He had always been big and strong, like a tree that had withstood years of storms to stand tall to the very end. She knew this man’s heart, had heard it pound in sync with hers. She couldn’t bear the thought that it might stop beating and she might never lay her head on his chest and hear it again.
She moved to his bedside slowly, afraid that he might already have left her. Relief filled her eyes with fresh hot tears as she saw the rise and fall of his chest. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, her heart breaking at the sight of him lying there so helpless.
“Holden, I’m here.” Her voice broke as she looked down at his hand. It was large like his heart, strong, and yet it could be so gentle. She lifted it from the bed to hold it to her lips for a moment.
Her words came out a whisper. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Will always love you. I’m so sorry.” She placed his hand back on the bed and brushed her fingers over his cheek. “I understand if you can never forgive me. But don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
She heard the hospital room door open. Hurriedly she wiped her tears, then turned, knowing her time was up. Holden would survive—she had to believe that. But she feared he would never forgive her and would be lost to her forever. Taking a deep breath, she let it out as she nodded to the nurse and left, her heart shattered in a million little pieces.
IT WAS SOMETHING one of the regulars from the Wild Horse Bar in town had said that had gotten Birdie thinking—and had gotten her mind off Holly Jo and her fear for her for a little while. She found elderly retired ranch hand Elmer Franklin on his usual stool, bellied up to the bar, drinking coffee with a couple of his friends.
His face lit up when he saw her. She walked up to him. “Mind if I have a word?” She motioned to a table against the wall, away from the bar.
Elmer flushed, looked to his friends, then slid off his stool. “Get you somethin’ to drink?” She shook her head, so he brought his cup of coffee with him as he followed her over to the table. As she pulled out a chair and sat down, she could see that he was nervous. It made her even more certain that he knew something.
Birdie waited as he sat down. He was about the age her father would have been now. She swallowed that thought. “You said something yesterday that got me thinking.”
“Can’t imagine anything I would say that would be worth mulling over.” He said it into the coffee cup before taking a sip.
“You said that the last time you saw my father, he was threatening to do something crazy.”
“Did I?” He chuckled and looked back in the direction of the bar.
“Elmer, I need to know what he said to you. Please.”
“Not good to speak ill of the dead,” he muttered. “Especially to his daughter.”
“I’m looking for the truth. So don’t honey-coat it.” Her grandmother had told her that she might not like what she learned. At the time, she hadn’t believed that it might be true. Nana had always spoken favorably of her son. Was this going to be what her grandmother had been talking about?
“What was he threatening to do?” she asked quietly, leaning toward Elmer, and waited.
He cleared his throat, licked his lips and met her gaze. “He was upset, worse than usual. I never much paid attention to anything he said when he was upset.” She waited as patiently as possible as Elmer shuffled his feet under his chair and took another sip of his coffee. “He was trying his best to get along with that woman. Everyone knew what Charlotte was like.” Still she waited. “He said he’d discovered something interesting that he might use against her.”
“Something about...”
“Brand, her son. She’d been talking to the boy—he must have been about five, I think—but when he left to go outside, she said, ‘He is so much like you. Damn you, Holden.’ Dixon got out of there lickety-split, but he said he’d noticed before that the boy didn’t even look like the others.”
“What did he plan to do with this information?” she asked, heart in her throat as Elmer looked away and shifted in his seat. “He threatened to use it against Charlotte.” That most certainly could have gotten him killed, she thought.
But Elmer was shaking his head. “He was more interested in talking to the boy’s father.”
“He told Holden McKenna?”
“You’ve got to understand,” Elmer said. “He’d pretty much given up on making the marriage work. He was broke, and Charlotte had made it clear that when she kicked him out, he wouldn’t be getting a dime. He thought Holden might be willing to help him out to keep the truth about Brand quiet.”
“Blackmail?” Birdie didn’t want to believe it. But she’d known that her father must have been desperate. “So what happened?”
Elmer shrugged. “I never saw him again. Who knows if he went to the McKenna Ranch or if he went back to Charlotte that night? No one saw him again.”
HOLDEN OPENED HIS EYES. PAIN. For a moment he couldn’t remember what had happened to him. Then it came back in a rush, accompanied by even more pain.
“Holly Jo?” The words came out a whisper, his throat so dry, his tongue felt as if it was covered in cotton. “Holly Jo?” He looked over at the person sitting in the chair next to his bed, not surprised to see Elaine.
She rose quickly to come to his bedside. He’d never seen her so upset, but she regained control and said, “Holly Jo’s still alive, but we haven’t been able to bring her home yet.”
He looked around the room, then at Elaine. “Charlotte?”
“She was here. She’s been here since she heard, but they are only allowing family in to see you.”
Holden frowned. “I must have dreamed—”
“I talked them into letting her see you for just a few minutes,” Elaine said. “You know how she is. She would have found a way to see you one way or another.”
He nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”
“All you need to worry about is getting well and out of this hospital bed.”
“I need to see the sheriff.”
“Holden, I don’t think—”
“Stuart. Tell him. Please.” He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting. Lottie. He hadn’t dreamed it. She’d been here. But had the rest been merely a hallucination? He looked down at his hand, remembering her touch. She’d said she loved him. That definitely could have been a dream.
He must have slept, because when he opened his eyes again, Sheriff Stuart Layton was sitting in the chair next to his bed. He tried to speak, his throat too tight, his mouth too dry.
Stuart got up to get him a cup of water.
He took a sip, so thirsty he wanted to down the entire cup. “Holly Jo?” he managed to say after a few sips.
