He sat and gently explained to Martin that the accident could have been far worse, a lot of people could have been seriously hurt. Only one broken leg, and one fatality. Martin knew immediately where his sense of loss was coming from. He lay in shock, then he cried softly to himself for an hour.His family came up; they had the funeral. People said she was a saint, perfect in every way. He stood up, bravely, in the funeral and, voice cracking, said that no, she wasn’t a saint. She was crap at cooking, she was stubborn as a mule, she was pretty as a picture, she was tone deaf – people laughed, remembering her voice soaring above (and below, and sideways) in the hymns at their wedding – she was artistic and taught him to appreciate Damian Hurst, Jackson Pollock and Magritte; she was also a tiger in bed (though he didn’t say that). She was, he said, a combination that he loved and would always love. She was also very forgiving. Her faith was far stronger than his had ever been, and she. But now she was glad to have people around who would kill if need be. She and Jacob had built this farm up and there no way a gambler was going to take it from her.Jacob picked a spot where he could be seen. There really was no choice. He couldn't let the raiding party get to the house. So he stood in the open and waited. He knew it would be his last choice if it came to gunfire but he could think of no other way to protect Marnie and Ann.He didn't bother to holster his pistol and he had been further surprised when Ann had put his second gun in his empty slot. She hadn't said a word, just kissed his cheek and went inside. Ann had carried the gun since the day her brother had died. Jacob didn't have the heart to ask for it back.As the group came into sight, Jacob was given pause. There were four horses but the dust was coming from a coach that accompanied the four. From a distance, Jacob couldn't make out particulars but as they come closer he spotted a couple of faces he.
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