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of his arm with her gaze. “The real town.”
    â€œIt is something of a relic. The theater, for instance, was converted from an opera house in the forties and still shows a whopping one movie at a time, at least six months later than anywhere else.”
    Noelle smiled. “Quaint.”
    â€œHere’s the bank. It was robbed fourteen times in its first year, 1884. So they called in the Congregational minister, had him bless the place, and it’s never been hit since.”
    Noelle stared at the stone structure. It looked like a toy compared to the skyscraping bank buildings of New York City. Finches fluttered around its eaves, ducking in and out of the tiny apertures, and a mud-and-daub nest in one corner showed where a pair of rock swallows had raised a spring brood. “That’s interesting.”
    â€œCoincidence, really. The silver shipments stopped changing hands here and went to Golden instead.”
    She smiled again. “Sounds like you know your history.”
    â€œI got all that from the professor.”
    â€œProfessor . . .”
    â€œJenkins, your fellow guest at the ranch.”
    â€œWho else is there?” Since she had a guide, she may as well use him to learn what she could.
    â€œA family from Michigan, three members of a Pathfinder Club, and a couple on their honeymoon. Won’t see much of them. But the professor likes to gab.” They passed a hardware store, a drugstore, and an ice-cream parlor.
    Noelle paused at the French patisserie. “Is it any good?”
    â€œWant to try it?”
    â€œNo, just wondering.” She started on before he could encourage her to share one of the pleasant umbrella tables on the patio. It was one thing to catch a ride and let him show her around, another altogether to linger and chat over pastries.
    The general store she’d already seen, and there was a modern, though tiny, grocery mart. Across from that a square stone building housed the library, post office, and city hall. Next to that was the Roaring Boar Grill and Saloon, made of red granite with huge rough beams supporting a peaked roof.
    Morgan stopped. “That’s it, except for private residences, the church there, and behind it the new community center for civic activities.”
    â€œSuch as?” She looked at the low-peaked warehouse-type building that looked completely out of place behind the old stone church.
    â€œOh, you know, Elks Club, ladies guild . . . a quilt show now and then. Pure excitement.”
    Noelle smiled. He was irreverent but amusing, and her intimidation lessened. But her head throbbed and she was uncommonly tired.
    â€œYou okay?” Morgan eyed her.
    She nodded. “My head aches.”
    â€œThat’s the altitude. Drink lots of water. You’ll acclimate in a few days. You want to see the tourist strip?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œThere just might be a curio you can’t live without—ceramic hind end of a horse with the clever quip ‘Rocky Mountain quarter horse.’ Even has a slot for quarters. I won’t tell you where.”
    Noelle groaned.
    â€œI bought one for Rick in honor of his profession, but I haven’t seen it displayed.”
    â€œI can’t imagine why.” She stepped over a missing chunk of sidewalk.
    â€œAll sorts of treasures. Bottle of fool’s gold that people buy to prove they really are.”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œDon’t want you to miss out on the priceless finds that bring the bus people every day.”
    â€œI’ll bear responsibility.”
    He shrugged with an emphasized sigh and led her back to the car. He held her door open and she climbed in, steeling herself for the drive. In truth, though he rode the edge, he was an accomplished driver, far safer behind the wheel than she’d be on those curves. As Morgan’s Corvette hugged the road up to the ranch, she looked down at the town nestled below.
    He