“He’s sweet on her,” said Clay. Aware that Ben and Roen were staring at him, he said, “Well, he is.”

  “Yes,” said Ben, “but how do you know?”

  “Before Mr. Shepard took me on, I used to do more odd jobs at the Butterworth, and I saw how it was with Deputy Springer. Frankie’s got the work there now. I bet if you ask him, he’ll tell you the same.”

  “Huh.” Ben put down his gun. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Does Miss Chen reciprocate his feelings?”

  “Reciprocate?”

  Roen said, “It means share or return.”

  “Oh.” Clay looked back at Ben. “You could’ve just said so, Sheriff.”

  “Now that you know what it means, I don’t have to,” said Ben. “Well, what’s the answer?”

  “Can’t really say about Miss Chen. She’s not one for showin’ herself. I’d be real careful about inviting her to play poker. She’s got the face for it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Did Hitch tell you when he’d be back?” asked Roen.

  “He didn’t tell me he was leaving. Hitch is still a little green behind the ears.”

  “How long has he been your deputy?”

  “About two years now.” He grinned. “Plenty of time yet to iron out the rough edges. You might like to know that I sent him out to the Double H yesterday while you and I were otherwise occupied. Thought it would be good for him to follow up our visit, and he knows the Hardy brothers better than I do. He went to school with three of them for a while. Harrison’s oldest son was already working the ranch then.”

  “And?” asked Roen. He was aware of Clay leaning in to hear Ben’s response. “Did he learn anything?”

  “He did. It seems that Caleb, that’s the third son and one closest in age to Hitch, has suspected for a long time that the strip of land you’re questioning doesn’t belong to the Double H.”

  “He said that?”

  “Hitch said he did. There was a touch of hubris in the confession. Caleb wanted Hitch to know he was at least a half step smarter than his father and brothers.”

  “I don’t suppose he confessed to shooting at us.”

  “No, and Hitch doesn’t think he did. The most likely culprit is Judah.”

  “The oldest.”

  Ben nodded. “His father’s heir. Harrison told his sons he’s not dividing the land like it’s some damn piece of pie. Caleb’s words again, not mine.” He glanced at Clay. “Sorry, Clay. I should mind my words even when they’re not mine.”

  “It’s all right,” said Clay. “I won’t tell my mother.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I won’t tell his mother either,” Roen said solemnly.

  “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Thanks.”

  Roen returned to the subject of the property. “So you’re telling me Judah would have the most to lose if the land went to the Frosts.”

  “Uh-huh. Unless his brothers take off for greener pastures when Old Harrison dies, they’ll work for Judah. I still think someone was trying to scare you off, not kill you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not asking Northeast for Pinkerton protection.”

  “Have you been back out there?”

  “Not to that spot specifically.”

  “Good.”

  Roen didn’t react or respond to that. “If Hitch shows up, tell him to meet us at the house.”

  Ben looked past Roen and Clay to the empty street beyond. “You don’t have a wagon?”

  “I don’t have that much. I figured three of us would get it all in one trip. Maybe it’ll take two now.”

  “All right. I’ll send him along if you don’t cross paths first.”

  They did cross paths. Hitch was coming around the corner of the Butterworth as Roen and Clay were walking along the hotel’s front. “Glad I didn’t miss you,” said Hitch, pivoting. “Where’s your wagon?”

  “Don’t have one,” said Clay. “Mr. Shepard thinks we’re pack horses.”

  Hitch was in too fine a mood to be bothered by Clay’s sulky announcement. “Then that’s what we are,” he said, grinning toothily.

  Clay knew the origins of the deputy’s abundance of good humor. He resented Hitch’s happy disposition, not the reason for it, and he took some cheeky satisfaction in the aside he stage-whispered to Roen. “I told you he was sweet on Miss Chen.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lily saw immediately upon Roen and Clay entering the house that the situation between them had not improved. In contrast, Hitch was as cheerful and as light on his feet as she had ever seen him. He set down the cases he was carrying inside the door, brushed snow off his boots, and tossed Lizzie in the air when she ran to him. He was like a puppy, Lily thought, nuzzling and tickling and laughing, all big feet and big hands. It was hard to say who was enjoying the attention more, Hitch or her daughter.

  “Have a care there, Hitch,” Lily said. “Lizzie just had a cup of ham and bean soup. You don’t want to be wearing that if it comes up again.”

  “Sorry, Lizzie.” Hitch set the little girl down and swatted her playfully to go back to the parlor. He tipped his hat to Lily. “How are you, Mrs. Salt?” He frowned. “Told myself I wouldn’t make that mistake. How are you, Mrs. Shepard?”

  Lily blinked, startled a little to be addressed in this new way. She’d have to get used to the name herself. “I’m doing well, Hitch. You?”

  “I don’t know how I could be any better.” He looked at the stairs. Clay and Roen were already at the top with their bags. He was in no hurry to follow. “So you got married yesterday. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ben says it’s not general knowledge yet, but you know it’ll get around pretty quick. Now, just so we’re clear, I’m not going to be the one to mention it to my mother. She can hear it from someone else.”

  “That’s up to you. I’m not asking you to keep it to yourself. I imagine people saw you carrying off Roen’s things. Didn’t anyone ask you what you were doing?”

  “Buzz. He was the only one. Thought it was strange myself.”

  “And what did Mr. Shepard tell him?”

  “It wasn’t Mr. Shepard. It was Clay. He jumped right in. Told Buzz Mr. Shepard was going to live here from now on. Never mentioned marriage, though. I thought Mr. Shepard would, but he just let Clay go. I didn’t feel it was my place to explain. Don’t worry. It’ll straighten itself out.”

  “Oh, it will be straightened out,” said Lily. “You can depend upon it.” There was a thump abovestairs and Lily glanced at the ceiling. She reined in her scowl for Hitch’s benefit. “Tell me about you and Miss Chen. Have you screwed your courage to the sticking place and spoken to her yet?”

  If Hitch had had the cases in his hands, he would have dropped them now. His jaw went slack and he blinked several times. “How did . . . that is . . . where did you hear . . . what are you saying again?”

  “Clay. He told me months ago that you admired Miss Chen. My son is my eyes and ears, Hitch. I might not get out much, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know things.” She added meaningfully, “And your mother visits, too.”

  “Oh, Lord. Don’t tell me that she—”

  “Calm yourself. She’s never breathed a word. I don’t think she’s aware, but I’m not sure she’d mention it to me if she was. I can’t begin to fathom how she would take the news.”

  “Neither can I,” he said, looking down at the floor.

  Lily realized she had pricked his happy bubble and was sorry for that. “So? Have you spoken to her?”

  Hitch’s expression brightened marginally. “Today. This morning actually. She was carrying an armload of bread from Maxwell’s and I had two arms I wasn’t using, so I offered my assistance.”

  “That was gallant of you.”

  “Good to know. I was only trying not to be clumsy.”

  “And you spoke to her.”

  He nodded. “And she spoke to me. That was the best. She’s quiet, you know. Like you, I think. Keeps to herself.”

  “Also like me,” said Lily.

  “I suppose that’s true. Hadn’t thought of it.”

  Lily smiled graciously and pretended to believe him. She pointed to the stairs. “I think you should probably go up now. If Clay is sulking in a corner, send him down.”

  “Will do.” He hefted the cases and started up. He was on the third step when he paused and looked back at Lily in the rocker. “It was real nice talking with you, Mrs. Shepard.” Pleased that he’d got it right this time, he went on his way.

  Lily cocked an ear toward the kitchen when she heard the back door open. The squeaky hinge announced that Hannah and Ham had returned from outdoor play in the snow. She heard them knock snow off their shoes and then begin arguing over who made the better snow angel. Snow angels. That meant the pair of them were covered in a dusting of snow. Ham would have clumps in his hair because it was likely he left his hat in a drift.

  “Hang up your coats and scarves,” she called to them. There was a brief pause while they did as instructed and then they were jostling for position in the hallway to see who could get to the parlor first. “Did you have a good time?”

  Ham was more enthusiastic in his response than Hannah. Now that she had her mother as an audience, she pretended she only suffered her brother’s presence. It always made Lily smile to see how her daughter played a scene as if she were onstage.

  “Warm yourselves at the stove,” she said. “Deputy Springer is here. He came back with your brother and Mr. Shepard.”

  Ham forgot all about warming up. He bolted for the stairs and took them as if he were being chased.

  Lizzie abandoned her cross-legged position on the floor in favor of the sofa while Hannah stood at the stove. When her sister joined her, Lizzie snuggled. “You’re toasty,” she said. “Read to me.”

  Hannah reached for the book on the side table, opened it, and began to tell Lizzie a story that had nothing to do with the words on the page.

  Smiling to herself, Lily returned to her mending.

  It was this tranquil tableau that halted Roen before he reached the bottom of the stairs. He took it all in—Lizzie curled against her sister’s side, Hannah quietly reading aloud, and Lily in the rocker, head bent, the thimble on her middle finger flashing as she deftly plied her needle. This was not a scene familiar to him growing up, and the contrast to his own noisy, untidy family struck him anew. Moments like he was observing now simply didn’t occur, and while he’d gotten accustomed to the creative chaos around him, he had harbored a longing for quiet that he had never expressed. This peace was a gift, and he was reluctant to disturb it.

  Ham, though, had no such qualms. Roen heard the boy thundering behind him. He put his back against the wall to make room for Ham’s speedy descent and then made the spur-of-the-moment decision to corral him. That decision almost cost him his balance as Ham ran full tilt into the arm he extended. They teetered on the precipice for several long seconds before Roen recovered, threw Ham over his shoulder, and took the last few steps to the bottom with something approaching dignity.

  The reason for Ham’s flight became apparent when Clay bounded down the stairs after him. Roen set Ham down and the boy ran for his mother. What sanctuary he expected to find there, Roen didn’t know. Lily was already on her feet, and Roen suspected she had been there since he tossed Ham over his shoulder, but now she ignored him and had Ham in her sights instead.

  “What did you do?” She put out a hand to stop him before he bowled her over. When Ham merely shook his head, she used her thimble finger to point him to one of the spindle-legged chairs. “Sit.”

  Clay slowed his steps as he reached Roen and ended the chase on the threshold of the parlor.

  “What did he do?” Lily asked her older son.

  Clay’s answer was to look over his shoulder at Roen. His accusing glance was still there when he looked back at this mother.

  Lily’s eyes lifted to where Hitch was standing on the stairs. “Do you know what happened?”

  Hitch put up his hands. “Don’t think I want to be in the middle of their dispute. Is that everything?” he asked Roen.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Then I’ll see myself out.” He nodded to Lily and the girls, shook Roen’s hand, and then made his escape.

  “All right,” said Lily when the deputy was gone. “Clay. You sit, too. What’s this about?”

  Clay jerked his chin at Roen. “Him.”

  Frowning, Lily looked to Roen for some hint that would explain Clay’s answer. His bewilderment matched her own. “Hannah. Lizzie. Upstairs, please.”

  Roen almost envied the girls as they fled. Lizzie gave him a particularly pitying look as she hurried past. He watched them until they reached their room and then he left the foyer for the parlor. He did not take a seat. Instead he stood behind the sofa and set his hands on the curved back.

  “Hamilton?” Although Lily did not raise her voice, using her son’s full Christian name was enough to prompt a response.

  “I only said that we could call Mr. Shepard ‘Da’ like you told us. Clay opened one of Da’s cases, the one with his fancy equipment, and he was showing them off to Deputy Hitch, telling him what they were for and how he was learning all about them. He was saying Mr. Shepard this and Mr. Shepard that and so I told him we was to call him Da. That’s what you said, isn’t it? I wasn’t lying.”

  “No,” said Lily. “You weren’t lying.”

  “Clay said I was. I said I wasn’t. He said I was so I punched him.” Ham raised his right hand and showed off the fist he had used. “I punched him before I remembered what you said about no hitting, and Clay, well, he musta forgot the same as me because he was goin’ to punch me back if I hadn’t run.” Ham’s fingers uncurled. He lowered his hand to his lap but not before he solemnly crossed his heart. “And that’s what happened.”

  Lily listened to this on her feet, but when Ham had finished, she slowly sank back onto the rocker. She said nothing while she took gentle, even breaths until her racing heart quieted. Her boys were watching her closely, but then so was her husband, and while she saw wariness in her sons’ eyes, she saw concern and something else, something she could not quite identify, in Roen’s.

  “Clay. What your brother told you is true. You were already gone from the house when Hannah asked me how she should address Mr. Shepard. Since this was something Roen and I had already discussed, I told her his preference. Ham and Lizzie were in the room so they heard it as well.” She turned to Ham and pointed upstairs. “Make yourself scarce.”

  When Ham was gone, Roen stepped out from behind the sofa and sat in the armchair. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms above his knees, and folded his hands. He regarded Clay with respectful frankness and waited for the boy—no, the young man—to return his attention. When he did, Roen was ready for him.

  “It’s entirely up to you if you call me Da, Mr. Shepard, or that son of a bitch who married your mother.” He ignored Lily’s sharp intake of air. “I prefer Da, but I will answer to the others.” Roen did not miss the slip of a smile that briefly changed the shape of Clay’s mouth. “I did not anticipate that marrying your mother, indeed, marrying into this family, would be without challenges. I did think they would come at me more slowly, and I did not expect that you would be my first hurdle. I’ve always recognized your desire to protect your mother and found it admirable. Again, I was not prepared for you to feel a need to protect her from me.”

  Clay shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His dark eyes darted in his mother’s direction but quickly returned to Roen. He thrust his chin forward. “You weren’t there,” he said. “You don’t know.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lily was preparing to intervene. He spoke before she could. “I wasn’t there last night, not at the beginning, but I don’t think that’s what you meant. It’s all the other times you’re talking about.”

  Clay shrugged.

  “I know that your father hurt your mother, Clay, but you’re right that I don’t know what it must have been like for all of you. I don’t know how often it happened or for how long. I don’t know the extent of your mother’s injuries, and I don’t know if you or your sisters and brother were harmed. You can tell me or not. Your mother can tell me or not. What I want you to know is that I won’t raise my hand against any of you. Ever. That’s my solemn promise, but I’ll understand if it takes weeks or months or even years of proving myself before you believe me.”

  Clay didn’t respond immediately, and when he finally did, it was only to nod.

  Lily said, “We can talk about it, Clay.” She pretended she didn’t see that Roen was now looking in her direction and that one of his eyebrows was lifted in surprise or skepticism. She couldn’t be certain without study. Perhaps it was both. “It will be two years to the day your father died come New Year’s Eve. Not too long ago, Lizzie said we never talk about the fire. She’s right. We don’t talk about it, we don’t talk about your father, we don’t talk about what you saw or heard or thought. That’s my fault, Clay. Maybe we should talk sometimes so what we think we’re tucking deep down doesn’t keep escaping sideways.”

  Clay looked down, raised his arms slightly so he could examine himself on both sides. “Nothin’s escaping now, Ma. I had a touch of gas earlier, but I reckon it was the oatmeal that caused that.”

  Roen gave a short shout of laughter that had both Clay and Lily staring at him. He cleared his throat, smiled a shade guiltily, and said, “Sorry, Clay.” To Lily, he said, “The literal interpretation was unexpected.”

  Lily set her mouth in a disapproving line, but it was all in aid of suppressing her own laughter. When she had herself in hand, she addressed Clay again. “I was speaking of the secrets we keep, Clay. Sometimes keeping things to myself twists my stomach.”