"Good to meet you."
Nora stared at him.
"You always introduce yourself after shooting people?"
"Only when necessary."
She looked at the unconscious men.
"Was that necessary?"
Cole glanced toward the road.
"They were kidnapping you."
Nora's expression hardened.
"They've been following us for two days."
"Why?"
None of the women answered.
That told Cole more than words would have.
He looked at the broken wagon.
"You can't travel tonight."
"We know," Evelyn said.
"There'll be more men."
"We know that too."
Cole studied them.
Then he looked toward the distant lights of Mercy Creek.
"You have somewhere to go?"
Nora shook her head.
Cole sighed.
"All right."
Clara frowned.
"All right what?"
"You're coming with me."
Nora gave him a suspicious look.
"We don't know you."
Cole mounted his horse.
"You don't have to."
He pointed toward Mercy Creek.
"But you know those men."
Nora glanced back at the darkness.
She knew he was right.
Cole looked at the three women.
"Ride behind me. Stay close."
Nora hesitated.
Then she climbed onto the horse behind him.
Clara and Evelyn followed on the two horses Cole had taken from the fallen outlaws.
As they rode toward Mercy Creek, Nora whispered:
"Why are you helping us?"
Cole looked ahead.
"Because somebody should."
She waited.
"And if we hadn't been there?"
Cole's face became harder.
"Then I'd probably be sleeping under that water tower."
He did not tell her the truth.
He had seen the same fear in their eyes once before.
Years ago.
In another town.
With another woman.
A woman whose name he had buried along with his old life.
And as Mercy Creek appeared ahead of them, Cole Walker realized something he had spent years trying to forget.
Trouble had found him again.
And this time, it had three faces.
The Widow's House
Mercy Creek woke before sunrise.
By the time Cole and the three women reached town, smoke was already rising from chimneys.
The sheriff's office stood beside the church.
Cole dismounted and walked inside.
Sheriff Thomas Reed was asleep behind his desk.
Cole knocked twice.
The sheriff opened one eye.
"If you're here to complain about the noise at the Silver Spur, come back after breakfast."
"I'm here about three women."
Reed sat upright.
He saw Nora, Evelyn, and Clara standing behind Cole.
His face changed.
"Where did you find them?"
"About four miles west."
"Who was chasing them?"
"Men who don't know when to quit."
The sheriff sighed.
"Of course."
Cole noticed the sheriff's hand move toward his desk drawer.
"What?"
Reed looked at him.
"You don't know what you've stepped into."
"Then tell me."
The sheriff stood.
His eyes moved toward Nora.
"Miss Bell, you shouldn't be here."
Nora stiffened.
"You know me?"
"I know your father."
Her expression changed.
"My father is dead."
"I know."
Cole looked between them.
"What does her father have to do with this?"
The sheriff didn't answer.
Instead, he said, "You three should stay at the widow's house."
"Whose widow?" Clara asked.
"Mrs. Abigail Carter."
"Why?"
"Because nobody goes there."
Nora frowned.
"That sounds comforting."
Reed looked at Cole.
"Walker, if you're smart, you'll leave Mercy Creek before noon."
Cole leaned against the desk.
"I'm beginning to think that's exactly why I shouldn't."
The sheriff stared at him.
Then he said quietly:
"You're not the first man to think that."
The widow's house stood at the northern edge of town.
Abigail Carter was seventy years old and had buried two husbands, three children, and most of her patience.
She opened the door with a shotgun in her hands.
"Who are you?"
Sheriff Reed stepped forward.
"Abby, these women need somewhere to stay."
Abigail looked at them.
Then at Cole.
"Does he come with them?"
Cole answered.
"No."
"Good."
She opened the door.
"Bring them inside."
Nora paused.
"Mrs. Carter, why are you helping us?"
Abigail looked at her for a long moment.
"Because twenty years ago, someone helped me."
"What happened?"
Abigail's expression darkened.
"Nothing you need to know yet."
Inside, the house smelled of wood smoke and dried lavender.
It was small but warm.
Clara immediately sat near the fireplace.
Evelyn examined the windows.
Nora stood in the center of the room.
She seemed unable to relax.
Cole noticed.
"You're looking for exits."
Nora turned.
"I like knowing how to leave."
"That's wise."
"You always agree with women who point guns at you?"
"You haven't pointed one at me."
Nora smiled faintly.
"Not yet."
Before Cole could answer, a horse stopped outside.
A man's voice called from the road.
"Miss Bell!"
Nora froze.
Cole moved toward the window.
Three riders waited outside.
The man in front wore a black coat and a silver star-shaped pin.
Not a sheriff's badge.
Something else.
Cole narrowed his eyes.
"Who is that?"
Nora whispered:
"Silas Rourke."
Evelyn's face went pale.
Clara stood.
"He's here."
Cole looked at Nora.
"Who's Silas Rourke?"
Nora swallowed.
"The man who killed my father."
Silence filled the room.
Cole looked outside again.
Rourke dismounted.
He walked toward the house.
He didn't hurry.
Men like him never did.
They wanted people to know they were not afraid.
Cole checked his revolver.
Nora saw the movement.
"Don't."
"Why?"
"Because if he dies, we'll never find out what he wants."