Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens

as a US marshal weighed heavily upon him.

      He could take a few more days. After that it was his duty to get back to work, to bring law and order to a wild land. There was still the matter of a couple of Traverses who had escaped justice. He’d need to apprehend them.

      A quiet knock sounded at his door. He crossed the room and opened it.

      “Miss Libby? What are you doing out in the hall at this hour?” He was surprised to see her at his door, a lamp in hand and her bare toes peeking out from under her sleeping gown. “You ought to be in your room.”

      “It’s Melody, Marshal Prentis. I don’t know where she is. She fed the baby an hour ago, then went out. She hasn’t come back. She hasn’t cried yet like she ought to, either. I’m right worried.”

      “I’ll walk you back to your room.” He crossed to the bed, sat down and yanked his boots back on. “I reckon she’s gone home. She probably needs some time alone. Would you mind tending the others for a while?”

      This late at night, the hotel was quiet. Only a few snores came from behind the closed doors along the hallway.

      “I’ll let you know when I find her. And, Libby, you did right to come to me.”

      “I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.” She opened the door to her room, then stepped inside. Closing the door halfway, she peered around it. “I wish...well, I wish I wasn’t too young to marry you, but since I am, there’s Melody. Joe and I have been watching, and we think you would suit her just fine.”

      “I’d be honored if she favored me that way, Libby, but the truth is my profession makes me something of a nomad and Miss Dawson needs to settle. I’m afraid we wouldn’t be right for one another.”

      Even if they were right, even if she was the one person in the world who was perfect for him, he had a penance to pay. He might never be able to make amends for what he had done to his family, but he would spend the rest of his life trying.

      * * *

      Melody’s mind recognized the fact that the night was frigid but somehow she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything at all. Wind shot snow at her face and caked the toes of her boots, but she was already numb, body and soul.

      Mama...just the name in Melody’s mind cut her heart to shreds. No matter the pain, all she could think of was going home.

      She carried a lantern that she had borrowed from the hotel through the darkness. A circle of light surrounded her, making the snowflakes swirling about glitter. There had been a time when the shimmer and sparkle would have delighted her. Now it only made the knot in her chest constrict.

      Mama had been partial to snow. She used to catch the flakes on her tongue and spin about with her arms spread wide. Then, pink-cheeked with cold, she would dash into the house to bake something warm and cozy. Cookies most of the time. On days like that, Melody would have the joy of cracking eggs and dumping them into the batter, stirring it all up then licking the bowl clean.

      How could a cherished memory become a pain so sharp that it dried up her well of tears? If only she could let them out, the cramp in her chest might ease. Maybe living with the Traverses had so dulled her emotions that she no longer reacted to them.

      She entered the house around the back, through the mudroom then into the kitchen. Setting the lantern on the table with a quiet click, she glanced about a room that Mama might have stepped out of only yesterday.

      Lit softly by the lantern’s glow, her apron hung on its peg. Mama ought to be here, wearing it, taking something out of the oven or sweeping the floor. Melody ought to be hearing her mother’s voice, singing while she went about her chores.

      With memories crowding in on her from every which way, she picked up the lantern and hurried out of the kitchen, into the parlor.

      Mama sat in the rocking chair beside the fire. Melody saw the picture in her mind as clearly as if it were real. She looked away but there was her mother again, standing beside the window, holding her baby girl in her arms and pointing at the snow falling in the yard.

      Melody closed her eyes, trying to ground herself in the here and now. She couldn’t let grief overcome her. Her babies depended upon her, the other children, too.

      She couldn’t fall apart. Remaining strong was the only thing that would insure a stable future.

      With a steadying breath, she opened her eyes and looked about the parlor in which she had spent so many happy hours. Someone had been keeping the place up. Probably her father. It smelled fresh, not like someplace forgotten and left to gather dust.

      She lifted the lantern high. Once again, it seemed that Mama had only stepped out for a moment. Even her knitting lay in the yellow basket beside the chair, waiting for her return.

      “Melody...baby?”

      The sound of her mother’s voice made her spin toward the door. In that instant, she realized that her father had been confused. Mama was alive after all.

      “Mama!” she cried and ran several steps toward the empty doorway.

      Of course, Mama was dead. The voice had been in her mind, a memory so vivid that she heard it.

      Once again, pain cut her heart, as though Papa had just now delivered the news. She bent in half, her knees giving out where she stood. The sob that had been clogging her heart for hours broke free.

      She needed something to hold on to, something that was Mama’s. She crawled to the knitting basket and plucked out the half-finished project with the needles still crossed midstitch.

      Kneeling, she clutched it to her heart, and rocked to and fro.

      “Mama,” she sobbed, holding back none of the grief now. “What happened to you?”

      Her mother was dead and she didn’t even know why...or how. Had she been ill? Had there been an accident?

      Lifting the yarn to her face, she let her tears flow into it. The unfinished garment smelled like Mama. She breathed deep and wept, feeling that if she opened her eyes, her mother would be there.

      She pulled the wool away from her face to look at it. What project had Mama been pouring her heart into at the last?

      Her fingers shook as she rolled open a scarf. A name had been embroidered on the bottom edge. M...E...L...O...D... The Y had been started but not completed.

      She bent her body over the scarf, bowing her head so low that it touched the floor. She began to shake and sob.

      Heartache so intense that she thought she would never recover from it crippled her. If she were given a choice of staying here and living with this loneliness or going to live with Mama, she would choose...

      “Mama...” Her voice cracked. “Mama.”

      “Melody.” A hand touched her shoulder, and then stroked her hair. “I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

      She felt strong, warm arms reach beneath her, then lift her from the cold floor. A part of her wanted to resist his touch, but another part wanted to hide in his embrace.

      “I want my mama, Reeve.” She buried her face into his neck and felt his collar become damp with her tears. “I need to tell her how much I miss her...how sorry I am.”

      “I know you do.” Reeve’s breath grazed her hair. “Tell her now.”

      For all the good that would do. “She can’t hear me now. I committed a horrible sin running away with Ram. All the sorry in the world won’t make up for that.”

      “I’ve been where you are... You aren’t alone... I’m here.”

      And all of a sudden something shifted inside her. She couldn’t even say what it was. Pain still sliced her heart, but with Reeve here, so strong and dependable, life didn’t seem so hopeless.

      As he carried her out of the house and through the snowy