to various angles. Then a laugh began deep inside his chest before burbling out.
“What? What is it?”
He closed the primer and passed it back to her. “Go to bed, Laurel.”
“Not on your life!”
“Turn out the light. Everything’s fine. I know where they’re at.”
* * *
He refused to talk about it further, saying that morning would come soon enough. Frustrated, but exhausted, Laurel turned out his bedroom light and pulled the door shut on her way out.
Bone-weary as she was, she took a bath before retreating upstairs to her room, where she pulled on a fresh nightgown, took the pins from her hair, and gave it a good brushing. She plaited it loosely into her customary bedtime braid. She was about to extinguish the flame in the lamp when she saw his reflection in her dresser mirror.
Gasping, she spun around, her hand at her throat.
Forty-Three
Don’t raise a ruckus.”
“What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!”
Thatcher came into the room and quietly closed the door.
“If you don’t leave in two seconds, I’ll shoot you.”
“With what? You keep your pistol in the pocket of your skirt.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve noticed you’re always patting at it.”
Intending to mend and wash her tattered and soiled skirt in the morning, she’d left it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, her pistol forgotten in the pocket. She didn’t believe Thatcher meant to harm her, but she wished she had the Derringer to reinforce her point about his audacious intrusion.
“As you’re well aware, Irv has a shotgun,” she said. “He’s right downstairs.”
“Sawing logs. I could hear his snores as I passed through the kitchen.”
“If you don’t leave now, I’ll yell for him.”
“No, you won’t. You don’t want me confronting him with this.”
“This what?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took off his well-worn black felt cowboy hat and set it on a table. Then he took off his jacket and folded it over the back of a chair.
“Pick those right back up,” she said. “I did not invite you to stay. In point of fact, I’m sick of you sneaking around me and my house. What gives you the right to do that, to show up at all hours of the night?”
“When you always seem to be awake. Awake and wound up like a top. I wonder why that is.”
“If I’m wound up it could be because you appear out of nowhere and catch me unfit to receive a visitor.” Yes, this was twice, wasn’t it, that he’d caught her wearing only—
She didn’t finish that thought, because, somewhat recovered from the shock of his being in her house, her bedroom, she realized that his demeanor was particularly solemn.
His gray eyes shone in the lamplight beautifully, but reflecting bleakness. His face was drawn, his expression taut, emphasizing the sharp ridges of his cheekbones. He looked as though he were about to undertake a dreaded task, like someone designated to deliver tragic news. She felt twinges of alarm. Why was he here?
It was then she noticed that his boots had been ghosted over with a fine, chalky dust, and she realized where he had been tonight before coming to her. Though her breathing turned quick and uneven, she struggled to keep her features schooled. She even managed to ask aloud the troubling question in her mind. “Why are you here?”
He reached down to his coat and took something from the breast pocket, then walked over and set it on the dresser. Instantly recognizing a silver barrette, her heart seized up. She swallowed. “I must’ve lost it in the yard.”
Speaking quietly, he said, “I didn’t find it in your yard, Laurel.”
She didn’t need to ask where he had found it. She knew. But she brazened it out and made an offhanded gesture. “Then it probably isn’t mine.”
“I’ve seen you wear it in your hair.”
“Lots of women have that same clip. Hancock’s sells them. Six to a card. You didn’t need to bother to return it.”
“Actually, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got something to tell you.”
“About a hair barrette?”
“Have you seen Chester Landry around?”
The question was out of context. She replied with exasperation. “No. I told you it was doubtful I would.” Thatcher didn’t look convinced. She added, “I don’t know the man. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Was the O’Connors’ trip up to Ranger successful?”
He was intentionally trying to rattle her. She couldn’t allow being caught off guard. “Very.”
“They didn’t encounter any problems?”
“In fact they did. They sold out of pies in a matter of