CHAPTER 17

Ethan stretched the wire tight while Johnny McDade pounded in staples to hold it to the fence posts. The bottom of the box of staples showed, and Ethan looked anxiously toward town. “Sure wish that brother of yours would get back here.”

“No doubt he’s flirting with that redheaded gal at the emporium,” Johnny said.

Ethan shook his head. Spin McDade, the older of the two brothers at nineteen, considered himself quite a ladies’ man. Sending him into town on an errand was a risk, but he’d figured the two boys wouldn’t get much done on the fence if he went, and he hadn’t wanted to send the younger brother with cash. Of course, Libby would probably have opened an account for him if he’d sent a note, but Ethan liked to keep his debts cleared up. Credit could ruin a man, or so his pa had always said.

A few minutes later, Ethan saw a telltale plume of dust where the road ran behind some scrub pines. “Maybe that’s Spin coming.”

“We can hope.” Johnny picked up the jug of spring water they’d brought along and tipped it back for a long swallow.

Spin and his horse appeared at the edge of the new pasture they were fencing—not that it produced much grass, but it would hold a few cattle while Ethan gave his north range a chance to recover from spring grazing. The leggy bay gelding cantered toward them.

“Hey!” Johnny waved his hat and grinned at his brother.

Spin pulled the horse to a halt and jumped down. “I got the staples. Miz Adams asked me to tell ya the shooting club will meet this afternoon.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asked. “Do we want to join this here club?”

Ethan laughed. “I don’t think so. It’s for women.”

The two young men stared at him. They hadn’t been into town much since they’d joined Ethan for the summer, and apparently they hadn’t heard about the controversial new society.

“Some of the women in Fergus are learning to shoot. Since Sheriff Thalen was killed, they’ve wanted to learn to defend themselves. Mrs. Adams is just keeping me informed. They usually meet on Thalen’s old property, not far from here, so don’t you boys go riding over that way. They might blow your heads off.” Ethan nodded toward Bert’s land.

“I heard some shooting over thataway on Monday,” Johnny said.

“Does Florence Nash go?” Spin asked. “I might want to join if she does.”

“I told you, it’s for women only.” Ethan reached for the box of staples Spin pulled from his saddlebag.

“How much time did you spend following Florence around the store?” Johnny asked.

His brother smiled. “She’s a peach. I might just need to ride into town with you Sunday, Ethan. She told me they’re having church services now.”

Ethan nodded. “You can both go if you’ve a mind to. Your ma and pa would be pleased, I’m sure.” No doubt Spin would find his way onto the Nash family’s bench that served as a pew, but that was all right. As big as he talked, Spin generally behaved himself, and Florence was a nice girl.

“You aiming to settle down?” Johnny stared at his brother in disgust.

“Maybe.”

Johnny scowled and shook his head. “I never.” Ethan and Spin laughed.

“How about you, Ethan?” Spin asked in a man-to-man tone. “You ever think about settling down?”

Ethan grunted and pulled his work gloves on. “I consider myself settled.”

“Aw, come on.” Spin bent to help him lift and string the wire. “Don’t you ever think about courtin’ a girl?”

“No. I try not to.”

“Why ever not?” Johnny asked, retrieving his hammer.

“I just don’t want to think about getting married, that’s all.”

“Well, that Miz Adams is mighty pretty,” Spin said.

“Hush,” Ethan said, not unkindly. “Let’s get this fence up.”

“And there was another girl came into the store while I was there. Gert, they call her. Not so pretty as Miz Adams, but she seemed pert and likable.”

“I told you to hush. Mrs. Adams and Miss Dooley are too old for the likes of you, and I told you, I’m not ready to settle. Now are you gonna work, or am I gonna have to pay you off and hire someone else?”

Ethan bent his back into the grueling work. When they’d strung the wire as far as he’d planted fence posts, he wielded the posthole digger, and Spin followed, driving more posts in with a sledgehammer. Johnny chinked them with small stones when needed. By noontime, all three were drenched in sweat and ready for a meal.

As he wearily mounted Scout, Ethan considered the rest of his day.

“After we wash up and eat, you two can work on the barn roof.” They wouldn’t work so hard they suffered from it, but they’d make a little progress.

“You going into town?” Johnny asked.

“Reckon I should. Folks like to see the sheriff’s face now and then.”

He wondered if he could count on supper at Hiram and Trudy’s. He smiled to himself. He’d taken to thinking of her as Trudy, and the more he cogitated on it, the better he thought the name fit her. He might even take her a little something as a token of his gratitude. But what? He wouldn’t want her to start thinking like the McDade boys, that he ought to settle down. So nothing personal.

He thought back to when he’d left Fergus to join the army. He’d been only a couple of years older than Spin was now. Young, carefree, idealistic. That was before he helped chase the Bannocks all across the Idaho Territory and followed the Sheepeaters high into the mountains. Back then, he might have sparked a girl and dreamed of setting up to have a family. But now … now when he thought of families, he remembered the faces of the starving Indians they’d chased down. Memories of their skirmishes sickened him. And what woman would want to spend her life with a man haunted by wailing Sheepeater children?

No, a woman like Libby was better off on her own. She seemed content with her business and her friends. And Trudy? She had her brother to fret over. She didn’t need another man whose past rose up to haunt him.

So that was that. He’d take them some beef when it came butchering time. But no flowers or candy for …

The image of Trudy as a little girl with flaxen braids flitted across his mind.

Libby sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She strained to hear. Something creaked, but the two-story building made its own noises when all else was quiet. Something different had yanked her from sleep.

She heard it again—stealthy footsteps in the rooms below. She could barely breathe. Someone was in the back room of the store, where her desk sat and the safe huddled in the corner behind a stack of crates.

She slid her hand under Isaac’s cool, undented pillow. The Peacemaker fit her hand like an old friend.

Her dressing gown lay draped over a chair, and she slid it on, tying it firmly about her waist, then picked up the pistol. Shoes would only betray her.

As she listened, the footsteps sounded again. The intruder had left the back room and gone to the main floor of the emporium. What was he after? Had he tried to open the safe? She took a trembling step and stopped to listen again. She heard quiet thumping and shuffling, then snapping. Three quick steps took her to the door. She turned the knob with excruciating slowness and pulled the door two inches inward.

With an eye to the crack, she squinted toward the staircase and saw a glow. He must have lit a lantern … or a candle. The glow flickered on the ceiling and walls over the stairs.

Smoke hit her suddenly, a roiling wave of it, and she gasped, which only sucked more into her lungs. She shut the door, not worrying about the sound it made. For a moment she stood groping for a reason. She’d had no fire in the stove downstairs for weeks, and she hadn’t even lit her cookstove in the upstairs apartment tonight. How could there be—

The acrid smell reached beneath the door and choked her.