"Hi, Father," I said awkwardly with a glance at Nell. I had never said those words in my life.
Nell was crying and smiling.
Did I curtsey? Bow? Grovel? I resisted the urge to fidget, once again feeling like I had entered someone else's dream.
To my surprise, the elderly man swept me up in a tight hug. Combined with my corset, I was rendered momentarily unable to breathe and fought to keep from pushing him away. His slender form was gaunt, nothing but skin and bones beneath the pressed suit. He smelled of pipe smoke and sweat.
"You look like your mother." Tears shone in his eyes, and he kissed my forehead, taking my cheeks.
"Thank you," I murmured. His look was not something I would ever forget. The pure, selfless joy of a parent over his child, aimed at me. That had never happened. For a moment, my amusement at this world, and the sense it wasn't real, trembled.
I was pleased that Carter dropped me off somewhere safe. But I couldn't help thinking why here? Where my departure was going to break the hearts of two good people who truly believed me to be someone I wasn't? I was going to save so many lives. Maybe hurting two people shouldn't matter, but it did.
John's smile grew even wider, and part of my heart melted. He was truly happy to see me. He saw no difference between his real daughter and me, and I was suddenly envious of how much he loved his Josie. I had rarely experienced a major holiday where I didn't think about my parents and certainly missed them.
His features were so happy, his eyes shining. His joy was contagious, and I yearned for it to be real and directed at me. The kind man before me made me wish I had known my father, who died when I was two.
"It's um, good to be home," I added more softly, touched by his emotion, even if it was misdirected. "I wore your favorite dress."
"Matches your eyes."
I forced a smile, guilt drifting through me.
"I was thanking the sheriff who returned you to me," John said, moving away to face the two men near him and the Native Americans behind them.
Stoic and stone-faced, the lawmen appeared hard to read. A Native American in his early thirties stood a short distance away, as unfriendly as the lawmen, while his teenage companion was a couple feet back holding the reins of four horses.
"Ma'am, I'd like to speak to you about your whereabouts the past year," the sheriff said.
My gaze fell to the man who had rescued me - and stuck. Tall, lean, with the striking green eyes, rugged features, high cheekbones, a strong jaw and a face almost as dark as the natives', he was closer to my age than John's. His clothing was worn, dusty and stitched in multiple places, his boots scuffed and the star-shaped sheriff's badge on his chest like something I had seen out of a western movie.