A young woman calling his name.
Gunfire.
And the terrible realization that courage sometimes arrived too late.
Daniel forced the memory away.
He was thirty-eight years old now, no longer the impulsive deputy who had once believed a badge could make a crooked town honest.
He was a rancher.
Nothing more.
That was what he told himself.
Yet his hands moved with the certainty of a man who had once survived by making difficult decisions quickly.
“Abigail,” he said, “can your youngest sister walk?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Take her into the house through the back door. There's a cellar beneath the kitchen. The latch is behind the flour barrel.”
Rachel looked toward the distant lights.
“What about you?”
“I'll greet our visitors.”
“Alone?”
“That's usually how I greet people.”
“This isn't funny.”
“Wasn't intended to be.”
Abigail caught his sleeve.
“Mr. Mercer, you don't understand. These men aren't ordinary hired hands.”
“I suspected as much.”
“They killed Deputy Samuel Price tonight. They shot him while he was trying to get us across the county line.”
Daniel went still.
“Samuel Price?”
Abigail nodded.
“Did you know him?”
Daniel looked away.
Samuel Price had been twenty-three when Daniel first met him, a skinny young deputy with more enthusiasm than sense. He had ridden out to the Mercer ranch every few months, usually carrying news from town and occasionally asking for advice about difficult cases.
Daniel had liked him.
More than that, he had trusted him.
“When?” Daniel asked.
“About two hours ago.”
“Where?”
“Near Miller crossing.”
Daniel lowered his head.
For a moment, the storm seemed very far away.
Then he looked at Abigail again.
“Did you see who shot him?”
Rachel answered.
“A man named Briggs. Tall, red beard, scar across his chin.”
Daniel knew him too.
Wade Briggs.
A gunman who had worked for Voss for nearly seven years.
There were stories about Briggs that sensible people refused to repeat after dark.
Daniel took a long breath.
“Get to the house.”
Abigail hesitated.
“What will you tell them?”
“That I haven't seen you.”
“They won't believe you.”
“Then they'll be disappointed.”
Rachel stared at him.
“You'd lie to armed men for three strangers?”
Daniel looked at the blood on Lucy's dress.
“For Samuel Price,” he said.
The answer silenced her.
He waited until the sisters had slipped through the rear entrance and disappeared into the rain.
Then he crossed the barn.
From a locked wooden cabinet beneath the loft stairs, he removed a worn Winchester rifle and a leather cartridge belt.
He checked the chamber.
Loaded.
He took a second weapon from the cabinet, an old Colt revolver with a polished walnut grip.
He had not carried it regularly in years.
The familiar weight settled against his palm.
He hated how natural it felt.
Outside, hoofbeats approached.
Daniel extinguished the lantern.
Then he stepped onto the covered porch of the barn and waited.
The riders arrived less than five minutes later.
There were six of them.
All armed.
All wearing dark coats slick with rain.
The leader was a broad-shouldered man with a red beard and a long scar beneath his chin.
Wade Briggs.
He rode a gray horse with a distinctive white blaze.
Briggs stopped twenty feet from the barn.
“Well, I'll be damned,” he called. “Daniel Mercer.”
Daniel leaned against a support post.
“Evening, Wade.”
“Been a long time.”
“Not long enough.”
Briggs smiled.
“Still charming, I see.”
“Storm's getting worse. You boys lost?”
“Looking for somebody.”
“Try town.”
“We already did.”
“Then I suppose you're out of luck.”
Briggs looked toward the house.
A faint glow shone through the kitchen curtains.
“Got company?”
Daniel did not turn.
“Just me.”
“Funny.”
“What is?”
“Thought I saw movement behind that window.”
“Wind moves curtains.”
“Sure does.”
The other riders spread out slightly.
Daniel noticed.
So did Briggs.
The gunman smiled again.
“Now, Danny, no reason for us to get unfriendly.”
“Then don't.”
“We're searching for three women.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“Three?”
“Sisters. Traveling together. One dark-haired, one red-haired, one blonde.”
“Sounds memorable.”
“They're thieves.”
“Are they?”
“Stole something valuable from Mr. Voss.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“Must be important if he sent six men into a thunderstorm.”
“Very important.”
“What'd they steal?”
Briggs's smile faded.
“Business documents.”
“Those can be dangerous.”
“Depends who reads them.”
Daniel said nothing.
Briggs leaned forward in his saddle.
“You seen them?”
“No.”
The lie came easily.
Perhaps too easily.
Briggs studied his face.
“Funny thing about you, Mercer. Folks say you used to be a lawman.”
“Folks say a lot.”
“Say you were good.”
“Some say otherwise.”
“They say you killed four men in Kansas.”
Daniel's expression did not change.
“They say you lost a woman there too.”
The silence that followed was immediate and terrible.
Even the other riders seemed to recognize that Briggs had crossed a line.
Daniel slowly straightened.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Briggs's horse shifted beneath him.
The gunman's right hand moved toward his revolver.
Daniel did not reach for his own weapon.
He simply looked at Briggs.
And something in that look made the older gunman pause.
“You don't want trouble,” Briggs said.
“No.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then ride away.”
Briggs glanced toward the house once more.
“Mind if we take a look around?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it's my property.”
“Mr. Voss has authority from the county sheriff.”
“Then bring the sheriff.”
Briggs's jaw tightened.
“The sheriff is busy.”
“So am I.”
For several seconds, neither man moved.
Rain poured from the brim of Daniel's hat.
Finally, Briggs laughed.
“You always were a stubborn bastard.”
“So I've been told.”
“Fine. We'll check the creek and come back in daylight.”
“You do that.”
Briggs turned his horse.
But before riding away, he looked over his shoulder.
“One more thing, Mercer.”
Daniel waited.
“If those women come through here, you ought to know they're dangerous.”
“Women usually are.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
Briggs's smile vanished.
“They're mixed up in something that could get people killed.”
Daniel met his eyes.
“People already have been killed.”
For the first time, Briggs looked uncertain.
Only for a heartbeat.
Then he spurred his horse toward the eastern trail.
The others followed.
Daniel stood motionless until their lanterns disappeared behind the ridge.
He did not relax.
He knew Briggs.
And Briggs had never accepted defeat simply because someone told him no.
The men would return.
Perhaps in an hour.
Perhaps at dawn.
But they would return.
Daniel entered the house through the back door.
The kitchen was warm.
A pot of stew sat on the iron stove, and the smell of onions, beef, and potatoes filled the room.
Abigail stood beside the table, holding a clean cloth against Lucy's forehead.
Rachel sat near the window with her revolver in her lap.
All three looked up when Daniel entered.
“Well?” Rachel demanded.
“They're gone.”
“For good?”
“No.”
Abigail closed her eyes.
Daniel hung his coat beside the door.
“Now,” he said, “I want the truth.”
Rachel opened her mouth.