know.â Lily scowled. âI forgot about the bullets. I didnât think having a loaded gun around the children was very safe.â
âItâs not much of a defense either.â While he was grateful sheâd relinquished the weapon, he wasnât finished with his lecture. Lily holding a gun was about as natural as a peacock in a rowboat and just as precarious. âYou and I need to have a long and detailed conversation about personal safety and protection.â
âUntil thenââ she looked him up and down, as though measuring the strength of his resolve ââyou may assume the responsibility for the gun.â
Lily Winter took too much for granted. She was far too trusting. What if he was actually an outlaw? What then? Sheâd just handed a gun to someone she thought was a killer for hire. He could easily shoot her. If he had the bullets, and if the gunâs workings werenât rusted with age. But that wasnât the point.
âThe gun is mine,â he said. âFor now. And weâre not associating. I havenât agreed to anything.â
She reached for the weapon and he yanked it out of reach.
âYouâre stealing my gun?â she cried. âThatâs some gratitude for breaking you of jail.â
âI didnât ask for your help.â
Her expression turned wintry. âIâll pay you.â
âHow much?â
âFifty dollars.â
âNot enough.â
Her eyes narrowed. âYou never intended to accept!â
âI needed to know how much you could afford.â
With an abundance of caution, Sheriff Koepke had barred all the windows in the cramped space. Sunlight persevered, casting blocks of shadows on the floor, illuminating Lilyâs expressive face. He shouldnât goad her, but there was something magnificent about how the sliver of light piercing the barred window lit her blue eyes.
The color reminded him of the feathers on the crown of a barn swallow. The kind of blue that brought to mind the endless summer days of his youth. When he and his brothers had slipped away from their chores and splashed in the stream behind the old barnâbefore their motherâs death. Heâd felt as though his life had been cleaved in two, and everything before her death had dropped into oblivion. Heâd thought those memories had vanished from his consciousness, but for some inexplicable reason, Lily and her charges had inspired their reappearance.
The door swung open, snapping him back to the present.
Sam and Peter scuttled inside. They were bundled head to toe against the cold, wrapped like colorful mummies.
The older boy, Sam, tucked his hands in his armpits and shivered. âI donât think he saw us.â
Peter slammed the door and leaned against the wood panel. âHeâs coming!â
âWhy arenât you at the hotel?â Lily rushed to meet them. âHow did you find me?â
âI didnât figure youâd take a gun to the mercantile,â Peter replied. âWe watched you from the window on the landing.â
Sam released his fingers from the warmth of his armpits, skipped past Jake and stuck his face through the bars. âHow come the gunfighter isnât in there? I thought you said he was in jail.â
Peter joined his brother. âDo you think a killer carved his initials in the bricks? Do you think thereâs ever been a hanging in Frozen Oaks? Do you think thereâs ever been a jail bust? Do you think Billy the Kid was ever locked up in here?â
âEnough of that morbid talk!â Lily snatched the boyâs arm and dragged him back a pace. âYou canât be here. We mustnât arouse suspicion.â
âBut itâs Sherriff Koepke.â Peter grasped his brotherâs other arm, putting the boy in an odd tug of war. âHeâs coming.â
Jake stilled. âNo games. Did you actually see the