The broken she-wolf - Healed by innocence

Facing his past

*Blaise*

Riley? Callie's brother? I swallow the burning bile that's risen in my throat. "When?"

"About two years ago." Chase says.

I glare at my brother. "Why in the hell didn't you mention that little bit of news in your letters?"

He sighs, "I didn’t figure prison was the best place for you to learn about it."

"You could have told me at any time during the past few days." I point out.

"Didn’t see any reason to ruin your homecoming." He admits.

My homecoming? Without Olivia, I have no homecoming. I leap off the porch and hit the ground with a purpose to my stride.

"Where are you going?" Chase calls after me.

"Wherever I damn well want to go," I throw over my shoulder as I stalk toward the barn.

I have never saddled a horse more quickly nor ridden as hard as I do now. Black Thunder’s pounding hooves eat up the distance between me... and Olivia.

As the dim lantern lights of Moonshadowville come into view, burning into the night, I jerk back on the reins. The stallion protests the rough treatment and rears up, his neigh echoing over the vast plains. I regain control and pat the horse’s sweating neck. "Sorry, old man."

I shift my gaze toward the town. I can make out the silhouette of Callista’s Grand Hotel. And the train depot. The railroad tracks reached the town while I was in prison. I see the outline of buildings I don't recognize, streets, houses, a town... a town I once knew... a town that is now achingly unfamiliar.

And somewhere within that town, beneath the shadows of the night, Olivia is lying within the arms of another man.

The pain slashes through me, intense, overpowering.

And the tears I have held at bay for five long, torturous years finally break free. Bowing my head, I dig my fingers into my thighs as the sobs wrench my body.

Olivia deserted me when I needed her the most... and I hadn’t even known it.

Memories draw me to the general store. Businesses have sprung up on either side of the false-fronted building where Olivia Littlebeck had worked with her father. I resent every structure that smells of new wood, resent that little has remained the same.

I halt my horse and glare at the sign that still reads Littlebeck’S GENERAL STORE. Olivia had lived in the rooms above. Pale light spills through the upstairs windows so I figure she still lives there… with Riley.

I dismount, tether my horse to the railing, and walk along the alley between the two buildings. I spot the landing where I’d kissed Olivia for the first time. Had Riley kissed her there? My gut clenches with the thought.

I hear the bump of a crate hitting the ground. As I round the corner, within the light cast by the lantern hanging on the back wall of the store, I see Riley Windscar heft a wooden crate from the wagon, stack it next to the back door, and reach for another one. If he and I were still friends, I would have given him a hard time about the starched white apron he wears over his crisp white shirt.

Riley reaches for another box, then stills as though sensing another’s presence. He glances over his shoulder, his blond hair falling across his brow. With his gaze wary, he approaches slowly. "Blaise, it’s good to see you."

"I just bet it is." I slam my knotted fist into Riley's face. He staggers back and hits the ground with a sickening thud that sounds like a crate of tomatoes bursting open.

"Get up, you sorry son of a b***h!" I growl.

Working his jaw back and forth, Riley rolls over. "I’m not gonna fight you."

"You don’t have to fight me, but at least give me the satisfaction of pounding you into the ground." I yell.

Riley pushes himself to his knees, close enough to standing as far as I'm concerned. I hit him again and send him sprawling back to the ground. "You were my best friend, damn you! I trusted you!"

Riley squints at me, blood trailing along his cheek. "Honest to the Goddess, I tried not to love her."

"Not good enough. Stand up." I roar.

Riley struggles to his feet and stands, his arms dangling at his sides like the useless broken blades on a windmill.

"At least put your hands up, give me some satisfaction," I command.

Riley shakes his head. "You wanna beat the crap out of me, go ahead. I won’t stop you."

Impotent rage surges through me. I will beat the crap out of him, all right… and then some. I bring my arm back…

"Riley!" the sweetest voice calls.

I snap my head around. The light from the lantern illuminates Olivia as she stands in the doorway, holding a tow-headed boy close against her breast.

She is the prettiest thing I have ever set eyes on. The stolen years begin melting away, just as I had known they would.

"Pa!" the boy cries, squirming in his mother's arms.

The years come crashing back with a vengeance. She isn't Olivia Littlebeck, my girl. She is Olivia Windscar, my best friend's mate.

"Riley, aren’t you finished yet?" she asks softly.

I realize then that the shadows hide me, that the lantern light isn't touching me. From where she stands, Olivia can't see me or the blood trailing down Riley's face.

"I’ll be there in a minute," Riley says quietly, keeping his profile to her.

"Well, don’t take too long. Supper’s getting cold." She disappears into the store, and I know she's probably climbing the indoor stairs that lead to the second floor, to the home she shares with Riley.

"Honest to the Goddess, Blaise, I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way," Riley says, his voice low.

I take a menacing step toward him. Riley flinches but doesn’t back away. "Think on this," I say, my voice seething with the pain of betrayal. "She loved me first."

"Believe me, that thought haunts me night and day." He mumbles.

I wish I could just hit Riley again and kept my mouth shut. I had wanted to hurt the man, and I know by the despair that had plunged into Riley's blue eyes that I had succeeded. I don’t know why that knowledge brings me no satisfaction but only serves to increase my anger over a situation that I am unable to change.

I nod briskly. "Well, I’m glad to hear it." Abruptly, I spin on my heel and stride through the alley until I reach the boardwalk. I’ve never felt more lost in my life.

Although the family has welcomed me home with open arms, I no longer feel a part of them. My brothers have mates, children, and successful businesses. And what do I have? Nothing but a tarnished reputation that I should have never possessed.

I stalk down the boardwalk, surprised my feet don’t split the boards with the weight of my anger as I head toward the far end of town where the saloon beckons.

Smoke thickens the air as I storm through the swinging doors of the saloon. A huge gilded mirror hanging on the wall behind the bar reflects the patrons who occupy the chairs or stand against the walls.

I feel gazes boring into me, and even in the din of male voices and raucous laughter, I think I hear people harshly whispering my name. I amble toward the crowded bar and hook the heel of my boot on the brass railing that runs the length of the bar. The men closest to me sidle away like I have festering sores covering me. I slap a coin on the counter. “Whiskey.”

The bartender picks up a glass and pours the amber brew, his gaze never leaving me. It has always amazed me that Beau can serve drinks and never once look to see what he's doing.

“Heard you would be home soon,” Beau says as he eyes me warily.

“Well, you heard right.” I cross my arms on the bar and lean forward slightly.

Beau sets the full glass in front of me. “I don’t want no trouble in here.”

“I don’t plan to start any,” I assure him.

With a brusque nod, Beau ambles to the far end of the counter, wiping the shining wood as he goes. An icy shiver skitters along my spine. I despise the sensation of being watched and judged. In prison, guards glared at me, dogs followed my every movement, other prisoners scrutinized me and measured me against their own low standards.

I jerk my head around and lock my blue glare onto Lester Henderson. The portly banker stands at the bar, his dark eyes set in a face that greatly resembles bread dough. Averting his gaze, Lester downs the remainder of his beer. He wipes a pudgy hand across his mouth, straightens his shoulders, and approaches me.

“I had no choice but to vote guilty,” Henderson says, his voice hitching. “The evidence…”

“I know what the evidence was. I was at the goddamn trial.” I growl.

He shakes his head, “Can’t give a loan to a man fresh out of prison.”

“Did I ask for a loan?” I ask.

“No, but I just wanted to save you from asking.” Henderson scurries away like a squirrel that had spotted the last pecan on the ground.

I wrap my fingers around the glass of whiskey and study the contents. As soon as I finish the whiskey, I will set about clearing my name. I don’t anticipate that it will take long. I have always known that Ryan Windscar pinned the blame on me.

I bring the glass to my lips, tip my head back, and catch the reflection of a raised knife in the mirror.

I move swiftly, but not quickly enough. Agonizing pain tears through my back. I dart to the side, spin around, and plow my fist into Ryan Windscar’s face before the man can strike again. As Ryan staggers back, I grab the hand holding the knife and slam it hard against the wooden counter. The knife clatters to the floor.

I catch an unexpected fist just below my jaw. Pain ricochets through my head as my knees buckle. I hit the floor hard, blackness encroaching on my vision. I scramble to my knees, struggling to get to my feet, the bitter taste of blood filling my mouth.

“You bastard!” Ryan roars before lunging for me.

I reverse my efforts, drop to my side, and kick Ryan in the knee. Grunting, Ryan falls to the floor and grabs the knife. Hatred burns brightly within his dark eyes as he jumps to his feet. "Five years! That's all they gave you for murdering my brother because Chase owns this part of the state. They should have hanged you!" He brandishes the bloodied knife in the air. "I reckon it's up to me to deliver the justice you deserve."

"Not in my saloon!" Beau says as he rounds the corner of the bar, gun in hand. He shoves Ryan on the shoulder. "Back up."

My head pounding, my back throbbing, I struggle to my feet and glare at Ryan. "What the hell are you ranting about, Ryan? You killed Rowan and made it look like I did it."

"Don't see how that could be," Beau says in a slow drawl. "Ryan showed up here in the late afternoon and sat in that corner right over there until dawn, getting drunk."

"Why would I kill my brother?" Ryan asks, loathing laced through his voice.

That's the one answer I don't have.

"Everyone knows you murdered him," Ryan snarls.

I scrutinize the men who have gathered around the bar. The knowledge in their eyes speaks louder than Ryan's words. I see no doubts. Not one questioning look. I see nothing but absolute certainty staring back at me. They all think I murdered Rowan Windscar.

"Why the hell else would my brother have written your name in the dirt before he died?" Ryan demands.