“Are you ready?” Restin asked.
His daughter turned and looked at him.
“Can’t I even have some privacy in my own room?”
“Our guest will be here soon.”
“Then go on downstairs, Daddy,” she said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“You look fine now.”
“Daddy!”
He pointed his finger at her.
“Don’t make me have to come up and get you,” he said, “or send somebody.”
“Like one of your gunmen?”
“Just come down,” Restin said, “like a good girl.”
She turned to face him, hands behind her back and said, “Yes, Daddy.”
This time when he rode up to the house there were no hands in the corral, and no gunmen on the porch. But as he started up the steps the front door opened and a tall man stepped out.
“You must be Adams,” he said.
“I must be.”
“I’ll have somebody see to your horse.”
“I don’t think he needs to be unsaddled.”
“We’ll just put him in the barn and feed him.”
“Okay, thanks. You’re not one of Restin’s gunnies, are you?”
“I’m the foreman,” the man said, “whatever that means, anymore.” He stuck his hand out. “Ray Owens.”
“Clint Adams.” Clint shook his hand.
“Actually, if you want my advice, you’ll mount back up and ride out. Keep ridin’.”
“That’s good advice,” Clint said, “if I didn’t think the West would be wallpapered with wanted posters if I did that.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Go on in, then. They’re waitin’ for you. I’ll see to your horse.”
“You going to come in and eat?”
“They don’t eat with the help,” Owens said.
The man appeared to be in his thirties, looked as if he’d earned his way up to foreman.
“Why don’t you take your own advice?” Clint asked. “I mean, if you feel the way you do.”
“I doubt I could find a job that would pay me this good,” Owens said. “I’ll put up with a lot as long as I can.” Owens waved. “Go.”
Clint handed the man Eclipse’s reins and went inside.
As he entered he saw a girl coming down a wide staircase, dark hair cascading down around her blue dress. She stopped short when she saw him.
“You must be him,” she said.
“Who’s that?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t even know what to call you. My babysitter? My … deliverer?”
“How about for now,” he said, “you just call me Clint?”
“Well, Clint.” She came down the steps the rest of the way and put out her hand. “I’m Terry.”
He shook her hand, thinking this was not what he’d expected from all he had heard.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You were expecting some kind of hellcat.”
“Well … yeah.”
“Why don’t we go in to supper and I’ll show you what kind of a hellcat I can be?” She took his arm. “Daddy’s waiting.”