reading

Print ISBN 978-1-68322-085-5

eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-300-9
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-301-6

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Printed in the United States of America.

Chapter 1

She couldn’t have Arizona unless she shared it with Adam Scott. That was horribly unfair.

The stagecoach rolled out of Flagstaff, and Julia Newman leaned eagerly toward the window to see every landmark along the dusty road toward Ardell, the tiny mining town she thought of as home. Some would call this land bleak and unforgiving, but Julia loved Arizona. She’d longed for it during her two years away.

She ignored the three male passengers for nearly an hour. She’d already appraised them and dismissed them, having pegged them as a businessman, a rancher, and a miner. Harmless, but uninteresting compared to the scenery rolling by.

When they came within two miles of the town, the road climbed steadily. Not long now. Would her brother, Oliver, be waiting when she stepped down from the coach?

Julia had come most of the way from Philadelphia on the railroad, but Ardell depended on the old-fashioned methods of transportation. She wasn’t sure the town had ever seen an automobile. Wagons and teams hauled ore to the railroad head, though Oliver said the president of High Desert Mine, where he worked, was seriously considering trying out a truck. They weren’t sure it could take the steep ascent to Ardell and the main mine. More dependable in these mountains was the stagecoach that toiled up the trail twice a week with mail, passengers, and once a month, the mine’s payroll.

Julia drank in the cloudless sky, so perfect and so vibrantly blue in the dry, cool land. She anticipated each vista, watching for the huge rocks that stuck up out of the earth without warning and the low plants that managed to grow in the harsh climate of the high desert. This was home.

Unfortunately, it was also Deputy Sheriff Adam Scott’s home—but she wouldn’t think about him until she was forced to.

The wind tugged at her hair until she was afraid it would pull her hat right off and fling it across the chaparral. With reluctance, she withdrew her head from the open window and set about fixing her hatpins more firmly.

The man sitting on the seat opposite her made no pretense of looking elsewhere. He had the mien of an investor going up to see Mr. Gerry at the mine. That or a banker, which she couldn’t imagine up here in the mountains, but he was too well dressed for most of the occupations common in Ardell. He watched her with a smile on his lips. Julia avoided making direct eye contact. Had he been staring at her the whole way? She oughtn’t to be grooming her hair in the presence of gentlemen, but she didn’t want to lose her hat, and she didn’t want to forgo the view, either.

One of the two other men sat beside her—a rancher who must have come to the area since she’d been away to teach school in Philadelphia. The other sat in the far corner, on the seat with the banker type. Dressed in a flannel shirt and denim pants, the bearded man had slumped in the corner as soon as the coach door was closed, then shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and commenced snoring. Julia figured he worked at the High Desert Mine, where Oliver was employed as the bookkeeper.

The stagecoach slowed, and the man across from her peered out the window. Julia tried to suppress her annoyance. She didn’t want to waste a minute getting home. But the driver, Chick Lundy, sounded as calm as ever, so she relaxed and finished pushing in a hatpin.

A gunshot exploded, outside but a short distance away, and the well-dressed man jerked back from the window. Julia’s pulse caught and then raced. Another gunshot sounded, right over their heads. The rancher tensed and pulled out a revolver.

A couple more muffled shouts reached them but Julia couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t think they came from Chick or his shotgun rider, Bub Hilliard. The voice sounded farther away than that. The coach came to a halt.

She was about to ask the man opposite if he could see anything when someone outside yelled, “Throw down the guns!” The well-dressed passenger reached inside his jacket and pulled out a compact but lethal-looking pistol.

Julia sucked in a breath as her heart galloped on at full speed. She grabbed her handbag. One thing she’d learned, living in a mining town: Don’t ride the stage unarmed. Still, she hadn’t expected this today. She’d imagined that Ardell was more civilized by now. It seemed she was mistaken. She drew out her weapon and tucked it discreetly in the folds of her skirt.

“Take it easy, mister,” Chick called from the driver’s box above her. “You had no call to do that.”

The unseen interloper shouted, “Throw down the box, or you’ll get the same!”

The same? Julia caught her breath and clutched the butt of her pistol. She felt suddenly hot and a bit light-headed. Several thumps sounded on the roof of the stage. She expected the coach door to be thrown open any second, and a blackguard to order them out. But no one came to leer in at the passengers and demand they surrender their valuables.

A whump outside drew her to peek warily out the window. The driver’s strongbox had hit the ground a few yards away.

“Drive on now,” a man shouted. She thought it was the same voice she’d heard before.

Chick cracked his whip and the coach lurched forward. The passengers braced themselves as the horses strained to start again on the upgrade. Julia clung to a leather strap that hung down from the roof.

An eerie silence swept over them except for the rattle of the wheels, the creak of leather, and Chick’s urging to the team. Julia looked over at the professional man. He arched his eyebrows and shrugged. Her heart continued to thud.

They continued on for a minute or two, then Chick called, “Whoa, now!” Again the coach stopped, on a flatter place this time.

Two raps came on the roof of the stage. “Hey! You fellas in there. Come help me get Bub down.”

The man opposite her opened the door and hopped out, leading with his pistol. The rancher shoved his revolver back in his holster and scrambled over Julia’s feet.

She drew back as much as possible and let him pass. The miner blinked at her but didn’t budge from his corner. Julia put her pistol back in her bag and leaned cautiously out the doorway. The coach rocked and swayed as one of the passengers climbed up to help Chick. Through the roof of the coach she heard one of the men swear.

Julia held her breath. Everyone loved Bub Hilliard. He was sweet on Edna Somers, who worked at the ice-cream parlor, and they were both saving up to buy a house. Mama had told her about the romance in one of her last letters—before she took a turn for the worse.

“You’ll need to make room, ma’am,” Chick called. He came into view as they carried Bub, with Chick supporting his head and shoulders. Beyond him, the rancher held up Bub’s feet and legs.

Somehow they boosted the unconscious man into the stage. Julia huddled in the corner, holding her skirt as flat as she could while Chick clambered in and hauled Bub farther onto the floor.

“Naw, you folks would just have to keep him from sliding off.” Chick looked toward the two men standing at the doorway. “Anybody got a neckerchief they can live without?”

Julia noticed then that Chick’s own bandanna lay on Bub’s abdomen, soaked in blood. She sucked in a breath.

“Here.” The miner on the other seat started to untie his grubby, twisted neckerchief, but the banker replica was already holding a clean, neat square of a handkerchief in through the door.

“Thanks.” Chick took the clean one, undid one fold, tossed aside the bloody cloth, and pressed the fresh one to Bub’s wound. “Can one of you fellas hold this on here so I can drive?”

“I’ll do it.” The man in the suit surprised her. He climbed in and knelt on the floor between Bub and Julia’s seat. Chick got out, and the rancher got in, climbing over Bub to get to his former seat.

The well-dressed man turned and eyed the miner as if he were a cockroach. “We were held up.”

The miner folded his arms and slumped down in his corner again, tipping his hat down over his eyes.

Adam Scott leaned against a pillar on the porch of the grocery, waiting for the stage to come in. It was late today. Not much, but Chick Lundy almost never drove in late.

As deputy to the county sheriff, Adam liked to make his presence known when the stage arrived in town. If strangers got off, it put them on notice that this town had a lawman, and he was watching out for the people. When all the passengers were acquaintances, which happened frequently, he got to catch up on the news outside the little mountain town.

Sometimes Ardell’s humdrum days made Adam restless. They seemed like Sunday school compared to his days with the Arizona Rangers. Long hours in the saddle, occasional outbursts of violence, whether tracking rustlers or busting a mine strike—at least the Rangers always had something to do. Now and then they’d even taken a jaunt over the border to pummel the Mexicans. Since the Rangers had disbanded two years ago, a lot of the corps had drifted around, at loose ends. Adam was glad he had a job in his hometown, but sometimes life in Ardell was entirely too tame to suit him.

“Mornin’, Sheriff.” Mrs. Whitaker smiled at him as she climbed the steps to the grocery.

The sounds of Chick Lundy’s horn drifted up the mountain trail. The driver always blew it when he reached the bend in the road. Adam straightened and peered toward the sound. Seconds later, the stagecoach appeared.

The stage was a relic of an era gone by—one of the last left in service. Up here in the mountains, the coaches met the need railroads and automobiles couldn’t.

Chick was whipping up the horses, even though they were nearly to the stage station. The coach reached the crest of the hill, where the road flattened out along the main street. Instead of stopping in his usual spot, Chick drove on by, with the horses still galloping. Their manes tossed in the wind of their speed, and foam whitened their sides. That was odd, but it didn’t seem they were running away. The driver held the reins in perfect control. It took Adam a moment to realize that Chick sat alone on the box.

He ran after the stage, half the length of Main. Something was wrong—so wrong that Chick Lundy pushed his horses beyond reasonable. Unheard of.

The stage came to a halt in a flurry of dust before Adam’s office, a tiny building with board siding perched on the edge of the street. It housed one cell, an office big enough for two men to sit down in, and a back room the size of a wagon bed, with a bunk, a wall shelf, and three clothes hooks in it—Adam’s current home.

“He was when we put him inside. He’s gut shot, though. It don’t look good.”

A small crowd was gathering, and Adam turned to see who was handy. He spotted Lionel Purdue, owner of the Gold Strike, one of the three saloons in town.

The barkeep bustled off up the street as more people drifted toward the stagecoach.

“Nope,” Chick said. “He didn’t bother the passengers none. Just took the payroll.”

“Only one man,” Chick said. “I woulda tried to run right over him, but we was going up a real steep place. He fired first thing and hit Bub. Poor Bub let off a round, but he didn’t come close to hittin’ him.”

“All right,” Adam said. “Just wait here for the doctor, and then you can take the stage back to the station and tend to the horses. I’ll come over and talk to you again after I see what the passengers can tell me.”

The door of the coach opened, and a well-dressed man climbed out. Adam noted he had blood on his hands and shirtfront. “Sheriff, is it all right if we get out here?”

“No.” He looked down at his hands. “Just trying to help the shotgun messenger. My name’s Wallace Brink. I’m here to see Mr. Gerry, at the High Desert Mine, and I’ll be staying at the Placer.”

Adam nodded. The Placer was the one modest hotel Ardell boasted. “All right. I won’t keep you long, Mr. Brink. I just want to get everyone’s story while it’s fresh in your minds.”

A swirl of skirt and petticoats announced that a woman was disembarking next. Adam turned and held out a hand.

“Can I help you, ma’am? I’m—” He stared into blue eyes that had flummoxed him before. He swallowed hard. “Hello, Julia.”

Chapter 2

Adam turned away after Julia’s brief greeting and peeked inside the stagecoach. Three more men were inside, one of them being Bub Hilliard, who lay bleeding on the floor. He recognized Ike Hinze, kneeling beside the wounded man. Ike had a ranch in the steep-sided valley beyond town. The sour-faced man who huddled in the corner was connected to the mine, he was sure.

Adam turned and looked over the heads of the onlookers, but couldn’t spot his uncle. He frowned when his gaze lit instead on Dr. Clyde Browning. Why did Lionel have to fetch the new doc, anyway? He ought to have realized Adam meant his uncle, Dr. Royce Scott, who had served the town for many years. It was bad enough that a lot of folks had forsaken the older physician for the new one, but this was official business. His uncle shouldn’t be passed by.

“Yeah.” Adam didn’t get any more out before the miner hopped out and Browning climbed inside.

“Nope.” Chesley shot a stream of tobacco juice to one side. “We was going along great guns and all of a sudden Chick stopped the team. Somebody hollered, and then a gun went off.”

“There were two shots,” Wallace Brink said, stepping closer. “I think our shotgun rider must have fired once, and of course the robber shot him.”

She nodded. “This gentleman is correct. The first thing I noticed was a shout, but not from one of our party. It sounded faint, as though someone at a distance was trying to get Chick’s attention. Then the coach slowed down, and two shots were fired. One closer than the other.”

She looked to Brink for confirmation, and he nodded. “That pretty well sums it up. The driver stopped the coach, and the robber yelled to throw the box down. They threw it to the ground—”

Brink coughed slightly. “Well, I assume the driver did. But we didn’t know at the time that Mr. Hilliard was shot.”

“That’s true,” Julia said. “I assumed he was fine until after the bandit told Chick to drive on. We went on up the road a ways, and he stopped the stagecoach again. That’s when he called for the men to help him get Bub down into the stage.”

Adam eyed her thoughtfully. “I notice you both keep saying ‘the robber’ or ‘the bandit.’ Mr. Lundy says there was only one man. Is that right?”

“He’d know better than we would,” Brink said. “I didn’t actually see him.”

“Me either,” Julia said. “He didn’t approach the door or the windows of the stage.”

“No,” Julia said. “Now that you mention it, I didn’t see any, or hear any hoofbeats.”

“All right,” Adam said. “I’ll check with the driver on that. Miss Newman, I know where you live. Mr. Brink, if I need more from you, I’ll come to the Placer. Mr. Chesley, are you at the miners’ village?”

“Thank you,” Brink said. He walked toward the back of the coach, looking up toward the boot, where the luggage was stored.

Browning shook his head. “Unfortunately, Mr. Hilliard is beyond need for help. He must have passed away during their run up here from the site of the holdup.”

Adam lowered his head and let his shoulders slump. Now it was beyond chasing down a road agent. He had to catch the man who’d murdered a friend. He pulled in a deep breath. The crowd was dispersing, some of the people following the men who carried Bub’s body toward the livery stable, where the owner made coffins on demand. The rest went off, seemingly to gossip in the saloons or the mercantile, or headed home to prepare dinner.

He caught a glimpse of Julia Newman’s elegant form disappearing down the street toward her brother’s house. Adam couldn’t tear his gaze away until she turned the corner. Why did she have to come back now, anyhow?

Chick Lundy cracked his whip and clucked to the horses. The stagecoach rattled off toward the vacant lot past the smithy, where the driver would have room to turn around. Adam walked toward the livery stable. He’d get Ike Hinze’s version and then go and talk to Chick again.

Half an hour later, after he’d questioned Hinze and helped Chick swab out the stagecoach, Adam mounted his bay gelding and rode out to the scene of the robbery. On the way, he thought over what he’d learned about the holdup. One robber. Chick was the only one who’d gotten a look at him, but the others trusted his word, and so did Adam.

Chick had also told him he hadn’t seen a horse. The bandit had threatened him, so he’d surrendered the treasure box, but the man hadn’t picked it up until after the stagecoach was out of sight. Chick thought he heard another faint gunshot after they were over the next rise. He’d surmised that the robber had shot the lock off the box, and Adam agreed that was logical, but he’d have to see for himself what clues were out there on the trail.

Chick had been so concerned about getting Bub to the doctor quickly and avoiding more violence that he hadn’t tried to see where the robber went. He’d lit out for town, which was no doubt the best course.

The robber was long gone, of course. It was easy for Adam to find where they’d been held up—the empty treasure box still sat at the side of the road. The outlaw must have taken the money out and put it into a sack or something before he rode off. Adam looked over the ground carefully and then searched farther afield for evidence that the robber had hidden a horse nearby. Every indicator supported Chick’s story of the bandit working solo.

When Adam decided he’d found everything significant, he mounted, carrying the empty wooden box. He left the box at his office and rode out to the High Desert Mine to see the supervisor. Better find out how much money they’d been expecting today.

They went into the office, and Gerry shut the door. “I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt us. But losing a man like Bub Hilliard—well, what can I say? He was a good man.”

“He surely was. Now, can you tell me how much money the company had in that treasure box today?”

Gerry gritted his teeth. “I could give you an estimate, but our bookkeeper can tell you to the penny.”

Gerry led him down a short hallway and stopped at an open doorway. “Hmm, that’s odd. Newman’s not at his desk.”

“Maybe he went out to eat his lunch,” Adam said. His own belly was starting to feel mighty spare.

Gerry took out his watch and frowned at it. “He should be here now. It’s almost two o’clock. Let me send one of our clerks around to look for him.”

They walked back toward the entrance to the building. A young man dressed in a white shirt and black vest and pants, with a ribbon tie and paper cuffs shielding his shirtsleeves, jumped up when Gerry called his name.

Ten minutes later, they were still waiting. Gerry paced his office. Adam was past ready to ride back to town. Maybe Oliver was home now.

“Sir, I believe I’ll move along,” he said. “Oliver’s a friend of mine. I can catch him later in town.” Adam hovered on the verge of mentioning the fact that Oliver’s sister had come in on the stagecoach. Maybe he’d gone to meet her, though Adam had seen no sign of him in Ardell—even though the stage was late. He refrained from suggesting it. He wouldn’t want to put Oliver in hot water with the boss.

The clerk came huffing and red-faced to the doorway and knocked cursorily on the jamb.

Chapter 3

Her voice echoed through the rooms. She stepped inside and set down her valise and handbag. The front room was nearly the same as it had been when she left two years ago. The furniture was the same her parents had had—two comfortable stuffed chairs and a rocker, bookshelves, a side table and lamp, a rug made of braided strips of wool. On one wall, the photograph she’d sent home last year hung in a simple wooden frame.

She ventured to the kitchen doorway. Her mother’s cookstove—it would always be Mama’s stove in Julia’s mind—sat where it had for years, ever since they’d moved to Ardell. Tears threatened her as the memory of her mother working over it came back so strongly she had to look away. Same cupboard, same pine table and chairs, same washstand with a large, enameled dishpan sitting in it. Same flour barrel and coffee grinder.

She’d never expected to come home to this room and not find Mama here. Oliver’s telegram a month ago had torn her heart to shreds.

She’d planned to come home, but not until she’d taught another year or two in Philadelphia. With several years of solid experience under her belt, she’d planned to have the family watch for an opening in Arizona, and then she’d return, ready to support herself and pick up life—without Adam Scott in it. The shock of Mama’s death had heaved those plans out the window. She’d put in her resignation and continued teaching several weeks while the headmaster found a suitable replacement for her. Finally she’d headed west, knowing the funeral was long past. That didn’t matter so much. She needed to go home.

Was she ready to stay here, now that the journey was behind her? She wasn’t sure, and seeing Adam today had shattered what little confidence she’d stored up. She couldn’t fall back into her old life in Ardell. Of course, it could never be the way it used to be—not with Mama gone.

Julia drew in a deep breath and walked over to the stove. She lifted one of the cast-iron lids over the firebox. The ashes were warm. She took the poker from its peg on the wall behind the stove and raked them over. A few coals glowed orange. The woodbox held ample kindling and some shredded bark and dried weeds. It took her only a minute to lay the foundation of a good fire. She closed the stove lid and opened the draft on the stovepipe. The kitchen would warm up soon. Meanwhile, she’d keep her wool coat on.

After filling the teakettle and setting it on the stove, she went back to the front room and picked up her bags. Weariness swept over her. She hadn’t yet admitted her disappointment that Oliver hadn’t met the stage. She longed to see him again. Surely he could have taken an hour off from work—but he wouldn’t have been certain she’d come today. He would come home as soon as he’d finished his day’s work at the mine’s headquarters.

She trudged up the stairs. The robbery had wrung the starch out of her. It was all she could do to heft the valise onto her bed and unpack it. She longed to crawl under the patchwork quilt and go to sleep, but her stomach protested. She’d eaten nothing since the sketchy breakfast she’d wolfed down at a stage stop before dawn. Oliver must have something she could eat on hand. She ought to have rummaged through the cupboard while she was down there.

She was halfway down the stairs when someone knocked on the front door. She took the last few steps quickly and walked toward the front window. Maybe Chick had brought her trunk around. From the window she couldn’t see the caller, but a bay horse stood out front, his reins trailing in the dirt. She braced herself and opened the door.

The afternoon sun sprinkled glints of gold in his thick chestnut hair. His brown eyes gazed so intently at her that she looked away.

She jerked her head around. “What do you mean? He didn’t meet me at the stage stop.”

She sharpened her gaze, not liking his manner. “Do you have something to say, Adam Scott? If you do, then say it plainly. You never used to beat about the bush with me.”

He gave a rueful chuckle. “No, I didn’t, did I? You always said what you meant, too.”

She swallowed with difficulty. Facing him for the second time in one day, without the buffer of the other stagecoach passengers, drained her of whatever energy and emotion she had left. “Adam, I’m exhausted. I’ll tell Ollie you were here. Maybe he can come down to the jail and talk to you later.”

The unexpected gentleness in his voice tugged at her, and Julia cleared her throat before replying. “Thank you. But you didn’t come here for that.”

Julia interpreted his gaze as something between a glare and an entreaty. Could they ever be friends again, after what had passed between them? She had her doubts.

The hair on the back of Adam’s neck prickled as he crossed the threshold of the Newman house. Julia was so beautiful. He could scarcely believe how she’d changed—improved. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what she’d gained—sophistication, maybe. He supposed that happened to young women who went East and learned to move in refined society. When he’d courted her, she was pretty—the prettiest girl in Ardell—but half tomboy, riding up and down the mountain trails in her split skirt, camping with her brother, and shooting a bow better than a lot of Indians.

Now she’d gotten so much gentility he wasn’t sure he knew how to talk to her. She sat down in her mother’s old rocker and waved him toward a cushioned armchair. He sprawled in it as he had a hundred times when visiting Ollie, with his long legs stretched out before him. Suddenly he felt out of place and sat straighter, pulling his legs in and bending them at the knees.

She glared at him. His stomach heaved, and all kinds of memories that he didn’t want to deal with returned. He shouldn’t have come here until Oliver was done with his workday and likely to be home. But then, that was part of the puzzle, wasn’t it?

“Strange the bandit didn’t demand that you passengers hand over your money and valuables.”

Adam didn’t like her ready answer. Either she was still mad at him or she was hiding something. “One of the other passengers told me you had a gun.”

“After Papa died, I always carried a gun if I had to go somewhere unescorted. In case you’ve forgotten, Ardell was a pretty rough place two or three years ago. It seems to have mellowed a little, but I wasn’t taking any chances.”

Adam had to admit she was right. The Newman family had moved here shortly after the mine opened, and Julia’s father had served in the same job Adam now had. The town was rough then, and most men wore sidearms. Oliver got the bookkeeping job at the mine about five years ago—before his father died—and he carried a gun, too, at least on payday.

“Two of the other passengers had guns, that I know of,” Julia said. “Have you grilled them about it?”

“No. Yes. That is, I asked them about weapons.” His cheeks heated. Why did he let her get to him? One thing hadn’t changed—Julia didn’t deal well with him in the role of a lawman. Too bad. He would have liked to be able to talk this over sensibly with her. This and a thousand other things. Instead he had to look at her as he would anyone else. She was the victim of a crime. Or was she?

He didn’t like the possibilities that flashed through his mind. One robber—a man who obviously knew today was the day the mine’s payroll would come. One female passenger packing a gun. He’d never before heard of a stage holdup where the bandits didn’t rob the passengers. Could the robber possibly have known who the passengers were—or at least, who one of them was?

She eyed him coolly for a long moment. “You came here knowing Ollie wasn’t at the mine. Now you’re pressing me about the holdup, when I’ve already told you everything I know. What’s going on, Adam?”

“I’m only trying to get at the truth, Julia.” Her suggestion felt like a slap, but he managed to keep his voice cool. The thought had lurked in the back of his mind, where he didn’t have to confront it. Now she’d yanked it into the open—the thought that his best friend had robbed the stagecoach.

Her expression hardened, and her beautiful face seemed a caricature of the young woman he’d loved. Did she despise him now?

“Truth? You’ve been friends with my brother for a long time, Adam. I won’t say anything about our past relationship. Just think about what you mean to Ollie. In every letter he’s written me, he’s mentioned some aspect of your friendship. He looks up to you in many ways, and he relies on you. But all of a sudden you think he’s capable of violence? You don’t know Ollie as well as I thought you did.”

Chapter 4

After Adam had left, Julia hurried upstairs. As tired as she was, she couldn’t rest. She opened her wardrobe and took out the brown split skirt she used to wear when she rode about the countryside with her brother. In Philadelphia, she’d worn a proper riding habit when she went out on horseback, but this was Arizona, and she was content to slip back into her old ways.

She buttoned a cotton blouse and tied a neckerchief at her throat. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she hauled off her walking shoes and put on her old, worn boots. Last, she topped her ensemble with a warm woolen jacket and her old hat—one Oliver had outgrown and let her have when she was eleven. It fit snugly over her hair, but that was all right. It would stay put. She took her small revolver from her handbag and put it in the deep pocket of her skirt.

The livery stable was less than a city block away, and she strode quickly along the packed-dirt street. She met only a few people, and she nodded at them but kept walking.

Adam couldn’t seriously think Oliver robbed the stagecoach. Why would her brother do such a thing? He made a decent salary at the mine. His recent letters hinted at no financial distress. Everything had sounded reassuringly normal until Mama’s sudden death. As soon as she’d heard that news, she’d resigned her teaching post and arranged to come home.

But nearly a month had passed since her mother died. What had Oliver been doing in the meantime? Was he more distraught than she knew? He was always a pensive boy, but still she couldn’t conceive of him turning to crime. She tried to remember everything she’d heard during the holdup. Wouldn’t she have known her own brother’s voice? The shout she’d heard when inside the stagecoach echoed in her head: “You’ll get the same.” No, Oliver wouldn’t have said that. But she couldn’t recall the timbre of the voice—only the sinister words.

Sam Dennis, the livery owner, broke into a wide grin when he saw her entering his barn.

“Surely, but…Are you and Oliver going riding so soon? You came in on today’s stage, didn’t you?”

She didn’t disillusion him, but stood impatiently watching as he saddled a lethargic dun gelding. Within minutes, she was in the saddle. She made the horse trot until they were out of sight of the livery then urged him into a lope. Ten minutes later, they drew up before the mine’s headquarters. She dismounted and tied the horse to the hitching rail. The clerk inside lost no time in ushering her to Leland Gerry’s office.

“Good day, Miss Newman.” The older man rose behind his desk. He hadn’t aged much, though his hair had a little gray now. He wore the same clothes Julia had always seen him wear—black suit, white shirt, black necktie. While greeting her, he removed the spectacles he’d been wearing.

“Yes, I spoke to him personally less than an hour after I came in. He didn’t mention to me that he’d be going out, but sometimes he does go on errands without my knowledge. Things having to do with mine business.”

Julia nodded. “He didn’t meet the stagecoach when I arrived, and I assumed he was here.” A stack of papers on Gerry’s desk caught her eye—campaign posters. One hung on the wall behind him. GERRY FOR SENATE. Arizona wasn’t even a state yet, and he was planning his move to Washington.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “No one here has seen him since ten o’clock or so. If you’d like to leave Oliver a note, I can show you to his office.”

“Thank you, but I know where it is.” She whirled then walked into the hallway and a few steps along it to the tiny room that held Ollie’s desk, two chairs, and a set of shelves. She found a scrap of paper and a pencil and bent over his blotter to scribble a note.

She added a stylized lizard at the bottom—a rune she’d used for her signature since they were children. Oliver used an eagle. They’d copied the simplified depictions from petroglyphs they discovered when they lived up near Canyon Diablo more than a decade ago. Their father had managed the trading post there for three years, and Julia and her brother had run wild in the desert and loved every minute of it.

She went back out to the dun gelding. Where now? If no one knew where Oliver had gone, searching seemed pointless. She’d check back at the house, but her mind was made up before she reached it. If he wasn’t there, she’d ride back down to the place where the stage had been robbed. Adam was right about one thing—that holdup was downright odd. Only one man, no horse, and he hadn’t demanded anything from the passengers. Maybe there were some clues down there.

The horse loped willingly back into town. Julia ran into the house. Her trunk sat on the floor just inside the parlor, to the right of the door. They never locked doors in Ardell, and she was glad Chick had brought it inside for her.

Her voice echoed off the walls and ceiling. Tears sprang into her eyes. Where was he? She refused to worry. Instead, she ran back out to the horse and mounted. The gelding wanted to return to the stable, but Julia forced him to head out of town, down the mountain, along the road toward Flagstaff.

Her thoughts, against her wishes, swung back to the sheriff as she rode. Adam hadn’t changed a bit since she’d left two years ago, unless it was to be more suspicious—more antagonistic. She realized how much she’d counted on him taking up some other occupation after the Arizona Rangers disbanded. She’d have happily married him if he became a rancher or a storekeeper or a freighter.

But, no. Adam Scott couldn’t lay down the badge. Within weeks after he was done with the Rangers, he’d accepted the offer of a job as sheriff. Technically he was a deputy to the county sheriff—the office her father had once held. But all the townspeople called him “sheriff.” Why couldn’t he settle down and be an ordinary citizen—one who wasn’t hated and cursed and shot at? At the age of twenty, Julia had hoped. She was older now, and she knew he couldn’t change. Adam would always need to be a lawman.

And so she’d left—ostensibly to pursue a teaching career. She and Adam both knew she’d really done it to put as many miles as possible between them. She’d nursed her shattered heart at a safe distance from the man she loved but couldn’t have.

A mile out of town, and a good deal lower in elevation, she paused. This was the spot. The robber had chosen one of the steepest stretches of the road. The horses had to slow down here. On one side an outcropping of rock rose, with several large boulders at the bottom. Good places to hide. Beyond it, brush grew thick and edged up to a copse of scrub pines. More cover. The other side of the road ran close to the edge of the mountain. Passengers got a beautiful view, but the coach driver had to stay clear of the drop-off.

Julia dismounted and examined the ground. After a moment, she thought she knew exactly where the stage had stopped and located a squarish scuff where the treasure box had hit the ground. A few boot prints showed in the nearby dirt, which must have belonged to the robber.

The road itself was a mess of hoofprints, but no one had seen the robber’s horse. He must have had one. She looked around again. The trees were a good fifty yards away. The bandit must have hidden the horse at least that far away, unless he’d had a place in the rocks to keep him out of sight.

She walked toward the boulders and searched the ground between and behind them, and along the edge of the juniper bushes, but all she found was an empty bottle. She held it up for a moment and eyed it with distaste before tossing it as far as she could into the brush. Useless, that’s what this trip was. There was nothing here that would tell her who did this.

Maybe Oliver had come home. She ought to go and check. The dun gelding was cropping the short, dry grass at the edge of the road. Julia mounted and headed back up the slope toward town. Halfway there, another horse came around a bend toward her. She drew back the reins and the dun stopped.

Adam stopped his horse, too, for a moment then proceeded toward her. She took in the bedroll and pack tied behind the cantle of his saddle. Adam wasn’t out for a brief ride. He planned on being gone a while.

What was Julia doing out here? Adam urged his horse forward, trying to read her face. Impossible—she’d donned a guarded look that might as well have been a mask. In the old days, he’d been able to take one look into her eyes and know exactly what she was thinking. How many other ways had she changed?

“Hello, Julia.” He pulled back, and Socks stopped, almost nose to nose with the dun Julia rode. One of Sam Dennis’s horses. “Oliver didn’t come home yet?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he rode into Flagstaff to see if I came in on the train.”

It wasn’t like her to use weak logic—or to lie. What was she really up to? Maybe she knew exactly where Oliver was. He looked her over, more closely, taking in the comfortable old riding clothes she used to wear. This wasn’t the proper lady who’d gotten off the stage. She might be taking Oliver information or supplies. Maybe she planned to join him so they could escape together with the loot from the robbery. Adam hated to even think that about his best friend—or the woman he’d loved.

But if Oliver was innocent, why did he disappear when the payroll did? And why was his sister out here in an isolated spot, near where the robbery took place?

“What do you mean?” She blinked those blue eyes at him, so guilelessly that he almost believed she was innocent.

She turned her horse and clucked to it, going around Socks. As they passed, Socks stretched his neck and nipped the dun’s flank. Julia’s horse let out a squeal and quickened its steps. Julia flung a dark look over her shoulder at Adam.

He slumped in the saddle and watched her go. How many times would he have to watch Julia ride away from him? He’d had more than enough of that.

Socks twitched his ears back toward Adam, and he realized he’d spoken aloud. He stroked the bay’s withers.

But Adam wasn’t. Life without Julia was gray. The intense color she’d splashed all over it was gone. True, things were more peaceful without her, and he’d gotten used to the calm. He had a lot of friends and few enemies.

Another pain sliced through him. Oliver Newman was his best friend. He couldn’t have done this. How could he? Adam knew his friend well—or he’d thought he did.

Oliver had been there for Adam when Julia went away. Even though she was his sister, Oliver hadn’t tried to defend her. He’d seemed to be able to look at both sides, and Adam respected that. The Newman kids’ father had died in the line of duty when he served as a deputy sheriff. Julia couldn’t go through that with a husband, too. Adam had thought long and hard about it, but in the end he couldn’t resign his position. He’d honestly felt God had called him to be a lawman. But Julia couldn’t accept that. Or maybe she could, but not the two of them together as long as he wore the badge. So she’d gone away to teach.

Oliver had helped him pack up the memories and put them away. Not to forget. Adam could never forget his love for Julia. But he could keep it sealed away in a dark place, like the trunk full of his mother’s things that sat up in Uncle Royce’s attic. He hadn’t opened that for a long time either.

And Ollie had been there to talk things out after Adam came home from a recent trip to Phoenix. He’d gone there to take in a train robber he’d helped the county sheriff catch. He hadn’t minded the journey to the capital, though it was hotter than molten iron in Phoenix during July.

Adam had been stunned when the bigwigs in Phoenix had come to his hotel and urged him to run for representative in the new state government. Arizona wasn’t even accepted as a state yet, but they were lining up senators and representatives and all kinds of other officials.

He’d thought about it until he got home. Then he told Oliver, and they’d hashed it over—for about five minutes. They both knew he didn’t want to spend half the year in Phoenix. He wanted to stay right here and keep the peace in the mining district—which he’d done fairly well until today.

He reined Socks in when he reached the scene of the robbery. Chick Lundy had described it well, and he’d had no trouble finding it the first time he came out here. There had been no rain for more than a week, and it wasn’t hard to tell where Chick had stopped the team and they’d stood for several minutes. He’d also found boot prints and a few other scuff marks. Now smaller footprints had joined the mix. Adam dismounted and studied the trail for a few yards beyond. Julia hadn’t gone any farther. She’d stopped here and looked the site over again. Why? Had she met her brother here in the short time he’d been gone? He didn’t see any other footprints, but that didn’t mean anything. Oliver might have met her and stayed in the saddle.

Adam gritted his teeth. He’d only ridden back to town long enough to see Leland Gerry. Then he’d alerted a trusted man and grabbed his gear. Andy Black was going to meet him out here with several other men to help him track the robber. But apparently he’d left the spot unwatched long enough for Julia to look it over—and maybe to communicate with the bandit.

Julia was nearly to the outskirts of town when she met four riders. She felt a twinge of unease. In the old days, she wouldn’t have been afraid to be out by herself on horseback, so long as she had her gun. But since she’d lived in a city, her ideas about that had changed. Maybe that was part of growing up. She rested her right hand over her pocket, where she could feel the reassuringly hard shape of her revolver.

“Sam?” With relief she recognized the livery owner, as well as another of the men who rode with him. “Where are you all going?”

“A posse?” Julia looked back down the road in bewilderment. Adam had said nothing to her of this, or even of having a suspect. “What for?”

Bob Tanner, the barber, raised his hat for a moment. “Adam found where someone tied a horse in the trees not far from the holdup, and he called for men to go out with him to track the robber.”

Julia’s stomach curled in dismay. Had the notion of her brother’s involvement been discussed in town?

“We’d better get going,” Sam said. “Just put the horse in the corral when you’re done with him, Miss Julia.”

“All right. Thank you.” She felt ill as she watched them ride away to meet Adam. When they were out of sight, she turned the dun homeward and galloped for the livery stable. Three more men passed her, heading toward the posse’s rendezvous.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4