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Bass’s knuckles went white where he gripped the chair. “The ranch.”

Whit removed his hat slowly. “Maybe.”

Bass’s stare cut toward him. “Not maybe.”

Marshal Davis spoke before Bass could take another breath. “A hurt man’s words aren’t testimony, but they tell us where to look.”

Izzy had gone pale.

Carolina guided her gently into a chair. “Sit before you fall.”

“I was playing the piano,” Izzy whispered into the new silence. All eyes turned. She looked only at Nate. “When they came in, Jesse told me not to stop, no matter what I heard. He said if I stopped, Miss Marcy would know something was wrong … come looking… He didn’t want her caught in it.”

Bass’s voice dropped low. “Caught in what?”

“I don’t know.” Izzy’s fingers twisted in her shawl. “There were men in the back room. Not regulars. They didn’t wear dust like cowboys. They were talking business.”

“What business?” Whit asked.

She shook her head. “Only heard some when I took a tray back. They were angry…about the Breckenridge matter going bad. Said the girl made trouble… horses were lost.”

Adaya drew a sharp breath. Beau’s arm came around her, pulling her close against his side.

Izzy’s voice was thin but steady. “Then one said the Picketts were getting too rooted. That was the word. Rooted.” She paused, her fingers twisting in her shawl. “Like trees. He said trees could still burn.”

Emily’s chair scraped hard against the floor. She stood so fast it rocked backward on two legs.

Bass’s hand shot out and caught it before it could hit the floor, his knuckles white where he gripped the wood.

“Who said that?” The words came out low and rough.

“I don’t know his name.”

“Describe him.”

“Brown beard. Silver tooth near the front.” Her eyes dropped to the floorboards as if seeing them again. “Fancy boots—clean, with tooling—for a man pretending not to have money.”

Whit’s gaze cut to Marshal Davis.

Davis gave a single, slow nod. “That matches one we’ve been looking for.”

Bass stepped away from the chair.

“Then we go find him.”

“No.” Emily’s voice didn’t rise, but it cut.

Bass stopped dead.

She closed the distance between them, her movements tight and deliberate. One hand came up, palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. The other stayed cupped low over their child. Her voice shook, but her eyes didn’t waver.

“You are not riding out half-mad in the dark with your wife carrying your baby and your brother barely breathing behind that door.”

“He threatened this family.”

“You will not help this family by getting yourself shot in some alley behind Miss Marcy’s.”

Bass flinched.