heart.â
âOh, Papa, what have you done?â
âI canna tell ye now, but yeâll know all there is to know soon enough. Should we be parted, run as far away as ye can and Iâll find ye. Go back the way we came and do noâ trust a soul, ye ken? Trust no one .â
She wanted to demand he tell her what was going on, but the urgency in his tone compelled her only to nod.
Then Robert appeared at the mouth of the alley, blocking their escape. âThought youâd get away with it, didnât you, McGuire? Thought you could sneak off, welch on our deal, and Iâd just forget about it?â
Honesty remembered staring at her father insurprise. Few knew his real name; it was safer that way. Why would he have told Robert?
âIâm not sneakinâ off. I told ye inside, I donât have it with me. I have to go get it.â
âAnd you expect me to believe youâll return?â
âI told ye I would, didnât I?â
âYour word is worthless, McGuire. Honesty, come to me,â Robert coaxed in a silky tone that sent shudders down her spine.
Her fatherâs grip on her arm turned bruising. âYeâre not gettinâ the lass, Treat.â
âYou think not?â Robert raised his arm, and moonlight glittered off the pearl-handled pistol gripped in his hand. âSend her to me and no one gets hurt.â
âWhatâs this about, Robert?â
âPerhaps you should ask your father.â
âPapa?â
ââTis nothinâ, lass.â
âNothing?â Robert barked. âYour father and I had a gentlemenâs agreement and he is trying to break it. You are my insurance. When he holds up to his end of our bargain, Iâll release you.â
Deuce instantly pushed Honesty behind him and withdrew his pistol. âYouâll take her over me dead body!â
Robert smiled then. âThat can also be arranged.â
Her memory grew vague after that. The crack of bullets, the acrid stench of gunpowder, and the sight of Robert lying lifeless on the alley floor while Honesty and her father ran for the train station and jumped the first car leaving Durango . . . It wasnât until theyâd sunk against the carâs plank walls, and she caught sight of his blood-soaked shirt front, that she realized how prophetic his words would be.
âPapa? Oh, God . . .â She scrambled to his side and gathered his bulky form in her arms.
âMy sweet Honesty, thereâs somethinâ you must know . . .â
âDonât talk, Papa.â Frantically she tried to stem the blood that gushed from his middle. âWeâve got to get you to a doctor.â
He caught her hand in a frighteningly feeble grip and whispered, âListen to me, lass, there isna much time.â
Her breath caught on a sob.
âI done ye wrong, and I pray ye can find it in yer heart to forgive me.â
âPapa, please . . .â
âThatâs what I must tell ye.â His head lolled to the side, and the light in his blue eyes dimmed. âThe truth is . . .â
âWhat?â she asked, unable to catch his fading words.
â. . . Hidden in the flowinâ stones . . .â
And he was gone.
Honesty swiped at her damp eyes. God, how she missed him. His gruff voice, that gravelly brogue. His thick arms and long flame-red hair with the balding spot at the crown . . .
Oh, curse Jesse for playing that song! Curse him for coming to Last Hope in the first place. Sheâd kept a low profile since that fateful night, making her way north, town to town, mine to mine, saloon to saloon, searching for the secret heâd taken to his grave. She hadnât sung since.
Until this morning.
And because of it, because of Jesse and his resurrection of days best forgotten, she was once again committed to putting herself on public display.
She should have left town the