As she measured in lard, she felt the vulture leave.

With a sigh of relief, she focused on preparing the noon meal.

And wondered when she’d have her chance at those letters. He closed the door on his study, and it occurred to her she ought to go up with the pitcher right now.

“Why’d you shoot Lawyer Kingston?” Sheriff Greg Gatlin studied the unconscious form of Randall Kingston. They’d stopped at the doctor’s office to leave Rachel and Kingston. Falcon stayed holding a gun on the unconscious lawyer while Cheyenne fetched the sheriff.

Cheyenne had brought him over to the doctor’s office.

“He shot Rachel Hobart.” Cheyenne pointed to the Pinkerton agent. “Shot her from cover.”

“Did you see him shoot the woman?”

Falcon’s stomach twisted. He’d been afraid there might be trouble in Casper. Kingston was a known man in this town. Falcon was a stranger.

“Greg, you know how good a tracker I am,” Cheyenne cut in.

Falcon did have a hideout weapon though. His wife.

The sheriff nodded.

“We were riding along, strung out on a narrow trail. Rachel third in line,” Cheyenne said. “He picked her to kill. It was deliberate, and the bullet hit her chest dead center. Only because of the distance and Rachel’s layers of clothes is she still alive. We ducked for cover and then worked out where the shot came from. And Falcon is an even better tracker than I am.”

Gatlin glanced at Falcon, looking impressed.

Falcon didn’t smile, but it made a man feel mighty fine to hear his woman speak highly of him. And Cheyenne didn’t like admitting anyone could out-track her, so it was a real compliment.

It seemed Sheriff Gatlin knew that, too. “Really? He’s better’n you?” He pulled off a dirty white Stetson and scratched a thatch of gray hair. Then his eyes turned to Falcon. “That’s sayin’ something, mister.”

“We slipped around and found him. Still aiming at the trail. After that first shot hit Rachel, Cheyenne and I made for the forest while he fired more times. I think he stayed there, covering the trail just in case he got another chance at us, but Rachel Hobart was clearly his main target.”

“He needs to be patched up some.” The sheriff went over and clipped one handcuff on the prisoner and one on a leg of the bed. He was nice enough to cuff the hand that wasn’t bleeding. That seemed considerate of him. Or maybe he just thought he couldn’t cause much trouble with a shot-up hand.

Falcon took it as a sign Gatlin trusted them, or at least he trusted Cheyenne.

The doctor was leaving the lawyer till last and working on Rachel. He straightened from where he’d been working on her chest and held up a small, round object.

“This saved her life.”

Falcon, Cheyenne, and the sheriff all leaned closer.