Of what Charles could remember of it, the evening had been filled with revelry. As planned, he, John, and Uncle had spent the night drinking, singing, and laughing together. Charles remembered dancing in the house, John giving him a piggyback while they chased Uncle, and then later stumbling around the front yard trying to lasso each other.

The boys had been in a good mood. Hell, he was in a good mood. They had much to rejoice with the completion of the house and barn. But to Charles the most important measure of his success was his reconciliation with Irene. They'd picked up their relationship where it had left off and once his trepidation of her possibly leaving without warning had faded, he was happy. So when Uncle had pulled out a crate of beers and ordered them a night of relaxation, Charles had been more than willing to participate.

However, all their celebration was not without penalty.

When he awoke the following morning, Charles found himself laying sprawled blocking the front door. He must have passed out, and since John had yet to purchase furniture, it was the floor that had been his bed last night.

Charles sat up and squinted, his head foggy from the drinking he'd partaken in last night. Nearby, John lay on his back in the center of the room, snoring with abandon.

Uncle was nowhere to be seen, but Charles had a vague recollection of him leaving the house. He'd declared overly loudly to them his intention to take a piss. John had slurred angrily that if Uncle pissed in the house, he was getting shot.

Feeling an oncoming sensation in his own bladder, Charles stood, ignoring the stabbing in his head as he went for the side door. He slammed his eyes shut from the afternoon sun for a moment, its position telling him it was much later in the day than he'd initially assumed.

He went to the side of the house and found an area to relieve himself. He half-expected to stumble over Uncle collapsed in the dirt and baking in the afternoon sun. When he finished his business, he passed a cursory glance over the farm.

Despite his aching head, Charles had thought enough to wonder, Where was Uncle?

While it wasn't unusual for Uncle to wander off, in the mornings he tended towards a more sloth-like attitude.

Charles hadn't seen him inside. Had he gotten turned around in his drunken state and passed out in the barn instead of the house?

Charles decided he'd better check on him, just to make sure coyotes weren't circling his unconscious body. He started for the barn to begin his search when he caught sight of the dirt tracks in the ground.

Despite his clouded mind, his power of observation hadn't dulled completely. Charles knelt, lowering his hand and holding it just above the ground. Charles stared at the disturbed dirt in front of the house, reading it as if the previous actions had been mapped out for him.

There had been horsemen here. Many horsemen. His eyes strayed across the ground. Two distinguishable drag marks leading into them before getting swamped by the horse tracks, which disappeared down the driveway. He wanted to be mistaken as to what had occurred, but a worn, gray feather in the center of the tracks had him instantly alarmed. It was from a pheasant, and a particular group in the area favored their feathers for their arrows.

This...was not good.

Hangover forgotten, Charles turned his head and called out loudly, "John! John!"

There was no response so he raised his voice and yelled more urgently, "John, get out here! Uncle's gone."

Charles took another moment, examining the ground over and over, but kept coming to the same conclusion. There were two facts he knew for certain. One, someone had been dragged to awaiting horsemen before being taken. Two, Uncle was unaccounted for.

Eventually, John responded from inside the house, his voice heavily graveled and groggy. "He's fine. Let me sleep."

"Get out here now!" he hollered, not letting up.

John came out of the house, squinting at the brightness in much the same way Charles had. He cradled his head a moment before planting his hat on top of it and complaining, "The fat man will be fine."

"No...he won't." Charles handed him the ruffled feather and informed him grimly, "Skinners."

John glanced at the feather as if the clue meant nothing to him, but for the first time, he took what Charles was saying seriously. "You think?"

"Of course. And my guess is they went that way." He nodded in the direction of Tall Trees. "But my other guess is they know we're coming after him."

John shook his head. "What choice do we have?"

"None." Charles answered in full agreement. Because as much of a pain in the ass as he was, Uncle was their friend, and the loyalty between them didn't just drop on the first sign of trouble.

They both whistled for their horses and Charles told John, "We gotta keep our wits about us. We know this is a trap."

Charles followed the trail with his eyes, leading John who was cursing about their lapse in keeping their guard up. He was angry, and had a right to be, but it wasn't productive.

"Shit," John went on. "We should have been ready."

"It happened," Charles told him, seeing no point in dwelling in their mistake. "There's nothing we can do except try and get him back."

"We let our guards down for one minute."

"Hush," Charles said as they reached the end of the driveway, slowing. His eyes were glued to the road, following the signs on the ground. "You see that? Blood."

As they turned down the road at a hastened pace, Charles warned John they may be forced to stop the pain if Uncle was wounded beyond repair. John refused to hear it, but Charles made sure he understood, that if the Skinners had Uncle for only a few hours, the damage done to him could be irreversible even if they found him alive.

They tracked the Skinners' camp to a grove in Tall Trees, in an area Charles had expected to find them. He knew he wasn't the only to think it was unnervingly close to the farm. He and John, out of pure loyalty or sure willpower, overcame the dozens of Skinners who tried to ambush them. They were lucky enough to find Uncle alive. John held off the final wave of Skinners while Charles muscled Uncle down the path and onto his horse as gently as he could.

They had found Uncle in one piece, but his chest had been sliced up in three places. The worst of his wounds happened to be his back, the entirety of which was dark red with burns after being held over a fire for who knew how long. His skin was starting to bubble in some places.

It was bad. But it could have been worse. It was too early to tell, but in Charles' opinion, they'd found Uncle before any fatal damage had been done to him. He'd live. He and John wouldn't have to make any hard decisions today on Uncle's behalf.

As they rode out of Tall Trees back to Beecher's Hope, Charles commented on Uncle's state. "I think it looks worse than it is."

"Burns don't always heal easy," John said grimly, his original hopeful position now switched with how Charles felt about the situation.

"Sure," Charles said agreeably. "But I think this will be fine, as long as it doesn't get infected. It's much better than I feared." He was relieved in fact. Who knew he'd come to care so much for Uncle?

They made it to the house, John helping him to carry Uncle inside. For the moment, Uncle managed to be conscious and speaking.

"Thank you, boys," Uncle said weakly.

"Don't mention it." replied John.

"I thought I was dead."

"Don't get all sentimental now, old man," John cracked with a smile that didn't quite take over the concern in his eyes. "Then I'll really think you're dying."

Charles left it to John to help Uncle get settled while he returned to Falmouth, got in the saddle and rode hard in the direction of Blackwater in order to retrieve the doctor.

In town, he passed the bakery, and itched to go in and tell Irene all that had happened today, but first he had to make certain Uncle survived his ordeal.

Luckily, Charles found the town's physician was not preoccupied with any patients. He mustered every ounce of persuasion he could to convince Dr. Purvis to gather his medical bag, get on a horse, and follow him back to Beecher's Hope.

As the doctor began his examination, John stepped outside. Noticing the anxiety he was trying to hide, Charles followed him.

"You think they'll be back?" John asked, eyeing the treeline at the edge of his property rather than meeting Charles' eye.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. We must have killed most of them. They're just angry men on a rampage."

"Sorta like we used to be."

"Yeah," Charles loosed a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Exactly like we used to be."

"Maybe we should take up torture," John joked morbidly, having a seat on the porch steps.

"We've got Uncle's singing instead of torture." Since John still appeared rattled from the Skinners encounter, Charles assured him, "We're gonna be safe here, John."

"I hope so. I really do."

So his words were heard, Charles crouched next to John, who was staring across the fields looking uncertain, and promised, "You, your family, you'll be safe."

He muttered, "If she ever comes back."

"She will."

Within the hour, Dr. Purvis had finished his examination. He concluded just as much as Charles had determined about Uncle. As long as the burns didn't fester, Uncle would heal from them. For a fee, he provided John with a cooling ointment and bandages to be replaced daily for the next couple of weeks to treat Uncle with.

Charles escorted Dr. Purvis back to Blackwater, just in case there were any stragglers from the Skinner gang lying in wait to ambush a lone rider.

Instead of heading straight back, he stopped by the little shack on the west side of Blackwater that Irene called home. It was in the middle of two other similarly deteriorated shacks. But hers was distinguishable by the lively vegetable garden growing out front.

He hitched Falmouth, weary as he stepped up to the small porch. He knocked and Irene subsequently answered.

"Charles. There you are. I was getting worried..."

He supposed she would be. The last she'd heard, he had been preparing for a night of joviality. He wasn't sure how to respond.

He didn't know what she picked up on first: his lack of response, his exhausted stance, or the blood clinging to his coat, but her tone immediately changed to that of alarm. "What happened?"

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him in before he could answer. "Come in. Sit down."

She helped him out of his jacket and led him to one of the chairs in her small kitchen. She moved around the table, poured him a cup of coffee, and handed it to him.

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head as he sipped the coffee. She nodded curtly and went to the counter for some bread and the venison he'd dropped off for her the other day.

She set the plate of food in front of him and told him, "Take your time, sweetie."

She bustled around the kitchen, keeping busy as he gratefully ate the small meal she'd provided. He'd been running on an empty stomach and a hangover the whole day, but this would be enough to tide him over.

When he was feeling somewhat revived from the bread and meat, he explained somberly, "Skinners came by the farm this morning. They took Uncle."

She turned from the counter, the blood drained from her face because she was familiar with how they had been terrorizing travelers. She sat down heavily in the chair next to him. "Oh my God." She hesitated a moment before she continued, "Is he...?"

"We got him back," he answered quickly. "Only just. He has some pretty severe burns."

"That's awful. Can I help with anything?"

"I don't think so. We had the doctor look him over this afternoon. He just needs time. John and I can handle the rest."

"If you're sure..."

It pained him to say it, but Charles told her, "I won't be able to come into town for awhile. John will need help with Uncle."

"Of course," Irene said without reservation. "I understand. But if you do need help, will you call on me?"

"Yes," he answered. But he wasn't certain he would. He wouldn't want to burden her. She had the shop to run. Not to mention, Uncle's current state wasn't a sight she should have to bear witness to.

"The poor dear," Irene murmured. "I can't imagine the pain he's in. You two were so brave to go after him. You must love him dearly to take such a risk."

He hadn't thought of it like that. Mostly the whole time he'd worried they would be too late. As impossible as it sounded, Uncle had somehow made himself family.

"It sounds as if the three of you had an exhausting and terrifying day. Do you intend to ride back tonight?"

"I...should get back." He said it hesitantly because the idea of getting on a horse and riding all the way back to Beecher's Hope tonight felt nearly impossible a task now that he'd had a moment of rest.

"You can return at first light," Irene told him firmly. "You'll be of no use to anyone if you're dead on your feet."

"Irene..."

She stood and came over to him. She placed both hands of the side of his face and said softly. "Come warm my bed, Charles Smith. Let me take care of you while I have you in my company."

She kissed him softly, her hands warm and comforting on his jaw. She was so pretty and soft, and smelled of sugared sweets. All in all, too tempting of an invitation for him to have to refuse.

To hell with it. John could handle Uncle tonight. The doctor had bandaged Uncle up so there wasn't a necessary purpose to his presence tonight. Furthermore, there would be tough days ahead, and he'd want a night of peace locked in his mind to come back to when times got hard.

Charles put up no further resistance as Irene took his hand and guided him into her bedroom.

XXXXXXXXX

The next few weeks were long, while he and John took turns between staying inside to look after Uncle and keeping up with the chores that had to be done around the farm. Unsurprisingly, replacing the bandages on Uncle's back was the more excruciating of the tasks. No matter how gentle their touch, Uncle whimpered throughout the entire routine of changing the gauze.

However, their efforts were not in vain. The red welts turned uglier, but they did start to recede. In fact, it wasn't so long into the summer that Uncle started acting like his old self again. Charles could name the exact day Uncle was feeling better.

He was in the house, on duty for caring for Uncle today while John was outside mending a gap in the fence on the southeastern side of the property.

Uncle's wounds had closed without infection and he was even sitting up. Charles was measuring the doorways with the intention of cutting trim for the frames.

"Hey, Charles. Pass me a whiskey, would ya?"

Charles went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle off the counter. He popped the cork before handing it over to Uncle. Charles returned to one of the door frames while Uncle shuffled to the window, slow but steadier than he had the day before.

"You know anything that will lighten the mood around here? It's been all doom and gloom since I got back."

"Hmm…" was all Charles said because there had been an obvious reason to the somber moods all around and Uncle was in the center of it.

Uncle took a mighty swig of his bottle. "You never did tell me how it went with that filly from the bakery."

Charles didn't bother glancing his way "No...I didn't."

Uncle faced him. "I used to think you was a stick in the mud, Charles Smith. But you can't hide your true colors no more now that we've been drinking together. Makes us friends for life, you know."

Charles grunted, unsure if that was a good thing or if he'd sentenced himself to an incessant annoyance for the rest of his days.

The side door opened and John walked in. He nodded in Charles' direction and then said to Uncle, "Look at you. Moving around the room today. That's progress alright."

"You ain't got to patronize me, Marston."

"I ain't. Just calling it like I see it. I bet you'll be walking around even more soon. Then you can be put to work again."

Uncle grimaced and took a seat on the one chair they had managed to scrounge up. "Oh, I don't know, Johnny-boy. I still hurt something awful. Don't wanna start too soon after all."

"Sure, sure." John said agreeably. John had been letting Uncle get his way the last few weeks. It had been unusual to witness, but Charles understood his reasoning. "What you two talking about?"

"Charles has got himself a sweetheart," Uncle said without warning.

"No," John said, his eyebrows shooting up as he turned to Charles. "Really? Our Charles?"

"Damn straight."

"Well, I'll be. Congratulations."

"Thanks." He was uncomfortable at the attention and uncertain how else to reply.

"When we meeting this lucky lady?"

"Soon." Charles hadn't wanted to bring her around when Uncle had been in his worst state.

"Them cakes she sends with you have all been heaven sent, if I do say so myself."

He'd seen Irene infrequently the last few weeks while they cared for Uncle. But when Charles did manage a trip into town, she always made sure to pack up a tin with a batch of whatever baked goods she was working on.

Uncle patted his gut. "Fastest way to a man's heart is his stomach, you know."

"Then you must be head over heels and then some," John remarked. "Careful, Charles. Seems you have yourself some competition."

Uncle responded indignantly, "You joke, John, but I'll tell you what, I was a real catch in my day. A real catch. The women, they flocked to me."

"Flocked, huh? Sounds to me like you're confusing women chasing you with geese."

From there, the conversation delved into nothing less than squabbling. But for once, it didn't bother Charles, and he smiled at the familiarity of their back and forth.

XXXXXXXXX

At midday, Charles finished cleaning out the horse stalls in the barn. He set his pitchfork against one of the walls and paused in the doorway to wipe his forehead of sweat with the back of his arm.

As he took his break, he looked around the farm. Uncle had started venturing outside lately, needing less and less looking after each passing day. Today, he was dozing on the shady side of the porch. John was unloading a supply of grain that was being delivered.

As his eyes passed over the fields, Charles spotted a woman, a child and a dog coming up the driveway. The woman and child each carried a suitcase and were making for the direction of the house. It didn't take long to realize who these visitors were.

A dark-haired woman and child; Abigail had come home.

From the barn, Charles watched the reunion between John and his family. John dropped the sack of grain he'd had over his shoulder and jogged to greet them. There was a brief pause as they stared at one other before Abigail jumped into his arms. They held each other for a few minutes as Jack went past them lugging his suitcase, a dog following excitedly behind him.

John picked up Abigail's suitcase, slung an arm over her shoulders and they followed their son inside. Charles smiled, happy that John finally had his family back.

XXXXXXXXX

Having Abigail on the ranch changed everything.

If Charles didn't have Irene to stay with most nights, he knew he'd be in the woods, camping and hunting his days away just so he could be far from Beecher's Hope and the bickering.

John and Abigail had their moments of peace, but if Charles was in John's shoes, he wasn't sure he'd find comfort in the woman who had been berating him all day. Charles couldn't determine if John was a stronger man than him for taking Abigail's snapping, or just that desperate to want to make everything work.

It had been peaceful at first, their reunion. But John and Abigail always had to clash over something, whether it be a disagreement over the lack of decor and furniture in the house or how John funded the farm.

Matters were exacerbated when Sadie came by with a bounty hunting job. She claimed it was an easy bounty, but Abigail wouldn't hear of her husband taking up a gun again. Sadie mollified her briefly when she said it was legal, safe work that paid well. Abigail seemed to accept it, but after John took off, she stomped back into the house, wielding a broom and a fierce scowl.

In John's absence, Charles stayed out of the house, not wanting to be in the way of Abigail's rampage. If there weren't chores to be done around the farm, he would have left for Irene's.

At the end of the day, Charles started a fire, intending to camp outdoors for the night. He had no idea how Uncle was fairing.

When John returned later in the evening, he joined Charles instead of heading straight inside the house.

"How'd it go?" Charles asked.

John shrugged. "Big bastard of a bear almost got to our quarry before us, but it was easy after that."

Charles nodded, but couldn't help commenting next, "I don't know how you can put up with it."

John glanced at the house and knew exactly what he was talking about. "You mean Abigail?"

"The arguments."

John shrugged again. "She ain't always like this. I expect she'll calm down soon in a few weeks when she won't find as much to yell about."

Charles sent him a funny look. "How can you know?"

John lit a cigarette. "Abigail...she's scared."

Charles stared and waited for John to explain what he meant.

"After Beaver Hollow, we went out west to try our fortune. We struggled, but for awhile we got on well enough. It was...nice. But then—well, it don't matter. The point is, she's seen too many times stability slip out from under her and expects it here too. When we tried to make it on our own we failed each time. I failed."

John shook his head. "But if I can show her this time's different, that we'll be fine here, she'll settle down."

"And that'll be enough?"

John laughed. "Hardly. If I've learned anything, it's that a woman needs proof of everything. Buying the land, building the house, that was to show her I was listening." John flicked his cigarette into the flames and then reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out a small box. "To show her I'm serious, I'm gonna ask her to marry me. Shoulda done it long time ago maybe, but I only got my head on straight recently."

Charles shouldn't be surprised, but somehow he was. He thought they were about as committed as could be. Things were changing fast around here and Charles wasn't sure what to think of it.

"Say, you serious about that girl of yours?"

Caught off-guard, Charles managed, "...er, yes."

John chuckled a little and put his ring away. "Don't sound like you're too sure."

Charles looked to the fire, thinking of the fact that Irene was a princess. "It's complicated."

John raised his hands. "Say no more, Charles. Women are confusing as hell, and I know it well. I wish you luck." He stood. "I better head in now before she thinks I ran off."

Charles nodded, somewhat distracted after his conversation with John. Marriage. It was quite the leap. Only a short while ago, Charles could not have imagined it as a possibility for himself. He had a woman now, and a firmer standing with her. There were issues they still needed to resolve, between each other and her past, but the real question was, would she have him?

XXXXXXXXX

As chance would have it, John found the opportunity to fulfill his marital intentions the very next day.

A wagon pulled up with two boys driving who John recognized. The wagon was laden with assorted furniture, a gift from John's former boss at Pronghorn Ranch. There looked to be enough furniture to nearly fill the house.

After they unloaded everything, John took Abigail to town and they came back in the best of moods. John was grinning ear-to-ear, and a ring shone on Abigail's finger. They were happy, and Charles could see in that moment how much of a match they were.

Unfortunately, the peace and harmony between them seemingly wasn't meant to last.

Sadie came riding in one afternoon, dusty and appearing well-traveled. Charles was the first to spot her as he was coming up from the creek on foot.

He stopped her near the road. "Mrs. Adler."

She slowed her horse as he walked beside her up the driveway. "Hey there, Charles. Long time no see, big guy."

"I take it business is good. Got another bounty for John?"

"Something like that," she said vaguely. "You interested in bounty hunting, Charles? My last assistant was put out to pasture."

"No. That work ain't for me."

"Ever find your princess?"

Charles answered warily, "Yes."

She laughed. "Don't worry. I ain't been interested in her since I learned you were involved. Ain't worth the fight."

"Thank you."

They were halfway up the driveway when Sadie glanced towards the house. "Say, between you and me...does John know what happened to Arthur?"

"If you mean about him surviving Beaver Hollow, then no. Unless you said something about it." Charles still hadn't found a way to bring it up. He'd kept finding reasons to be sidetracked from that conversation. They were building the house and barn for weeks, taking care of Uncle for weeks and now, John and Abigail had started planning a wedding.

"I haven't made a trip up there since Lila turned four," Sadie said regretfully. "I wasn't gonna mention anything in case...well..." Her face scrunched up. "...you know."

Charles hadn't visited since before their second baby, Lila, was born. He hadn't thought it had been that long since he'd checked up on Arthur.

"In all honesty," Sadie continued, "I've been avoiding going back to the area there since I heard he was buried up in Big Valley. Haven't taken a trip there neither, to prove the rumors."

Charles tilted his head, amused. "That part was my doing. And I'm glad it's still having its intended effect."

"No shit?" Sadie's expression relaxed. "So, he could be with the girls living peacefully this whole time?"

"It's possible, but it seems neither one of us wants to find out for certain." They both had decided separately they would rather believe Arthur kept on living his life out with his family rather than confirming he was passed on now.

They'd reached the house by this point, and Charles realized that Sadie had not given him a straight answer on what she was doing here. Somehow, he had a feeling it wasn't just for a friendly chat and catch-up on life events.

"What brings you out here, Sadie? You never said."

"Well..." Her teeth flashed, predatory and vicious. "I'm here on account of Micah."

"Micah?" Charles frowned. He'd hardly thought of that bastard in years. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"I got a lead. And he's close, Charles." She dismounted from her horse and continued excitedly, "Real close. If we leave today, we have a chance of catching up with him and making him pay for everything he done to us."

Charles had already had a chance at that years ago with Arthur. It hadn't been worth it then, and it wasn't worth it now. "I thought we were done chasing down all those who wronged us."

"That work ain't never done, Charles. Do you want him to keep hurting people?"

"He's the law's problem now."

She argued, "He's ours. Always has been. And from what I hear, he's stooped to killing children these days. He deserves to die."

Charles shook his head. Maybe if Arthur had died because of what Micah had done to the gang years ago, he might have cared. But there didn't seem to be a point these days. "It's not our business."

"What's the matter with you?" she snarled. "You've gone all soft on this ranch as a farmhand. We owe this to Arthur."

Charles asked doubtfully, "You think Arthur cares about revenge? I'm not so sure."

Sadie glared at him. "He cared about stopping Micah. That's not changed."

She couldn't know that for certain, and he doubted the truth in it. He didn't think Arthur would partake in this chase if given the chance, if he was still well and thriving in Annesburg with a family. Charles was there when he had chosen Charlotte over Micah.

Even though he knew it would fall on deaf ears, he told Sadie, "There's more to life than killing folks."

"Not these folks," she insisted.

"It's not in any of our interests to go chasing our past."

She glared at him. "You're starting to sound like Arthur."

"And that's a bad thing?" Her words proved to him that she knew Arthur wouldn't chose this path anymore.

She turned from him, marching up towards the house. "We'll see what John says."

"Don't do this, Sadie." Charles followed her, but he had a feeling that even if John said no, Sadie had already made up her mind. She had a vendetta against anyone who had wronged her and there would be no convincing her otherwise.

John had just gotten in a good place with Abigail, and Jack. They were a family, but fragile in their healing and trust with one another. Leaving to go chase down Micah would disrupt everything they'd built up.

"He wanted to know if I found him. He can decide whether or not he wants to join me."

Charles couldn't argue with her any longer as John and Abigail were coming out of the house. John greeted, "Mrs. Adler."

"Hey, John," Sadie raised a hand. "Abigail."

"Sadie," Abigail responded with well-warranted caution.

"I found him, John. I found Micah."

"No," Abigail said immediately.

"I've got a lead," Sadie continued as if she hadn't heard. "One of his boys is wanted for murdering a woman, been seen drinking in Strawberry. If we can get to him, he'll lead us to Micah. But I got to go now. You coming?"

It wasn't entirely much to go on, but apparently it was enough to convince John to join Sadie's cause. He agreed without hesitation and Abigail blew up. She followed him back into the house as he went to grab his guns, begging him the whole time not to leave. Even Charles heard the panic in her tone, as she didn't even try to shield her pleading with any anger for once.

It was the first time Charles had ever heard Abigail so desperate with John. They mounted their horses, tears flowing freely down Abigail's cheeks. All her vulnerability shone in her her eyes, so grief-stricken as if John had already got himself killed.

Without looking at his wife, his house, or his son, John announced, "Let's go kill this son of a bitch!"

Charles had no interest in Micah, that was true, but he couldn't let his friends leave just the two of them. If anything happened to them when he had the chance to join up, no matter how stupid the cause, he'd never forgive himself.

Still, Charles attempted to persuade John to turn back before they left the area. "John, you can still change your mind on this. We don't have to go."

Sadie glared at him while John shot him a confused look. "Change my mind? There ain't no reason to. Micah wronged us, ruined our livelihood, killed our friends. I wouldn't have this house, the farm, or Abigail and Jack, nothing, if it weren't for Arthur. He gave his life for mine."

Charles was startled to find out how much John believed this new life built was because of Arthur. Charles' silence regarding Arthur had led John down this way of thinking. Sadie's quest for vengeance was so persuasive because John believed they'd lost more in Beaver Hollow than they had., that Micah had killed Arthur. The two of them were convinced they needed to waste time and energy pursuing a man not worth either.

It was possible this outcome could have been prevented if Charles had just come out and told John that Arthur had survived. That Arthur had been tempted down the same path before he'd changed his mind about following it in favor of a woman who loved him.

It was too late to explain everything because even now the unknowns surrounding Arthur's current condition kept Charles quiet. If John got killed hunting down Micah, it would be his fault.

It wasn't often Charles rued the choices he'd made, but as they rode north, he glanced backwards and was able to see the border of Blackwater. The pull that wrenched him as he stared longingly in that direction told him his future was that way, was with Irene.

He tore his gaze away and instead followed his friends into a fight where they had little to gain, and everything to lose.