Billie paced. She was still wearing the same outfit, and wondered if Mr. Miller would notice when he fetched her to dinner. She thought of waiting for him in the lobby, but decided against it – she didn’t feel like being stared at by people coming and going. Not that there would be, the hotel being the size it was. For all she knew, she was the only guest.

She fiddled with her hair, adjusted her eyepatch, repeated the motions. “This is ridiculous!” She paced the room, once. Why was she so nervous? She knew what was coming. Maybe knowing was what had her so fidgety. She hoped he got it over with quickly … except she still hadn’t decided where to go next. She’d best make her mind up. It was the top of the dinner hour in most places …

A knock sounded on the door. Billie took a deep breath. “Right. Let’s get to it, then.” She crossed the room and answered it.

“Good evening,” Mr. Miller said with a smile.

“Good evening,” she said, more softly than she intended.

His eyes roamed over her. “I …” He shook himself. “I trust you rested?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid.” She examined him in the same manner. Pity. He was such a handsome thing. All the more reason he’d be rid of her, though.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d need time to dress for dinner,” he said tentatively. “Of course, around here no one follows such decorum. However, as you’re British I thought …”

“What I’m wearing will be fine,” she broke in.

He nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. However you’re comfortable.” He reached into his jacket pockets. “Before we go, I’d like to give you these.”

Billie stepped back in surprise when he pulled a small white box tied with blue ribbon from each pocket. Train and stage fare, maybe? Stop it! she silently scolded. Besides, that will come soon enough. Maybe these are peace offerings.

“Consider these welcome-to-Nowhere gifts. I hope you like them,” he said with … was that a shy smile? … and handed them to her.

Billie took them and smiled in return, unable to help herself. For a moment he reminded her of a boy she knew back in her village of St. Ives. She’d set her cap for him, but he and his family moved away shortly after he began to take notice of her. Just her luck – the same kind she’d had ever since. “Thank you.”

“You can open them now, if you like.”

She could tell he wanted her to, so she obliged him. What could it hurt? At least he was giving her parting gifts. Then again, once she opened them, would the evening be over? She stepped into the hall. “Could you hold this one?”

He took one of the boxes. “I hear Hank has chicken and dumplings on the menu tonight.”

“Hank?” She pulled off the ribbon and opened the first box. “Oh …”

Mr. Miller smiled. “I hope you like them. They’re nothing fancy, mind, but …”

She pulled out one of two imitation-pearl-studded hair combs. “Why, Mr. Miller, these are lovely.”

He smiled and sighed in relief. Was he really worried she wouldn’t like them? Hmm, if he was about to suggest they wouldn’t suit, of course he would. “I’m glad you think so.”

She felt herself smile once again. Okay, so his gesture touched her a little. He was being as nice as he could be. “Would you mind?” She handed him the box of combs, and he gave her the unopened one in exchange. She carefully opened it and … “Ribbons!” She always did like ribbons, but didn’t like spending money on them. “Thank you. These are very thoughtful gifts.”

His face brightened. “Rest assured there will be more in your future.”

She stiffened. How badly did he want her out of town? Did he plan to ply her with gifts all night just to soften her to the idea? He needn’t bother – she’d already accepted it.

“Put those in your room and let’s be off, shall we?”

Billie felt her belly twist. Did it have to be in a public place? Maybe he thought she wouldn’t cause a scene if they were in public, but she wasn’t going to anyway. “Yes, of course.” She quickly took both boxes and ducked into her room, set them on the dresser and picked up her reticule. It was a warm night, so she wouldn’t need a shawl.

When she returned to the hall, Mr. Miller offered his arm. Billie wanted to reject his gesture, but that would be rude. She might not be highborn, but she did have manners. Deep down, however, she didn’t want a taste of “what could be” with this man, not even walking down the street on his arm.

They left the hotel and walked past various shops and the town mercantile. It was a lovely evening and, just as she thought, still warm. “Well,” he said. “How do you like it?”

She looked around. “The town? It’s … charming,” Sadly, it really was. What few men strolled the boardwalks waved or tipped their hats to them – albeit with the usual curious looks she was used to. The women stared first, then offered weak smiles. At least they didn’t point, whisper to each other, or frown in disapproval – they were trying to be friendly. Billie smiled and nodded in return. Whether or not they clustered and frantically whispered to each other later, she would never know – she didn’t turn around.

“Ah, here we are,” Mr. Miller opened the door of, so far as she could see, the only restaurant in town. Great. Once he gave her the boot, the whole town would know by morning. She knew how fast news traveled in such a hamlet. Her only consolation was that once it happened, she would never see any of these people again.

He led her to a corner table. There were few patrons, all male workingmen, and Billie’s mood lightened – fewer witnesses to her humiliation. Fine – she could just take it in the cheek and move on. She smiled. She’d already “taken it in the cheek,” literally, which was one reason Mr. Miller wouldn’t accept her in the first place. Ah, the irony …

Mr. Miller went to the opposite side of the table and sat just as an older woman came from the kitchen. She approached their table, took one look at Billie and stopped, eyes wide, but not for long. She narrowed them and studied Billie as one would an annoying insect. Billie ignored her.

“Ah, Mrs. Davis,” he said. “Two menus, please.”

“I declare, what do you need a menu for, Lucien?” she said with a distinct Southern accent. “It’s Thursday – chicken and dumplings night. Iced tea?” The whole time, she never took her eyes off of Billie.

“Yes, for me,” he said. “Miss Sneed, what would you like to drink?”

Billie glanced between the two. Both had their eyes glued to her, but Mr. Miller’s were full of compassion. Real compassion, not pity. Billie smiled. “Iced tea will be fine.” She looked at the waitress. “Thank you, Mrs. Davis.”

The woman’s eyes skittered over her. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” She looked at Mr. Miller. “Well?” she demanded.

“Yes, of course, where are my manners?” he said. Billie did her best not to grin. “Miss Sneed, may I present Mrs. Nellie Davis.” He bit his bottom lip and stiffened as if to keep from laughing. “She works for Hank, the owner of this fine establishment.” Mrs. Davis glared at him.

Billie watched the exchange with interest. Of course the woman worked there – she was taking their orders, wasn’t she? But why had she been so demanding when wanting to be introduced? “Not for much longer,” Mrs. Davis sneered. She looked at Billie again. “What happened to you?”

Billie’s mouth dropped open. She was used to getting stared at, not outright asked. But really, why not tell her? She’d never see this boorish woman again. “If you must know, I got this defending my father from highwaymen.” She pointed at her eyepatch for good measure.

Mr. Miller and the woman gasped. “What?” he said. “Great Scott, what happened?”

Billie looked away for a moment. She wasn’t used to talking about her father’s death, but she’d have to if she told them what happened. “My father and I were newly arrived in your county. We were traveling from New York to Philadelphia by stage when we were set upon by … well, I supposed you’d call them stagecoach robbers. They attacked the stage, killed the driver and his counterpart and …”

Mr. Miller watched her and reached his hand across the table. “You don’t have to tell us if this is too hard for you.”

“Quiet, Lucien, she’s gotten this far!” Mrs. Davis snapped. “Go on.”

Billie licked her lips and took a deep breath, surprised at her struggle for words. “They shot my father. One of them grabbed me, intent on … an outrage. He had a knife …”

Mrs. Davis gasped.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Miller said and stood. “Nellie, fetch us our tea. Can’t you see this is upsetting her?”

“She looks fine to me,” the woman said, then waggled a finger at her own eye. “Except for that.”

He turned her toward the kitchen and gave her a gentle push. “Tea, Nellie. Now.”

“Fine! But I want to hear the rest!” She marched to the kitchen and disappeared.

Billie glanced around the restaurant. Every eye was on her at this point. Lovely. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob and squeezed her eye shut.

“Miss Sneed!” Mr. Miller said, taking the chair next to her. “Is there anything I can do? Should I take you back to the hotel?”

“No,” she managed and opened her eye. “It’s just … I don’t talk about it much.”

He put an arm around her. “It’s all right. You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to finish. You should know.”

“I can wait. Until you’re truly ready to tell me.”

She looked at him, tears in her eye. Until you’re truly ready to tell me … was he afraid her story would make him feel guilty for getting rid of her? Because it almost sounded like … like he was planning for her to be around long enough to tell? She picked up a napkin and dabbed at her good eye, then under the eyepatch. She’d lost the eye, but not its ability to weep, alas.

He in turn pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her. “Thank you,” she said.

“I had no idea,” he said gently. “And Mrs. Davis is terribly rude, and an inveterate gossip besides. If you’re able, you should tell her with me present – then there’s a witness. She can’t twist the tale that way.”

“So by telling her, it will be all over town?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said softly.

She used his handkerchief and handed it back.

“No, keep it.” He retook his seat across the table.

Mrs. Davis returned with their iced teas and set them down. “Two chicken and dumplings?” she asked, eyes fixed on Billie again.

“Yes, please,” Mr. Miller said. He looked at Billie. “Did you wish to …?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not right now.”

“Fine,” he said with a gentle smile, and turned back to Mrs. Davis. “Bring us two pieces of pie and coffee for dessert as well.”

She took one last look at Billie, jotted down the rest of their order and left. Billie sighed in relief.

“I know,” he said, worry on his face. “Who knows what she’ll tell people?”

“What does it matter?” she asked. Was the man daft? If he was sending her off, why should he care? Or was he just worried about his own reputation?

“It matters to me,” he said.

So, probably the latter. “I see,” she said.

He still looked concerned. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you other than …?” He pointed to his own face.

“He never got the chance. I hit him with a rock while he slashed my face.”

“Lord have mercy,” he whispered. “But good for you, Miss Sneed, for giving them some back. Oh, you poor woman …”

“I don’t want your pity, Mr. Miller.”

“Pity?” Mr. Miller leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Miss Sneed, you were attacked, threatened with rape, your father murdered … trust me when I say I speak with the utmost compassion!” He sat back. “And yes, there will be those who feel pity. But people are different here in Nowhere. It’s a small community and we stick together. You wouldn’t be the first here to suffer tragedy and loss. Know that you’re in good company on that score.”

She stared at him. “And you? What have you suffered, Mr. Miller?”

What could Lucien tell her? The worst thing he’d had to suffer of late was misplacing his best tie. He’d found it, of course and was wearing it now. “Oh, I’ve had an easy life, really. Yes, I’ve lost what everyone does eventually – Death comes for us all – though I cannot say it’s touched my life as directly as it has yours. I am sorry about your father, deeply so.”

She swallowed and reached for her glass, nodded and took a sip. She licked her lips delicately before setting the glass down, and it almost did him in.

“I’ll ask again, are you all right?” He had to know. What woman could go through so much and not be scarred? And not just her face.

“I’m fine, Mr. Miller. It was months ago.”

“Months?” He stifled a chuckle of surprise. How could she be all right after mere months? “You are a brave woman.” But she’d have to be to have survived. Every time she looked in the mirror, she’d be reminded of the incident and her murdered father. “Did the authorities capture them, the men who robbed the stage and killed your father?”

She’d been staring at her glass. She lifted her eyes, shook her head and returned her view to the table.

Dear Lord, the poor thing! “Are you in touch with anyone – a sheriff or deputy that can keep you abreast of what’s being done?”

“There’s a United States marshal who said he’d wire if there was any word. But I’m not sure he knows where I am.”

Lucien shook his head. “That won’t do. We’ll get in contact with him first thing in the morning.”

Her head came up. “What?”

“First thing in the morning,” he said again. “If it were me, I’d certainly want to know. Don’t you? I know these things can take time, but eventually, I’m sure those men will pay.”

She stared at him in shock as Nellie brought their plates and set them on the table. “Anything else?” she asked and looked Miss Sneed over as if she couldn’t stand to be so close to her. Uh-oh, Lucien thought. Nellie acting high and mighty was never a good sign – and he wasn’t having it. “My heart rejoices that you fought off the man that gave you those scars. A few marks on the face are nothing compared to what can scar the soul. Isn’t that right, Nellie – don’t you think Miss Sneed’s bravery should be commended?”

Miss Sneed glanced between them, goggle-eyed. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

But it did have the desired effect. “You fought him off?” Nellie said softly. She stared a moment longer before shocking not only Lucien, but everyone in the room and giving Miss Sneed a hug. One customer nearly choked on his coffee. “You poor, poor dear,” she said before straightening. “Welcome to Nowhere. You’re safe here – right, Lucien?”

“Quite, right, Mrs. Davis.”

Nellie nodded, as if still convincing herself. After all, it was her meddlesome gossiping that caused Ebba Weaver to almost get raped a year ago. Now the horror of such an act was sitting across the table from him. Miss Sneed’s scars were a blatant reminder of the violence that existed in the world. It was obvious they’d just reminded Nellie. She retreated to the kitchen without another word.

He watched her go before reaching across the table. “Shall we pray?”

Miss Sneed, still seemingly in shock, smiled shyly. “Yes, let’s.” She took his hand.

Lucien smiled back, bowed his head and blessed their food.