Molly’s shoulders slumped. “I should move on, head down the trail. Leave the terrible injustice of Clovis Hunt and the RHR behind. If I go without my family, and maybe change my name, no one would look down on me.”

Mrs. Brownley’s hand settled firmly on Molly’s shoulder. “You can’t do that. A woman alone can’t strike out in the world. It’s not safe.”

Molly thought of Amelia Bishop. A happy, courageous young woman looking for adventure. Mistreated by Oliver Hawkins. Married to a man who ended up being an outlaw and was now dead. Returning, a more fragile woman, to the safety of her father’s home.

And no one would describe Molly as a courageous, adventure-seeking woman. Mrs. Brownley was right that to leave on her own wasn’t safe.

Kevin and Win came up to Molly. Win said, “We’re ready to unload your things.”

“What’s wrong?” Kevin knew her so well.

“The job is no longer available.” Molly didn’t want to go into it. Not here at least, not when she wanted to scream and rant and weep. “I will be coming back to the RHR after all.”

Wyatt came to her side. “We want you back at the ranch, but what happened to the job?”

She thought of Clovis and the wreckage he’d left behind.

She thought of Amelia Bishop and what Rachel had said about how frightened she’d been.

She thought of the other vanished housekeepers and Win’s dead ma. And Molly’s dead ma.

A fury gripped her hard. She kept it in check, but she didn’t try to make it go away. Instead, she nurtured it, hugged it close, and thought of a way she could show a little courage.

“I left a few things at the parson’s house. Let’s get them and go home.”

Rachel had slipped into the house that first day and never went outside again.

Never stood in front of a window. Never lit a lantern when she was alone in a room.

Not even the cowhands knew she was there. Including Andy.

Now she helped set food on the table. Molly had to admit the meal looked good. “Rachel, you worked for several months at Hawkins’s as a housekeeper, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I was there over four months.”

“I’ve been thinking, if a Pinkerton agent like you can masquerade as a housekeeper, then maybe a housekeeper like me could masquerade as a Pinkerton agent.”

No one else was in the kitchen. They’d gone in different directions to get out of their Sunday best. Molly had rushed to change her dress so she could speak to Rachel in private.

Her hands full, carrying a plate piled high with freshly sliced bread, Rachel cast her a shrewd look. “What happened to teaching school?”

Molly explained in the quickest amount of time possible.