* * *
Clint slipped quietly through the back door, conscious of the late hour. Roy sat at one of the rough-hewn tables with his back to the door, staring down at playing cards laid out in front of him. It looked like he was playing solitaire. That surprised Clint. Roy had lectured many a time that Poker was the only card game worth wasting time on.
Roy rubbed a knuckle to his forehead and heaved a breath. He glanced up at the clock, half past ten, then started to shuffle. Apparently, he hadn't heard Clint come in. Clint rocked back on his heels. "You needed me?"
Roy whirled in his seat. "Yeah. Come in, son. Grab some coffee and sit down."
Clint closed the door, hung his hat, and made his way to the cupboard. It had been a long, unproductive day, and he still bore the effects of the hangover. He searched for his usual chipped mug, filled it, and took a seat at the table across from Roy.
Clint poured sugar in the cup and stirred. "What's up? Is this about Turner?"
"Thought you didn't use sugar."
"Sometimes."
"Nope. It was time for Brad Turner to find a new home. You should have fired him long ago. And his cronies."
"What then?"
"We'll wait for Jessica."
Clint popped his head up, his pulse speeding. What in the world was Roy up to now? He narrowed his eyes. "What's this all about, Roy?"
The blood seemed to drain from Roy's face.
The door opened just then, saving Roy from having to answer. Jessica entered, glanced at Clint, then shot Roy a perplexed look. She turned to close the door. It clicked closed, but she didn't move—looked to have stuck in place. Ah, so, Jessie was suspicious of this late night chat as well. She straightened her shoulders and turned with a smile in place. Didn't look like much of one. Clint knew how she felt.
She took a couple of steps in. "You wanted to see me?"
"Where were you?" Roy asked.
"Taking a walk by the stream."
"It's dangerous there at night," Clint snapped, keeping his eyes pinned to his cup.
"Grab some coffee and come sit with us," Roy said.
Jessie looked like she wanted to do anything but. In the end, she meandered to the table, cup in hand, and sat at the end of Clint's bench. Her cheeks were pleasingly pink from the night air, matching the color of the sweatshirt she'd pulled low over her jeans.
"I want you two to go up to Mary's in the morning."
Clint ground his back teeth.
Jessica shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Who's Mary?"
Roy looked at Clint. He glared back. He wasn't going to help Roy explain Mary. He wanted to know the reason for this sudden need to send him and Jessica on a trip together.
"I've known Mary for years. When she got married I let her and her husband live in one of my cabins." He nodded his head to the east. "'Bout half day's ride up the mountain. After her husband died, I encouraged her to stay on. Wanted her to move in closer, but she wouldn't have it. The cabin's located in a thick area of forest and there's no phone. No communication of any kind. So we take her supplies and check on her every other week."
"You'll be taking her supplies, and Clint, you'll do your fix-its like usual. Plan on being gone three days."
Jessie's brows rose slightly.
"Mary can teach you how to quilt," Roy went on. "She made the quilt on your bed." Roy looked a little sheepish. He cleared his throat. "You'd best get packed tonight. I'll make sure the wagon's ready by the time you're done with breakfast."
Clint was ready to explode. Roy eyed him gingerly then looked to Jessie. "Jess. It can be warm during the day but it gets cold up there at night, so take a warm jacket." He heaved a sigh. "Any questions?"
Clint could hear his own pulse thud.
"Anything you want us to tell Mary, for you?" Jessie finally asked.
"No. Make sure she's okay is all."
Roy ran his finger around the deck of cards. "Clint?"
"What!"
The older man grimaced. He met Clint's stare. "It's time Jess met Mary."
"Roy—"
"Jess," Roy said, cutting Clint off but not taking his eyes off him. "Go get packed and get to bed, honey. Tomorrow'll be a long day."
She looked from Roy to Clint and back again. "Sure." She rose, kissed Roy on the cheek, and scooted up the stairs. Clint watched until she was out of sight. Then he looked down into his mug for a long while as if the liquid would calm his rising fury.
When he raised his chin and caught Roy's gaze, Roy looked unmistakably uneasy, yet formidable all the same.
Clint stared straight through him. Roy swallowed. Running a hand down his face, Clint huffed a sigh. "Why are you doing this, Roy?" He tried to rein in this inexplicable rage that seemed to be building. "I know you were upset with my breaking it off with Veronica. This your idea of fixing me up?"
Roy looked legitimately shocked. "No. I—shoot, Jess's not for you. She's not even your type."
Clint couldn't control the frown that statement created. Vexing protectiveness crowded in with his anger and left him scowling outright.
Roy studied him for five heartbeats. "Well, I'll be . . ."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Clint barked, rising to his feet.
"Nothin'. Nothin' at all."
"You're right. She's not for me. You just try and remember that, old man." Clint glared down into Roy's eyes. "I'm turning in. Anything else you need before I do?"
Roy hesitated. "Nope. See ya in the morning, son. Sleep well."
Clint ripped his hat off the hook, nearly yanking it out of the wall, and slammed out the back door.