The Outlaw's Second Chance. Angie Dicken

It was cooler down in the creek bed, too. Cort talked himself into it, moving at a more certain pace until Aubrey came around from the small fire and stood in front of him.

      “I just have one thing to say to you.” She crossed her arms over her torso. Her face was dark except for an orange shaft of firelight cutting across her cheek and highlighting a deep carved line between her brows. He was captured by the medley of color in her eye. “We had agreed the only thing I owed you in this whole land exchange deal was a plot of land for you to work yourself. I know you offered help until you supposedly leave, but there’s one thing about that.” Her nostrils flared. “I need to know why.” The wrinkle between her eyebrows smoothed.

      “Why? I dug it for you because it was the right thing to do.”

      “No, not that.” Aubrey dismissed his defense with a wave of her hand. She took a half step forward. “I mean, I understand. And I really do thank you for doing that.” Relaxing her rigid posture, she stared downward as she fiddled with her fingers. “Why don’t you know how long you will stay?”

      Cort inhaled the spicy smell of burning wood. It comforted less than the question tormented him. What could he say? He couldn’t lie. Lying would make him no better than the other Stantons. Every Stanton was a liar, a cheat and a—

      He closed his eyes and prayed the verse, Put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. He was stuck between the old and the new, hoping he could earn his new self from here on out, no matter the cost.

      Aubrey’s hands trembled while she stood there waiting for his answer. He wondered if she’d guessed it already. “What do you think?”

      She clicked her tongue then frowned. “I—I can’t say. It could be a million things.”

      “But you have a guess, don’t you?”

      Her hands fell to her sides, and he couldn’t tell if the right one still shook, or if it was the firelight dancing upon it. “I suppose.”

      “Then tell me. I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

      “Are you in trouble, Cort?”

      Cort’s insides began to quiver. He’d been in trouble for so long. But to hear someone else say it? Defeat rained down upon him and he was drenched with shame.

      “Has it got something to do with the law?” Aubrey spoke this with more certainty. Did he just imagine her spreading her hand upon her dress pocket where she kept her pistol? The woman did not trust him in the least.

      Why would she?

      “I’d followed in the wrong crowd, Aubrey, until I gave myself to Jesus. But it wasn’t long after that when I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Cort stepped closer and Aubrey’s hand slid up to the mouth of the pocket.

      “Was it the law, Cort?” She spoke through her teeth.

      “Yes.” He clenched his fist, knowing she’d only see him as a criminal now. “I don’t blame you for wondering or even for being scared. Trust me when I tell you that I would never bring you harm. I hope to never bring harm to anyone.”

      “What did you do?”

      While she might eventually trust him, he couldn’t tell her what had occurred. He had never spoken it to anyone, nor would he for fear of destroying his brother’s family. He had given his word, and now he must stick to it for any kind of true redemption. Besides, claiming his innocence would make him appear more guilty. Cort reached his hand out instinctively, hoping to clasp her arm with an assuring touch.

      Aubrey twisted her body away from him and stumbled backward. “What did you do, Cort?” She spoke louder now.

      “Please, Aubrey. Don’t make me say it. It’s in the past. I’ve been given a second chance.”

      “A second chance?” She narrowed her eyes.

      He thought back on the prison fire. After he’d been given permission by Sheriff Conway, he had run faster than he’d ever run before. That was as good as freedom, right? Conway had always liked Cort and knew that he was nothing like his brother. The sheriff had tried getting the whole story out of Cort during his few weeks behind bars. The law was on his side in that respect. As Cort ran from the burning cell and his only friend, he’d sobbed and prayed.

      Aubrey dug her fist into her hip, her elbow sharply bent. “A second chance by who?”

      “By who?” Cort backed up a couple of steps. “By the good Lord, Aubrey. Only by His grace, and only by Him.” He walked toward the ridge. There was nothing else he could say tonight.