He led Decker past the game to a makeshift three-foot bar in the back.
“Can’t offer you much of a variety,” Frenchie said, reaching behind the bar. “We’ve got rotgut, and more rotgut.”
“I’ll take it,” Decker said. He took a swig from the bottle and felt it warm his insides instantly, like liquid fire. He handed it to Frenchie, and the big logger took a huge swallow.
“So, what’s the story?” Frenchie asked.
“If I hear anything I think she should know, I’ll tell her,” Decker said.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“And she went for it?”
“She wasn’t about to get any more.”
“She’s one stubborn woman, you know.”
“She’s hardly a woman.”
“Well, she ain’t no kid, you could tell that by looking at her.”
“And just what is she to you?”
“Mmm, I’m sort of like an uncle.”
“An uncle who calls her ‘Miz Boone’?”
“She’s also my boss.”
“Did she work here with her father?”
“No,” Frenchie said. “She lived in the East, but she was on her way here when he was killed.”
“He was dead when she got here?”
“Yes,” Frenchie said. “She arrived the day after he was killed. They hadn’t seen each other for five years, and they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. This was supposed to be a reconciliation.”
“I see.”
“Do you? She feels real guilty about her father’s death. She wants to catch the man who did it, and the man who ordered it.” Frenchie leaned on the bar and said, “I guess you figured out by now that I heard you asking about the Baron in the bar. I thought you might be able to help her. When I met you, and heard who you were, I knew you were the man we needed.”
“You knew—”
“Look, I don’t care if you help her on her terms, or on your terms. All I care about is that you help her.”
“Just so you know,” Decker said, “that my main concern is not to help anyone but myself.”
Frenchie put his huge paw on Decker’s shoulder and said, “I’ll bet even you don’t believe that.”
“I still think you should let me ride along with you,” Frenchie said.
It was morning, and Decker was getting ready to ride out. He had the supplies he’d bought at the “general store” plus a few things that Frenchie had thrown in.
Decker was astride John Henry, while Frenchie was standing at his side. Off to one side Big Jeff Reno was watching, and from the look on the man’s face Decker knew the foreman didn’t wish him luck. In front of the lone cabin in camp stood Dani Boone, her face expressionless.
“I think you’d do better to stay around here and keep an eye on things, Frenchie.”
“What do you mean?” Frenchie asked.
Decker looked at Reno and Dani again, and then back at his new friend.
“I don’t know. Just a feeling I have. While I’m gone, be more of an uncle than an employee, eh?”
“While you’re gone?” Frenchie asked. “Does that mean you plan on coming back?”
“Plans are made to be broken,” Decker said. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Decker rode out of the lumber camp, wondering how whoever had hired the Baron to kill Jack Boone felt about Dani Boone coming in to run things.
Farther up the river, in a town named Broadus, the man who called himself Brand—but whom others called the Baron—rolled over in bed and came into contact with a warm female body.
Brand looked at the woman who was lying next to him. She was a big woman, with long black hair and a broad, very sexy behind. He slapped it loudly.
“Hey!” he said as her head snapped up.
“What?”
“Breakfast!”
“Oh, Lord,” she said, rolling over. Her front was just as impressive as her back. Her name was Josephine Hale. “My head is killing me.”
“That will teach you to try and drink like a man,” Brand said.
“Can all Russians hold their liquor as well as you can?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Russians are famous for their ability to drink—and eat. Breakfast, woman!”
“I’m getting it, I’m getting it,” she said, jumping out of bed. He watched her as she walked naked across the floor, acres of bare flesh sprouting goose bumps until she slipped into a robe.
“Eggs and bacon?” she asked.
“For a start.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she said. “It’s going to be one of those mornings. Flapjacks and sausages, too?”
“Yes.”
“How can you eat so much the night after you’ve drunk so much?” she asked, shaking her head as she left the room.
Brand reclined on the bed, hands behind his head, and thought about his little hideaway on the Powder River.
He had found Broadus quite by accident. What he had been looking for was a part of the United States that had a climate similar to Russia’s. Montana filled the bill, especially in the winter. Finding Montana, he had then found Broadus, and there he found Josephine.
Josephine owned a store in town that sold women’s clothing, and she owned a small house that she lived in alone. That is, she lived there alone when Brand was away.
She didn’t know what Brand did when he wasn’t in Broadus, and she didn’t care. All she cared about was that when he was finished he came back to her.
Montana, Broadus, and Josephine had come to mean a lot to Brand, which was the reason he’d decided never to ply his trade in Montana.
He smelled the bacon grease as it hit the pan, and he got up. When he dressed he did not bother to strap on his gun.
He often wondered what the townspeople would say—and what Josephine would say—if they ever found out that he was the hired killer known as the Baron.
Sometimes he wished he could take Josephine up on her offer to simply live off what she made at the store, but he knew he’d never be able to do that. He was in too deep ever to do that—and besides, in a year the store could never bring in what he could make from one job.
Of course, all he ever did with his money was put it in the Bank of Broadus, but it pleased him to know that it was there. If anything ever happened to him, if he didn’t return one day from a job, the money would go to Josephine.
She didn’t know about that, and she’d never find out until after he was dead.
As he left the bedroom the smell of coffee mingled with that of the bacon, and his mouth watered as he entered the kitchen.
“Is it ready?” he asked, seating himself at the table.
Josephine turned away from the stove, a cup of coffee in her hand. She set it down in front of him, kissed
