“Do you suppose me entirely inept at doing that myself?” Her words cut into him.
“That is not what I said.” He gritted his teeth together to keep from letting his annoyance form words he’d regret. “What sort of man would I be if I didn’t protect you?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she sighed loudly, as if the very sensible things he’d asked her to do or to avoid were a heavy burden she had to bear.
Clara said nothing else as they walked, and he hoped that meant she accepted what he’d told her. His mind wandered to the men she’d encountered. Could it be they were the thieves? If so, it didn’t bode well that they’d returned. In fact, that could only mean one thing.
They intended to steal from him again.
At least he and Jeremiah would be ready for them this time.
He bade Clara good night at the boardinghouse door. She wasn’t happy with him, not in the least. That much was evident from the set of her jaw and the way she regarded him. He didn’t dare try to take her hand or place a kiss on her cheek. It was better to let the anger simmer out of her. Once she calmed down, she would understand he only had her best intentions at heart.
As he stepped away from the Darbys’ boardinghouse, he pushed away that aggravating voice in his head, the one that told him he wasn’t enough to either provide for her or keep her safe. The same voice that insisted his livery would fail. That he wasn’t good enough to be this kind of man, the one who ran a business and had a family.
Roman shoved those thoughts far down as he climbed the dark hill to the hotel. He already had too much on his mind to pay any attention to old fears. At the hotel, he alerted the marshal about the men camping by the creek and what Clara had overhead. The man agreed it was questionable what the strangers meant, but promised to pay them a visit at first light. Roman reassured him that he and Jeremiah had the livery covered for tonight.
He strode back down the hill as the shouting and music streamed out of the Starlight past the other side of the depot. Music? Roman paused a moment, listening. Sure enough, a piano banged out a raucous melody. He didn’t remember the place having music before. They must’ve gotten that piano delivered on the train from Cañon City today.
A good whiskey would soothe some of the anxiety that seemed to never fully disappear these days, but Roman pressed on. He knew firsthand that spirits never cured a thing except a purse that was too full of coin, and besides, he needed a clear head at night if he had any hope of keeping his business going.
He pushed the front door open when he returned to the livery. It was as dark as he’d left it. Roman retrieved the lamp from the desk, lighting it carefully. He held it aloft. There was no sign of Jeremiah.
The horses were all in for the night, fed and watered. Jeremiah must be in the back room. Roman had agreed to take first watch, and the man was probably eagerly awaiting his return so he could get some much-needed rest.
“Jeremiah, I’m back,” Roman called out as he walked between the two rows of stalls.
There was no response, but Roman paid no mind, his attention instead drawn to the open door in the back. Perhaps Jeremiah was finishing up some work outside. A couple of the horses were missing from their stalls. Jeremiah must still have them out in the corral.
With his eyes on the door, Roman rounded the corner past the last stall—and came to an abrupt halt. There was an obstacle in his path, something large and . . .
He squatted, holding up the lamp.
It was Jeremiah, sprawled out upon the straw and dirt.
Chapter Eighteen
