told me five years was an eternity when a person has no freedom,” he said into the stillness of the evening.

Using her fingers, she brushed the dark strands of hair off his brow. “Not all prisons come with walls. Dallas was the key that unlocked mine.”

Austin shifted his gaze to the canopy of stars, allowing a companionable silence to ease in around them.

“What’s their son’s name?”

“Andrew. We call him Drew,” Dee said quietly.

“I hit his father this evening.”

“I’m not altogether certain Cameron didn’t deserve that.” She placed her hand over his. “But I know how much he loves Becky. I think he may have loved her before you went to prison.”

“That doesn’t make what he did right.”

She sighed. “I know this is difficult for you, but Dallas forgave Houston for taking Amelia from him. Maybe in time, you can forgive Cameron—”

“My situation is completely different from Dallas’s. All he gave Amelia was a train ticket. I gave Becky my heart and five years of my life.”

“Becky offered to testify that she was with you the night Boyd was killed, but you wouldn’t allow it. You can’t blame her now for the years you spent in prison. That’s not fair.”

“Life is never fair, Dee. Having Houston and Dallas for brothers should have taught me that a long time ago, but I had to learn it on my own.” He looked toward the distance. “So much has changed. Everything is different from what I expected it to be.”

“Not everything. Your violin is the same. I kept it for you just like you asked. I was hoping you’d play something for me tonight.”

He glanced at the silhouette of the instrument resting in her lap. “I don’t hear the music anymore, Dee. While I was in prison, it just shriveled up and died.”

He shoved himself to his feet and walked to the barn.

He needed to ride, to feel the wind rushing against his face.

He had finished saddling Black Thunder when he heard a thump and grunt come from the back of the barn.

He strode to the back room and peered inside.

Rawley struggled to move a box. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? ” Austin asked.

Rawley spun around, his face burning bright red. “I wanted to get this room cleaned first. Gotta earn my keep.”

Austin leaned against the door frame. “Rawley, you always worked harder than I ever did, and Dallas never kicked me out.”

“You’re blood, I ain’t.” Rawley walked to the worktable and began to put away tools someone else had left out.

“That doesn’t matter to Dallas—”

“Matters to me.”

Austin studied the boy as he straightened the room. “Is that why you didn’t take Dallas’s name when he adopted you?”

Rawley stilled. “I just figured it was best is all.” He peered at Austin. “I’ve always wondered … what did you do to get a town named after you?”

Austin smiled. “I don’t have a town named after me.”

“Sure you do. I went through a town named Austin once.”

“The capital? It’s the other way around. I’m named after it. Our pa named us after towns—” Austin’s mind reeled with possibilities. “Sweet Lord.”

“What?” Rawley asked.

“I gotta go.” Austin raced through the barn, mounted Black Thunder, and galloped into the night.

An hour later, he pounded on the door of the second floor landing over the general store. When it opened, his voice lodged in his throat. Why hadn’t he considered that he might see Becky if he came here? Why did the pain have to slice through his heart, ripping open the fresh wound?

God Almighty, he wished he could hate her. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to yell at her. But most of all, he wanted to hold her, her body flush against his, her warmth thawing the chill that permeated his soul.

“I need to talk to Cameron,” he croaked.

The shock reflected in her blue eyes quickly gave way to anger. Becky planted her hands firmly on his chest and shoved hard, causing him to stumble back-ward. “Well, he doesn’t need to talk to you. How dare you hit—”

“Becky!”

She pivoted around. Cameron stood in the doorway, one eye discolored and swollen. “Drew’s calling you. I’ll take care of this.”

Austin watched her jaw tighten before she gave him a scathing glare and shouldered her way past Cameron to go inside.

“Did you want to come in?” Cameron asked.

Austin shook his head, wondering why he’d come to the man who had betrayed him. He walked to the railing and stared at the town, light from the lanterns fighting the darkness. Cameron’s quiet, hesitant footsteps as he came to stand beside Austin brought back memories of confidences shared.

“All these years I thought Duncan had shot Boyd and arranged the evidence to put the blame on me.” He glanced sideways at the friend from his youth, suddenly realizing that losing Cameron’s friendship hurt almost as much as losing Becky’s love.

“But our paths crossed this evening and I realized I was wrong. Rawley said something, though, that got me to thinking. What if Boyd didn’t write my name in the dirt—”

“He did. Sheriff Larkin took me to the place where he found Boyd. He’d written your name in the dirt as plain as day.”

“What if he didn’t mean me, but meant the town? What if he didn’t know the name of the man who killed him, but he knew that he came from Austin?”

“That’s grasping at straws, isn’t it?”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Austin said. “People avoid me like I have tick fever or something worse. I knew the men on the jury had voted guilty because of the evidence, but I never thought they actually believed deep down that I murdered Boyd. I’ve got to prove I’m innocent, and I can only do that if I figure out who killed him. Did he have any business in Austin?”

“Boyd never confided in me. Sometimes he’d leave for a few days, but he never divulged where he went.”

Austin took a few steps back. “Reckon it won’t hurt to ride into Austin and see if I can find out anything.”

“Guess I’d do the same if I were in your boots, but watch your back. If the man who killed Boyd is in Austin, I don’t imagine he’s going to welcome the prospect of being found.”

Austin turned for the stairs, halted, and glanced over his shoulder. “If I ever hear that Becky isn’t happy, I’ll finish what I started out back this evening.”

Cameron held his gaze. “Fair enough.”

Austin hurried down the remaining steps. Some bastard had stolen five years of his life. Austin intended to make damn sure he paid dearly for every moment.