Will rubbed his pockmarks. Mac must not know how ineffectual Will had been, how Mama had beaten Johnson while the man choked him, how Maria had scared the intruder off with the gun. Will had done nothing.

Except find his world destroyed.

Mac sighed. “You learned some things we hoped you’d never find out.”

“You mean things you wanted to hide from me,” Will blurted.

“Has it done you any good to know I’m not your father?” Mac asked.

“So who is?” Maybe Mac would explain what Mama had said.

Mac heaved a deep breath. “This won’t be easy to tell you.” He turned to Will. “Nor for you to hear.”

Will waited. When Mac said nothing, Will croaked out, “I can take it.”

Mac nodded. “All right. Man to man. Here’s what happened. Your mother was raped by three men. Before I met her. One of them fathered you.”

Rape—why hadn’t that occurred to Will? He knew of such evil, but he’d never heard of it happening to any woman he knew. “And Jacob Johnson was one of them?” He felt better about Mama, even as the horror of his own paternity began to sink in. He’d been fathered by a rapist.

“Yes.”

“Who were the others?”

“Jacob’s father Isaac. And a man named Bart Peterson.”

That name Will knew. “Mama’s stepfather.”

“Yes. I told you it’s not a pretty story.”

“What happened to them?”

“The men?” Mac blew out a long breath. “A couple of months after their first attack, I stopped in Arrow Rock where your mother lived. That day, I found the three of them assaulting her again. I shot and killed Isaac Johnson. Jenny shot Jacob in the arm.”

“Is that why his arm doesn’t work right?” Will asked, remembering Johnson’s weak left arm.

“I didn’t know that,” Mac said. “Could be.”

“And Peterson?” Will asked. “He’s still in Arrow Rock, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He told us to leave town, and I took your mother to Independence. She told me the story along the way. I couldn’t leave her alone, so I took her to Oregon with me.”

“Did she want to go?”

Mac smiled wryly and stared toward the cracks in the roof. “I’ve never been sure. But she didn’t have much choice.”

Will looked at Mac, wondering how the love between Mama and Mac had developed. That they loved each other had always been obvious to him. “But she married you?”

Mac shook his head. “Not then. And not before I left the two of you on this claim. But we married when I returned.”

“Then I’m a bastard,” Will said, trying the word on for size.

“You’re my son,” Mac said, putting an arm around Will’s shoulders. “As much as Cal or Nate. I love you as I love them.”

Will shrugged off Mac’s arm. “But you’re not my father, and you don’t even know who is.”

“Come on home, son,” Mac said, standing and holding his hand out to Will.

Will stood without Mac’s help. “Don’t call me that. Don’t say it ever again. I’m not your son.”

“Well, come home,” Mac said. “Your mother is worried.”

Will turned to Shanty and led him out of the shack, tethering him beside Valiente. Without a word, he found a shovel in the barn, cleaned out the shack, mounted the gelding, and followed Mac toward town.

Chapter 15: Back Home

Will and Mac arrived home and stabled their horses in the carriage house. As Will trudged into the house, Mac clapped him on the shoulder. “Go see your mother,” he said. Will went upstairs and found Mama reading in her bedroom.

“William.” She rose and hugged him tightly.

“Mama.” At first he stood rigidly, then he awkwardly patted her back. She seemed so little. He thought of the violence she endured with Johnson and the other men. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I ran away. Sorry for everything.” He hoped she understood what he meant.

She reached up and touched his cheek. “I never wanted you to know.”

Will shrugged. He still couldn’t make sense of it. He felt alien in his own skin—which scoundrel’s skin had he inherited?

“You look so much like my own papa,” she murmured.

“Which man do you think was my father?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t think about it. I can’t. You’re mine—all mine.” She opened her eyes, met his gaze, and shook him by the shoulders gently. “Mac is your father. He has raised you as his own. And he loves you as much as I do.”

Will didn’t answer. He no longer felt any kinship with Mac. But he grieved the loss.

Jenny watched Will for the next few days. He didn’t speak much to Mac or her but seemed to act the same as always around the other children. “What can we do to help him?” she asked Mac one evening when they were alone in their room.

“Let it slide, Jenny,” Mac said. “Will’s a bright boy. He’ll sort it out.”

“He seems so lonely. Aloof.” She sighed. “I wish he were still a baby. He was so happy then. Remember?” She smiled, recalling baby William’s winsome smiles and coos. Her first child. A part of her. As soon as she’d held him, his paternity ceased to matter. She’d worked to put his violent conception out of her mind. “He’s keeping himself so distant from me now.”

“Boys do that.” Mac took off his cravat and threw it on a chair. “They can’t stay tethered to their mothers forever.”

“We can’t let the other children know. It’s terrible enough that Will and Maria do.”

“Have you talked to Maria?” Mac asked.