Red Thunder Reckoning. Sylvie Kurtz

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      There wasn’t much to Gabenburg. The town was neat and compact and held an old-fashioned appeal. The bakery, the general store, the feed store all bore the pride of ownership. No litter dirtied the main street. Pots of geraniums, planters of impatiens and borders of red-veined caladium splashed the storefronts with color. Judging by the friendly hellos bouncing back and forth, everyone knew everybody.

      Ellen, she was here.

      An unexpected tightness banded his chest. He shrugged it off as uneasiness. Not caused by Ellen. He’d made peace with his undying desire for her long ago. Cities, towns, even villages, had a way of making him feel hemmed in. That was it. He longed for Nina’s ranch, for the mountains of Colorado with their green pastures and crisp air.

      Spotting the river, Kevin veered toward it. He needed space, he decided, and time to revise his plan. Blue dutifully followed him.

      Far from being the gift of absolution Kevin had imagined, his visit to Gabenburg was plunging him back in the thick of his nightmare. Ellen, Kent, anger, so much anger. He palmed the bone feather Nina had given him and worried the carved ridges with his thumb.

      All he’d wanted to do was fulfill his promise to Nina. A day, maybe two, then he’d get back to training the horses waiting for him. He wasn’t expecting Kent to receive him with open arms or to forgive him. More likely his brother would just send him packing—and have every right to.

      But Ellen complicated things.

      He closed his eyes against the picture forming in his mind. The last time he’d seen her, he’d hauled her out of the Red Thunder. A gash had scored her temple, winding threads of blood through her hair, leaving her rag-doll limp in his arms. More than anything, he’d wanted to stay with her. But Kent couldn’t swim. He’d had no choice. He’d had to go after his brother.

      Fifteen years of near vegetation. How could one small cut have caused so much damage?

      His thoughts jumbled into a snarl of anger so potent, he could feel his blood start to boil. He dragged in a breath and forced himself to focus on the heat of the noontime sun beating down on him.

      Summer wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks, but already sweltering heat hung like a weight and seemed to suck the very breath out of him. The furious sounds of the swollen river pounded his determination as he walked along the bank. The mud beneath his boots appeared intent on keeping him from reaching his goal. Moving each foot forward required a Herculean effort.

      The memories of Ellen and Kent and that awful evening by the Red Thunder he’d tried so hard to forget leeched into him. He’d need more than a lifetime to repay his debt to both of them.

      I’ve really messed things up, Grandmother.

      Then it’s time to rewrap the prayer stick, Pajackok.

      To the rhythm of the relentless race of the river, he tried to order his thoughts. Blue gave a hoarse whine. Kevin dismissed the worry with a motion of his hand.

      Ellen. She was here.

      Kevin stopped and faced the river. Fifteen years of near vegetation. “I didn’t know how badly she was hurt.”

      Blue cocked his head.

      “I know,” Kevin said, squinting at the sun glimmering off the water. “Ignorance doesn’t make it right.”

      He’d understood her desperation that evening. He’d even understood her tactic of trying to incite jealousy. But the jumble of love and fear and anger inside him had known no logic. And when she’d turned her attention to Kent to try to win him back, he’d chosen the wrong way to express the feelings storming inside him.

      “I was seventeen,” he tried to rationalize.

      Blue batted a paw at Kevin’s jean-clad leg.

      “I know. That’s no excuse either.”

      His feelings had run too deep, too fast. He’d pushed Kent into the river and everything had gone to hell.

      Fifteen years of near-vegetation.

      His flash of temper had changed all of their lives. It had altered the course of Kent’s. It had turned Ellen’s into a living nightmare.

      “Nina was right,” he told the dog. “I have debts that need paying.”

      Blue bumped at Kevin’s hand with his nose.

      His brother deserved an apology—and would get one—but if Kent chose to run him out of town, Kevin could never repay Ellen.

      He kicked a stone. Blue chased it through the rough grass, but skidded to a halt at the bank. The stone sank hard and fast into the water. Blue boomeranged back to Kevin’s side.

      Kevin scraped a hand along his jaw, over his cheek. Time and the river had changed his face. “My own twin probably couldn’t recognize me.”

      Blue cocked his head, offered a paw.

      “No one else in Gabenburg knows me.”

      His main concern was helping Ellen. Someone was trying to steal another dream from her. He couldn’t let that happen. She’d lost too much already. He had to do everything in his power to see her hang on to it—even if it meant he had to hire himself out as her ranch hand.

      He’d deal with his debt to Kent later.

      “If I show up on her front door and say I’m Kyle Makepeace, do you think she’d even hear me out?” The pain of the imagined rejection squeezed him hard.

      Blue licked his hand.

      “No,” Kevin said, scratching Blue behind the ear. “She’s better off thinking of me as Kevin Ransom rather than the boy who’s responsible for those fifteen years of near vegetation.”

      Hunching his shoulders, he turned away from the river. He motioned to Blue and headed for his truck.

      First he needed more information. Then he needed a plan.

      The truth could wait until he’d repaired a bit of the damage he’d created.

      TESSA BANCROFT PEERED inside the empty trailer, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The stale stink of horse manure and hay assaulted her nostrils and made her sneeze. Her voice bounced against the metal walls. “Where are the horses?”

      “She no let me load them,” the burly Mexican said.

      Gilberto Ramirez didn’t even have to nerve to look her in the eye when he told her of his failure. The poor excuse of a man gazed at his well-worn boots and held his battered straw hat in both hands. Deportation, she suddenly realized, held more fear for him than her wrath.

      “She could not tell you no. Don’t you understand that?” Tessa could barely control the impatience rattling through her. First the good doctor had failed in his mission. He’d actually sided with the Paxton woman and agreed the horses were too hurt to transport. Now this. She thrust out a hand. “Give me the writ.”

      Gilberto’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

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