Messenger by Moonlight by Stephanie Grace Whitson Page A

horses in the corral. And still, Emmet had not emerged from the station. When Billy lit a lantern and hung it in the barn, Annie busied herself brushing Shadow and combing through her long mane. Finally, Frank asked Billy about their sleeping in the barn “until things got settled.”
    Billy glanced above them. “All right. Just—let me get my bedroll down.”
    Frank looked toward the soddy. “I thought—”
    Billy shook his head. “I sleep in the loft most nights. I like it better.”
    Annie spoke up. “Let’s just get our saddlebags and bedrolls and go up to the station.” It was time she met George Morgan.

    The main room of the station was well lit, thanks to small mirrors reflecting the light of a dozen oil lamps nestled in wall brackets spaced at regular intervals around the room. Narrow stairs in the corner opposite the back door led up to a loft marked off by a short railing. A massive stone fireplace took up much of the wall to Annie’s right. Beyond it and set into the same wall was a doorway that must lead into the sod room. To the left, a good-sized counter jutted out into the room a couple of feet and then made a ninety-degree turn toward the far wall. The counter was clear except for a lighted lantern and a large water cooler with a tin mug hanging from its spigot.
    Behind the counter a door led into a storeroom. It was impossible to see much more than the shadowy outlines of goods lined up on the shelves. This main room was large enough to accommodate four square tables, each one apparently constructed from shipping cartons. The ones nearest Annie advertised Father John’s Medicine and D. F. Stauffer Fancy Cakes and Biscuits. Upended crates and barrels sufficed for seating.
    The room was rustic but spotlessly clean. No cobwebs hung from the bare rafters, no lampblack clung to the lamp chimneys. One end of a large stove was visible through the door centered on the far wall. To the left of that door, a sign advertised meals for fifty cents.
    Annie and Frank had only been standing at the door for a moment when George Morgan, Luther, and Emmet filed through the doorway beyond the stove in the next room.Morgan still looked wild, but he seemed to have made some attempt to tame his unruly long hair.
    Emmet broke the silence. “George was showing me your room, Annie—and ours.” He glanced over at Frank and then looked back at Annie. “You’ll like it.”
    Luther cleared his throat. Placing his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, he said, “Frank Paxton and Miss Annie Paxton, allow me to introduce Mr. George Morgan, the owner of Clearwater Road Ranch.”
    The bare wood floor creaked as Morgan crossed to where Annie and Frank stood. She hadn’t realized how big the man was. It was as if a great brown bear loomed over her as he rumbled, “Sorry about earlier.” He shook hands with Frank and then held out a massive paw to Annie. “Welcome to Clearwater.” Her hand was completely swallowed up by his, although his grip was surprisingly gentle. He released her hand and looked over at Emmet. “You want to show the way?”
    Emmet picked up the lighted lantern. Morgan retreated behind the counter and pulled out a checkerboard and a box of checkers. He didn’t so much as look Annie’s way as she and Frank followed Emmet past the counter and toward a doorway in the far wall that led to the kitchen.
    As they passed through the kitchen, Emmet held the lantern high. “It’s not the Patee House, but it’s impressive.”
    “I’d say so,” Frank agreed, pointing to a stove that looked every bit as nice as Mrs. Hollenberg’s.
    A faded quilt hung in another doorway just beyond the stove. Emmet pushed it aside, turned left, and led the way into a bedroom. When he set the lantern atop a dresser in the corner, Annie looked about with wonder. The light reflected by the dresser mirror revealed a tidy room with interior shutters closed across each of two windows, one facing west, onesouth. A white pitcher and bowl stood