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the stables.
    The outer doors were open and he headed inside without pausing. Alex followed quickly, still calling for the stable hand.
    The stalls were to the left; Beau was in the first—kicking at the wall, which was uncharacteristic for the normally phlegmatic draft horse mix that pulled the work wagon. Cheyenne, Alex’s palomino, neighed excitedly, pacing the small confines of his stall, and even Harvey, Bert’s usually placid gelding, was putting up a ruckus.
    “Levy?” Alex cried again.
    She felt hay particles falling on her head and looked up to the loft.
    And there was Levy. She could just see his face as he peeked down at them.
    “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, and started for the ladder. Once again Cody Fox grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
    “Wait? Why?” she demanded, but he was already heading swiftly up to the loft.
    Alex followed. “Levy, are you all right?”
    When she reached the loft, Cody Fox was already standing over Levy, offering him a hand to help him to his feet.
    “Were you attacked?” Cody demanded. “Did those men hurt you…in any way?” he persisted intently.
    “No, no, no,” Levy said, rising and shaking his head emphatically. He looked at Alex with shame. “I knew they were here. I should have…I should have come out, but I came up here, up in the hay, and I just hid. The horses were going crazy. I…well, we’ve all heard about what happened over to Brigsby.” He took Alex’s hand. “Miss Alex, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    “You were behaving sensibly and nothing more,” she said firmly. “There was nothing you could have done except maybe get yourself killed. I’m just grateful that you’re alive and well.”
    Despite her words, Levy hung his head. She reached out, lifting his chin. Levy was a real asset. He was strong, despite his slim physique, and intelligent; he loved books. The horses responded to his gentle ways, and when he was done with his work, he was a charming conversationalist. As a child, he’d come from Eastern Europe with his parents, who had been running from persecution, and now he was an integral part of the mix of ethnicities that made up Victory.
    “I was a coward,” he said softly.
    “No,” Cody said firmly, “you behaved rationally. You would have been able to go for help if Milo and his men had gone on a killing spree. One more body wouldn’t have done anyone any good.”
    Alex found herself grateful for his support, and Levy looked a little less as if he wanted to jump out of the loft.
    “Be that as it may, Alexandra, I won’t be letting you down again,” Levy said grimly.
    “Well, thank God we’re all fine and the danger is gone,” Alex said, smiling.
    Neither man offered a smile in return.
    “Shall we get down from the hayloft?” she suggested brightly, determined not to dwell on what might have been.
    Beulah was waiting outside the back door when they headed up to the house.
    She swatted Levy with a dishrag. “You had us scared half to death, Levy!” she said, but then she hugged him. Finally she drew away and looked into his eyes. Something in her expression told Alexandra that the cook was satisfied with what she saw there. “All’s well tonight,” Beulah said softly.
    They had barely entered the house when Brendan Vincent burst through the front door. “You better come, Cody,” he said.
    “What’s happened?” Alex asked.
    “Bit of a problem down the road, that’s all,” Brendan said.
    He looked like such a civilized man, she thought, with gentle eyes, yet he was riding with Cody Fox, and Fox handled weapons like a man accustomed to battle. Not that he seemed particularly violent. He just moved with lightning speed and had a strength that was like steel.
    “What problem?” she asked.
    “There’s a fellow…well, the outlaws got him,” Brendan said.
    “We’ve got to see who it is,” Alex said. “Doc Williamson must be around somewhere,” she added, and started for the