“That’s impossible. I put him in the stall myself last night.”
Jeremiah shook his head. “I’m telling you, he ain’t there now.”
Roman wrinkled his forehead. Had he put the horse in the wrong stall? He jogged past Jeremiah, toward where Alliance normally spent the night in a stall near the front of the stable.
It was empty.
“I checked every stall and the corral. He’s not here,” Jeremiah said from behind him.
Roman rubbed his hands across his face. “That can’t be.” Alliance was one of his horses, purchased expressly to rent out from the livery. He looked down the rest of the stalls. Every other horse appeared accounted for, including his own Thunder.
“Maybe Granger came in early for him,” Roman said. Granger rented out Alliance a couple times each week to pull wagon loads of timber from Silver Creek.
“Can’t be. He didn’t take lines or a harness.” Jeremiah looked as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.” Roman wanted to hear something—anything—that disputed the notion that someone had waltzed into his stable at some point during the night and made off with one of his horses. All while both he and Jeremiah were fast asleep in the back room.
“About three a.m. or so, I was up,” Jeremiah said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I went out front to smoke, and Mitchell Turley came on by, drunker than a man on his last day. He was going on about needing a horse. I moved him on, but . . .”
Roman closed his eyes. While Jeremiah was distracted with Turley, anyone could’ve come in and helped himself to Alliance.
“I had to walk him down the road a ways. If someone led Alliance out, it could be I didn’t see him.”
Roman drew in a deep breath, steadying the irritation that rolled through him. Jeremiah was a good friend. He’d been there from the start, when Roman rode into Crest Stone with nothing but a couple of horses, a few dollars, and a big idea. “It’s not your fault,” he said finally.
Jeremiah’s shoulders seemed to sag in relief.
“If you can take care of everything here, I’ll go on and see Wright.” The fellow who’d taken Alliance had likely left town right away, but it was still worth letting the newly elected marshal—the only law in town—know what had happened.
Jeremiah nodded, and Roman returned quickly to the back room to finish dressing. The apparent theft of Alliance weighed heavily on his mind. New people came into Crest Stone every day. If word got around that his livery was easy pickings for desperate men, he’d be out of business before he’d barely started it.
The sun was just rising over the tops of the Wet Mountains to the east when he left, and the town was still quiet. He made his way across the railroad tracks, down to the depot, and then up the hill to the hotel. Crest Stone’s marshal had no office or home yet; both were still under construction. Roman hoped it was early enough the man hadn’t left the hotel to make his rounds or see to any other business. He’d sent word to Miss Brown late yesterday that he’d see her at noon for a meal and a tour of the town. Which meant he had little time to make this errand to see Marshal Wright and still accomplish what he needed back at the livery.
Miss Brown. Her round, pretty face filled his mind as he climbed the hill to the hotel. She was far more attractive than he could have ever imagined. And had a sweet disposition, too, with a kind smile and a sunny outlook.
You don’t deserve her.
Roman bit down on the thought—the same one that had sent him running yesterday from the boardinghouse. It didn’t matter that he’d frittered away the past ten years, driving cattle and working as a ranch hand, only to spend most of what he made in saloons. He was different now, finally able to look to the future. He had a business and men like Jake Gilbert and Marshal Wright treated him like an equal. He was on the verge of having everything he wanted, so long as he didn’t give in to his doubts.
The desk clerk at the Crest Stone Hotel pointed Roman down a hallway that ran past the grand staircase. The place never failed to draw a moment of awe from Roman, with its soaring ceiling and two enormous stone fireplaces, warding off the morning’s chill.
Roman paused in front of the door the clerk had directed him to. It was open, and it appeared to be set up as an office. Just inside, Wright sat behind a fine wooden desk. Roman breathed out, glad he wouldn’t be waking the man from his slumber. The marshal looked up from what he was writing and gestured at Roman to come inside. Roman imagined Wright’s job had gotten somewhat easier since he’d recently cleared the town of a couple of outlaw gangs from Kansas—one of which Roman had heard the marshal’s wife was related to.
“Good to see you, Carlisle,” Wright said as he stood and made his way around the desk.
Roman took his proffered hand. “Morning, Marshal. Wish it was under better circumstances.”
Wright’s usually serious face grew more concerned. “What happened?”
Roman told him of the missing horse and about how the culprit might have stolen Alliance while Jeremiah was distracted.
“I’ll have a talk with Mitchell Turley,” Wright said when Roman finished. “See what he knows.”
“Doubt he knows much. Jeremiah said he was in his usual nightly state.”
“Could be, but the timing seems awfully convenient to me.”
Roman nodded, wondering why that hadn’t occurred to him too. He thanked Wright and made his way back to the livery.
