Lizzie rattled on about what flavor fizzy drink she wanted. She didn’t ask for an opinion and neither adult offered one. As near as Roen could make out, it would either be root beer and seltzer water or ginger beer mixed with the same. When they were seated at one of the small round tables close to the fountain bar, Lizzie ordered a cherry fizzy.

  Roen did not anticipate sharing a chuckle with Lily Salt after having shamelessly used her daughter to engage her cooperation, yet a chuckle was precisely what they shared as their eyes met over Lizzie’s small head. He liked the sound of it bubbling on her lips, the way it came up from her throat and mingled with his deeper, rumbling laughter. There was harmony, real harmony, in their agreement.

  Dolly Mangold, the druggist’s wife and blender of specialty teas, waited for the quiet laughter to subside. She plunged into the awkward silence that followed and took two orders for root beer fizzy drinks before she retreated behind the fountain bar.

  Lily watched her go. A thin vertical crease appeared between her eyebrows.

  “What is it?” asked Roen.

  Lily darted a sideways look at Lizzie, who was blowing humid breaths on the glass tabletop and then dragging a finger through the condensation. She quickly shook her head.

  Roen said, “Lizzie, why don’t you belly up to the bar and watch Mrs. Mangold make our drinks?” Lizzie’s head came up so quickly Roen feared whiplash. She didn’t leap away from the table, though. She looked to her mother for permission.

  “You can go,” said Lily, “but don’t make a nuisance of yourself with a hundred questions.”

  When the little girl climbed onto a barstool and was out of hearing range, Roen put the question to Lily again. “What is it?”

  “I shouldn’t be here. You know I didn’t want to come with you.”

  “But you did.”

  “You were walking away with my daughter. That wasn’t right.”

  “Or fair,” he said. “Not right. Not fair. But you’re here, and that was the goal.”

  “Why?” She leaned in and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dolly Mangold is not a gossip of the caliber that Amanda Springer is, but that doesn’t mean she won’t tell a friend that she saw me here.”

  “Surely there’s nothing strange about that.”

  “With you. She’ll tell someone I was here with you.”

  “The best way to deal with that is to make it a habit. Then it won’t be out of the ordinary. People don’t comment on the ordinary, have you noticed?”

  Lily’s nostrils flared slightly as she inhaled. “Mr. Shepard. I don’t appreciate you making light of my concerns. I think I know the mind-set of folks here better than you. Even if you stay a year, you’re still only passing through. I live here. Will always live here. It would be a kindness if you would take that into account. The next time you make to walk off with my daughter, I will holler bloody murder.”

  “Bloody murder? That’s an awful expression. Do you read dime novels? I believe they’re still popular. I used to read Nat Church’s adventures. That sounds like something he would say.”

  “Mr. Shepard.”

  “Yes?”

  “I mean for you to take me seriously.”

  “Hmm. Why didn’t you holler bloody murder when we were standing in the sheriff’s doorway? Seems as if that would have been the time to do it. He was right there, sitting behind his desk, nursing a cup of coffee and watching the goings-on with what I would call a peculiar level of interest. I think he would have gotten up if you had hollered. But you didn’t. Why is that?”

  Lily didn’t—couldn’t—respond. She stared at him instead.

  Roen went on conversationally, “Anyway, I don’t think you holler.”

  A muscle jumped in her cheek. “Perhaps not, but I can scream, Mr. Shepard, and right now you’re making me want to scream.”

  He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard that before. My piano teacher. He did scream, but then he was dramatic about taking his seat on the piano bench, so it was to be expected. You are not dramatic, Mrs. Salt.”

  Lily leaned back the few inches necessary to sit up straight again. Beneath her emerald green shawl, she squared her shoulders. Her gaze was direct, unflinching. “What is it that you want from me?”

  “Company.”

  “Really? Company? Not a sparring partner?”

  Roen turned his head to greet Dolly as she approached with their drinks. “Ah, that didn’t take long. Thank you, Mrs. Mangold.”

  “Dolly,” she said, setting a drink in front of each of them. “We discussed this before. I’m Dolly to nearly everyone. I hardly know how to answer to the other.”

  “Dolly, then. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do.” She winked at him as she took a step back from the table. She wiped her hands on her apron and spoke to Lily. “Lizzie wants to drink her fizzy at the counter. It’s fine with me if you say the same.”

  Lily nodded. “Thank you, Dolly. You’re good with her.”

  “Wish I saw her more often. She reminds me of my Sarah when she was just a little thing. Same hair. Always jabbering when something caught her eye. Don’t you be a stranger either, Lily.” Dolly looked from Lily to Roen and back to Lily. Her smile remained unremarkably pleasant, but the look she leveled on Lily was significant.

  When she was gone, Roen said, “What was that?”

  “What?”

  “That look she gave you. What was that?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. She winked at you. What was that?”

  “That? I’m sure I don’t know.” Roen positioned the paper straw in his drink toward his mouth, bent his head, and sipped. “It’s good. Go on. Try it.”

  Lily did. There was no point in not appreciating this special treat. “It’s delicious. Lizzie told me the bubbles tickle the back of her throat but I didn’t know what she meant.”

  Roen’s eyebrows lifted. “This is your first time?”

  She nodded and took a second sip. “The fountain bar is relatively new. Mickey and Dolly installed it at the beginning of summer. Clay brought his sisters and brother here several times. I came once, but I ordered tea. I suppose I thought that fizzy drinks were for children.”

  “What do you think now?”

  “I think I was wrong.”

  Roen cocked his head to one side as he studied her. Lily’s face was a near perfect oval, and her features—except for her nose, which was a fraction left of center—were symmetrically aligned. Her eyes were focused on her drink so he could see the curve of her long lashes. They were a shade darker than her rust-colored hair, which was mostly hidden by her hat. He had to call on the memory of Lily sitting in the rocker with the sun glancing off her shoulder and bare head to bring the richness of that color to mind. He was not an artist, as anyone in his family would attest, but he saw details with the eye of a camera lens and held on to them just as clearly.

  She glanced up just then and caught him staring. Roen didn’t look away. That unnerved her, and for that he was sorry, but he did not regret having eyes on her in the first place.

  “If it is your desire to make me uncomfortable, Mr. Shepard, then please know that you’ve succeeded and have done with it.”

  “Not my desire, Mrs. Salt. I apologize for that. Did you know my mother is an artist?”

  “I’m not certain what that has to do with anything, but I learned of it today when I was speaking with Ben. He told me. I gather she is quite famous.”

  “Well known, I would say. And also well regarded. You have an interesting face, Mrs. Salt, of the kind my mother would want to paint. I was thinking about that.” It was not a complete fabrication, for somewhere at the back of his mind the thought had been there. He watched Lily touch the bridge of her nose in a self-conscious gesture. Before she dwelled on that, he pointed to his nose and then turned sideways so she could better see the outline of his face. “My mother tells me that I have a profile for coins. Ancient coins. Roman coins. The ones someone discovers in old shipwrecks or archeological digs. Are you familiar?”

  She nodded as he faced forward. “I’ve seen drawings in books.”

  “And?”

  “And your mother is correct. I imagine she meant it kindly. It’s a noble profile.”

  That brought Roen back to his early morning conversation with Clay. He’d been repeating something Hannah shared with him. Nobility in your profile, she’d said. Especially your nose.

  “You shouldn’t infer too much from that, Mr. Shepard. I was commenting on your nose, not your character.”

  Far from taking offense, Roen chuckled appreciatively. “Perhaps you would make a good sparring partner after all.”

  “You had doubts?”

  “A few, but you’ve put a period to them.” He thought she might bristle, but she appeared oddly satisfied that he knew she could give as good as she got. “I’m not at all sure why I desire your company, Mrs. Salt, but I’ve not changed my mind about that.”

  “There’s a pity. You recall that I have four children. They are the company I keep.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. The oldest is going to work for me, and the youngest is slurping a cherry fizzy at the counter. Ham doesn’t like to wear shoes, and Hannah also thinks I have a noble profile.”

  “What?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What did you say about Hannah?”

  “Oh, that. She told Clay that I have a noble profile. He told me. I suspect it’s because she saw me in church.” He smiled crookedly. “She is not yet as clear as you in distinguishing a noble proboscis from nobility of character. You should probably explain that to her.”

  “Oh, I certainly will.”

  Roen shrugged as he reconsidered. “She’s bright, though. She could come to it on her own.”

  Lily sat up just that much straighter and looked him squarely in the eye. Her fingertips tightened on her glass. “I won’t chance it.”

  “The wiser course. Do you always take it?”

  “Does anyone?”

  “I was asking about you.”

  “No, then. I submit being here with you as evidence of my own folly.”

  “That cut me deeply.”

  “I doubt that. You didn’t flinch.” Lily allowed herself to relax and turned her head toward the counter. “Lizzie. You’re slurping air now. Stop, please, and come over here.”

  Lizzie turned on her stool. “May I have another?”

  “No. And don’t beg. It’s unbecoming.”

  Sighing audibly, Lizzie pushed her glass away from the edge of the counter and slid off the stool. She sat at the table in the chair she had vacated earlier and eyed the root beer fizzy her mother had not finished. “May I have a taste of yours?”

  “A sip,” Lily said firmly. She lowered her glass in front of Lizzie so her daughter could easily find the straw. Lizzie quickly stole two sips before she looked up and revealed her most impish grin. “You are the very devil,” said Lily.

  “I thought Ham was the very devil.”

  “He’s not here, so it’s you.”

  Lizzie was not at all disturbed to hear this. She looked over at Roen. “I’m the very devil.”

  “Seems that way.”

  Her eyes fell on his half-finished drink. “May I have a taste of yours?”

  Lily intervened. “Lizzie. You forget your manners. No, you may not have any of Mr. Shepard’s drink.”

  Roen shrugged helplessly. “Your mother says no.” When Lily cast a narrow, accusing look his way, he said, “I would have told you no even if your mother hadn’t.”

  Lizzie was disappointed but resigned. “Can we go to Mrs. Fish’s now?”

  “You read my mind,” said Roen. He removed some coins from his jacket pocket and placed them on the table. “Shall we?” He rose, helped Lizzie down from her chair, and then stood at Lily’s side while she rose. “Thank you, Dolly,” he called over his shoulder as they exited. When they’d reached the boardwalk, Lizzie separated herself and skipped ahead. “Well?” he said to Lily. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

  “It isn’t over.” She lifted her chin to indicate a figure farther down the walk. “That’s Mr. Hennepin sweeping in front of the mercantile. And across the street, Maxwell Wayne just stepped out of the bakery. His bones reliably predict the weather, but right now he’s more interested in us than he is in the change in air pressure. We’re coming up on the butcher shop. There will be people in there. There always are, and they’ll see us through the front window. Do you begin to comprehend my concern?”

  “I’m not sure. What do you imagine people will be whispering?”

  “Whispering? That’s too subtle for some folks. They’ll be saying I’m taking up with you.”

  “Are you?”

  “No!”

  “You seem firm on that.”

  Lily gritted her teeth. “I am.”

  “Then they’ll figure that out. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “No, merely the end of my reputation.” She greeted Mr. Hennepin as they passed the mercantile and paused long enough to exchange pleasantries.

  “That was brave of you to step up that way,” Roen said once they were out of earshot. “The way you explained it to me, I fully expected him to call you a Jezebel.”

  “How old are you, Mr. Shepard? I ask because you put me in mind of Clay, and as you know, he’s twelve.”

  “Ah. Not a compliment, then. I’m twenty-nine.”

  “So I have five years and four children on you. I suppose that’s why my perspective on life is more serious than yours.”

  “I don’t find everything amusing.”

  “Then it’s me.”

  “Sometimes it is.”

  “Well, at least that’s honest.” She waved to Maxwell Wayne across the street. He waved back and then slipped inside his bakery. “What do you take seriously?”

  “My calculations.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “The integrity of the things I design depends on the soundness of my calculations. I take that seriously. Very much so. When it’s done correctly, math is reliable.”

  “And people aren’t?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Mostly it’s true,” he said.

  Lily stopped walking as Lizzie took a left turn into the alcove that marked the entrance to the dress shop. “We’re here,” she said. “Please don’t follow us inside. You have business with Ben, I believe. You should see to that.”

  Roen agreed, albeit reluctantly. “I asked Clay to come by after he finished his chores. If that’s satisfactory with you, that is.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I spent the morning poring over maps. I have a route planned for Saturday. That’s when I’ll need Clay for the day.”

  “All right.”

  “All right,” he repeated. His eyes lingered on her mouth, and her smile faltered. He was definitely sorry for that. He reached for the door and held it open until Lizzie and Lily were inside, then he raised a hand to acknowledge Mrs. Fish before he backed out of the alcove and headed down the street to find the sheriff.

  Chapter Seven

  As near as Roen could tell, Ben Madison hadn’t twitched since he’d last seen him. He was still behind his desk, still nursing a cup of coffee, still leaning as far back in his chair as gravity would allow.

  “Please tell me that’s fresh coffee,” Roen said as he sat in a visitor’s chair opposite Ben.

  “Fresh ten minutes ago,” said Ben, raising his mug. “You want a cup?”

  Roen shook his head. “Just had a root beer fizzy.”

  One of Ben’s fiery eyebrows lifted in a perfect arch. “You were at Mangold’s drugstore?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. With Lily and Lizzie Salt. Mrs. Salt had root beer same as I did. Lizzie had the cherry.”

  “They were on their way to the dress shop.”

  “That’s where they are now. We parted ways at the entrance.”

  “Huh. I knew you were a pretty persuasive fella when I heard you speak to the council and later at the town hall. You sold them on Northeast’s plans for new rails through here, but better than that, you sold them on you. That’s not easy to do.”

  Roen offered a modest shrug.

  “Of course, Lily Salt didn’t attend the town hall meeting, so she didn’t see what I saw. How’d you get her to go to the drugstore with you?”

  “I used Lizzie. She begged prettily when I suggested a fizzy drink, and her mother gave in. Reluctantly, I admit. Most definitely against her better judgment. She told me the next time I take Lizzie by the hand to lead her away, she’ll holler bloody murder.”

  “She said that?”

  “Almost verbatim.”

  “She doesn’t holler.”

  “That’s why I thought. She barely raises her voice. I can admit that I find it a little unnerving. I’m more familiar with loud and chaotic.”

  “Family?”

  Roen nodded. “And neighbors. The entire neighborhood actually. But I can appreciate the bucolic charms of Frost Falls, and the quiet of the surrounding country.”

  Ben chuckled. “You need to visit some of the ranches. There’s nothing quiet about bleating sheep and bellowing cattle.”

  “I won’t have to take your word for it. It’s my intention to ride out to a few of the homesteads on Saturday. I’m taking Clay with me.”