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I took my hat off and slicked back my hair, buying time to formulate a response. There are few moments in life that are as perilous as the one I found myself in just then. My words would shape our relationship for years to come.

“Barnes, what say you?” he asked, softly.

I’d never seen him vulnerable before, and it scared the bloody hell out of me. “You’re my friend. Nothing will ever change that. And you know I could care less about the color of anyo

ne’s skin. I’m not sure about the rest of the town. Am I afraid for you? A little, yes.”

He shoved me in the shoulder. “Nah. Nothing to be afraid of. You know folks are scared of me. The wild mountain man and all that. Most people aren’t even tough enough to get here, let alone mess with me. No one can hurt us here in Emerson Pass.”

I’d last seen him a few weeks ago when he’d shown up unexpectedly at my door. Over a whiskey, he asked for a favor so unusual it left me speechless. “I need you to agree to handle the finances for Rachel if something should happen to me.”

Rachel wouldn’t have the right to own property. Instead, he would have to leave all assets and money to me. “I trust you to keep it safe for her to use as she wants,” he’d said. “She knows everything about our finances. You’ll own it all in name only.” I’d agreed, somewhat reluctantly. It was a big responsibility. However, no one had ever seemed less likely to die than Samuel Cole.

“You’re too much of a scalawag to die,” I said.

Had he sensed his own death? I wished I’d asked him.

And now, here I was, standing before his wife with his blood all over her. My friend gone. Someone from within this community I was so proud of had killed. Was it because of Rachel? Or was it something else? There had been hints of trouble over the years, but we’d always been able to quash it. Samuel, with his frightening presence, had only to look crossways at someone and they backed down. But this was a sneak attack after dark. Someone had lain in wait for him.

“I dragged him into the barn,” Rachel said. “I didn’t want the children to see him.”

The children. Oh God, the children. Two little sons and a daughter. All under eight.

“Are they at home?” I asked.

“Yes. With Susan.” Susan was their longtime housekeeper. She’d been with the Cole family for forty years. “They don’t know yet.” Rachel folded in half, weeping over the whiskey glass.

Jasper and I exchanged glances. “Get Sheriff Lancaster out of bed,” I said to Jasper. “Bring him out to the house.”

“The sheriff?” Fear replaced grief in Rachel’s eyes. “Is that necessary?”

“Your husband’s been murdered,” I said. “The sheriff needs to know so he can find out who did this.”

“We have to bury him.” Rachel’s tears had subsided, and now she sounded numb. “He wanted to be next to his parents.”

I knew the spot. It was a small family burial ground with two white crosses. Now there would be three.

“A hole will have to be dug, and the ground’s covered with snow.” Rachel stared blankly at the wall. “I have to tell the children, but I don’t want them to see his body. Not the way he looks. We have to bury him before morning.”

“We’ll find a way,” I said. “We have to.”

Chapter 5

Quinn

* * *

My first morning in Colorado, I woke to the sound of knocking. Bleary-eyed, I sat up, unsure for a moment where I was. Ah yes. I’d arrived in Colorado. I was now sleeping in this beautiful house in my own room in this tall, soft bed. In the light of day, I could see more clearly the gleaming floorboards and braided green-and-red rug. The furniture was a rich mahogany, thick and sturdy. Snow had accumulated outside the windows like a white frame to the world.

“Miss, are you awake?” Merry’s voice came through from the other side of the door.

“Yes, come in,” I said as I straightened the covers around my legs.

She inched inside, seeming apologetic for her presence. “I’ve come to build your fire.”

“Thank you. That’s so kind of you.” At home, I was the first up and always built the fire.

Merry crossed over to the fireplace and quickly started a fire from a few pieces of kindling. When that was going, she tossed logs from the bin into the flames.


Tags: Tess Thompson Emerson Pass Historicals Historical