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this for me. I know you did!” She pressed her hands over her cheeks. “Oh, this is awful! You got the wrong one!”
    Rachel couldn’t imagine what Molly meant by that, and before she had time to think about it, her father interrupted with a sharp command to explain herself. As briefly as she could, Rachel recounted the events that had led to this moment, trying her best to leave nothing out, no matter how bad it made her look. The only concession she made to that was by neglecting to mention Dora Faye. Her father could assume what ever he wished, that she had bribed one of the saloon’s regular patrons to drug Matt Rafferty’s whiskey or that one of the upstairs girls had done it as a favor to Rachel. It really didn’t matter as long as Dora Faye didn’t get into trouble.
    As Rachel wound down, she watched Big Jim closely, trying without success to read his expression. “So, you see, Daddy, it really wasn’t his fault. I tricked Mr. Rafferty into coming here. I would have been long gone this morning if I hadn’t fallen and hit my head.”
    Molly wailed forlornly, which prompted Big Jim to casther a glare. “Enough out of you, young lady! If not for your theatrics, your sister wouldn’t be in this pickle.”
    Rachel, always Molly’s champion, leaped to her defense. “Now, Daddy, that isn’t fair. Molly can’t be blamed—”
    “You be quiet!” Big Jim cried, cutting her off short. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes closed for an instant. “All right, Rachel Marie, run all of that by me again. A little slower this time.”
    Resisting the urge to remind him he’d just ordered her to be quiet, Rachel cautiously asked, “Which part?”
    “All of it!” her father ground out.
    “All of it? Daddy, didn’t you—”
    Her father cut her off again, this time with a sharp jab of his finger. “All of it! And don’t give me any of your sass, dammit. I’m in no mood for it!”
    Rachel could see that he was perilously close to losing his temper. Forcing herself to speak more slowly this time, she once again explained how she’d come to be in the church this morning with Matt Rafferty. When she had given her father a full explanation for the second time and he still looked confused, she raised her hands in helpless bewilderment. “Which part aren’t you clear on, Daddy? He callously broke Molly’s heart, and I wanted to get even. With that end in mind, I had him drugged and lured him to the church, my plan being that he’d wake up this morning wearing no trousers in a packed church.” When her father still looked befuddled, Rachel cried, “He humiliated my sister!” At that, Molly wailed again, more loudly this time. To be heard over the din, Rachel increased her own volume. “Is it so difficult to understand why I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine? That’s it, end of story.”
    “Rachel, if, as you say, all of this is about Molly and that silly crush she got on Matt Rafferty, then what the hell”—he pointed a finger at the man on the floor—“is he doing here?”
    “I told you, I—” An awful prickly feeling crawled overRachel’s skin. She glanced uneasily toward Molly, who was still moaning and wailing, and then at the man sprawled near her feet. “Oh, God. This isn’t Matt Rafferty?” It wasn’t really a question. Rachel knew by Molly’s behavior and the tone of her father’s voice that she had guessed correctly. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Oh, dear…oh, dear.”
    “Oh, dear?” her father repeated. “Is that all you can say for yourself, Rachel Marie? Oh, dear?” With each word he spoke, his voice seemed to go up another octave. “You’ve shanghaied the wrong man, and all you can say is ‘oh, dear’?”
    As the ramifications of what she’d done began to sink in, Rachel threw another look at her victim. “If not Matt Rafferty, then who is he?” she asked in a quavery voice.
    “Who is he? I almost kill the man, and you’re standin’