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 minutes and left some of the roughnecks disgruntled. I need to bump up production.” If her flippant answer annoyed him, he didn’t show it.

“How’s Corrine working out?”

Involuntarily, she glanced at the barrette and could have kicked herself for doing so. “She’ll be able to do more when her arm gets stronger.”

She could tell by the way Thatcher was looking at her that he knew she was hedging every answer to these questions. On the surface they might seem casual and random, but she knew they weren’t.

“Do you know Elray Johnson?”

That query genuinely threw her. “His name is vaguely familiar. Is he one of the—”

“Notorious clan, yeah. His cousin Wally was murdered recently. Elray discovered his body.”

“That’s it. I remember reading his name in the newspaper. What about him?”

He told her about the teen’s aborted attempt to steal a horse from Barker’s stable. “I took him to the jail and summoned the sheriff.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You caught him before he stole anything.”

“But I sensed that he had something else on his conscience. Turned out, I was right. He confessed to stealing crates of corn liquor from a competing moonshiner.”

Those twinges of alarm became outright pangs. She was trembling on the inside, but managed to keep her voice steady. “From what I understand, that happens routinely.”

“This theft might’ve been routine if it had stopped at that. But it didn’t.”

“What happened?”

“Last night, Elray and his cousin, Tup, went back to the same still. A decision they came to regret. There was an incident.”

Her heart in her throat, she asked, “What kind of incident?”

“One that warranted investigation. Tonight, when Sheriff Amos organized a team of deputies to return to the scene with Elray, I was more or less recruited to go along.”

That was the convoy she’d seen. Thatcher had been among those who’d discovered the location of their stills, and there he’d found the barrette she’d given Corrine.

Feeling that her silence might be a giveaway to her mounting anxiety, she said, “Like at Lefty’s. You were roped into taking part in the raid.”

He gave a mirthless smile. “Literally this time.” He told her about lassoing Elray. “But that’s neither here nor there. He was pressured into leading us to the site. Seemed like we covered miles of wilderness on roundabout roads. I thought the kid had been lying. But no, we found Cousin Tup.”

“At the still?”

“In a hole in the ground with his arm mangled so bad you couldn’t identify it as a human part.” His eyes holding steady on hers, he said, “It had been snared in a bear trap.”

By now her heart was pumping so hard, she thought she might faint. By a sheer act of will, she contained a sob pressing at the back of her throat. “That’s horrible,” she said hoarsely. “Was he dead?”