weren’t rusted with age. But that wasn’t the point.
“The gun is mine,” he said. “For now. And we’re not associating. I haven’t agreed to anything.”
She reached for the weapon and he yanked it out of reach.
“You’re stealing my gun?” she cried. “That’s some gratitude for breaking you of jail.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Her expression turned wintry. “I’ll pay you.”
“How much?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“Not enough.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You never intended to accept!”
“I needed to know how much you could afford.”
With an abundance of caution, Sheriff Koepke had barred all the windows in the cramped space. Sunlight persevered, casting blocks of shadows on the floor, illuminating Lily’s expressive face. He shouldn’t goad her, but there was something magnificent about how the sliver of light piercing the barred window lit her blue eyes.
The color reminded him of the feathers on the crown of a barn swallow. The kind of blue that brought to mind the endless summer days of his youth. When he and his brothers had slipped away from their chores and splashed in the stream behind the old barn—before their mother’s death. He’d felt as though his life had been cleaved in two, and everything before her death had dropped into oblivion. He’d thought those memories had vanished from his consciousness, but for some inexplicable reason, Lily and her charges had inspired their reappearance.
The door swung open, snapping him back to the present.
Sam and Peter scuttled inside. They were bundled head to toe against the cold, wrapped like colorful mummies.
The older boy, Sam, tucked his hands in his armpits and shivered. “I don’t think he saw us.”
Peter slammed the door and leaned against the wood panel. “He’s coming!”
“Why aren’t you at the hotel?” Lily rushed to meet them. “How did you find me?”
“I didn’t figure you’d take a gun to the mercantile,” Peter replied. “We watched you from the window on the landing.”
Sam released his fingers from the warmth of his armpits, skipped past Jake and stuck his face through the bars. “How come the gunfighter isn’t in there? I thought you said he was in jail.”
Peter joined his brother. “Do you think a killer carved his initials in the bricks? Do you think there’s ever been a hanging in Frozen Oaks? Do you think there’s ever been a jail bust? Do you think Billy the Kid was ever locked up in here?”
“Enough of that morbid talk!” Lily snatched the boy’s arm and dragged him back a pace. “You can’t be here. We mustn’t arouse suspicion.”
“But it’s Sherriff Koepke.” Peter grasped his brother’s other arm, putting the boy in an odd tug of war. “He’s coming.”
Jake stilled. “No games. Did you actually see the sheriff?”
“We’re telling the truth.”
“We heard everything,” Sam eagerly added. “The sheriff and Vic were talking. Vic is coming to the jailhouse after he has dinner with Miss Regina and smooths her ruffled feathers.”
“Why is he coming to the jail?” Jake prodded. “Did he say?”
Lily shot him a quelling glance. “Don’t encourage them. We don’t have time for questions. They need to leave.”
“I’m not encouraging them, and time or not, this information is vital.”
Possibly even lifesaving. Vic was obviously interested in the boys and their inheritance. Lily was either part of the prize or a hindrance. Jake needed to know which before he made his next move.
“Vic said that he and the sheriff are going to take care of the prisoner,” Sam continued. “Then he’ll finally have everything he wants.”
“Did either the sheriff or Mr. Skaar see you?” Lily interrupted. “Are you certain he doesn’t know you were listening?”
“We were silent as mountain lions,” Sam offered cheerfully. “We were hiding outside his door. Don’t worry, we were real quiet. He didn’t even know we were there.”
“Why on earth were you spying on him in the first place?”
“Because we found this,” Sam declared. He retrieved a folded St. Joseph Star newspaper from the waistband of his trousers and pointed at a block of text in the social commentary section. “Regina and Vic left this on the table when they finished having lunch with the sheriff. Read the second paragraph.”
Lily grasped the paper. “‘The wealthy heiress to the Carter Smelting Corporation and her husband perished in a cholera epidemic while building a children’s school in the South African Republic. Their sole living heirs have been transferred to the guardianship of their paternal grandfather, Emil Tyler, of Frozen Oaks, Nebraska.’” She flourished the paper. “You can’t trust anyone these days. Who puts that sort of thing in writing? Have reporters no sense?”
“That’s our proof.” Sam nodded. “That creep from the hotel is after us for our fortune, and the sheriff is helping him.”
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