Montana Sky

kept her eyes on the flames. “For what?”
    “He’ll want to know. You’re not alone in this, Willa.”
    But she felt alone, and helpless. “All right. I appreciate your help, Nate.”
    “I’ll be staying the night.”
    She nodded. “No sense in me asking Bess to make up a guest room, is there?”
    “No. I’ll do a shift on guard, and use Tess’s room.”
    “Take whatever gun you want.” Turning, she moved to Ham. “I want a twenty-four-hour watch, Ham. Two men at a time. Nate’s staying, so that makes six of us tonight. I want Wood to stay home with his family. They shouldn’t be alone. Billy and I’ll take the first, you and Jim relieve us at midnight. Nate and Adam will take over at four.”
    “I’ll see to it.”
    “Tomorrow I want you to find out how soon we can sign on the two hands from High Springs. I need men. Offer them a cash bonus if you have to, but get them here.”
    “I’ll see they’re on within the week.” In a rare show of public affection, he squeezed her arm. “I’m gonna tell Bess to make coffee, plenty of it. And you be careful, Will. You be careful.”
    “No one’s killing any more of mine.” Her face set, Willa turned, studied the women huddled together at the corral fence. “You get them inside for me, will you, Ham? Tell them to stay inside.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    “And tell Billy to get a rifle.”
    She shifted again and watched the flames shoot into the black winter sky.

PART THREE
    SPRING
    A little Madness in the Spring  . . .
    — Emily Dickinson

EIGHTEEN
    B EN LOOKED OVER THE OPERATION AT MERCY , THE STEADY activity in the pole barn, so like the activity he’d left back at Three Rocks, the piled and tattered snow in the corrals, the gray puffs of smoke from chimneys.
    Except for the blackened circle well beyond the paddock, there were no signs of the recent slaughter.
    Unless you looked closely at the men. Faces were grim, eyes were spooked. He’d seen the same looks in the faces and in the eyes of his own hands. And like Willa, he had ordered a twenty-four-hour guard.
    There was little he could do to help her, and the frustration of that made his own mouth tight as he gestured her away from the group.
    “Don’t have much time for chatting.” Her voice was brisk. He didn’t see fear in her eyes, but fatigue. Gone was the woman who had flirted him into a date, who had laughed with him over a white tablecloth and wine, shared popcorn at the movies. He wanted to take her away again, just for an evening, but knew better.
    “You hired on the two men from High Springs.”
    “They came on last night.”
    Turning, she studied Matt Bodine, the younger of the two new hands, already dubbed College Boy. His carrot-coloredhair was covered by a light gray Stetson. He had a baby face, which he’d tried to age with a straight line of red hair over his top lip. It didn’t quite do the job, Willa thought.
    Though they were nearly the same age, Matt seemed outrageously young to her, more like Billy than herself. But he was smart, had a strong back and a well of fresh ideas.
    Then there was Ned Tucker, a lanky, taciturn cowboy of indeterminate age. His face was scored with lines from time and sun and wind. His eyes were an eerily colorless blue. He chewed on the stubs of cigars, said little, and worked like a mule.
    “They’ll do,” she said after a moment.
    “I know Tucker well enough,” Ben began, then wondered if he knew anyone well enough. “Got a hell of a hand with a lasso, wins at the festival every year. Bodine, he’s new.” He shifted so that his eyes as well as the tone of his voice indicated his thought. “Too new.”
    “I need the help. If it’s one of them who’s been fucking with me, I’d just as soon have him close by. Easier to watch.” She let out a little breath. They should have been talking about the weather, the calf pulling, not about murder. “We lost eight calves, Ben. I’m not losing any more.”
    “Willa.” He laid a hand on her arm before she could walk away. “I don’t know what I can do to help you.”
    “Nothing.” Sorry for the snap in her voice, she slipped her hands into her pockets and softened her tone. “There’s nothing anyone can do. We’ve got to get through it, that’s all, and things have been quiet the last couple days. Maybe he’s finished, maybe he’s moved on.”
    She didn’t believe it, but it helped to pretend she did.
    “How’re your sisters handling it?”
    “Better than I