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“Then I believe we’re equally qualified.”
He grinned. Bruising still distorted much of his face, but the grin was so unexpected Eden put the needle through the wrong side of the cuff.
“Now you’ve ruined it,” he said.
“Then you’re a dreadful distraction.”
His grin held.
A knock sounded, and Nate returned with Sheriff Hartman. Eden folded the cuff and reached for the small notebook she had been using to record Jesse’s memories.
Whit removed his hat. “Jesse, we checked Morris’s account again. Rusk wanted the south pasture and the water crossing. He’s also been asking about the old Chapman road through the draw.”
Jesse’s amusement disappeared.
“Road hasn’t been used much,” he said.
“That’s what concerns us. A man could move stock there without using the main track.”
Jesse’s fingers tightened in the bedding.
“South crossing,” he said.
Whit waited.
“Men at Miss Marcy’s. Back hall.”
Eden opened the notebook. “Were you in the hall when you heard them?”
“Peter spilled beer. Went for a cloth.” Jesse pressed his hand to his brow. “Silver-tooth man was talking.”
“Take your time,” Nate said.
“Rusk wouldn’t wait.” Jesse shut his good eye. “Other fellow said it.”
Eden wrote the words exactly.
“Wait for Sam,” Jesse added.
Whit moved closer. “You heard that name?”
“Yeah. Rusk wouldn’t wait for Sam.”
“Do you know who Sam is?”
Jesse shook his head, then grimaced.
“Could he have meant Marshal Davis?” Whit asked.
“No.” Jesse’s voice sharpened. “Wasn’t him.”
Eden marked the name without trying to fit it to anyone. A clue was worth far more before guesses had spoiled it.
Jesse stirred beneath the blanket. “Piano stopped.”
“You said Izzy was playing,” Eden reminded him.
“Hit the keys. Wrong notes.”
