Later, Decker would berate himself for being too dumb to see what was coming.
The bounty hunter had to agree with what Frenchie had said about the camp’s cook. Either he was one of the best cooks whose wares Decker had ever tasted or food simply tasted better when the air was cold.
Decker had been left to his own devices in the mess tent and was drawing curious looks from the loggers around him. Frenchie was nowhere to be found until he suddenly stepped into the tent with Jeff Reno. They were deep in conversation, and once or twice Reno looked Decker’s way, nodding.
It might have dawned on Decker then, but he was too interested in the hot food in front of him.
When Frenchie and Reno finally finished their conversation, Frenchie got himself a bowl of stew, then sat next to Decker. He attacked his food with vigor and spoke to Decker between bites.
“Well, my friend, how do you like the food?”
“Just like you said,” Decker told him.
“Ah, I knew you’d enjoy it.”
“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with your boss.”
“Big Jeff?” Frenchie said. “No, we’re good friends. Whatever I do is all right with him.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“How have the lads here been treating you?”
“Like I had the plague.”
“Ah,” Frenchie said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I should have known!”
“Known what?”
“That they would be suspicious of a stranger in their midst only a couple of weeks after Jack Boone was shot.”
“Speaking of Boone,” Decker said, “what is Miss Boone’s first name?”
“Dani.”
“Danny?”
Frenchie spelled the name for Decker and then said, “I think it’s short for Danielle.”
“Pretty name.”
“She was all bundled up when you saw her, but take my word for it, she’s a pretty little thing.”
“How old is she?”
“I’m not sure, I guess about twenty, twenty-one.”
“That’s young to be running an operation like this, isn’t it?”
“That’s why she’s leaning heavily on Big Jeff and…” Frenchie let the sentence trail off without finishing it.
“And you?”
“A lot of us,” Frenchie said, obviously avoiding the question.
Decker looked Frenchie in the eye and said, “Why is it I get the feeling you’re a little more in charge here than you let on?”
Frenchie put down his fork and looked at Decker.
“I ain’t in charge, Decker,” Frenchie said. “Reno’s in charge, and he reports to Miz Boone. I was just good friends with her father, that’s all. She respects that.”
“Frenchie,” Decker said, “why did you ask me up here? Really?”
“Finish eating,” Frenchie said. “Dani would like to see you in her cabin—if you’ve a mind to talk to her.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Decker said. “And then I’ll talk to you—or you’ll talk to me.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Frenchie said, and once again he attacked his meal.
Chapter Eleven
After they finished eating, Frenchie led Decker to Dani Boone’s cabin.
“Are you coming in?” Decker said.
“Nope. This is between you and her.”
Decker knocked, and when the young woman opened the door he noticed two things. Number one, she was indeed extremely pretty, as Frenchie had said. Her hair was chestnut colored and hung down past her shoulders. She was wearing a heavy plaid work shirt that did nothing to hide the proud thrust of her full breasts. And her jeans molded themselves to the curve of her hips.
The second thing he noticed was the scent of coffee in the cabin.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Come in, then,” she said, stepping back.
He entered and found himself in a cluttered room dominated by a huge table that was covered with papers. Off in one corner was a cot, and on a potbellied stove sat a pot of coffee.
“Take off your jacket,” she said, “and have a seat. We have something to talk about.”
There was no note of hospitality in her voice, and her expression was stern. She had sent for him, and she had expected him to come.
Then she walked to him and handed Decker a cup of coffee.
Accepting the hot cup gratefully, he asked, “Who says we have something to talk about, Miss Boone?”
“Frenchie does.”
“Do you listen to everything Frenchie says?”
“My father trusted Frenchie completely,” she said. “If Frenchie had taken the job, he’d be foreman instead of Reno.”
“How does Reno feel about that?”
“He knows it and accepts it.”
“I don’t know how a man can accept knowing that if another man wanted his job, he’d have it.”
“Reno does,” she said with certainty. “But I didn’t send for you to discuss my business.”
“You didn’t send for me at all, Miss Boone,” he said. “As I understood it, you asked me to come here and talk.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“All right, then. What does Frenchie say we have to talk about?”
“You know that my father was killed two weeks ago?” she asked sadly.
“Frenchie told me.”
“We believe that a hired killed did it.”
“I see,” Decker said, and he was starting to. Frenchie was in the saloon tent when Decker asked the bartender about the Baron. After that, Frenchie took a sudden interest in John Henry, which allowed him to meet Decker.
“Who do you think did the hiring?”
“I have no idea. That’s what I want to find out.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Frenchie says you’re a bounty hunter.”
“So.”
“He says you’re the best at what you do.”
“That’s a lot to say about someone you’ve just met.”
“He says he’s heard of you.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Decker, I would like to hire you to find the man who killed my father, then find out who hired him. I’ll pay you well.”
“Sounds like a job for a Pinkerton detective, not a bounty hunter.”
“You have more at stake here than a Pinkerton detective would have.”
“Like what?”
“You’re already looking for the man.”
“Am I?”
“We believe that the man who was hired to kill my father was the Baron.”
“I see,” Decker said thoughtfully. “So that’s why Frenchie told me I could stay here.”
“I apologize for his bringing you up here on false pretenses.”
“He didn’t, really. He promised me a meal and a place to sleep. I’ll have those, won’t I?”
“Of course.”
“Even if I don’t accept your job?”
She bit her lip before answering. “Of course.”
Decker sipped his coffee, considering what had happened. No matter how you looked at it, Frenchie had lured him up here on false pretenses, but Decker was not the kind of man whose feelings bruised easily. In fact, he felt vindicated that he had questioned Frenchie’s apparent friendliness and had now been proven right.
“Your father’s been dead two weeks, Miss Boone,” Decker pointed out. “Seems to me the trail is pretty cold.”
“You and I both know that the Baron is up here somewhere around the Powder River.”
“Why would he take a job so close to where he hangs his hat?”
“I have no idea.”