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batwing doors. Something about him was ominously
familiar to Kyla, but she didn’t know why. The look he gave them
was malevolent, but Jace didn’t favor him with even a glance.
    Jace led them to the general store and
dismounted from his bay. Securing the reins to a wobbly hitching
rail, he looked up and down the street. Kyla remained in her
saddle. She longed to get down and look around in the store, but
she was too tired to fight with him if he were to bark at her.
Actually, he didn’t bark—half the time she had to lean in to hear
him when he spoke. It was one of his unnerving characteristics.
However, although he’d been no more taciturn than usual, she’d
sensed his sour mood.
    “ There sure isn’t much left
of this place.” The remark was made more to himself than to Kyla.
Then he glanced up at her with speculative eyes, and she thought
she saw an odd expression of disappointment, as though he’d hoped
for more here. It made a chill run through her.
    “ Well, come on if you
want,” he said finally, turning toward the store. “I’m not going
another morning without coffee.”
    She jumped down and followed him across the
rotted plank sidewalk, mindful of the holes. When they walked into
the store, Kyla noticed the poorly stocked shelves and the lack of
warm, inviting scents that floated through most general stores.
    While Jace ordered coffee from the clerk,
she idled at the glass display case. Her eyes fell upon a pair of
real tortoise shell combs that lay on a scrap of yellowing lace,
and an unexpected surge of regret tightened her throat. She’d worn
combs like that when her hair hung to her waist. When she’d finally
had the chance to grow it out, she had thought it was her best
feature, her long, thick hair. That was before she stood at a
mirror a month ago, with tears in her eyes and a razor in her
shaking hand, and resolutely hacked off the blazing badge of her
femininity. Now it was hideous, a jagged-edged mop. She wondered if
she’d ever get the chance to wear it long again. Not as long as Tom
Hardesty lives, she vowed silently, her fist clenched against her
chest.
    When she looked up, she saw that Jace was
studying her, the same speculative expression in those ice blue
eyes. Realizing that her interest in the combs might seem odd, she
hastily moved on to examine a crosscut saw hanging on the wall.
    Jace watched the boy a minute longer, then
turned back to the clerk. “Could you use some extra help around
here?” he asked, keeping his voice down. “Maybe give that boy over
there a job if I left him here in town?”
    The clerk snorted and gestured at the nearly
empty shelves. “Hell, even a blind man could see I don’t need any
help. You’re joking, right, mister?”
    Jace stared at him, but said nothing.
    He swallowed hard under the scrutiny. “Uh,
no, I don’t suppose you are. Well, Cord hasn’t got much left to it
beyond the saloon and this place. It’s folding up like a spavined
horse.”
    Jace nodded. Despite his wish to be rid of
Kyle, the boy didn’t deserve to be left in a town like this.
Misfortune wasn’t in much better shape than Cord, but maybe Travis
could give him work in the blacksmith shop when they got there. It
might put some bulk on the kid’s bones. He looked over his shoulder
and saw him studying the peppermint sticks in the jar on the
counter. At least he’d quit eyeing those women’s gee-gaws in the
display case.
    “ Hey, Rankin.”
    Without seeing who the voice belonged to,
Jace recognized its tone. Even if he hadn’t, the expression on the
shop clerk’s face told him plenty. The man’s eyes darted between
Jace and the speaker behind him, and he looked suddenly chalky, as
if a gun were pointed at him. He backed up until he bumped into the
empty shelves lining the wall. Jace felt Kyle tense next to him
too.
    Jace pivoted slowly, tucking the front edge
of his duster behind his holster as he turned. He recognized the
skinny young saddle tramp he’d seen when