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his head. “What the hell’s that?”
    Roman swallowed his fifth shot of liquor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Best as I can figure, that’s genius talk for horse.”
    “Mr. Montana!”
    Roman swiveled on the stool and saw Claff’s son standing between the saloon doors.
    “Paw asked me to come git ya! Said fer ya to hurry up. That Miz Worth woman y’brung to the livery ain’t speakin’ no kind o’ English we ever heared, and Paw’s beside hissef tryin’ to make out what she wants.”
    Roman folded his arms across his chest. “Claff s upset? Don’t tell me—that Miss Worth woman is now trying to cicurate him.”
    “Cicurate?” The boy shook his head. “Naw, she ain’t hurtin’ him none, but she’s sure got him riled. Will y’come?”
    With a fair amount of whiskey flowing through his veins, Roman felt more inclined to deal with the obnoxious Miss Worth. He paid for the liquor and headed out of the saloon.
    As he stepped into the street, he spotted her in front of the livery. Her hands clasped behind her ,back, she was slowly circling a bay Thoroughbred.
    Severed buildings away, in front of the feed store, three burly, well-armed men stood watching her. Even from where he stood, Roman could tell they were up to no good. And whatever evil thing was on their minds, it involved Theodosia.
    His steps long and purposeful, he strode across the street, careful to keep his instincts trained on the three outlaws.
    “Oh, hello, Mr. Montana.” Theodosia greeted him with a smile.
    The sparkling prettiness of her smile captured his attention. He was halfway tempted to smile back.
    But only halfway. He frowned instead. “You aren’t buying that horse. Miss Worth.”
    She ran her hand down the horse’s sleek flank. “Yes, I do believe I shall, Mr. Montana. This gelding is a Thoroughbred. He is not the finest I have seen, but I find his spirit highly desirable. I’m quite familiar with this breed because my father—”
    “That horse is too fine,” Roman flared. “Claff, show her a few sturdier—”
    “I have already seen the others,” Theodosia announced, smoothing the back of her hand across her moist forehead. “I cared for none of them. And I would sincerely appreciate it if you did not become roinous over the matter, Mr. Montana.”
    The warm, whiskey-induced mellowness that Roman had hoped would see him through a few hours in Theodosia’s company quickly turned into cold anger. “I’ll be as roinous as I damned well want!” He had no inkling what the word meant but wasn’t about to cow before the might of her vocabulary. “Now, pick another horse, because you are not taking the Thoroughbred.”
    John the Baptist screeched from within his cage, which Theodosia had placed on top of several bales of hay. “I’ll be as roinous as I damned well want,” he called out.
    Theodosia bristled. “Now look what you have done, Mr. Montana. My bird has never—not once—spoken a profanity. Five minutes in your company, and he—”
    “The word damned ain’t s’bad, Miz Worth,” Claff ventured. “There’s a helluva lot worser words he might could learn to say. Why, I know some that near ’bout turn my mouth inside out when I say ’em.”
    “Please don’t tell me what they are,” she entreated, then turned back to Roman. “I am anxious to get to Templeton, Mr. Montana. That is why I was not inclined to accept your suggestion that we stay here tonight and begin our journey in the morning. It is also why I prefer this Thoroughbred. Thoroughbreds are well known for their speed. I happen to know a great deal about them because my father—”
    “Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that you know a lot about a lot, but you don’t know much about much. Take that Thoroughbred, and by tomorrow night I’ll be forced to shoot him to put him out of his misery. Templeton is almost a three-day ride away and over rough terrain. The Thoroughbred is famous for its speed but not for its