When Heath and Tom stepped out onto the front porch, they found Mariano was just about to lead his horse away from the hotel.
He looked up at them. "Mr. Barkley, the sheriff wanted me to tell you that he will be staying tonight at the sheriff's office. Someone needs to mind the-" he glanced at Heath then his eyes went back at Tom. "The prisoner."
"All right," said Tom. "You're not leaving tonight, are you?"
"I'll be leaving early tomorrow."
"Make sure to talk to me before you do. I know you're moving to your Uncle's ranch soon. I want to help you out, Mariano-with anything you need."
Mariano smiled and gave a quick nod. "I will be back after I take care of my horse. Thank you, sir." He added, "See you around, Heath," before he turned and continued walking his horse down the dusty street.
"Yeah," Heath said. "See you, Mariano."
Mariano kept on his way and lifted a hand in a casual wave.
Heath sighed. "Getting dark soon," he said to Tom. "There's a lamp in the shed out back. Mind if we go get it first?"
"By all means."
"It's around this way." Heath motioned to their left and headed in that direction toward the edge of the porch.
As Heath went ahead of him, Tom recognized the boots the boy wore. They were Nick's and had cost him a pretty penny. The fine leather stood out in sharp contrast to the worn brown trousers and suspenders Heath wore with them. His shirt was white and clean, but the left elbow was worn through and the collar was dog-eared. His blond hair grew over the collar in the same fashion as Nick's. Too long and in desperate need of a trim.
Heath carried the wooden box close in the crook of his arm as if he were afraid it would fly away. He paused at the door of the little old shed just around the side of the hotel. He looked up at Tom thoughtfully and asked, "If Martha stays in jail for kidnapping Nick, does that mean that the ownership of the hotel will fall to me?"
Tom lifted his brows, surprised at the shrewdness this boy possessed. He frowned in thought. "I don't know their financial situation, Heath. Judging by their actions alone I assume they were deeply in debt. The bank probably owns it."
"Oh," Heath said, his mouth compressing into a thin, angry line. "Then I don't own a damned thing, do I?" He turned and jerked open the shed door.
The boy was hostile, but kept his anger under tight control. Tom wondered when Heath might snap. He was too young to be burdened with so many problems that were beyond his control.
Tom glanced inside the shed as Heath picked up a lantern and rummaged for tinder. Inside the shadowy, dusty old shed were a variety of tools. Shovels, rakes, saws... perhaps something was in there that might help them remove the band on Nick's wrist. He didn't want to take Nick home to his mother still symbolically bound to the men who kidnapped him. Victoria should never see her son that way...and yet there was already too much she would have to see and understand before they could possibly move on with their lives.
In a moment, Heath had the lamp lit. He closed the door again, and the rusty hinges creaked. Small moths already attracted to the lamp light fluttered around the glass globe. Heath used the lamp to motion toward the street and started to head that way. "It'll take a bit of walkin' to get there."
Tom let him take the lead. "Where are we going?"
It took a moment for Heath to respond. He didn't look at Tom, but kept his eyes ahead. "A place where nobody ever wants to go."
They walked in silence as evening turned to night, the lamplight swinging and casting their shadows to and fro along the path. They stopped eventually in front of a church, pale in the moonlight, pristine and serene. Stepping stones wound a path to a wooded area in the back. "My momma is buried here. She's been there for six months. Not long enough for me to forget the sound of her voice."
"You'll never forget it, Heath," Tom said, for there were times that he too remembered her laugh or the playful way she called his name. "Not as long as you live."
Heath finally tilted his face up and looked him in the eyes, searching them. "Would you come with me? You...must have loved her once. I figure you might want to at least see where she's resting."
Tom wasn't sure, but he nodded slowly. Years had passed, but the ache was still there...a 'what if' that could never be. The beautiful, spirited girl he once knew, his Leah. She lay buried here. Shame took hold of him. He shoved his hands in his pockets. To even think of her in any way as 'his' after all that had happened was a farce, he knew. But the absolute truth was...he had loved her with all his heart.
He cleared his throat and returned Heath's unfaltering gaze. "I will go with you."
With the son he barely knew leading the way, Tom stepped deeper into a past he could no longer reconcile and a future he could no longer control. In this unfamiliar territory, he did not know what to do or say next. He simply followed Heath into the woods and finally to the white picket enclosure nestled quietly there.
The grave stones and crosses loomed darkly in the crowded cemetery, silently sleeping...waiting. Heath unlatched the waist high gate and stepped inside. "Momma's grave is over there," he said with a motion of his chin. Under the sycamore tree."
They walked silently around the edge of the yard, careful not to cross over the graves. Leah's was set away from the nearest headstones. Hers was a simple, roughly carved wooden cross. Tom held his hand out for the lantern, and Heath handed it to him. Tom knelt by the grave and read the words etched on her marker. He smoothed his hand over the rough, splintery edges of the cross that must have been tooled by unskilled hands. He wondered if Heath had had to make it himself. Tom wished he had saved her from this end. Perhaps he could have. He had made so many mistakes in his life. The burden of them all now weighed on his shoulders. He bowed his head and caressed the cold ground that covered her. The grass was dry and brittle. It was not a fitting place for a woman such as Leah.
Tom rubbed his eyes and wished to God he could turn back time. It was another lifetime ago.
"I'm sorry," Heath said after a moment. "I...didn't think you cared. I wanted you to, but..."
Tom lifted his face and looked up at the boy who stood across from him. His hair still shone golden in the moonlight, just as Leah's had. But his face was dark and drawn in anguish. "Heath, know that I do care. It has been a very long time. So many things were said back then. We both knew we couldn't..." But what was he to say to her son? How could he tell him the words he and Leah spoke to each other in those final days? Perhaps he too would take them to the grave. Somehow, though, there had to be a kind of peace between him and her boy. His son. "When I first heard about you, I had hoped-" He fisted his hand and sat back on his heel, no longer wanted to dwell on what was. "I hoped to see your mother. To ask her why she never told me about you...to ask her forgiveness and to somehow set right what I'd gotten so wrong."
Heath held the box in both hands now, gazing at it forlornly.
"You wanted to share the contents of that box," Tom prompted.
"No," came Heath's weak reply. "It's nothing." He said, his voice trembling. "It's nothing at all." He let out a gasp and swiped angrily at his tears. "All my life I wanted you to come home! I prayed that you would find your way back to us. And now here you are, and somehow it just doesn't matter anymore." He stood there irresolute for a moment and then his words came in a rush. "If you want to see all that's left of her and the family you could have had, then take it! I don't need it anymore!" He dashed the wooden box to the ground and rushed out of the cemetery, not caring this time where his feet fell.
"Heath!"
The boy didn't turn back. He jerked open the gate and ran down the path. Tom stood. The box lay open on the ground, its contents strewn across Leah's grave.
