Jess ran his hand over his week-old beard. “I got here quick as I could.”

Her mouth curled downward as if she doubted it. “I’ll tell you right now, Jess Logan, I don’t like this one bit. I told the sheriff so myself. Those poor babies have never even laid eyes on you. What do you know about raising children, a man with your... past.”

Beneath his poncho, Jess’s hands curled into fists. “Would you just get the kids? It’s nearly dark. I want to get them home.”

“Your sister’s home, you mean.”

His jaw tightened. “Their home.”

She gave him a final scathing look and shut the door in his face. He knew it wasn’t the mud on his boots or the rain dripping from his Stetson that kept her from inviting him inside.

The door swung open quickly and a stoop-shouldered man squinted up at him. “Jess Logan? Is that you, boy? It’s me—Rory Garrette.”

“Mr. Garrette?” Jesus, what had happened to the man? He’d gotten so old.

Rory chuckled and leaned heavily on his cane. “Been a long time, boy. What? Fifteen years?”

“Yeah, about that.” Jess shifted his wide shoulders. On the trail these past weeks, every bump and sway—every memory—caused his thirty-two years to weigh more heavily on him. Now, seeing Rory Garrette, the burden lifted a little. “How you been, Mr. Garrette?”

“Tolerable, I reckon.” He nodded toward the muddy roadway and the misting rain. “Things in Walker have changed, though. It’s just not the same, not like when you were here.”

Jess didn’t answer, the past being the last thing he wanted to discuss.

“Yes sirree, them were the days. You boys were something. Fighting, drinking—kept the saloons in business yourselves, you and the Vernon boys. And the girls...land alive, weren’t no girl safe with you boys loose on the streets.” Rory laughed aloud. “And always into mischief, too. I remember the time you boys set fire to old lady Murray’s privy with her inside, she come a-running—”

“That was a long time ago, Mr. Garrette.”

“Yeah, that’s for dang sure.” His smile faded. “Town’s done gone respectable now. Got us a regular preacher over to the church, a full-time sheriff and deputy, too. Got enough ordinances and laws to choke a horse. New schoolmarm just got here, some widow woman from back East. All the ladies in town been wringing their hands since your sister took sick, wondering how we’d get us another teacher way out here. I guess you’ve seen some changes here in Walker already, huh, boy?”

He’d seen his sister’s grave. That was enough.

Alma stepped into the doorway, sending Rory on his way with a disapproving glare. She passed a small carpetbag to Jess. “Here’s their things.”

Beside her stood the children. His sister’s children. He’d never seen them before.

Little Maggie looked up at him with solemn eyes. Eyes older than her eight years. Jess knelt in front of her. The picture of her mother, with big brown eyes and blond curls. A lump of emotion rose in his throat.

“Mrs. Garrette says you’re Mama’s brother.”

“That’s right, Maggie. I’m your Uncle Jess.”

“Mama’s dead.”

His chest tightened. “I know, honey.” He turned to the little brown-haired boy peeking around Alma’s skirt. “Hey there, cowboy.”

“His name is Jimmy,” Maggie told him. “He turned five last week, but we couldn’t have a party or anything ’cause of Mama.”

Jess held out his hand. “Come here, Jimmy. You want to go for a ride with me and your sister?”

Jimmy drew back and hid his face in the folds of Alma’s skirt.

“Jimmy doesn’t talk,” Maggie said.

Alma glared down at Jess. “The child hasn’t spoken since his mother passed on.”

She made it sound as if that were his fault, too.

Jess rose. “I’m obliged to you, Mrs. Garrette, for looking after them until I got here.”

She jerked her chin. “They’ll be back. I don’t doubt it for a minute. There’s plenty of good Christian folks in this town who’d be more than glad to take these young ’uns in—you best remember that.”

Jess drew in a deep breath. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.” Carpetbag in hand, he crossed the porch.

“Aren’t you going to put his hat on for him?” Maggie asked.

“Huh?” He froze and looked back at her confused face.

“Aren’t you going to help Jimmy?”

Jess felt Alma’s glower and cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

He fished the battered hat from the boy’s jacket pocket and pressed it down on his head.

“He can’t button his buttons either,” Maggie told him.

Jess fastened the jacket, his big fingers awkward on the buttons. He turned to Maggie. “Anything else?”