“He won’t,” Jessie said with bitterness in her voice. “You know he won’t.”
“It ain’t likely,” Preacher agreed with a shrug. “But we can’t tote his body with us.”
Jessie sighed. “No, of course not.” She started toward the door of Casey’s room.
The door swung open before she got there. Casey must have heard the shots and the rest of the commotion downstairs and been watching fearfully through a narrow crack. Her face with its fading bruises was pale as she looked at Jessie and Preacher.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her gaze went to Preacher. “Jim . . . ?”
He could explain later about how that wasn’t really his name. Right now he said, “Get your gear together, Casey. You’re comin’ with us.”
“What are you talking about? I . . . I have a job here—”
“The house is closed,” Jessie said. “For good. I’m leaving. And I’m not going to leave you here for Shad—”
Casey gave a choked cry before Jessie could finish that sentence. “Give me a minute,” she said. “I’ll grab a few things, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
She ducked back into the room. While Casey was gathering her things, Preacher asked Jessie, “Do you have a carriage or a wagon, something we can use to get you and Casey away from here?”
“There’s a buggy in the barn out back. I think all three of us can crowd into it.”
Preacher nodded. He wanted to get the two women to Uncle Dan Sullivan, who could be counted on to do his best to keep them safe.
That would leave Preacher free to come back here to St. Louis and settle things once and for all with Shad Beaumont.
True to her word, Casey emerged from her room a minute later, carrying a small carpetbag. She had pulled on a gray dress instead of the robe she’d been wearing a few moments earlier. She looked pale and frightened but composed, a description that fit Jessie as well.
“I’m ready,” Casey said. “Thank you for not leaving me here.”
Jessie put a hand on her shoulder. “We’d never do that.” She added, “Let’s go down the rear stairs.”
As they began to descend the stairs, Casey said, “What about Brutus? Is he coming with us?”
“I’m sorry, Cassandra. Brutus . . . is dead.”
Casey gasped and stopped on the stairs to look at Jessie in shock. “Dead?”
“One of those shots you must have heard killed him.”
“Who fired it?”
“Who do you think?” Jessie asked in a grim, angry voice.
“Beaumont,” Casey breathed.
“That’s right.”
“Where is he now?”
“We don’t know,” Preacher said. “He busted through a window and lit a shuck out of here. But I’m bettin’ he didn’t go far, and it won’t be long until he’s back.”
They reached the house’s rear entrance. Preacher gripped his pistol tightly and said, “Best let me go first and make sure nobody’s lurkin’ out there.”
“Be careful, Preacher,” Jessie said.
Casey turned her head to look at him. “Preacher?” she repeated. “I thought your name was Jim Donnelly? Or did Jessie mean that you’re a minister?”
Preacher gave a short bark of laughter. “Not hardly. Preacher’s just what they call me.”
“Just like you evidently prefer to be called Casey,” Jessie put in.
Casey’s face flushed. “I’ll explain that later,” she said.
“You’re right, there ain’t no time now,” Preacher said. “We’ve already spent too much time gabbin’ and not enough takin’ off for the tall and uncut.”
He swung the door open and stepped outside. It was late afternoon, so there were no shadows for a bushwhacker to hide in. On the other hand, there was no darkness to conceal the movements of Preacher and the two women, either. He pivoted from side to side, the pistol leveled and ready, but there was no sign of danger. For the moment, this quiet neighborhood appeared to be safe.
Preacher knew how deceptive appearances could be, though, and how things could change in a hurry with little or no warning. He turned back and motioned for the women to hurry.
“Come on!”
They came out the back door. Preacher hustled them toward the barn.
“Can you hitch up the buggy horse?” he asked Jessie, expecting her to say that she didn’t know how.
“Of course,” Jessie answered without hesitation.
“I’ll help,” Casey added. “I used to live on a farm, so I know all about hitching up a team.”
Despite the tension, Jessie let out a hollow laugh as they hurried into the barn. “I grew up on a farm, too. What is it about being farm girls that turns us into whores?”
