But it wasn’t all he needed to know. Not now that another piece had been added to the puzzle of McLaren’s last words. When Hunter had made his promise to protect Meredith years before, it had been made blindly to a father desperate to protect his daughter. At the time, Hunter had thought Abbott had been worried about leaving her alone in the world, her reputation damaged by the verdict delivered upon him. Now he wasn’t so sure.
But if Yucton had the answers, he kept them to himself as he lay down and pulled his hat over his face, cutting off any further conversation. In the silence, the outlaw’s words rang in Hunter’s ears and slithered like poison through his veins.
You’re still a Donovan after all.
He was nothing like his father. Everyone in town knew that. At least, he hoped they did. He’d spent most of his adult life trying to prove it, as if by doing good he could erase the horrible moment when he kept his promise to a convicted thief and broke the heart of the woman he loved.
Not that it mattered now, he supposed. Meredith was back and it was clear her animosity toward him still boiled beneath the surface. And all the good he’d tried to do as sheriff, the life he’d built, such as it was, was coming to an end. The truth of it chafed hard against his soul. His future opened up before him like a yawning abyss. But one thing was for certain—before he turned in his badge and accepted his fate, he was going to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.
Which meant another conversation with Meredith Connolly.
* * *
Meredith pulled the wool shawl tightly around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the late-autumn morning. She had almost forgotten the feel of Colorado in November. Not that it didn’t get cold in Boston, but it was a different cold, coming off the water in the harbor and giving the air a sense of salty dampness. Here the cold had a brittle quality to it, as if you could reach out and snap it in half.
She took a deep breath and let its freshness fill her lungs in the hopes it would give her courage. Bertram had offered to escort her this morning, but she had declined. She wanted her first visit with her father to be on her own. She wasn’t certain she could maintain her composure and she didn’t want Bertram to see her break down. She couldn’t afford weakness. She needed to remain strong.
Easier said than done. Her plan had already been put in jeopardy by Hunter’s surprise visit. Seeing him had left her shaken, the memories rushing back and assaulting her from all sides. She tried to avoid them, skirt around them, but they showed her no mercy. Further proof love was to be avoided at all cost. Even when it was over it refused to leave you in peace.
She walked to the church and turned onto the narrow dirt road across the street from the white clapboard building, its spire cutting like a sword into the stark gray sky. Graves dotted the horizon, more than she remembered, each one punctuating the passage of time. Despite the added population and slight change to the landscape, Meredith needed no assistance in finding her way. She had walked the pathway a hundred times over in her memories.
The crisp morning breeze ruffled her hair and nipped at her skin. She paid it little heed as she trudged on, following the winding path toward the thick oak tree in the distance. Beneath it, her mother had rested these past seven years. Her father, for only one month.
She stopped at the top of the hill and walked to the outer edge of the tree’s reach. Gathering her skirts, she knelt between the two markers, one made of stone faded and already weathered by time, the other a wooden cross bearing Pa’s name and dates indicating the start of his life, and its end. She would have the stone mason carve a proper headstone to match Mama’s, but not yet.
She wanted the words beneath his name to read an innocent man, and have everyone in town know the words as truth.
“Good morning, Mama.” She touched the browning grass where it covered her mother’s final resting place. Someone had been keeping the grave up. It was free of weeds and a small bouquet of hardy autumn flowers tied with string had been placed in front, weighted down by a rock on their stems. Bertram likely, though he hadn’t mentioned it. Either way, she was touched by the gesture, by the idea that someone had watched over Mama when she had been unable to. She would make a point to thank him.
Meredith reached out and touched the flowers, wilted and brittle now, their colors faded. Much like her memories. She would never forget her mother—that was impossible. But sometimes, when she tried to capture the full picture in her mind, so many facets were muted. The sound of her laughter had become distant, the way light danced in her eyes, the sharp, delicate bones of her face. She could see one at a time, but never all at once. A deep sadness invaded her bones and seeped into her heart.
“I came home, Mama.”
She knew that would please her mother. She’d always loved having her small family close. Thrived on it. She’d lost her own parents at an early age and had been forced to fend for herself. A dangerous proposition for a woman, but Mama had managed. She’d found work cleaning house for the Donovans. It put food in her belly and a roof over her head. For a while, her mama said, it had been enough. But then things changed. The elder Donovans passed away, and their son, Vernon, developed ideas she didn’t agree with. At the same time, she met Meredith’s father, and after that—she remembered her mother’s smile when she told this part of the story—her whole life changed.
It had made Meredith believe in love, at least for a little while. But she’d long since shelved that belief. As much as love could lift you up it could just as easily throw you down. And the landing left you broken and battered beyond repair.
Meredith wondered if her mother had any inclination then how much her rejection of Vernon Donovan would change the course of their lives.
Meredith shifted her weight and faced her father’s grave. The newly tilled ground formed a gentle mound. He’d rested here only a month and the grass had not had time to take hold before the cold weather swooped down in earnest and impeded its growth.
Her fingers ran over the dates burned into the wood. The last image she had of her father was sitting in the cell at the sheriff’s office before he was transported to prison in Laramie. He’d refused to let her come with him. He’d been adamant about it and enlisted Hunter’s help to keep her in Salvation Falls.
But Hunter had had other ideas.
The memories of that horrible time beat against her without remorse. A sob welled up in her throat. She tried to swallow it down as she always did but it refused to budge, demanded its freedom. Meredith fought it as best she could, but it was no use. Somewhere inside she had believed things would right themselves, but they never had
“Oh, Pa...”
The sob erupted from her, and behind it came all the others she had suppressed over the years. Tears obscured her view. She tried to fight them, but it was no use. Her strength gave out and she let her body fall across his grave. The need to hold Pa just one last time, to feel the safety of his arms, his gentle voice telling her everything would be fine, overwhelmed her. She cried unrestrained, all the pent-up emotion she’d held in for so long pouring out with her tears. She’d lost everyone she’d loved: Mama to illness, Pa to injustice, Hunter to betrayal.
She consoled herself with the fact she would never need to know loss again, but it was cold comfort and it only made the tears come harder.
* * *
Hunter hesitated, not wanting to disturb such a private moment, but the shaking of Meredith’s shoulders and muffled sobs were enough to get his feet moving before his brain or common sense could catch up.
He slowed as he reached her, thrown across her pa’s grave. She hadn’t heard him approach and he wasn’t sure how to let her know he was there. Given their last interaction, he doubted she would appreciate his intrusion. Still, he couldn’t just walk away when she was in distress.
He crouched down. The hard ground and dry grass crunched beneath his weight.
“Meredith?”