“I’m riding under a different name too. I put this on”—I indicate my clothes with a gesture of my hand—“and when people asked my name, I didn’t want to say Westfall. So . . . I said McCauley.”

“You gave them my name!”

“I remember someone saying we ought to get married.” I say it like it’s a joke, but I watch him carefully for his response.

His cheek twitches. “I . . . Well . . .”

I blurt, “My uncle killed my folks.”

His mouth drops open, and there’s something gratifying about the horror on his face. He collects himself quickly and says, “You’re sure it was him?”

“Sure as the sunrise in the east.” I can’t stop staring at him. He’s so comforting, so familiar. But he’s different too, in ways that give my chest an ache. “Hiram showed up right after you left,” I tell him. “He was covered in gold dust. Couldn’t stop talking about how the place was all his now. How I was all his now.”

“That’s . . . I’m so sorry, Lee. Why’d he do such a thing?” He scans the horizon, as if expecting him to appear. “Where is he now? And where’s your rifle? You ought to keep it handy. I’ll keep mine loaded as we ride—”

“Jeff, can we talk about that a little later, maybe?”

He gives me a dark look. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

I feel his gaze on me as we aim our mounts back into camp and weave them through the cluster of wagons. Come departure day, they’ll leave one by one, forming a neat and lovely line. I’ve seen it happen a dozen times.

“Anyway, I had to get away,” I whisper. “Become someone else. Yours was the first name that came to mind.”

“Well, you can have it, Lee McCauley. I don’t need it anymore.”

“No, you don’t, Jefferson Kingfisher.” He aims the sorrel mare toward a huge flock of sheep, and I turn Peony to follow him. “You give that horse a name yet?”

“What’s wrong with ‘the sorrel mare’?”

“‘Sore old mare’ is more like it.”

“Don’t listen to her, girl,” he says, reaching down to pat her neck.

But he keeps staring at me, the same way I’m staring at him, like I can’t believe he’s really here. After a long silence, we suddenly crack grins at the exact same time.

“Sure is good to see you, Lee,” he says in an abashed voice.

To distract from the warmth in my face, I gesture toward the wagons. “Which of these did you come with? Mr. Joyner said you were with a German family from Ohio.”

“The Hoffmans. They’re good people.”

“How’d you end up with them?”