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wood, the jail had burned to the ground within minutes.
    Of course Stuart had his theory about who had started the fire. “And what’s the use of having a jail anyway?” his friend would say. “The sheriff wouldn’t ever lock anyone up, not when he’d have to lock himself up first.”
    “I’m not all excited . And no. There’s no fire.” Connell took a step back and glanced at the saloon door. Lily hadn’t moved from her spot.
    Stuart peered around. His eyes narrowed, his investigative mind likely already hard at work.
    A gust of wind knocked into Connell, reminding him that he’d rushed outside without his mackinaw.
    “So,” Stuart said, “if we’re not fighting fires, what are we doing out here freezing off our behinds?”
    Heat crept up Connell’s neck. What was he doing?
    Apparently Lily didn’t need rescuing from him this time.
    Stuart focused in on the saloon door, and he squinted. “Oh, so that’s what we’re doing out here.”
    Connell shifted his attention to the sleigh coming down the wide street. He took a couple of steps backward, moving out of the way and nodding to the man driving the team.
    Stuart grinned. “Or should I say, she’s why we’re out here.”
    Connell refused to give his friend the satisfaction of an answer.
    “Word’s going around town that she got the best of two big men last night. Jimmy Neil and another strong man, who happens to be standing in the middle of Main Street, ogling at her—”
    “I’m not ogling at her.” Connell looked far off to the south, to the puffs of black smoke billowing in the air, the distant signal that the train—a branch of the Flint and Pere Marquette Railroad—would make its daily appearance in Harrison. “And she didn’t get the best of me.”
    Stuart slugged him in the arm. The point of Stuart’s middle knuckle jabbed Connell hard enough to throw him off balance. Stuart wasn’t a big man. In fact, everything about him was thin. His face was a narrow oval covered with a scraggly beard. His arms and legs were as skinny as the branches of a sapling. If Connell hadn’t witnessed the man’s enormous appetite on occasion, he would have guessed Stuart wasn’t getting enough to eat.
    “Sounds like she’s got quite the spirit if she can get the best of you.”
    “I was rescuing her from Jimmy, and she fell on top of me.”
    “Rescuing?” Stuart gave a snort. “From the way I heard it, she did a pretty good job taking care of herself.”
    “No telling what could have happened to her if I hadn’t stepped in when I did.”
    Stuart laughed. “Okay, big guy. Whatever you say.”
    The door of Johnson’s saloon swung open, and Connell didn’t have time to get irritated at his friend. Lily shifted to the crude board that served as a step and pulled the door closed behind her. She paused and sighed, lines of frustration etched across her forehead.
    Apparently she hadn’t found her sister at Johnson’s. Even if her sister were there, Connell doubted Johnson would let her go. The brothel owners had a hard time attracting girls, and once they got them, they didn’t like to lose them.
    Lily straightened her shoulders and let the lines ease from her forehead. She set her lips with obvious determination and then stepped into the street. She glanced first one way and then the other. If she saw him and Stuart, she gave no indication.
    Stuart muttered, “Why don’t you say something?”
    Connell wanted to, but his lips felt like they were frozen shut. He’d never been all that suave around pretty girls. And not only was this girl pretty, but she had enough spunk to knock a man off his feet—literally.
    Stuart jabbed his ribs with his bony elbow. “At least go over to her.”
    Connell couldn’t make his feet work either.
    Lily stepped into the street and headed in the direction of the next closest tavern.
    “You big chicken,” Stuart said under his breath. Then he took off at a jog. “Miss Young,” he called. “I’m Stuart