At first, it seemed ordinary. A wagon from Cold Water missed its Thursday delivery because a wheel cracked near Miller's Crossing. The following week, flour that had been promised Monday came Friday. Then coffee ordered from Pueblo never arrived at all.
Eli shrugged when Rachel mentioned it. "Winter roads."
Rachel looked toward the kitchen window. The road was frozen, yes. But clear.
"Winter roads don't lose paperwork."
She had the receipt in her hand. Paid in advance. Delivery written plainly beneath the merchant's mark. Matthew came in carrying a coil of rope.
"You're making that face again."
"What face?"
"The one before you find something expensive."
Rachel handed him the receipt. "Our flour is four days late."
"Not the first time."
"The last two shipments were late too."
He read the paper. "Pass could be worse south of town."
"Maybe."
He looked at her. "You don't think so?"
Rachel folded another receipt and placed it beside the first. "I think three things becoming inconvenient in the same direction deserves attention."
Matthew studied her for a moment, then set down the rope. The answer came to the ranch three days later. Not in a freight wagon.
In a black carriage. Rachel saw it from the cookhouse window just after noon. The carriage came up the south road without hurry, clean enough to suggest it had not spent much time on poor trails.
Two matched horses pulled it. A man in a dark coat sat inside rather than driving himself. Eli crossed the yard from the barn. Matthew came out of the main house.
The carriage stopped near the hitching rail. The passenger stepped down. He was perhaps 50. Well fed.
Clean shaven. Dressed in a wool coat finer than anything worn regularly at Holloway Basin. His boots were polished. His gloves were soft leather.
He had the easy posture of a man accustomed to being welcomed before he asked. Rachel knew the type. Not the man. The type.
He looked around the yard as though judging what everything might sell for. Matthew stopped ten feet away.
"Langley."
The name meant something to Eli. Rachel saw it in the foreman's face. Victor Langley smiled.
"Holloway."
No handshake. That told Rachel almost as much as the smile. Matthew glanced toward the carriage.
"Long way to come without warning."
"I was nearby."
"Nothing is nearby."
Langley's smile widened. "Fair point."
Rachel stepped away from the window but left the cookhouse door open enough to hear. Langley did not lower his voice.
"I'll get to it. I'm interested in your lower river pasture."
Matthew's answer came immediately. "No."
Langley gave a soft laugh. "You haven't heard the number."
"Doesn't matter."
"It might."
"It doesn't."