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bridge as if it were dangerous?”
    “It was.”
    “I hardly think it was likely to collapse at any second. Or perhaps it was who was on the bridge you found threatening?” She tsked . “I wouldn’t have thought a mere man would scare you off.”
    “He didn’t!” she protested, offended. “It can’t be coincidental, how often the man keeps showing up.”
    “I didn’t really believe that it was,” Laura said, smiling despite her best efforts to hide it.
    “Laura.” Though it was quickly masked, Laura caught the flash of pity in Mrs. Bossidy’s expression, and her smile faded.
    “Are you trying to imply,” Laura said, trying to make light, to prove it didn’t matter, while an ache settled behind her breastbone, “that the man might have ulterior motives?”
    “What man doesn’t?” Mrs. Bossidy replied. “Laura, if you were just another girl—another girl exactly as you are, with your face and your smile and your sweetness—I am certain that many men would fall victim to your charms. But the bald truth is you are Laura Hamilton. And a man could no more ignore that fact and ensure that his heart was not influenced by it than he could miss noting if you had a blemish the size of a grapefruit on your nose.”
    “Point taken,” Laura said, determined to ignore the remains of that stubborn ache. It was not as if that hadn’t occurred to her before Mrs. Bossidy pointed it out. She had just enjoyed…overlooking it for a brief time.
    “Laura—”
    “I’m fine,” Laura said, and found that it was true. “Fine.”
    Mrs. Bossidy shot a glance at the door—for at least the third time since they’d returned.
    “Is something the matter?”
    “I need to go shopping.”
    “Shopping? Now?” It had to be after nine o’clock.
    “It’s somewhat of an emergency.” Her hands fluttered. “Female items. Things tend to get, um…erratic, after a certain age.”
    Hmm. If Mrs. Bossidy was on the far side of forty, Laura would eat her brushes.
    “Nothing you need to worry about for a while—”
    “I’ll go with you.”
    “No!” She was going to leave Laura alone? Without being dragged away by a full-grown buffalo? “You stay here. Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.” She grabbed her bag and dashed out the door.
    Mrs. Bossidy was a reasonably good liar, Laura reflected as she pulled away the heavy drape of lush green velvet and peered out the window. The shadows in the train yard were too deep for her to follow Mrs. Bossidy’s black-clad figure, but a few minutes later a light in the other car winked out.
    She could do with putting a bit more effort into believably planning the lines she delivered with such aplomb, though. For while there was not a store in existence that had ever been closed to Laura Hamilton, she was not unaware that they typically kept particular business hours. Business hours which likely ended sometime ago.
    Female problem, my easel , Laura thought, and let three minutes pass before she slipped out the door.
    She found Mrs. Bossidy quickly enough, waiting—and not patiently—on the other side of the tidy brickstation. She should have chosen to do her nefarious business farther from the train to ensure that there was no chance of any sounds alerting Laura. But Mrs. Bossidy was not the sort to go wandering around in the dark by herself.
    There was little light. Only a soft sheen of moonlight that glanced off the tracks and was swallowed up in shadows and the faint, brassy wash of light from the saloon across the street that didn’t quite make it all the way there.
    Mrs. Bossidy didn’t wait well. She paced, quick, impatient steps that grew more agitated with each passing second. She didn’t wait quietly, either, punctuating the night with words that would have made Mr. Hoxie proud.
    But it didn’t really take that long. Laura hadn’t expected it to be that easy for them. He’d handled himself on the train so well. She knew her father hired only the best, that Mr. Hoxie and