“Not yet.”
The words made Callaway’s jaw tighten.
Silas removed his gloves.
“I heard you’d brought someone home. Didn’t believe it.”
Callaway said nothing.
Silas looked past him again.
“Miss Gallagher, is it?”
Maeve stepped into the doorway.
“How do you know my name?”
Callaway turned sharply toward her.
Silas’s smile widened.
“There it is.”
“Mercer.”
Callaway’s warning came low.
Silas ignored him.
“Your gentleman rancher hasn’t explained?”
Maeve’s pulse quickened.
“Explained what?”
Callaway stepped closer to Silas.
“You’re leaving.”
Silas studied him.
Then he laughed softly.
“Still protecting secrets that aren’t yours.”
Callaway grabbed the front of his coat.
Both hired men reached toward their guns.
Maeve’s heart slammed.
Callaway did not even look at them.
“If either of them draws,” he said, “you’ll be riding home alone.”
Silas held up one hand.
The men relaxed.
Callaway released him.
Silas straightened his coat.
“Careful. Sooner or later she’ll realize you didn’t bring her here for companionship.”
Maeve felt cold.
Callaway’s face hardened.
Silas mounted.
Before turning his horse, he looked directly at Maeve.
“Ask him about Patrick Gallagher.”
Then he rode away.
Maeve did not speak until the riders disappeared between the trees.
Callaway remained outside.
His hands were fists.
Maeve stepped onto the porch.
“Patrick Gallagher was my father.”
“I know.”
“How does Mercer know his name?”
Callaway looked toward the distant road.
“It’s complicated.”
“No.”
He turned.
Maeve descended one step.
“You do not get to use that word.”
“Maeve.”
“You wrote to me. You paid my passage. You brought me to a place thousands of miles from everyone I know. That man arrives and speaks my father’s name, and you tell me it’s complicated?”
“I’ll explain.”
“When?”
Callaway hesitated.
Maeve laughed without humor.
“That is becoming the problem.”
“Not yet.”
Her anger sharpened.
“Then perhaps you can explain why a stranger believes he knows more about my reason for being here than I do.”
Callaway looked genuinely pained.
“Because he wants something.”
“What?”
Callaway said nothing.
Maeve stared.
“Is it me?”
His head snapped toward her.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He looked at the cabin.
At the land.
At her.
Then away.
Maeve suddenly felt unsteady.
“What did my father have to do with this place?”
Callaway’s silence answered too much.
She stepped backward.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
The word struck harder than she expected.
“You knew my father?”
“Not well.”
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”