Heavy silence followed her last remark. She folded her hands on the table and took a deep breath.
“It may seem as if everything has changed overnight. No one could have…expected my brother to get lost and hurt, but if it weren’t for Mr. Kavanagh, I never would have found him. I won’t give up hope, and I ask you all to do your best to keep things going the way they always have. It’s what André would want.”
Federico looked up from his plate. “Como tú digas, Señorita Tally. We must go on as before.” He nodded to Sim. “Bienvenido, Señor Kavanagh. I am Federico Rodriguez, and these are my children, Pablo and Dolores.” He glanced with mock severity from son to daughter. “How do you greet the gentleman, mis hijos?”
“Bienvenido,” Pablo said obediently, and grinned past a mouthful of beans. Dolores stuck her finger in her nose. Sim’s mouth twitched, but it was obvious to Tally that he didn’t know how to speak to children.
Bart shifted nervously in his chair. “Bart Stanfield,” the gray-haired cowman said to Sim, offering his hand. Sim met his gaze, and Bart withdrew his hand, rubbing his palm on the side of his pants.
Tally frowned at Sim. “Bart has been in the Territory longer than almost anyone. He’s fought Apaches and lived to talk about it.”
Bart ducked his head. “Everyone had to in those days,” he said.
Sim leaned back in his chair until it creaked dangerously and balanced on two legs. “Stanfield,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of you.”
The older man’s faded blue eyes peered up at Sim, bright with hope. He returned to his food with gusto.
“You’ve met Miriam,” Tally said. “She runs the house and manages our food stores. Don’t cross her unless you want a little too much chili in your frijoles.”
Sim gave a startling smile, all white teeth and an edge of dark humor. “I like my chuck hot.”
“I imagine Miriam could lay her hands on a little rat bait if she set her mind to it,” Elijah said.
Bart choked on his biscuit. Miriam clapped a hand over her mouth, and Federico sighed. Pablito burst into giggles. Sim continued to smile.
“You know a rat ’round here needs killing?” he asked Elijah.
Eli smiled back at him. “Even rats can be useful from time to time.”
Sim’s chair crashed back to all four legs. “Elijah and me had a nice tour of your spread, Miss Tally,” he said. “He’s a mighty fine range boss, Mr. Patterson is.”
“And you’re satisfied with Mr. Kavanagh’s work?” Tally asked Elijah.
She knew Eli well enough to expect him to tell the truth, even if it embarrassed both her and Sim. Eli took his time about answering. He slathered butter on a biscuit and ate it almost daintily.
“He’ll do,” he said at last. “Until Mr. Bernard is well again.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Tally took a slice of ham. She would have to speak to Miriam about such lavish expenditures for everyday meals, even though she knew her friend was doing it for her sake. God knew she hadn’t had much of an appetite. “Since we are speaking of rats, has there been any sign of the rustlers since I left for Tombstone?”
“None,” Eli said. “They must figure we don’t have much left worth stealing.”
“We have a new crop of calves,” Bart said. “Once they’re weaned…”
“They won’t succeed again,” Eli said grimly. “We’ll be ready for them.”
“You have a strategy in mind, mi amigo?” Federico asked. He turned to Sim. “Señor Patterson fought with the Buffalo Soldiers, the Tenth Cavalry. I understand that you also served in the army, Señor Kavanagh.”
Sim shrugged. Eli pinned Federico with an eloquent stare. He hated to talk about his past with the army. Tally knew only scraps of his history. Like her, he couldn’t entirely escape the influence of his former profession. Discipline and skill were evidence of his training, just as his educated upbringing showed in his speech and manner.
“I’m more interested in Mr. Kavanagh’s suggestions on how to deal with cattle thieves,” Elijah said.
Sim regarded the other man through half-lidded eyes. “I didn’t know you were interested in any opinion of mine.”
“I gather you two didn’t do much talking in the last few days,” Tally said dryly. “Do you have a suggestion, Sim?”
A hunter’s spark lit his eyes. “Do you know who they are? I’ve heard the name McLaury in this part of the Territory.”
“We never got a good look at ’em,” Bart offered. “But the McLaurys are said to be among the worst of the cowboys in the Valley.”
“I like to know the name of my enemy,” Sim said. He held Tally’s gaze. “You don’t need to worry about those cowboys, Miss Tally. They won’t bother you again.”
Elijah leaned over the table. “That’s pretty big talk, Kavanagh. It makes me wonder if you know these kinds of men a little better than you’ve let on.”
Tally stood up. All the men but Sim jumped to their feet out of habitual courtesy.
“Please sit down,” she said firmly. “Elijah, I’d prefer that you don’t make accusations without proof. I’m satisfied as to Mr. Kavanagh’s background and abilities. At times like these, we can’t afford to turn against each other.”
Eli sat down, but his muscles were taut with strain. “If I owe you an apology, Mr. Kavanagh, you have it.”
“If I ever need one,” Sim said, “I’ll take it.”
Tally banged her hand on the table. “Gentlemen,” she said, deliberately implying that they didn’t deserve the name, “I think that’s enough of this discussion for tonight. Sim, are you set up in the bunkhouse?”
Sim nodded, but Tally could see that his thoughts were elsewhere. Miriam got up to clear the dishes, effectively ending the meal. Federico took his children away to wash up before bed, and Bart left so quietly that no one seemed to notice he was gone. Elijah spoke briefly to Miriam and walked out the front door.
Sim scraped back his chair and rose with an extravagant stretch. He stalked around the table, intercepting Miriam with her armful of dirty plates.
“Mighty good cooking,” he said, taking the plates from her hands. He winked at Tally. “Better than Mrs. Bryson’s, I’d say.”
Miriam stared at him, openmouthed, and took a step back. “Why…thank you, Mr. Kavanagh.”
“No one calls me that,” he said. He set the plates down beside the washbasin. “It’s Sim.”
Miriam exchanged startled glances with Tally. “Sim,” she repeated. “Simeon.”
“No one calls me that, either,” he said. Somehow he insinuated himself next to Tally without seeming to have moved across the room. He drew her out the door and onto the porch. A breeze had risen to drive away the day’s heat, and Tally turned her face into the wind’s caress.
Sim pulled a rolled cigarette from his waistcoat pocket and contemplated it as if it were a rival to be defeated. “I meant what I said in there,” he said.
“About the rustlers? I never doubted it.”
He cast her a sideways glance. “No questions? No suspicions?”
She leaned against the house’s cool adobe wall. “Elijah may be right. I’m not ignorant, Sim. I never dismissed the possibility that you’ve walked on both sides of the law.”
Sim dropped the cigarette and