Chapter 40
The afternoon sun baked Red Rock Crossing in a pale, restless heat. Dust drifted down the main street, curling around wagon wheels and shuttered storefronts. The town had grown quiet since the rumors started—rumors of gunfire in the hills and the Riders being wiped out.
People kept their voices low, waiting for the wind to carry some proof of what was true.
Rachel walked up the steps of the small white church with a wicker basket tucked under her arm. Inside were strips of linen, bandages, and a few herbs she’d picked up from Mrs. Gorice that morning.
She was trying to keep her hands busy and her mind off the ache in her chest every time she thought of Blaze.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gorice,” she had said earlier when the old woman passed her the folded cloth.
“Just stay inside after dusk, girl,” the woman had warned. “The kind of men still walking around this town . . . they’re like snakes that don’t know they’re dead yet.”
Rachel had smiled faintly, though her stomach twisted.
She’d seen Kane earlier that morning, standing near the livery talking to strangers. His coat looked dusty, and his face was drawn tight.
Now, she reached for the church door. Then she froze.
“Rachel,” a voice called behind her.
Her fingers tightened around the basket handle. She turned slowly. Kane stood a few yards away, shadow obscuring most of his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Afternoon,” he said.
“Kane,” she replied, trying to sound calm. “I was just—”
He started walking toward her, boots thudding against the boards. “Just what? Hiding out in there?”
“I was helping Pastor Albright,” she said. “We’re tending to the sick. That’s all.”
Kane’s smile was thin and joyless. “Funny thing. You end up in that church most of the time now. Like the Lord’s gonna protect you from what’s coming.”
Rachel took a step back. “Kane, please—”
He grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go,” Rachel said.
Her voice carried clearly through the afternoon heat, slicing through the quiet of Red Rock Crossing’s main street. Kane’s fingers tightened around her wrist instead of loosening. His grip felt like steel, driven by desperation.
“Don’t make a scene,” Kane said.
“Then stop manhandling me,” she said. “You already made your scene.”
The pastor’s wife had been sweeping the porch of the church when she heard the commotion. She froze mid-motion, broom suspended in the air. The pastor himself stepped out next.
“Mr. Kane,” the pastor said. “That’s no way to treat a young lady.”
Kane turned toward him, still clutching Rachel’s arm. “This doesn’t concern you, Pastor.”
“It concerns the whole town when a man lays hands on a woman,” the pastor said.
A couple of heads turned from across the street. The shopkeeper, the blacksmith, the woman at the post office window—they were all watching. By the time Kane realized it, a few more people had stopped to watch.
Rachel couldn’t figure out if it was a good thing. Was she safe? Or was this going to make things worse in the long run?
What if Kane’s friends returned in the middle of the night?
“Let her go,” the pastor said again, quieter this time. His voice had that power that made people listen, the same tone he used from the pulpit when speaking about sin and justice.
“I said she’s coming with me,” Kane said. His jaw flexed, his face reddening beneath the tan. “She knows things that don’t belong getting spread around.”
“I don’t know anything that isn’t true,” Rachel said. “You just don’t want people hearing it.”
Kane’s eyes cut to her like knives. “You don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I understand plenty,” she said. “I understand you lied to everyone in this town.”
Murmurs began to spread through the onlookers. A few of the men took hesitant steps closer, as if preparing for something to go sideways.
One of them was Deputy Miles. He was the only lawman left in town with the sheriff gone to investigate up north. He leaned against the hitching post outside the saloon, his hand resting near his revolver.
“Let her talk,” Miles said, calm but alert. “She’s got the right to speak.”
Kane glared at him. “You think you can tell me what to do, Deputy?”
“I think,” Miles said, “I can tell when a man’s trying awful hard to stop the truth from getting out.”
Rachel yanked at her arm again. Kane’s grip slipped just enough for her to break free. She stumbled back, holding her wrist.
“You think I don’t know what you’ve done?” she said. “You think I didn’t hear you and Wilder’s men talking a few nights ago?”
The words dropped like a match into dry brush. The crowd hushed.
Everybody knew of Dean Wilder. He needed no introduction.
“Were you the one who burned that ranch too?” one man called out.
Kane’s eyes darted toward the voice. “That’s enough,” Kane snapped. “You people don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The deputy pushed off the hitching post and stepped forward, his boots crunching on the dry earth.
“Seems they know plenty,” he said. “You’d best start explaining.”
Kane straightened his vest, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You all think you’ve got this figured out, don’t you? That girl’s just repeating rumors. Wilder’s not here to defend himself.”
“Because he’s dead,” Rachel said.
Kane blinked. “What?”
“Dead,” she said again. “He’s gone, Kane. Blaze found him.”
It didn’t matter how far away Blaze was. News of a big shootout like that traveled fast. Law was already talking about it.
And Rachel happened to be a girl with a knack for eavesdropping.
The crowd stirred again, whispers rippling through. A couple of people gasped.
Kane’s jaw worked, his face paling a shade. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Rachel said. “And Blaze knows the truth now too. About the mine. About what you and Wilder did to our father.”
Kane’s voice cracked. “You watch your mouth, girl.”
“No,” she said, standing taller. “I’m done watching anything. I’m done pretending.”
Kane took a step toward her, but the pastor moved between them with his hand raised.
“You’ll not take another step,” he said. “Not unless you want half the town as witnesses.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Kane said. “Or from anyone else.”
“You’ll take them from the law,” Deputy Miles said. His hand rested on his pistol. It was not drawn yet, but near enough to send a message.
Kane laughed, but it came out hollow.
“The law?” he replied. “You think one green deputy can stop me? I’ve built this town from nothing! You all owe me.”
“No one owes you,” Rachel said. “You worked with Wilder. You’re a monster.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Kane said again, quieter now. “You weren’t there. None of you understand.”
The pastor shook his head. “Then tell us.”
Kane’s lips tightened. For a moment, he looked like he might actually confess. His eyes flicked toward the saloon windows and the people watching. The whispers were spreading like wildfire. It was clear that he could feel his reputation unraveling thread by thread.
He broke into a strained smile. “All this talk . . . that’s all it is. Talk. You think some miner’s girl knows the truth about men like me?”
“She doesn’t have to prove it,” the deputy said. “You already are.”
Kane turned and scanned the crowd, looking for sympathy. He found none. Just the blacksmith with his arms folded, the storekeeper frowning, and the pastor standing his ground.
Even Mrs. Albright held her broom like she might swat the devil himself if he came too close.
“Admit that you worked with Wilder,” Rachel said. “Admit you’re one of the outlaws.”
He turned on her, eyes blazing. “You little—”
“That’s enough!” the pastor shouted.
Kane froze mid-step. The sound of it cracked through the air like a whip.
The deputy took another step closer. “Don’t make this worse, Kane. You’ve done enough already.”
For a long moment, no one breathed. Then Kane laughed again. “You all think you’ve won something here. You think a mob and a few words make you righteous?”
“We think truth makes us free,” the pastor said.
Kane’s expression flickered. For just a second, Rachel thought she saw something break behind his eyes. Then he smoothed it over again, the mask sliding back into place.
“You’ll regret crossing me,” he said, low and cold.
“Maybe,” Rachel said, “but at least I won’t have to hide anymore.”
A gust of wind swept through the street, stirring dust and dead leaves. It carried the faint echo of thunder far off in the hills. Or maybe it was something else—something coming closer.
The crowd stayed still, watching as Kane turned and stalked away. The deputy followed at a distance, hand still near his gun. He only stopped when Kane made his way into the saloon.
Deputy Miles watched him like a hawk, even as he began to walk toward the sheriff’s office. He must have wanted to prepare. Perhaps he had another lawman inside to back him up.
Rachel stood rooted to the spot, her pulse racing.
Mrs. Albright came to her side, resting a gentle hand on her arm.
“You did right, child,” she said softly. “Truth’s a hard thing to speak, but it’s what the town needed to hear.”
Rachel nodded, though her throat felt tight. “I just . . . I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did what was brave,” the pastor said. “And sometimes that’s the same thing as what’s right.”
She looked toward the edge of town, where the desert shimmered under the sun. A dust cloud had begun to rise far off. It was faint but growing. The shape of a rider, maybe, or two.
Her breath caught. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.
The pastor followed her gaze. The deputy turned too, squinting into the light.
“Could be the Hollow Creek Riders,” Mrs. Albright said.
“No,” Rachel said softly. “It’s him. It has to be.”
She could feel it. It was deep in her chest, like a heartbeat answering another across the distance.