.

he also hoped his query would further strengthen the evidence that he was a good man.

      Dr. Walker looked pleased that Thorn had inquired, but Sheriff Bishop showed not so much as a flicker of approval. The man would be an excellent cardsharp, if he ever decided to give up being a lawman, Thorn thought. His face revealed nothing.

      Fine with Thorn. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to see Griggs and all his miserable thugs land in jail where they belonged. And the sooner he could get back to that task, the better.

      * * *

      “When did you become such a clock watcher, Daisy?” Tilly inquired, as Daisy dished up yet another helping of the day’s special, chicken and dumplings, and handed it to the waitress.

      Daisy wrenched her gaze away from the clock on the shelf above the sink. “I don’t mean to be,” she said. Trust the other woman to notice if Daisy’s attention wandered off of her work for so much as a second. Tilly seemed to resent even the brief half hour Daisy could call her own during the workday, even though she received her own work break right after Daisy returned, during which time Daisy had to take on the waitressing as well as the cooking. “I just need to go home on my break to check on things, that’s all.”

      “Things” meant the wounded man in her barn, of course. Had she been right to leave him to her son’s care? Though he’d been asleep, she had thought that Dawson had looked well enough when she’d left for work. She hadn’t seen any indication that an infection was troubling him, or that he was sleeping poorly. But who knew what could happen in her absence? Maybe his wound had reopened, causing him to bleed to death, or maybe a fever had spiked and he’d died. But no, surely Billy Joe would have run to report to her if any calamity had happened. She’d told him to let her know if there was a problem. Had the doctor returned to check on his patient this morning as he’d promised to?

      She knew why she was worrying so much. It wasn’t really because of the man himself, but because of the memories he stirred of Peter. She still blamed herself—would always blame herself—for the way her brother’s injury had led to his death when she was supposed to be looking after him. She couldn’t let that happen to Thorn—that is, to Mr. Dawson.

      “That boy of yours causing you worry again? Better nip his mischief in the bud, or he’ll turn out just as bad as his daddy,” Tilly opined with a triumphant gleam in her eye. She seemed never happier than when she managed to find a new opportunity to remind Daisy of all the shortcomings of her late husband. As if she could ever forget. The scars—both the physical marks and the bruises he’d left on her heart and her soul—would never go away.

      Sometimes Daisy missed Mrs. Powell, who had been the cook when she herself was a waitress. The older woman had been a crank and a bully, but her bullying tactics hadn’t been so full of innuendo and malice as Tilly’s were. Besides, Mrs. Powell had seemed to hate just about everyone, so spread her vitriol around generously, insulting and belittling everyone who crossed her path. Tilly had only one target, and struck it as often as she could.

      Daisy wished no one had ever told Tilly about her late husband when the waitress had moved to town after her own engagement to a local rancher had been broken off. But in such a small community it was inevitable someone would have told the younger woman Daisy’s sad marital history. After all, everyone knew he had been an abusive tyrant—toward her and Billy Joe, and toward the schoolteacher who William had eventually gone to jail for attacking. For most people in town, that history was a reason to treat her with kindness and compassion, showing understanding for the difficulties she’d faced. But with Tilly, any flaw or shortcoming in Daisy was something to be pounced on and mocked.

      “Billy Joe’s been good as gold,” Daisy replied, striving to keep the defensive note out of her voice, even after Tilly’s face took on a skeptical look at her assertion. “It’s just that I had set him to a task, and I want to make sure he did what I told him to.” That wasn’t a lie, was it? She had given him the task of watching over the wounded man, after all.

      Tilly bent to peer out the narrow opening of the serving window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Looks like all the noon crowd’s gone, so go ahead and take your break, why don’t you? Reckon I can handle anyone who happens to mosey in while you’re away. But you won’t be late getting back to prepare supper, will you? Mr. Prendergast might come in to check, and you know he’d ask when you left. I wouldn’t want to lie.” She made no attempt to hide the malice in her tone, and Daisy knew Tilly would be delighted to have any opportunity to show her in a poor light to their employer.

      Daisy stifled a huff of exasperation, not wanting the other woman to see that the needling had gotten under Daisy’s skin. Of course Tilly would think tattling to their boss would further her ambition to replace Daisy as cook.

      “You’ve never had to cover for my lateness, and today will be no different,” Daisy said evenly. She pulled off her hotel apron. It was all she could do to keep from running out the door, but she managed to walk casually until she was out of sight of the hotel.

      She concentrated on looking calm and at ease, but in truth she was a bundle of nerves, worrying about the state she’d find Dawson in when she returned home. And those nerves only got worse when she got further down the road and caught sight of two men heading in the opposite direction: Dr. Walker and Sheriff Bishop.

      Were they coming from her place? Had the sheriff discovered she was sheltering a fugitive?