“We need somebody who can identify what’s in this.”
Garrick looked toward the window.
“The town doctor won’t come.”
“I do not want the town doctor.”
“He already refused because I owe him money.”
“Good.”
Garrick frowned.
“That’s good?”
“I want someone with no reason to protect Wren.”
He thought.
“There’s Dr. Merritt.”
“Who?”
“Retired army surgeon.”
“Lives east of Ash Canyon.”
“How far?”
“Sixty miles.”
Nola exhaled.
“Does he know medicines?”
“He knows enough to hate Wren.”
“Excellent.”
“Why?”
“Says Wren sells bottles before medicine.”
“Even better.”
Garrick looked toward Weston.
“I’ll ride.”
“No.”
His head snapped around.
“This is my son.”
“Yes.”
“Which is why you are not riding sixty miles while he is sick.”
“I can’t sit here.”
“You will.”
“Nola—”
“Who else can ride?”
He hesitated.
“Amos.”
“Who?”
“One of the last ranch hands.”
“Where is he?”
“South pasture.”
“Age?”
“Sixty-seven.”
Nola closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
“He can ride.”
“Can he stay in the saddle?”
“Better than either of us.”
“Fine.”
“Send Amos.”
Garrick looked offended.
“You’re ordering me around in my own house.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been here one hour.”
“Long hour.”
Against all reason, the corner of his mouth moved.
Then he sobered.
“What do we send?”
Nola held up Mae’s bottle and Weston’s.
“Samples.”
“Sealed.”
“Separate.”
“And a letter explaining symptoms.”
“You know how to prepare it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I worked for an apothecary.”
Garrick stared.
“You neglected to mention that.”
“You neglected to mention a land baron may be waiting for your family to die.”
“Fair.”
It was the first easy exchange between them.
Neither recognized its importance yet.
Amos rode out before sunset.
The old ranch hand was thin, bow-legged, and insulted when Nola asked whether he could manage the trip.
“Miss, I was riding before your father knew how to lie.”
Nola stared.
“My father was an excellent liar.”
Amos considered.
“Then we would’ve gotten along.”
He tucked the carefully wrapped bottles into a coffee tin beneath a layer of beans.
Nola had insisted on that.
If someone searched his saddlebags, she did not want the samples obvious.
Garrick noticed.
“You think somebody would stop him?”
“I think a wife died, a child nearly followed, a land buyer benefits, and the doctor who supplied both bottles came through the buyer.”
She tightened the tin lid.
“I’m done assuming coincidence deserves courtesy.”
Amos nodded approvingly.
“Like her.”
Garrick looked confused.
“Like who?”
“Mae.”
The rancher’s face changed.
Amos mounted before anyone had to respond.
As he rode away, Nola looked toward Garrick.
He watched until Amos disappeared.
Then:
“Mae would have sent him with a rifle.”
Nola replied: