Chapter 35
Morning Light
Sam woke to the soft crackle of a fire and the smell of coffee.
It took a moment for the world to shape itself around him—light filtering through gauzy curtains, the murmur of voices nearby, the warmth of a quilt tucked across his legs. His head throbbed with a slow, pulsing ache, like someone hammering from the inside.
He opened his eyes.
The parlor ceiling looked back at him, familiar beams blurred at the edges. Morning light slipped through the front windows, pale and thin—the kind that came after a long, hard night.
There was a weight against his side.
He angled his gaze down.
Eli lay half-sprawled against him on a folded blanket, head pillowed near Sam’s ribs, one arm thrown over Sam’s middle like he’d been guarding him. The boy’s hair stuck up in every direction, his face smudged and slack with sleep.
Tessa sat on the floor on Sam’s other side, back propped against the settee, chin resting on her knees. She was asleep upright, dark circles beneath her eyes. One hand was still resting on his forearm, fingers curled lightly as if she’d meant to keep him from going anywhere.
Sam’s chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his wound.
He swallowed. His throat felt raw. “Tess?”
Her eyes opened instantly, as if she’d been waiting for the sound. She lifted her head so fast her hair brushed his shoulder. “Sam.” Her voice was a sigh, a prayer, and a reprimand all at once. “You’re awake.”
“Feels… questionable,” he muttered.
“That’s because you got yourself shot in the head,” she said, but her voice shook.
She leaned over him, checking the bandage with careful fingers. “You scared me.”
He shifted, testing himself. Everything hurt, but nothing felt loose or broken. The bandage tugged when he frowned.
“You’re safe?” he asked.
“Yes. Eli too.” She tipped her chin toward the boy curled against him.
Sam looked down at his brother, that fierce knot of protective panic tightening again in his chest. “Eli. Hey.”
Eli stirred, blinking awake—until he saw Sam looking back at him.
“Sam!” he choked, pushing up too fast.
Sam caught him with a steady hand. “Easy, kid. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Eli clung to him. “I thought—” His voice broke, and he buried his face in Sam’s shirt.
Sam touched his shoulder. “Not today. Takes more than Boyd Carver to put me in the ground.”
Eli’s face crumpled. He ducked his head, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “I followed when you told me not to and they grabbed me and—”
“Hey.” Sam tightened his hand. “Look at me.”
Eli scrubbed at his face and lifted his eyes.
“You hear me clear,” Sam said, slow and steady. “You did everything right. You left us a trail. You held on. I’m proud of you.”
Eli’s fist tightened in Sam’s shirt. “You came.”
“Course I did.” Sam’s throat thickened. “You’re my brother.”
Eli didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so he hung on tight. Sam let him, even though the grip tugged the cloth against his sore ribs.
Tessa covered Eli’s back with her palm. “We’re home,” she murmured. “All of us. That’s what counts.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. A moment later, Abby appeared in the doorway with a tray, hair braided back, sleeves rolled, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep.
“Well,” she said, the word riding on a rush of air. “Look who decided to join us again.”
Sam tried to sit up. Pain flared behind his eyes. The room tilted.
Tessa shoved her shoulder against his and pressed her hand to his chest. “No.”
Abby set the tray down on the small table and crossed to him. “She’s right. You stay put. You lost enough blood to make a butcher nervous.” She checked his bandage with careful fingers. “How’s your vision?”
Sam blinked. “Double, if I look at Reed’s face too long,” he muttered.
“Good thing I’m prettier than Reed,” Abby said dryly. “Follow my finger.” She tested him, satisfied herself he could track her hand, then nodded. “You’ll live. You’ll feel like you got stomped by a mule for a few days, but you’ll live.”
“Already do,” he said.
Before Abby could answer, another set of footsteps pounded down the hall—lighter, frantic.
Isaac skidded into the doorway, eyes huge, breath coming in sharp little gulps. His gaze darted from Tessa to Eli to Sam—then fixed.
Sam managed a tired lift of his fingers. “Hey, little man.”
Isaac’s face crumpled immediately. A sound broke out of him—half sob, half relief—and he rushed forward.
Tessa lunged up, catching him around the shoulders before he could collide too hard with Sam.
“Oh, Isaac—shh,” she whispered, pulling him close. “It’s all right. He’s all right.”
Isaac sobbed into her shoulder, trembling violently. He’d been brave for hours—too brave for a boy his age—but now, seeing Sam breathing, the fear cracked open.
Sam reached out and laid a hand on the back of Isaac’s head, threading his fingers through the boy’s hair.
“I’m here,” Sam murmured. “You’re safe. Your sister’s safe. Eli’s safe. We all made it home.”
Isaac hiccupped and shifted so he could cling to Sam’s arm with both hands. He didn’t let go of him.
Tessa stroked Isaac’s back until his sobs softened to shivers, then eased him down to sit beside Eli. Eli wrapped an arm around Isaac’s shoulders, pulling him close in brotherly comfort.
Abby’s gaze softened. “You scared us, Sam Fletcher.”
He glanced away. “Didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” She brushed a quick hand over his hair in a sisterly way, then straightened. “I’ll fetch you some broth. Don’t try chewing anything yet unless you fancy meeting your breakfast again.”
As she turned, another figure lingered in the doorway. Jesse stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched as if he wasn’t sure he belonged in the room. His boots were on, his shirt wrinkled, faint pillow creases along one cheek like he’d dozed in a chair.
“You all right?” he asked, voice quiet.
Sam managed a nod. “Been better.”
Jesse’s gaze jumped to Eli, checking him over like a rancher counting brands. When he saw no new wounds, some of the tension left his face.
“Jesse stayed up with us,” Tessa said. “He helped Jo with Isaac, kept the fire going, brought water… wouldn’t go to bed till everybody was back through that door.”
Jesse flushed and stared at the floorboards. “Didn’t do much.”
“You did enough,” Sam said. He meant it. “Thank you.”
Jesse gave a small, awkward nod and shifted his weight, as if he might slip back out. Before he could, heavier bootsteps came from the hall behind him.
A quiet knock sounded at the threshold.
Reed stepped in, hat in his hands, dark circles under his eyes. His gaze latched to Sam instantly, relief softening his features. “You’re awake.”
“Feels like I got hit by a wagon,” Sam said.
Reed’s mouth twitched. “Better’n bein’ dead.”
Jesse stepped forward then, offering a small cup of water. “I heated it a little. Abby said you shouldn’t drink cold.”
Sam smiled faintly. “Thanks, Jesse.”
Jesse nodded once and backed up, leaning against the wall like he planned to stay there until someone forced him out.
Reed stepped closer, lowering to a knee beside Sam. His hat hung loose in one hand, his expression tight in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
“There’s somethin’ I need to say.”
Tessa looked up at him, guarded. Sam blinked sluggishly, trying to focus.
Reed exhaled hard. “Part of me keeps wonderin’ if this is because of Harold—because I put him in that cell. He died there. And Chad and Gus blamed me for it.” His voice dropped low. “I keep thinkin’ maybe Boyd came for the same reason.”
Tessa was already shaking her head. “Reed, no!”
Reed frowned. “Tess—”
“No.” The word came out of Tessa before he could finish. She leaned in, gaze steadily on his. “That’s not what this was.”
Reed frowned. “Boyd was their brother.”
“And he never said Harold’s name once, unless it was to complain about them,” Tessa said. “Not his, not Gus’s, not Chad’s. I was with him the whole time. He didn’t come here for you.”
Reed stilled.
“He wanted the money Gus hid,” she went on.
“That’s all. He wanted to scare me into finding it and use Eli to do it.
He didn’t care about anything else.” Her voice cooled.
“He didn’t grieve his brothers. He didn’t honor them.
He just used their names when it suited him. He didn’t even do that this time.”
Sam shifted his weight, ignoring the pull at his stitches. “She’s right,” he said. “Man was greedy, not loyal. Don’t give him the dignity of thinkin’ this was about justice for Harold. It wasn’t.”
Reed searched Tessa’s face, then Sam’s. Whatever he saw eased something in him. His shoulders dropped as if he’d set down a weight he’d carried farther than he realized.
Reed’s jaw worked. “You sure?”
“I was with him,” Tessa said. “If revenge had been on his mind, I’d have heard it. He only talked about the money.”
Reed let out the long breath he’d been carrying like a stone. The lines around his eyes softened, guilt loosening its hold.
Sam muttered, “Ain’t on you, Reed.”
Tessa added, gentler now, “You saved us. You got us home. That’s what matters.”
For the first time all night, Reed nodded without hesitation.
Tessa shifted closer, her voice much gentler. “We’re all here because you found us. Because you didn’t stop lookin’.”
Reed let his breath out slowly. “All right,” he said, and this time it sounded like he believed it.
He rose, setting his hat back on his head. “The sheriff wants to talk to you when you’re fit to sit up, Sam. Not before. I told him he can wait.”
Sam made a face. “Reckon I can answer questions flat on my back.”
Reed snorted. “You’ll answer ‘em when Abby says you can. I’m not crossin’ her today.”
From the kitchen, Abby called, “You got that right.”
Eli gave a small, hiccupping laugh. The sound loosened something in the room.
Reed stood, giving Sam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll check on the sheriff. Ben and Cal brought him in late last night. Bodies are already bein’ recovered.”
Sam nodded weakly. “Good.”
Reed looked at him one more time, then left the room.
Abby entered with a tray—coffee, bread, and broth—her expression brightening with relief. She handed a mug to Eli. “Warm milk. Sip it slowly. You’ve had a hard night, too.”
Eli obeyed, eyes never leaving Sam.
Abby knelt and held a spoon to Sam’s lips.
Sam shifted to sit up.
Tessa immediately pushed a hand to his chest. “Lie back. You’re not movin’ yet.”
“I can—”
“No,” she said, with a firmness that brooked no argument. “You lost more blood than any sensible man should survive. You stay exactly where you are.”
Sam stared at her for a breath… then eased back.
Abby smirked. “Smart man.”
“You’re not strong enough to argue with me,” she said when he opened his mouth to protest. “So don’t.”
He swallowed the first spoonful. It tasted of chicken and salt and something that made his chest ache worse than the wound.
Home.
Once Abby was satisfied he had taken enough, she set the bowl aside and rose. “I’ll go run off the men hoverin’ on the porch,” she said. “Worse than hens at a fence.”
When she left, the room grew quiet again.
The house settled into a quieter rhythm. Abby fussed over the bandage; Jesse fetched more warm water without being asked; Eli refused to move; and Tessa stayed at Sam’s side, touching him as if she needed proof he was real.
Tessa shifted closer, careful not to jostle Eli or his grip on Sam’s shirt. “How bad does it hurt?” she asked.
“Head?” he said. “About like Reed’s singin’.”
That earned a faint laugh from Eli.
Her mouth tugged despite herself. “And the rest of you?”
“Feels like I went a few rounds with one of Rafe’s bulls.” He studied her face. “You all right?”
Her eyes met his. “I’m tired,” she said honestly. “And I keep seeing that bullet hit you and the way you didn’t move at first. I thought…” She shook her head, throat working. “I thought I’d lost you.”
He wanted to reach for her. The thought alone seemed to take all his strength. “I’m hard to kill,” he said instead. “You should know that by now.”
Her gaze dropped to the bandage, then climbed back. “Don’t make a habit of testing it.”
He watched her for a long moment. Sunlight caught in her hair, pulling copper from the brown. There were shadows under her eyes, but there was steel there too.
After a long while, Sam’s eyes drifted half-shut again. “Tess?”
“I’m here,” she murmured, brushing a thumb along his cheek.
“I meant what I said out there. I wasn’t lettin’ him hurt you.” His voice grew rough. “Not again. Not ever.”
The words hung between them.
Her fingers tightened on his forearm. “He didn’t,” she said. “Because of you.”
He swallowed. “Didn’t do it alone.”
“No,” she agreed. “You never do.”
For a moment they just looked at each other, the air between them thin and warm.
Then Eli yawned huge and sagged sideways, his head bumping Tessa’s knee. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
She huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Lie down,” she said, guiding him back to his blanket. “You can keep holding on if you want.”
He nodded and curled against Sam again, one hand hooked on his brother’s shirt, already half asleep.
Sam let his eyes close. He was more tired than he’d thought. The ache in his head dulled under the weight of the quilt and the soft sounds of the house moving around him.
He felt Tessa’s hand slide from his forearm up to his shoulder, then to his cheek. Her thumb brushed once along the edge of the bandage.
“Rest,” she whispered. “We’ll talk later.”
He nodded, barely conscious again.
Tessa kept her hand against his cheek until his breathing evened, his body going limp against the cushions, trusting her touch and the walls around them in a way he rarely trusted anything.
Tessa sat there between the two brothers, one hand on Sam, one resting near Eli, and listening to the quiet.
Inside, for the first time since Boyd Carver had kicked in their door, the Kincaid house held something like peace.