“I heard what you did for Shadow Woman’s dogs. I didn’t realize what Sam was planning, or that he’d stopped feeding them. I would have taken them . . . well, I would have taken them once I got my own place. My mom doesn’t like dogs.”

“You live with your mother?”

“For now. Say, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, maybe we can have a few beers together? Things are usually pretty quiet at Mule Shoe in the evenings. Do you like bro-country music?”

“Bro-country? A country music subgenre about pickups, beautiful women, partying, and the consumption of beer?”

“Yeah!”

“So tempting, so very tempting, but alas, I’ll be penning memorable squibs.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, keep me in mind. Anyway . . . um . . . thanks.” He swung away, then turned back. “You look familiar. Have you been to Mule Shoe before?”

Before I had to answer, a wagon prominently labeled Sam’s Mercantile came around the corner, pulled by a chestnut Belgian draft horse with flaxen mane and tail. The dogs scattered. Sam got down from the high seat. “Don’t you have to be somewhere, Liam?”

Liam’s eyebrows drew together. “Just leaving.” He grabbed the cart and stalked away.

“Good luck getting those dogs to go anywhere with you. And remember, if they stay here I got a court order to shoot ’em. And you’re not getting your money back.” He stomped into the store.

“He’s just one step away,” I whispered, “from calling out the flying monkeys.”

Alone on the street, I walked over to the Belgian and stroked his silky nose. The horse nodded and gave a soft nicker. “I’m sorry I don’t have a carrot or apple for you. I didn’t pack for organically powered transportation.” I moved to the wagon. The bed was high, and climbing up would be awkward, but I didn’t want, or need, help. Or sympathy. I tucked the folder of drawings into the bag of information on Mule Shoe, then placed the bag and my purse on the wooden bed. I scrambled up and had just settled in when Bram appeared with a bag of dog food over his shoulder. Julia followed with an array of food dishes, water buckets, and dog treats. Bram effortlessly dropped the kibble onto the wagon bed next to me, then took the items from Julia and added them to the supplies.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to get the dogs to follow you.” He moved toward the spring seat.

“Holly. Maverick,” I called.

The two dogs trotted over and leaped into the wagon bed beside me.

“Well I’ll be!” Bram scratched his head, then climbed into the seat.

“You don’t have to take me to Mule Shoe—”

“Ah, but I want to. And I’m officially off-duty. Sure you don’t want to sit up here with me?” He patted the seat.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You’re awfully quiet.”