“I’m fine. I’ll use the time to ponder the most captivating hook to a bro-country song. ‘Chew tobacco, spit’ kinda tugs at my heart.” I really wasn’t fine. Though Maverick was pressed against the wagon as far from me as he could get, Holly had sprawled across my lap. The bed was as hard as cement and the evening was starting to get cold.

Bram clicked his tongue at the horse and we headed up a steep trail into the mountains. I held on to the side of the wagon until we crested the first hill, then the road leveled somewhat.

The mountains marched into the distance like a stack of torn paper, each layer lighter than the previous one, ranging from deep viridian to soft lavender. The struts creaked in rhythm with the clop, clop, clop of the horse.

Thin air from the almost-eight-thousand-foot elevation carried the scent of pine needles . . . and something else. I inhaled deeply. Smoke. “Is there a forest fire around here?”

Bram turned, then sniffed the air. Pulling up the horse, he stood, looked around, then checked his watch. “Right on time. Dirtbag.”

“Excuse me?”

He sat down and clicked at the horse before answering. “It’s not a forest fire. Don’t worry. We should be arriving at the ranch soon.”

Not a forest fire, and he checked his watch. “So Targhee Falls has a serial arsonist?”

Bram whipped around so fast he startled the dogs. “What? How did you know? Have you been reading the papers? Online news?”

Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? “You said as much. ‘Not a forest fire’ means another kind of fire. ‘Dirtbag’ means an individual. ‘Right on time’ means this has happened before, and probably fairly often. All that pointed to an individual setting fires.”

“Are you Sherlock Holmes disguised as . . . as Audrey Hepburn?”

“Hardly.”

He fell silent as if I might clarify. I made a point of scratching Holly behind the ear. The happy canine rewarded me with a sloppy lick on the wrist.

We climbed at a steady pace before passing through a narrow, rock-lined passage only slightly wider than the wagon. Beyond it, the road seemed to cling to the mountain with a sheer wall on my right and a dizzying drop on the left. It reminded me of Glacier Park’s Going-to-the-Sun Road, but without the low retaining wall. I closed my eyes and held on to Holly.

“You can open your eyes now.” Bram’s voice held a lilt of humor.

Tell him you were just resting your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you were just resting your eyes.”

My mouth dropped open and I gawked at him.

He grinned. “You may be Sherlock, but I’m a mind reader.” He urged the horse to move a bit faster. “Actually, everyone gets a bit queasy as we go through the Devil’s Keyhole—that’s the narrow spot back there—and over Devil’s Pass.”