Georgia was a long way from he'd started, every mile covered in dust, sweat, and blood. Perhaps he'd gotten a little ahead of himself, thinking that a trip to Elisabeth's family home would be easy. Turned out to be anything but.
He'd left Texas two jumps ahead of an Indian raiding party set on taking his scalp, been shot somewhere in Lousiana, the thieves taking his horse and rifle. Had they known it was just a graze, no doubt they would have put another bullet between his eyes for good measure. As it was, they'd made camp not two miles from where they'd left him, drinking and laughing. Hel's fury had descended upon them like a flash flood and he'd left the camp with both men over their saddles.
Getting into New Orleans, he'd found both men wanted for murder, dead or alive. Collecting the bounty had put spending money in his pocket, allowing him to restock on much-needed supplies. Of course, news of what happened spread and by the time Hel left town, rumours followed him. As did one of the dead men's kin.
It turned ugly at the Mississippi River. Paying for crossing, Hel had been set upon by the angry kinfolk and half a dozen hired fists. Three had died that night, one the next day, and because of the witnesses of the fight, the other three were scheduled for a trial and then prison. Hel figured if he'd still been wearing a badge, they'd have been hung, but it didn't really matter. Feeling mean and touchy, he'd have just as soon shot them all.
The little scuffle, however, earned him notoriety, for among the dead were two infamous and widely sought-after outlaws. Once the newspapers got a hold of the story, they dogged Hel's journey all the way to Georgia, where he finally told them if they didn't get off his track and leave him alone, he'd bury the story, and them, for good. They left, grumbling, but the picture they painted of him in their papers wasn't flattering. If he'd not had a questionable reputation before, Hel Morgan had one after that.
By the time he climbed the spacious, still grand steps to his father-in-law's home, most people had begun crossing the street to avoid him and not making eye contact. The door opened before he could knock, a man in dignified black and white regarding him with faint curiosity and disdain.
"May I help you?"
"Mister Grayson to home?"
"He cannot be disturbed, so unless you have an appoint-"
"Buster, I didn't ride all the way from West Texas for the fun of it. You tell him Hel Morgan's here."
"If you think-!"
"It's alright, Benson," the man's rich tone rolled in from the other room. "Show him in."
"This way," Benson did little to hide his distaste but Hel ignored him. Inside the old house was just as beautiful and grand as he remembered, the brass polished and shining, the marble floor gleaming, high windows clean and sparkling. It reeked of wealth. His boots echoed faintly on the floor, spurs softly jingling until he reached Grayson's office where the thick rug padded the sounds. Sitting behind his desk, a huge cigar between his teeth, the old man waited for him, without smile or welcome.
"Leave us, Benson. Morgan, have a seat."
"Obliged," taking off his hat, Hel dropped into the chair indicated and the two sized each other up. "You know why I've come."
"If it's to tell me my daughter's dead, don't waste your breath. I got your letter two years ago," pulling open a drawer, he took out the folded paper, holding it up with a scowl. "Three lines, Morgan. A telegram would have meant more."
"I had something to do first."
"Ah yes," sitting back Mandel Grayson plucked the cigar from his lips, studying the tip. "Manhunter. Since you're here, I assume you were successful?"
"Do you expect me to believe that you don't know?" Staring at each other, the two men silently called a truce on hostilities. Mandel shrugged.
"I have an interest in how things turned out, so yes... I received regular updates on your two-year manhunt."
Hel leaned forward, willing to sue for peace.
"I couldn't look you in the eye until I caught him, Mister Grayson. It had to come first."
"The Morgan sense of justice strikes again," eyeing him, Mandel snorted. "I know all about your 'code of morality' if you will. Elisabeth had a way with words."
"She wrote you?" It sounded stupid, but Hel knew the old man understood him. She wrote to you about us, is what he meant.
"Eloquently."
"I did a lot of things wrong," Hel admitted quietly. "If I could change it, I would, but looking back don't hoe a straight line. It wasn't my fault she died, but... it sure enough is my fault for how it was between us at the end."
Muscles bunched and ticked beneath Grayson's jaw, his eyes turning to stone beneath low brows.
"How was it, Morgan?"
Hel told him. Straightforward, not sidestepping or excusing anything he'd said or done. When finished, he just waited, watching a myriad of emotions flood the old man's face.
"She was just like her mother, you know," the thick admission was unexpected and Morgan sat up straighter. "Independent, proud, but full of such passion, such devotion,"
"I never had the pleasure,"
"You wouldn't have. My wife was very ill during your courtship and was near the ocean for her health. Had she been here, she never would have allowed our daughter to marry you. She would have forbidden it."
"Sir-"
"It wouldn't have stopped Elisabeth, of course, she would have run away with you if the need had arisen." Lifting the lid on the cigar box, Grayson flipped it around and offered Hel one. "I knew how much Elisabeth loved you, regardless of what I had to say about it."
"Is she home? I feel like I should tell her myself-"
"She's resting. Her health is quite delicate."
"I'm sorry." Hel meant it, tapping the end of the cigar on his palm. "I should have protected Elisabeth, and I failed."
"If money was the trouble, all you had to do was-"
"No." It was like a thunderclap. "No, Mister Grayson. A man's got his pride, and livin' on handouts from his wife's kinfolk wouldn't sit well on my mind. I can make my own way in the world."
"But not well enough to provide my daughter with what she really wanted."
It cut him, and Hel's gaze dropped to the cigar he'd not yet lit. He wasn't a good provider. Not a good protector. Which made him not much of a husband. All that was left was a gunhand, and the skill to use it.
"You're right." His confession came with a bitter smile. "She never should have married me. You'd still have her, and probably some grandbabies to bounce on your knee, and I'd be a forgotten memory. It would have been better that way,"
Mandel Grayson wanted to be satisfied with Morgan's guilt. He wanted to let him suffer, writhing like a worm on a hook, but couldn't. Sighing heavily, he offered a clipper to Hel, then struck a match for him to light the cigar before sitting back.
"I'm glad she didn't." Green eyes shot to his but he held up a hand. "There are two kinds of living, Morgan. One where you move through life, your glow steady but dim. Most people choose that path.
"The other kind, you burn hot and bright, a spark in the night, a flash in the pan, but for those few, brief moments, you really live. Elisabeth wouldn't have been happy with anything less. She didn't live long, nor experience all life had to offer, but the time she had... she wouldn't have given it up for anything."
"How do you know?"
"I told you," smiling around his cigar, Grayson puffed contentedly. "She was an eloquent writer."
"I'm real sorry about what happened."
"It's alright, son." Moisture glinted briefly in the old man's eyes. "You didn't kill her, and you got the man that did. That's enough for me."
Smoking in silence for a while, the two relaxed until Benson came in with a pot of hot coffee and two cups. They waited until he was gone.
"What's next, Morgan? I heard you gave up your badge."
"That life is all I know," He spoke with a shrug as he set the cigar in the offered ashtray, picking up his coffee cup. "I didn't wear it because I didn't care if I broke the law hunting Luke Skye, but now? I ain't fit for much else, sir."
"If you want a more secure position, with perhaps a more flexible income, I can make a few inquiries."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because, some other woman is going to get a hold of you someday and I want to honor my daughter's memory by ensuring you do justice in your next marriage." Hel coughed into his cup, flushing red as Mandel smiled. "If a badge is what you want."
"It's what I know, what I'm good at."
"Well then," opening another drawer, Grayson pulled out a map and flipped it open, spreading it over his desk. Hel leaned forward, curious, then impressed. It was a detailed map of the country, and Grayson pointed out a few places Morgan knew well. "I have connections with the governors of these three territories, and several United States marshals here, here, and here."
Hel's gaze was drawn to Texas, focusing on where Grayson's finger was resting, but he wasn't seeing the point on the map. For some reason, a pair of warm brown eyes rose in his memory, followed by a welcome, understanding smile. Lifting his gaze, he fixed Grayson solidly.
"I don't figure to owe account to anyone for my life, so no matter who my next bride might be, you'll not have a say one way or the other. Ken?"
"Of course. Your choice won't diminish my daughter's memory in any way."
"I like Texas," Hel offered slowly, not sure of the thought forming in his mind. "It suits me."
"San Antonio? Galveston perhaps?"
"I was thinkin' farther south, maybe near the ocean, but... I think I have a stop to make first. I'd be obliged if I can let you know in a few weeks."
"At your leisure, Morgan."
"Thanks," he started to rise, then paused, uncertain. "For everything. You surely didn't have to be so kind."
"I've got nothing against you as a man, Morgan, I just didn't think you were right for my daughter." Standing, he offered a hand and they shook. "Let me know what you decide."
"I will, thanks again."
Back in the saddle, Hel pointed the buckskin's ears west. He was heading to Texas, specifically El Paso. Reckoning he'd have to do some dickering and make a lot of compromises, Hel told himself that wouldn't in itself be a bad thing. If she was willing to give him a chance, his future wasn't sewn up in bullets and blood. Vengeance wasn't all he had to live for, and he wasn't even forty yet. Why, plenty of men he knew didn't tie the knot until well past his age!
Rehearsing what he'd say, Hel didn't realize he was planning for a future with love in it. All he really thought about was how content he'd been listening to her talk, and how easy it had been talking to her. Straightening in the saddle, he adjusted his collar and hat.
"Don't put the cart ahead of the horse, old son, she has no idea you're even coming her way."