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“What about the settlement nearby?”
    Nelson settled back in his chair, rubbing a rueful hand over the back of his neck. “It’s a tricky business. If the Indians can successfully integrate, they can stay.”
    “That’s progressive of you.”
    The sheriff shrugged. “Like I said, it’s tricky. But that’s why you’re here.”
    Del shook his head. “I don’t kill innocent people.”
    “I understand.” Nelson lifted his hands placatingly. “The tribe over the hill is led by an old man called Walking Bear. He’s never given us any real trouble. But then we heard about the burnings in Rock Pass and Millerstown, and a couple of the families living nearby spotted savages in their war paint, carrying torches.”
    “Not part of Walking Bear’s tribe, I take it.”
    “No. I don’t want any trouble, not with anyone.” Nelson’s eyes were stormy as he met Del’s gaze. “ Anyone . Not the Cheyenne, not the people of Red Creek. I can’t make ’em all happy, though, and if you could just take care of the violent ones—”
    “Then you can keep things peaceful,” Del finished for him. “You better be paying me well for making me a scapegoat.”
    “We will.” Nelson paused. “Walking Bear knows the savages you’re after, I’m sure of it. But they’re not staying on the hill—I’ve done some reconnaissance. Still, things could get ugly for you if you hurt the wrong Indians.”
    “Then I’ll make sure I hurt the right ones,” Del responded mockingly, trying to ignore the ball of unease making a home for itself in his stomach. Shooting John White Horse was a mistake he likely couldn’t afford, and he had to let Nelson know about it before things went any further. “Speaking of, I need to tell you—”
    The door behind him opened with a bang, knocking into the hall tree and sending it crashing to the floor. Del whirled to see Moira Tully standing there, both hands raised and mouth open as if she couldn’t quite believe the commotion she’d caused in the space of a second.
    Her blue eyes narrowed on him. “ You ,” she said between clenched teeth.
    He still didn’t know what it was about her that made him want to smile. Until this morning, he’d almost wondered if he’d forgotten how to smile at all. “Ma’am.” He touched a respectful finger to the brim of his hat. “How’s your ear?” he asked before he could rein in the words.
    She glared at him.
    He stared calmly back at her, though truth be told, there was nothing calm going on inside him. She’d freshened up in the past half hour, and the change in her appearance was a surprise, in more ways than one. Not only did she wear a day dress as proper as any Southern belle’s, but she also wore it with confidence and modesty.
    Miss Tully was no whore.
    As his gaze took in the fresh bandage wrapped tightly around her skull, Del couldn’t decide whether or not he was disappointed. The cream blouse clung to her small, high breasts and skimmed down into the green silk belt at her slim waist. A layered skirt as blue as the mountain sky rested over a hooped frame, though not as wide as the fashions worn by the young women of Savannah.
    Her skin had been scrubbed clean of blood, and beneath her freckles her flesh was a pale rose. Thick auburn lashes framed her Irish eyes, matching her curved brows and the sleek, damp braid coiled at her nape. Her lips were pursed in a disapproving frown, but it didn’t make her any less beautiful.
    Because she was beautiful, he realized. Beautiful, with her freckles and her frowning and her accusatory glare.
    And decidedly not a prostitute.
    “Sheriff Nelson,” she said as she settled her hands on her hips, never taking her eyes off Del. He didn’t mind.
    Footsteps sounded as the sheriff moved from behind his desk. “Miss Tully. What can I do for you this morning?”
    A self-satisfied smirk curled her mouth, and dread trickled down Del’s spine.
    “You can arrest this man for shooting John White