He waited, crouching down behind the balcony balustrade, hoping for a clear line of fire along the approach trail. Taking another deep slug from the canteen beside him, he smacked his lips before trickling some of the water over his neckerchief and applying it to his forehead.
Her soft footfalls came from the large bedroom and he turned to see her standing in the doorway, wearing one of his shirts, her legs and arms bare and brown, sunshine glimmering off the burnished flesh. She leaned into the door well and folded her arms. “They are not coming, Reece.”
“Of course they"re coming,” he said and turned again to scan the wide, open plain of the Scrimshaw ranch. “Why wouldn"t they come?”
“Perhaps they are dead.”
He sniggered. “Wouldn"t that be a hope come true!”
“He"s your father.”
“If
