“Why is she so addled?” Win asked as Molly came in with a tray carrying a small bowl of broth. She kept it warm on the stove at all times, ready for Rachel, in one of her wakeful moments, to take even a sip.

Win shook her head. By now they worked well as a team. Win sat on one side of the bed, slid an arm behind Rachel’s back, and lifted until she nearly sat up straight. Molly spooned broth into her mouth. Rachel had spells where she was more awake than asleep. Molly stayed with her day and night, because it was during these moments they could get a sip of water into her or a few swallows of broth.

Molly and Wyatt hadn’t yet found time for that badly needed talk. She had to make sure he understood that marrying her could ruin his life. They hadn’t even found time for less important things. Nothing passed between them that could be called any sort of courtship.

There just wasn’t time.

Wyatt had hovered around for two days. Finally, Cheyenne had dragged him off to get some ranching done. Falcon went along. He said he was curious about what there was to the job.

Kevin stayed close because Win did. Right now, he was downstairs making the evening meal as the short days of October faded to an early dusk.

Molly and Win had gotten a ham roasting and a baking of bread ready to slide in the oven, but Kevin was handling everything else. Although they all requested Molly come in at the end and make the gravy. Kevin leaned overly toward lumps.

Molly had several nice visits with Win, and she was coming to respect and enjoy her new sister. She loved that, but honestly that wasn’t the person she cared to talk with most.

They’d heard nothing from the Pinkertons. And they’d heard nothing from Oliver Hawkins.

Molly could set her gut to burning just tormenting herself over whether Hawkins had found those envelopes missing. And she’d rage at herself for not taking more of them. The fitful sleep she was getting on a pallet on the floor beside Rachel was haunted by dreams of digging through that safe and Hawkins bursting into the room. Over and over. Sometimes she’d find awful, ugly things in that safe. Her father was there a few times. Her mother once.

Sometimes she’d find custard.

Any of those jerked her out of sleep. And each time she woke up, she was grateful. Exhausted but grateful.

Her arm was feeling better. The bruising was still tender, but the swelling had mostly gone down.

Win’s face had been a dull shade of red, now faded to yellow.

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Win eased Rachel down after Molly quit forcing liquid into the woman.

“At least my bruises are hidden away.” Molly rubbed the bruised arm gently.