“Sweeney,” I said. “Delia Sweeney. We met before, at your hotel, the day Lily was lost.” I reached out my hand to shake his.

Instead, he bent and kissed my hand, his fingers adorned with silver and gold rings. He asked me how I liked the ranch, and suddenly, words started flowing out of me unbidden

“I like the ranch well enough,” I said, “but I can’t live on Mayflower’s kindness forever. It’s time I found some way to make a living. . . .” I let the words trail off.

Mr. Kearney looked me up and down, as if mulling over something in his mind. “I know it’s no place for a lady like yourself, but I may be able to find you a position at my hotel in Shotgun City. Why don’t you come and see me there? I’m sure I could find room for you as a clerk, or a saleswoman.” He grinned suddenly. “Or you could be a dancer like Miss Francine over there.”

I reddened.

“She’s from Louisiana and her people were French. That’s how come she has that accent that men just love. She’s what we call Cajun.” He paused and looked over at her. “And as long as we’re speaking of Francine,” he went on, his voice lowered, “I see she’s draped over Aidan like an old coat. They go back a long time, even before he married his wife. I expect our Francine is planning to move into dear Mary’s place. She’s an ambitious hussy, bless her heart.”

I could stand being there no longer. “I’m sorry; I have to leave now, Mr. Kearney. Thank you for your kind offer, but I do not plan to return to Shotgun City.”

With that, I turned and ran away from the crowd, to where my horse was tethered. I fumbled with the reins and, when they were untangled, I mounted him and dug my heels into his flanks, as Jeb had taught me. Then I rode away without looking back.

I must have dug my heels in more forcefully than I intended because my horse took off at a gallop. At first I was glad—the faster and farther I got away from the barbecue the better. Eventually, though, I was ready to slow him down. I tugged on the reins, but he didn’t respond. My anxiety began to mount. I had never ridden this fast before; the fastest I had ridden with Jeb was a slow canter. I tried yelling for the horse to stop, even though I knew it was useless. I dug my heels into his flanks again, but that only succeeded in making him run faster. I was in a full-blown panic now. All I could do was hang on as best I could and hope that I was riding in the direction of the ranch house.