Chapter Twenty-five

Phoebe used her lower legs to gently squeeze Mrs. McCauley and push the mare forward from a walk to a trot. During the transition, when Mrs. McCauley was most likely to balk, she pressed her heels lightly into the animal’s sides. Phoebe adjusted the swing of her hips until she had the horse’s rhythm and then sat heavy in the saddle to keep from bouncing out of it. She had been practicing almost every day for two weeks, sometimes circling the corral without her feet in the stirrups to help her strengthen her seat. Early on, it was exhausting. She would bounce high out of the saddle because she was gripping too hard with her thighs, and without her weight on Mrs. McCauley’s back, the mare would stop because she didn’t know what to do.

There wasn’t a ranch hand around who didn’t have some piece of advice for her. None of them were shy about hollering it out. Sometimes the suggestions were contradictory. She tried everything at least once and used what worked for her. If Thaddeus was nearby and heard them shouting instructions at her, he growled at them to put their two cents away and get back to work.

“She’s coming along,” said Ben to Remington.

The pair stepped out of the barn together and into the bright sunshine. Ben lifted his hat, beat it once against his thigh, and returned it to his head. In that brief hatless moment, sunlight glanced off his hair, turning it flame orange, and highlighting every one of the freckles sprayed across his nose and cheeks.

“Mm-hmm.” Remington’s eyes followed Phoebe as she circled the inside of the corral.

Ben set his shoulder against the barn and folded his arms across his chest. “She’s not going to be satisfied staying inside the rails much longer.”

“Why do you say that?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess because she asked me yesterday if the trail to Boxer’s Ridge would be easy for her to follow.”

“Christ,” Remington said under his breath. He looked over at Ben. “What did you tell her?”

“What you’d expect. Told her about the snakes and the loose rocks and the steep climb and the switchback that makes it seem like you and your horse are going to fall off the edge of the earth.”

“She believed you?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because she’s not . . . never mind. I’ll take care of it.” He shook his head. “Boxer’s Ridge. Wonder how she heard of it.”

“I’m recollecting hearing Fiona’s name in our conversation.”

“Hmm.”

“Speaking of . . .” Ben jerked his chin toward the house. “Where is Mrs. Frost today? I saw the buggy’s gone. She take it out?”

“Thaddeus drove her into town. He’s rounding up help for branding the calves so we can get them out to pasture. She’s probably shopping.”

“Ralph and I rode out early to count head around Baker’s Knob. Guess that’s how I didn’t see them leave.”

“What’s the count?”

“Four hundred, give or take. We chased off some cattle from the Double H. We can expect Hank Henry’s men to direct some of our cows back this way. Always a tangle after a long winter.”

Remington nodded. He continued to watch Phoebe. Her concentration was all for what she was doing. He didn’t think she was aware of his interest. Or Ben’s.

Ben said, “My mother mentioned she sent you to town a couple of days ago with a list as long as her arm.”

“I was already intending to go, so I got the list. And it was every bit that long.”

“Huh. She usually sends me.”

Remington looked crossways at Ben. “You have a particular interest in everyone’s comings and goings, or are you just making conversation?”

“Just making conversation, I expect. Why?”

“Jeez, Ben, you’re not exactly a stranger to me. I’ve known you all your life, or near to. It occurs to me that you have a niggling question you can’t figure how to ask. If that’s the case, just ask it.”

“All right.” He lifted his chin to indicate Phoebe. “I was wondering if you maybe spoke to Brewer about her. About the investigation, really. Haven’t heard anything in a while, not that it’s my business, not directly, but I was there that night, waiting, same as everyone else, and I set out to find her with your father and the sheriff.”

“I remember.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got an interest.”

Remington arched one dark eyebrow. “You do?”

“Sure.” He saw Remington’s gaze return to Phoebe. “Oh, no. You got it wrong. I like her just fine, like her, you understand, but my interest is in getting justice for her.”

“Has she talked to you about that?”

“No. And I don’t bring it up. Figure it’s a tender spot, and I’m not one for poking at it the way you do.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one that took her back to Thunder Point. If that’s not poking at what’s tender, then I don’t know what is.”

“What makes you think we went there?”

“If you’re saying you didn’t, I’m going to have to call you a liar. My mother overheard Thaddeus and Fiona arguing about it. Maybe she shouldn’t have told me, but she did, probably because she knew I was concerned. I haven’t repeated it. I can’t say whether Phoebe might have said something to anyone, but if she has, it never reached my ears that way.”

Remington said nothing for a time, rolling the potential responses over in his mind. “I’ve been talking to Sheriff Brewer. I’ve had concerns, same as you. I want justice for her, same as you.”

Ben nodded. “Good to know we’re of like minds and on the same side. Her side.” He straightened and dug his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “So what have you heard? Brewer must know something by now. Lord, it’s been what, better than eight weeks?”

“About that.”

“So?”

“You know Northeast Rail sent one of their detectives to investigate. Michael Smith.”

“Yes. Thaddeus told me that. It was expected.”

“Brewer informed me the other day that Smith left the Butterworth a week or so ago. Cleared out. He—Smith—could no longer justify his stay to the company. Nothing he learned led anywhere.”

“Nothing?”

Remington shook his head. “Lots of information from the passengers but nothing to give him a trail to follow. In the meantime, there have been no other robberies.”

“So that’s it. He’s gone and Brewer’s done.”

“It’d seem that way.”

Frowning, Ben knuckled the bridge of his nose. “What else? There’s something else. I know you, too, and I can tell when you’ve got more to say and are still thinking about whether you want to say it.”

Remington slanted a wry grin Ben’s way. “Seems that Blue might have stumbled onto something significant.”

“Blue? Our Blue Armstrong?”

“You know another Blue?”

“I thought maybe one moved to town. Jumpin’ Jesus on a griddle. Blue Armstrong. I’ll be damned.”

“Brewer says that his deputy’s biggest advantage is that people underestimate him.”

“That’s fair. What’s the significant something he stumbled on?”

“A piece of jewelry taken from one of passengers during the robbery. Blue was able to match it against the description he was given from the owner, but to be certain, they want to have it authenticated. They’re working out the details of that now. It’s taking longer to make the arrangements than Blue thought it would.”

“What’s the piece?”

Remington put a hand to his throat as if he were choking himself. “A seed pearl collar. I guess it shows off a woman’s neck to a particular advantage.”

“Huh. Don’t see how. Not if the thing covers up her neck.”

Remington lowered his hand. “I asked Phoebe about it. She says it favors the length of a woman’s neck. Draws a man’s eye to it.”

“You told her about the necklace?”

“Uh-huh. I wondered if she remembered anyone wearing it.”

“Did she?”

“No. She said whoever owned it wouldn’t have been wearing it on the train. It’s for fancy dress. Evening wear, she called it. She thought it was probably kept in a case.”

“But you said you had the owner’s description. You know who it belongs to.”

“The sheriff wanted to see if Phoebe could verify ownership. He wants to make sure he gets it back to the right hands.”

“Makes sense. Must be worth something big, a necklace like that.”

“Collar,” Remington said. “I guess that’s the proper term for it. Phoebe called it a dog collar.”

“That’s probably what’s referred to as a woman’s prerogative. I wouldn’t dare call it that.” He dropped his shoulder against the barn again and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Unless the woman’s a bitch. Then I might reconsider.”

Remington said nothing; he didn’t smile, didn’t raise an eyebrow. For all of Ben’s casual way of dropping the comment, Remington thought about it long after Ben was gone.