Hope's Heart

Chapter Five

A/N: Sorry I didn't update yesterday; for some reason writer's block hit and I couldn't seem to get interested. I hope you like this chapter, though! Dedicated to awbarrat for her lovely messages :)

Enjoy!

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Chapter Five

One week later

 He had caught up to them at last. Satisfaction bloomed in Calvin's chest as he lay flat on his stomach, watching the Carson gang as they huddled around their early morning fire. His hands reached for his rifle, cocking the trigger.

The taller of the two stood up and stretched, then kicked his partner. "Let's get out of here. We should keep ridin'." They headed over to the horses, the second man limping. He was obviously still suffering from the bullet Calvin had put in him over a week ago.

It was time. Calvin stood up. "Don't move."

The two gang members froze. "Thought you said no one was coming after us, Pete!" the second man hissed. 

"I was wrong, wasn't I?" the first bandit returned sharply. 

Calvin came up behind them. "Turn around nice and slow, with your hands in the air where I can see them."

The two men turned slowly, but as he got a look at their faces, Calvin froze, a sick, lurching feeling rising in his stomach. Both of them wore Andrew's face...and his clothes. As he stood there, blood started to drain out of an ever-growing bullet wound on the lead gang member's chest. A sick smile spread across Andrew's face. "What's wrong, Calvin? What's wrong?" His voice grew louder and louder, the bullet wound spreading across his chest and growing bigger and bigger and...

~

"No!" Calvin shot upright, heart hammering in his chest. Cold sweat beaded across his forehead and he wiped it away, hands shaking. Glancing around, he slowly took in his surroundings: he was lying beside his campfire, his horse grazing peacefully nearby. A pink-tinged sky dotted with fading stars told him it was nearly dawn.

Calvin reached for the coffee pot that lay on the lukewarm coals, pouring himself some of the dark brown brew. It was bitter and slightly cold, but he hardly tasted it.

How long had it been since he had thought about his brother? A month? Two? Living in Sweetwater, eating Nellie's home-cooked meals and suffering her scolding, and having Luc's companionship had helped drive most of his demons away. But then the stagecoach robbery had happened, and everything came rushing back.

Twenty-one. Andrew would have been twenty-one this year. Instead, his body was probably rotting at the bottom of some river, the only memorial a simple wooden cross in Sweetwater's church graveyard. Calvin had never found the men who had killed his little brother, and by the way his tracking had gone, he wasn't going to catch the Carson gang either. They were more than likely over the border by now, vanished into the vast Mexican desert.

At least it seemed like Hope and Maggie would be safe though. Calvin's mouth quirked wryly at the thought of the little girl, whose dark hair and stubborn manner reminded him all too much of her mama. Before he'd left to track the gang, he and Luc had helped fix up the old sewing shop next to Gerson's. The look of gratitude in Hope's eyes and the meal at Nellie's the night they had finished had been well worth the work. 

His horse nickered softly, and Calvin sighed. "Yeah, I know. I want to get back home too." He wasn't sure when he had first started thinking of Sweetwater as 'home', the only thing he knew was that it was the closest thing to a home he'd ever had.