Page 113

“The man who came to Papa’s office. I heard him from the hall.”

Tater answered from the front room. “Doctor’s out.”

“Then I’ll leave a message.”

“Give it here.”

“I’d prefer to deliver it myself.”

Something scraped hard against the counter. Tater grunted. The front door slammed.

Jesse’s stomach tightened. “Get back.”

Eden rose, but she did not run. She moved to the far side of the bed, where the door could not open against her. Her gaze darted to the window.

“No,” Jesse said. “Too exposed.”

A shadow crossed the threshold.

The man who entered wore a neat brown coat, unspotted by the morning mud. He was older than Jesse had expected, with a narrow face and hands that belonged to someone who rarely did his own work.

He studied Eden first.

“Miss Whitcomb. I had hoped we might meet again.”

Her chin lifted. “Samuel Pike.”

“So you remember me.”

“I remember what you said to my father.”

Pike’s pleasant expression did not falter. “Your father was reluctant to see an opportunity when it presented itself.”

This wasn’t the man Eden remembered, but she distinctly remembered the voice.

“You were the man who came to our house,” she said, “with the one that smelled like peppermint.”

Pike gave a small shrug. “Your father and I discussed business. I have many associates.”

Jesse kept his voice level. “You’re in the wrong room.”

Pike considered him. “Jesse Pickett. I was told you might never wake.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Disappointment seems to be a family trait.” Pike drew a folded document from his coat. “I came for Bassett. The bell suggested he was prepared to be reasonable.”

“He isn’t here,” Eden said.

“Then perhaps you can tell him the offer has become less generous. Rusk handles the land arrangements,” Pike continued. “I handle the men who intend to use the route. Once your brother signs, there’s no reason for any further unpleasantness.”

Jesse glanced toward the hall. Tater ought to have shouted by now. Perhaps he was hurt. Perhaps Pike had another man at the door. Either way, Jesse could not reach the lawmen and could barely reach the water pitcher.

He could, however, keep Pike talking.

“The south crossing ain’t yours,” he said.

“It could be, with a signature. Your brother values his family. Most men do, until they learn what their principles cost.”