Mac wanted Johnson dead. The bastard had caused enough misery in their lives. Johnson’s malevolence began even before Mac knew Jenny, and his vile deeds still influenced their family. Without Johnson and his two fellow rapists, Jenny might have married Mac in forty-seven, and they could have lived happily.

But she wouldn’t have married him because Mac wouldn’t have taken her with him to Oregon. And they wouldn’t have Will. Nor Maria—for it was doubtful Mac would have gone to California and met Consuela. And if he hadn’t married Jenny, none of the other children would exist either.

Everything that was good in Mac’s life had come from meeting Jenny, bringing her to Oregon, marrying her, and raising their family. Sometimes, evil acts brought good consequences—if the victims could overcome the depravity through righteous behavior.

Mac hoped he and Jenny and their children had been righteous.

At the moment, Mac wanted Will to feel he had a role in the decision what to do with Johnson. Will, more than any of them, had a stake in the outcome. No matter how expedient it might be for Mac to simply pull the trigger and kill the man, Will would still have to face the truth that he had been fathered by a rapist.

Mac and Zeke kept their rifles trained on Johnson and waited for Will to speak.

Mac had killed Johnson’s father, Will remembered. As Mac told the story, it had been in self-defense—the older Johnson had fired at Mac first. How would Mac deal with killing two of the three men who might have been Will’s father? Was it right to put that burden on Mac?

Was Will willing to pull the trigger himself? If he wasn’t, he couldn’t ask another man to do the job for him. He couldn’t ask Mac.

It was one thing to let the courts try the criminal and rule as they saw fit, after finding the man guilty. Even if Johnson were sentenced to hang. It was something else to pull the trigger here in the wilderness, with only Will, Mac, and Zeke standing in judgment.

Will shook his head. “We’ll take him back to town, Pa.”

As Will spoke, three horsemen trotted into the yard.

“Whoa,” Sheriff Thomas said, as he pulled his mount to a stop, the two Abercrombies behind him. “What happened? Where’s Albee?” He turned to Will. “And what the devil are you doing here?”

Mac and Zeke told the sheriff and the Abercrombies about the gunfight. Then the men lashed Johnson to a saddle on an old, scarred mare found behind the cabin—probably a horse Johnson had stolen from the Army when he deserted. “Tie his hands to the reins,” the sheriff said. “And we’ll hope the horse throws him. Pershing,” he said to Zeke, “since you captured him, you lead him into town.”

The lawman helped Mac and Will wrap Albee’s body in a dirty blanket from the shack and place it across the back of the deputy’s horse. “I’ll lead his horse,” the sheriff said. “Adam was a good man.” He looked at Johnson. “I hope you hang for this.”

The somber posse rode back to Oregon City. Any time Johnson started to talk, Zeke kicked him. Will saw a glance pass between Mac and Zeke, and he realized Zeke didn’t want Johnson saying anything about Will being his son. Will nodded gratefully at Zeke, who grinned back at him.

As they returned to town, Will reflected on his realization that Mac’s raising him made Mac his father. It didn’t matter whose blood ran in Will’s veins. Mac had contributed far more than blood to Will’s character.

No one knew who sired Maria either, but Mac was her father, too. And Mac treated both Will and Maria the same as he treated their siblings he’d fathered in blood. Will wondered what all this meant for his attraction to Maria, but those considerations would have to wait for another day.

When they reached the sheriff’s office, Sheriff Thomas supervised the jailing of Johnson, then dismissed the posse. “You men go home to your families,” he said. “I’ll take Adam’s body to the undertaker, then visit his wife. She’ll be devastated. They have a little baby.”

Will hadn’t known Deputy Albee was married. He thought again of Mama, alone in Oregon with a baby after Mac left. Now the deputy’s wife was in a worse predicament—her husband would never return.

Will and Mac said good-bye to Zeke and the Abercrombies. “Let’s go home, son,” Mac said, clapping Will on the back.

“All right, Pa.”

Jenny cried when Mac and William entered the kitchen through the back door. “We’re filthy,” Mac said as she ran to him. But he put his arms around her and held her close. He smelled of woods and horse and sweat and blood.

She turned to William. “Are you all right?” she asked, hugging him in turn.

Will leaned over awkwardly to return her hug. “We’re both fine,” he said.

“Deputy Albee was killed,” Mac said. “But no one else was hurt.”

“And Johnson?” Jenny was almost afraid to ask.

“He’s in jail,” Mac said. “Sheriff will turn him over for trial as soon as he can.”

“Then it’s over with him?” Jenny asked.

Mac shook his head. “Can’t say for sure. He’ll be found guilty of Adam’s murder, that’s for certain. And with that murder, it’s unlikely any other charges will be necessary. Maybe Sheriff Thomas can keep our family’s name out of it. But I can’t tell you Johnson won’t start rumors.”

“If he does, he does,” William said. “We can withstand rumors.” He put his arm around Jenny’s shoulders, and she leaned into him a bit, taking strength from his assurance. “He can’t hurt us, even with the truth.”

Jenny nodded. The secret she’d feared William learning would not harm him in the long run. He was more resilient than she’d thought.

Mac went upstairs to wash, and Jenny followed him.

“You should be proud of Will,” Mac told her. “He acted like a man today.”

“But we told him not to go on the posse.” Jenny pulled a clean shirt from the wardrobe for Mac and handed it to him.

“Yes,” Mac said. “But he did a man’s job while he was with us.” He told her about Will covering for him and then for Zeke.

She closed her eyes and shuddered at the picture of her son risking his life, even for Mac and Zeke. “Land’s sake,” she whispered.

“And I asked him what we should do with Johnson. I wanted him to think through the options—vigilante justice or bringing the man back to town for trial.”

She sat on the bed facing Mac as he washed. “So Will decided to let Jacob live, even after everything the felon has done?”

“He did.” Mac wiped his face with a towel. “It was the right decision, and I’m proud of him.”

That evening, after he’d gone to bed, Will heard a soft tap on his door. “Come in,” he said.

It was Mama. She sat on the edge of his bed and brushed his hair back from his face, like she had when he was little. “I’m proud of you, William.”

“What for?” he asked.

“Mac told me you decided to let Jacob Johnson stand trial.” She smiled at him. “When did you grow up to be so wise?”

He shrugged, embarrassed by her praise. “It’s just the way I was raised.” She rose and turned to leave. “Mama?” he said.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I treated you so badly when I found out about him. I shouldn’t have said those things about you.” He’d called her a whore, he remembered. Maybe some other things, too.