She wanted to know how it happened, when it happened, every detail. But it wasn’t the right time to ask Roman such things. And so she kept her questions to herself until Mr. Wiley appeared up front an hour later to take a new customer’s horse. Clara was grateful Roman and Mr. Wileyhadnew customers. Once the men who owned the missing horses learned what had happened, she feared others might not trust the livery to keep their animals safe.
With the customer gone and the new horse turned out in the corral, Clara could contain her curiosity no longer. She hadn’t seen Roman since he’d finally left his watch at the door to assist his customer, but Mr. Wiley had come back up front and went to work cleaning out a stall nearby.
And so Clara left her post at the desk and walked the few steps over toward where Mr. Wiley tossed out a clump of dirty straw.
“Miss Brown,” he said, pausing in his work. His usual smile was there, but strained, and Clara knew what had happened weighed heavily on him. “I hope your morning has gone well.”
“It has, thank you,” she replied, resting her hands on the top of the open stall door. She glanced back into the stable to ensure Roman wasn’t nearby. “Roman is quite worried about what happened last night.”
Mr. Wiley removed his hat and tapped it against his thigh. Dust flew off the brim. “And rightly so.” He replaced the hat.
“May I ask you what happened? Roman isn’t . . . well . . .” She trailed off, uncertain what else to say.
Mr. Wiley nodded in understanding before replacing his hat. “We don’t know much. I was asleep in the back room. Roman fell asleep in the house out behind the corral—he was working late out there. We both awoke about sun-up and found the two horses closest to the front up here gone.”
Clara furrowed her brow. The thief certainly knew how to execute his crime quietly enough so as not to wake Mr. Wiley. Perhaps that’s why the man took only horses from the front of the stable. “How did he get inside?”
Mr. Wiley shrugged. “Walked in, I suppose. We can’t lock the place up in case there’s a fire.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Clara said.
“We’ve been too trusting. Thought that one theft was all that would happen. We should’ve set up a watch after that.” He ran a hand over his short, somewhat unkempt beard. “Mighty sure Roman’s blaming himself for not doing so.”
“He couldn’t have known it would happen again. Do you suppose it’s the same person?”
“Wouldn’t know. Possible, I suppose.”
Clara chewed her lip as she thought. “If it was the same person, he might’ve thought you did have a watch set up, given that he had to distract you from the door the first time.”
“Well, we must’ve made his night this time around, then.” Mr. Wiley glanced into the stall he’d been cleaning. “We’re going to have to hire on more men. Roman and I can’t work all day then stay up half the night. Don’t know how we’re going to do that, though . . .”
Clara’s heart ached for Roman and Mr. Wiley. They’d been in business such a short while. It wasn’t right that they had to face such a terrible problem.
“Hello?” A gentleman stood near the front door, his eyes searching the dim light of the stable.
“Good morning,” Clara said brightly as she left Mr. Wiley to greet the customer.
The man was young and nicely dressed. As usual when she met someone new at the stable, Clara was instantly curious about who the man was and what he did. He must be in business of some sort, she thought, given how he was dressed. “What can we do for you today?”
“I need to take my horse out for the day. Felicity.” The gentleman smiled at her, completely unaware his was one of the horses that had been stolen.
Uncertain what to say, Clara glanced to Mr. Wiley, who’d overheard the conversation. He brushed off his gloved hands and left the stall.
“Ought I fetch Roman?” she asked quietly after he greeted the customer.
Mr. Wiley nodded, and Clara left as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to see the poor man’s reaction when Mr. Wiley told him what had happened.
She found Roman out back, between the stable and the corral. He’d set out several pieces of wood next to the start of the wagon he’d been working on, yet he wasn’t working. Instead, he stood, a couple of nails in his hand, staring at the wood on the ground.
Clara shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Summer here was different than it had been in Virginia. There, the temperatures would be pleasantly warm by this time in the morning, and headed well toward uncomfortably hot in the afternoon with a dampness in the air that made it difficult not to perspire just sitting still. Here, she needed a coat or a shawl before midday.
“Roman?” she said hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.
He looked toward her and seemed to come back to life. For just a second, she saw him as he’d been yesterday—a smile and a light in his eyes that let her know he was glad to see her. Then it disappeared, as if it had never been there. The frown returned, worry etching lines into his face, and his eyes darkened.
“The gentleman who boards Felicity is here. Mr. Wiley is speaking with him.”
“Thank you,” he said shortly, dropping the nails into the wooden crate on the ground that held his tools. Without a look backward, he disappeared through the doorway.
