There's a fella at the main house talking to Mr. Henderson. Billy reported eastern type fancy clothes says he's looking for his wife and child who might have passed this way. A cold dread settled in Wyatt's stomach. Did he give a name?
Montgomery. I think Charles Montgomery. Wyatt was on his horse before Billy finished speaking, racing toward the main house with fear and fury, battling for dominance in his mind. His first thought was of Lillian and Emma alone at the cabin, if Montgomery had already found them. But as he approached the main house, he saw a sleek black horse hitched outside.
Its eastern saddle and fine tack, indicating a wealthy owner who was still inside. Relief mingled with resolve as Wyatt dismounted and stroed toward the door, his hand instinctively checking the revolver at his hip. Inside, he found Mr. Henderson seated at his desk, facing a well-dressed man whose back was to the door. The stranger turned at Wyatt's entrance, revealing a handsome face with cold eyes and a mouth set in a permanent sneer.
"Ah, here's one of my hands now," Henderson said, his tone carefully neutral, though his eyes warned Wyatt to proceed cautiously. Wyatt, this gentleman is looking for information about travelers who might have passed through our area earlier this year. Mr. Harmon, the stranger said, extending a gloved hand. Charles Montgomery of Philadelphia, I understand you might have encountered my wife and child some months ago.
Wyatt ignored the outstretched hand, keeping his expression impassive. A lot of folks pass through these parts. Can't say I recall anyone by that name. Montgomery's smile didn't reach his eyes. Perhaps I can refresh your memory.
My wife, Lillian, a pretty thing with blue eyes and brown hair. She absconded with our infant daughter, Emma, nearly a year ago. I've been searching for them ever since. Can't help you, Wyatt replied flatly. If that's all, Mr.
Henderson, I should get back to the fence line before dark. Of course, Wyatt Henderson nodded, clearly understanding the situation better than he was letting on. Mr. Montgomery was just leaving. I'm sorry we couldn't be of assistance.
Montgomery's pleasant facade slipped slightly, revealing a flash of the anger beneath. I find it hard to believe no one in this remote area would notice a woman traveling alone with a baby. Perhaps I should speak with some of the other ranch hands or the women. My men are all working and the ladies aren't receiving visitors, Henderson said firmly, standing to indicate the conversation was over. The nearest town is Clearwater, about 15 mi east.
You might try inquiring there. Montgomery's gaze shifted between the two men, calculation evident in his eyes. I see. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Henderson.