Cheyenne, Wyoming, 1883

With his mail-order bride arriving tomorrow, Caleb didn't need any distractions, least of all a fight. But as he passed the open stable door, a yelp jerked him out of his reverie.

"You lazy whelp!"

Crack, followed by another yelp. It sounded like a woman — or a kid. That was it, the boy who worked for the stable owner was crying out, and from the sounds of things, Buck Tinan was thrashing him.

Without stopping to consider the consequences, Caleb dashed inside. Sure enough, the big stable owner loomed over the cowering boy. Willy, his name was. An orphan, unless Caleb was mistaken, about twelve years old.

"I oughta strip your hide off," Buck roared. He raised his hand with a whip in it, but when he flicked the lash back over his shoulder in preparation for another blow, Caleb caught the end and jerked it. Buck stumbled backward.

"Wha —" He whirled to face Caleb. "Blair! What's the meaning of this?"

"You're whipping that boy," Caleb said. "What's the meaning of that?"

Buck glared at him. "Yon Willy needs a lesson in hard work."

"Well, that's no way to teach him. If your help doesn't know how to do the job right, it's because you didn't teach him. He doesn't deserve a whipping."

"That's up to me," Buck said. "You've got no right coming in here and telling me what to do." He lunged forward, raising the whip.

Before Buck could use the lash on him, Caleb dove forward, butting his head into Buck's midsection. They both sprawled on the floor. Buck gasped in a breath, and Caleb seized the whip and tossed it across the dirt floor between the stalls. Several horses snorted and shifted. Caleb balled his fist and shook it in Buck's face.

"You want more?"

"Get off me!"

Caleb stood. Buck fumbled until he grasped the edge of a stall divider and pulled himself up.

"You can't do that, Blair."

"I just did." Caleb shook his head. "Tinan, you bought three horses off me last month. If I came by and saw you lighting into one of them like you were that boy, I'd wallop you just as hard. You're supposed to train that kid to be a decent citizen, able to support himself and not be a burden on society. You're not supposed to abuse him."

"Why, you —"

The train whistle cut through the warm afternoon air, reminding Caleb that Miss Martin would be on tomorrow's train, and he hadn't done his shopping yet.

"I got to go," Caleb said. "You keep your hands off that kid and treat him right, or I'll report you to the sheriff."

Buck's lip curled. "Just do that. I'm sure the sheriff will tell you the same thing I am. Mind your own business."

The whistle wailed again. Caleb hesitated. The boy had crept into an empty stall, but Caleb could see him crouching behind the divider. He was wearing a scarlet plaid shirt, and bits of color showed in the cracks between the boards of the dividing wall.

"You all right, Willy?" he called.

Buck stiffened, clenching his fists, but the boy replied softly, "Yes, sir."

"All right, then." Caleb nodded at Buck. "You'd best explain to him what you want done, and I mean with words, not with that whip."

"Get out of here," Buck yelled, stepping toward him.

Caleb didn't like to leave, but where did he draw the line? He turned on his heel and walked out. Maybe he ought to pause long enough to alert the sheriff to Tinan's behavior before going to the store. Or maybe he should have brought the boy along with him. He could take Willy to his ranch and give him chores there in exchange for his bed and board. Yes, that might be best. After he settled his bill at the store, he could stop back by the stable and ask Willy if he wanted to work on the Blair ranch instead of at the stable in town. The boy would probably jump at the chance, though Buck wouldn't be happy.

He squared his shoulders and focused on thoughts of the woman he was to meet. Eve Martin, soon to be Mrs. Blair. How would she feel about finding he'd taken on a boy? No, he told himself. His mission today was to stock up on staples for the kitchen and maybe a few new incidentals — new dish towels, for instance. What would she like to find in her new kitchen? That was today's question.

He stopped outside the store and swiveled his head to the left. The sheriff's office was only a couple of doors down. With a sigh, he turned toward it.

Sheriff Nichols, a fiftyish, no-nonsense man who carried about forty pounds more than Caleb did, looked up as he opened the door.

"Help you, Blair?"

"Yeah." Caleb walked in and shut the door behind him. "I was wondering about that boy, Willy, over at the stable."

The sheriff grunted. "What about him?"

"I was thinking he might be better off with somebody else."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when I come by there just now, Buck Tinan was going at him with a whip."

Nichols pushed his chair back, got up, and walked over to the small woodstove in the corner. He picked up the coffeepot, shook it gently, then poured himself a cup. When he turned around, he arched his eyebrows.

"And?"

"Well, he can't just beat the boy like that."

"What did you do?"

"Stopped him."

Nichols took a sip of his coffee then walked slowly over to his desk and sat down. He may have experience and some respect in town, Caleb thought, but he was getting too old and too slow for this job.

"Is the boy all right?" Nichols asked at last.

"He said he was."

"And how's Buck taking it?"

"He's mad."

"You realize you may have caused the boy more trouble in the future?"

Caleb squared his shoulders. "Which is why I'd like to take him out to my ranch. I wouldn't hit him, Sheriff. I'd treat him good, and I'd look out for him."

"Not happening."

"Why not?"

Nichols sipped his coffee again and made a face, then set down the mug. "Tinan signed papers on that boy."

"He's adopted him?"

"He's his legal guardian. I can't change that, and neither can you."

Caleb frowned and stepped closer to the desk. "Even if we make a complaint saying he mistreats the boy? Can't you remove the kid from Tinan's care?"

Nichols shook his head. "That's only done in extreme cases. And I've got no proof."

"I'll bet you would have if you checked that boy over for bruises and scars. He's no doubt got fresh welts under his shirt right now, and maybe cuts."

"Do you want to sign a formal complaint, accusing Tinan of assaulting the boy?"

Caleb thought about that for only a second. "Sure. I'll do that."

"And then he'll press charges on you for assaulting him."

"I was protecting the boy."

"Your word against his."

Caleb brought his fist down on the desk. "You've got to do something. You gonna wait until he kills that kid?"

"Easy," Nichols said. "Looks like your temper's a bit jumpy too. Why should I put a child in your care, out on a ranch three miles from town? It would be harder to check on him there than it is at Tinan's."

Caleb's head whirled. Was Nichols checking on the boy here in town? He sincerely doubted it. He got the impression the sheriff was protecting...