Dieter Preston finished reading through the papers on his desk and sat back, frowning. Braun would be arriving on the stage late this evening, too late to get anything done, but tomorrow morning, first thing. His mind wandered to consider what success Rance was having in tracking Helliwell, and the frown deepened. He had expected a telegram before this.

The door opened and Dieter looked up. "Nothing more we can do tonight, Nash, but I want to be ready first thing in the morning."

The rangy man closed the door and settled himself in a chair opposite the desk.

"This fella you're expectin', he understand what you want?" The voice was low with a slight crackle, like his throat always needed clearing.

"That's why you and Cassidy are here, to make sure he does, and to see that he gets it done."

"Any word from the others?"

"No, and I'm getting mighty fed up with your friend Rance." Dieter got up and went to a table holding a bottle and glasses. "Drink?"

"Never say no. Rance is a good man, Preston, he just ain't a leader. Works a lot better alone."

"Not from what I've seen." He handed Nash a glass, and gave a half toast raise of his own.

Some gunshots sounded from the street, and Preston went to the window, looking up and down. "Payday at the mill. Same thing every month. I think I'm paying that sheriff too much."

"Should bring him into your confidence." Nash drawled.

"No. Best to have the appearance of law and order. Looks better to the town if they think he's their defender."

"Sure wish I'd bin here to meet that Helliwell fella. Sounds like a man worth facin'."

"I've done some poking around on him. He was the man that caused all that ruckus at Millerville."

Nash sat up sharply. "Millerville? The prison?"

"Yes, why?" Preston settled behind his desk.

"I had kin worked there when that happened. He lost his job after that business. Even spent some time in another jail back east, along with the warden, for corruption and runnin' a bad prison."

Preston tasted his drink. "It appears our Mr. Helliwell fancies himself some kind of white knight."

"Huh? A what?"

"White Kni- never mind," he looked disgusted. "He's your friend's problem at the moment. I want you focussed on Braun."

➰➰➰➰➰

The stage stop at the Home depot was mid-afternoon, and it was the last stop before Pine Ridge. Here the passengers had a longer rest stop and were fed watered, and had the convenience of a wash and change of clothes if possible. Galen took advantage and stripped his shirt off for a good wash, and to get the dust out of his clothes. He checked the flesh wound on his leg from the gunfight with Rory and allowed as how he would live with a limp for bit.

He emptied the basin outside and came back into the depot. A long bench-like table was set up and everyone was seated waiting, as a short, round woman doled out ladles of stew into wooden bowls.

"You almost missed the banquet, Mr. Helliwell." Lydia grinned from her seat at one end.

He smiled and slid onto the bench beside her. "Had to wait for all you ladies to finish. Least now I can see what I'm eatin'."

"You do look different," she teased. "What exactly brings you to Pine Ridge, Galen?"

He looked straight at her, maintaining eye contact. "Personal business that I'd rather keep that way, Miss St. Clair."

A few coughs and the shuffle of feet from down the table accompanied the rosy bloom on Lydia's face.

"My apologies . . . Mr. Helliwell. My intention was not to pry, simply make conversation."

"Apology accepted, and my reply was not to embarrass, simply to state the truth." He softened his response with a kind smile. "Which now prevents me from askin' you the same question."

There was a snort from the stage driver at the other end of the table, and heads all turned in his direction.

"It would appear this is not the time for a private conversation." Lydia resumed eating, dropping the subject entirely.

It was just after sunset when the stage pulled up in front of the Magnificent Moose Hotel, as it had been described to Galen his first time there. The passengers stepped down from the stage, bone weary and stiff from constantly bracing for the inevitable bumps along the way. Galen rescued Stanley and the Roan from the back of the stage and hefted his saddle as the driver dropped the bags from the top, then turned the stage around, heading for the livery.

Mrs. Homestead nodded a goodbye and bustled down the walkway, with her bag. Mr. Braun tipped his hat and took his baggage across to the building beside the bank.

"Are you staying here, Miss St. Clair?" Galen asked.

"I am, for tonight anyway. I'm here to find employment in the saloon."

"Aah, and I didn't even have to ask."

Her smile was sardonic, and she pulled her shoulder back. "Are you sleeping with your horses?"

"Not this time, I'm staying here as well - soon as I bed Stanley down."

"Stanley?"

"My horse."

Her grin turned to a laugh, and she picked up her satchel. "Maybe I'll see you inside, Mr. Helliwell."

"Look forward to it, Miss St. Clair."

➰➰➰➰➰

Seated in the lush comfort of the saloon chairs, Lydia expressed surprise at the greeting Galen had received at the front desk.

"I stayed here once before. Edward, the desk clerk, did some favours for me and I paid him probably more than he expected."

"More of your personal business?" Her eyes sparkled, and a pink tongue tapped her upper lip.

"It's a very long and complicated story, Lydia, and not one I care to relate to a lady."

She placed a hand on her chest. "Now I'm really curious."

"Don't be." He looked around the room. "Is this where you hope to get hired?"

"It is. I'm a singer . . ."

The pause gave Galen a more complete picture of the woman, Lydia St. Clair.

"Well if the voice is a pretty as the owner, I'm sure you will be successful."

"My, aren't you a charmer." Her eyes flashed, but she felt her cheeks warm.

"I try to be honest." He tipped back his whiskey and set the glass down, turning it slowly.

"Would you care to see a lady home . . .?"

"I believe I would." His face was sincere when he looked up, and she caught her breath.

➰➰➰➰➰

Lydia lay comfortably beneath the sheet, watching Galen finish washing and getting dressed. They had gone straight to her room and wasted no time in keeping their distance. The action was careful, thoughtful, and filled with an overwhelming passion. Idle conversation punctuated the moments of pleasurable rest between sessions, finally giving in to deep, relaxed sleep for both.

"Will I see you again, Galen?"

He tucked his shirt in and stood looking down at her. "I would like that, but a lot depends on how my personal business works out."

"Will it take long?"

"Depends. I have no way of knowin'. When is your meetin' with the saloon owner?"

"Noon. Right downstairs."

"Well, I wish you all the luck. Lydia. I'll try and look in on you, see how it went."

"Good luck to you too, Galen . . . I'll wait around a while, no matter how it goes."

He put on his hat, gathered his things and gave a small salute as he left the room.