Page 74 of If the Boot Fits

Daddy relaxed his stance a little and took a step toward them. “There was a fire at your aunt and uncle’s, son.”

Clint’s breathing instantly grew ragged. “Are they . . . dead?”

Samantha recognized his panic. After losing their mother, both of them tended to assume the worst.

She wrapped an arm around him. “No, they’re fine. The house is a wreck,” she added with a wry chuckle, “but we all got out.”

Casting a glance over her shoulder, she silently pleaded with her father not to tell him about them being trapped inside. It was better for Clint to focus on the good instead of worrying about what could have happened.

“Thank God you’re all right, sis.” Clint hugged her tightly.

Samantha held on to her brother for a long minute, relishing the connection and praying that nothing would ever change it.

Smoothing his hair down with her hand, she smiled at him as she leaned away from his embrace. “Now that we have all of that out of the way, why don’t we both go upstairs and get properly ready for the day? You can’t wrangle cows with bare feet.”

It was the best idea she could come up with in the spur of the moment to get him away from the kitchen and the conversation that would ensue before long, but Clint wasn’t the suggestible young boy he’d been before she left for Boston. He was too set on being treated like a man to let his sister dictate his actions.

Pushing past her, he strode over to the pie safe and scrounged around inside until he found a day-old biscuit to chew on. “I got plenty of time to get dressed,” he said around a mouthful of biscuit. “I want to hear more about what happened.” He swallowed and gave her a look. “I’m not a kid to be patted on the head and sent off to my room, Sam. I’m old enough to understand the danger you’re in and help you fight it. This is Dearing family business, and I’m a Dearing.”

The irony of that assertion tore at her heart, but she ignored the ache. He was a Dearing. Maybe not by blood, but in every other way that mattered. He was her brother, and no past scandal would change that fact. Not in her mind.

As she scrambled to come up with some other excuse to get him out of the kitchen, the back door opened.

“Hey, Eli, there’s a pair of horses outside the bunkhouse. You know anything about—” Duke Kendrick’s gaze collided with hers. Shock and something else flickered in his eyes. “Miss Dearing? What are you doin’ here?”

Clint answered for her. “There was a fire. Everyone got out, though.”

Duke’s mouth tightened. “A fire?”

Samantha couldn’t pull her gaze away from Duke. Dark brown hair, just like Clint. Brown eyes too. How had she never noticed that Clint didn’t share the blond hair and blue eyes that her parents had passed down to her? Aunt Regina’s hair was a darker blond, almost brown, but her eyes were still blue.

Duke darted a glance to her, then back to Clint.

“Yep,” her brother said. “We really gotta catch this snake that’s tryin’ to hurt her. She coulda died.”

Duke clasped Clint’s shoulder. “I don’t think you gotta worry none. Your sister’s resilient. She’s still here, ain’t she?”

He smiled, but something about the expression didn’t sit right. And the way he comforted Clint. He’d always been affectionate with him. Almost . . . fatherly. When he’d learned that Eli hadn’t taught Clint to swim, he’d been upset. No. Angry. He’d taken over the duty himself. And the morning she’d witnessed the lesson in the pond, Duke had been wearing a shirt. Clint hadn’t. Did men usually swim in their shirts? She recalled the way he’d grabbed at his neckline when Clint had accidentally stretched the shirt and caused it to gape. The bit of exposed skin she’d seen had been pale, as if it never saw the sun. She’d thought Duke had been concerned with modesty when he’d quickly adjusted the fabric, but what if he’d been concealing something? Something like a crescent-shaped birthmark?

“Come have a seat,” Clint invited. “Samantha was about to tell us more about what happened.” Her brother shot her a stubborn look. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

She barely heard him over the truth clanging like cymbals in her brain. “It’s you.”

A fierceness flashed in Duke’s eyes. He covered it quickly with the cocky, dismissive demeanor she’d come to associate with him, but that flash had confirmed her suspicions.

“You’re the one trying to kill me.”

“Samantha?” Her father’s voice. Concerned. Confused. She heard him, but she didn’t take her eyes off Duke.

The man laughed. “Girl, you must’ve barbecued your brain with all that smoke you inhaled. I been one of the guard dogs protectin’ you.”

Things clicked into place. He knew her routine, would’ve had access to her horse cart, had been inside her aunt and uncle’s home. “You asked where I’d be the morning of the shooting at the old Ellis place.”

“Your pa asked me to keep tabs on you. Asked it of all of us.”

She shook her head, her anger and certainty growing. “Did you hire someone to throw that rattlesnake into my wagon? Or maybe it was you all along. All you would have needed to do was borrow a black hat and ride a rented horse so I wouldn’t recognize you. With that neckerchief pulled up over your face, your identity was hidden.”

Duke held a hand out in front of him as if she were a skittish horse he was trying to calm. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Miss Dearing. You’re overtired. I ain’t gonna take offense, but I ain’t gonna hang around here and let ya malign me, neither.” He turned to her father. “I’ll meet up with you later, Eli.”