“All right. You’re some piece of work, Call.”
“Why? Because there’s a baby in my arms?” He spoke softly and directed his words to Ann, not Brady.
The driver raised his eyes to the ceiling, seeking a power beyond the room.
Ramsey Stonechurch had been following his wife, but when they reached the kitchen, he stopped cold on thethreshold while she went straightaway to the stranger cradling his daughter.
“What the hell?” he asked, placing his big, square-cut palms on either side of the door frame.
“Language,” Maud admonished. “I know you’re tired, but you have to start minding your language.”
Ramsey sighed, nodded, and dropped his hands so that he filled the doorway. “Brady.” His eyes dropped to the strongbox. “I thought this was coming tomorrow.”
Out of respect, Brady rose to his feet, though with some effort. “Change of plans. Mr. Henderson got some hints that the Miller boys were sniffing around. Nothing definite. Moved the money to the first living station out of Denver. I took the box when I relieved Jed Holloway and didn’t let anyone take it over.”
“You drove the stage all that way?” When Brady nodded, Stonechurch was visibly impressed. “There aren’t many like you, Brady.” He turned his head to Brady’s shotgun, who was shifting a little awkwardly, arms hanging at his sides now that Maud had relieved him of the baby. “Who’s this?”
“McCall Landry,” said Brady. “Goes by Call. Rode shotgun with Overland, but he was a passenger until Morrison Station. Digger was drunk when I took over. I did two legs alone, but when Laurel Beth put in a good word for this feller, I let him up in the box.”
Stonechurch raised a dark eyebrow and knuckled his chin thoughtfully. “Not like you to trust a stranger, especially with payroll on board.”
“Needs must,” said Brady. He lowered himself stiffly into the chair behind him.
“Drink?” asked Stonechurch.
Brady nodded. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Stonechurch turned to Call. “You?”
“Nothing for me, thank you.”
Maud said, “I’m pleased to have met you, Mr. Landry. Brady, it’s always a pleasure to see you. Husband, I’m going to bed now. Do you see that Ann is sleeping? That’sMr. Landry’s doing. Keep that in mind.” Her smile encompassed all of them before she left the room.
Stonechurch watched her go; a smile lifted his meticulously groomed mustache. “She’s a wonder,” he said quietly in case his guests had any doubts. When she was gone, he poured a generous portion of whiskey for Brady and let the man have a full swallow before he joined him at the table and drew the strongbox toward him.
Call was curious about how full the box was, but he kept his distance, figuring that too much interest wouldn’t speak well of him. He was going to see Mr. Stonechurch again in the morning to inquire about a job after all. Better that the man was left with a good impression.
Stonechurch released the catch on the metal box and threw open the lid. He clenched his teeth; his complexion turned ruddy. “Is this a joke, Brady?”
Brady sat up and leaned forward to examine the contents. Neat stacks of newspaper clippings the size of bills filled the box. He watched Stonechurch pick up the coin pouch, open the neck, and turn it over. Pebbles and small rocks scattered on the table. Brady stared at the pebbles until they were still and then he stared at Stonechurch. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s no joke of mine.”
In unison, the two men swiveled in their chairs to stare at McCall Landry.
4
When the hammering began at her bedroom door, Laurel sat straight up in bed and reached in the nightstand drawer for her revolver. She did this without thought, having rehearsed the very same in her mind every night for the first three years after she buried her family. The motions came as naturally to her as breathing.
She threw off the bedcovers and padded barefoot to the door in her nightgown. She stood to one side as she called out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me!” And then, in case she didn’t recognize the voice, he added lamely, “Hank.” For good measure, he said, “Hank Booker.”
Laurel opened the door. “In the future, announce yourself at the same time you’re pounding on my door.” She showed him her gun. “I might have shot you.”
Hank’s pronounced Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed hard. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Laurel, but I thought you’d want to know that one of the mares is gone. I woke up, don’t know exactly why, maybe ’cause I had an urge to visit the outhouse, but it’s good that I did since I noticed that Penelope’s stall is empty. She didn’t wander into the corral because the barn door was shut.” Hank’s blue suspenders were hanging from his waistband. He pulled them up, snapped them into place, wincing as he did so.
“Were you sleeping in the barn?” She didn’t know whyshe asked. It was perfectly obvious that he had been. He had bits of hay in his hair. There was a bunkhouse that could accommodate eight, which it sometimes had to when a driver and shotgun and a couple of male passengers swelled their number. Hank should have been there, but she could hardly scold him for sleeping elsewhere.
“Thought I’d bed down there to keep an eye on Willow. It seemed she was feeling poorly so I figured I should stay close.”
