This Gun for Hire by Jo Goodman

says I graduated the eighth grade. What I know about the education of a young woman like Miss Stonechurch would not spill out of a thimble if I jammed my thumb in it.”
    “Let me worry about that.”
    Calico paused in unwinding her green woolen scarf. “Did I say I was worried? Because I’m not. I did not know anything about whoring either and I managed that well enough.”
    “That was for an evening. This will be weeks, even months.”
    “How long have you been here?”
    “Ten months give or take a week.”
    “And is someone really trying to kill Stonechurch, or did he hire you as a precaution against that happening because he is so universally disliked?”
    “There have been threats and two serious attempts.”
    She nodded thoughtfully, finished removing her scarf, and laid it on the bed. “All right. Go.”
    “Not just yet. Where is your pistol? I can see that it’s not under your sleeve.”
    “In my bag.”
    Without asking permission, Quill opened the satchel. The derringer was lying on top. He took it. “A precaution. In the event someone else has hired you to shoot Ramsey in the interview.”
    “I do not think someone would have to hire me.” In response to the wry look he gave her, she pointed to hertrunk. “It is up to you if you want to seize my Colt. I won’t be carrying it under my dress, but you might not take me at my word.”
    He opened the trunk, lifted the Colt Model 1877 double-action .38 caliber revolver by its pearl grip, and looked over his shoulder at Calico. “Lightning.”
    “That’s what it’s called. Shoots fast and true.”
    Quill replaced it in the trunk and closed the lid. “Do you have any other weapons?”
    “There is a Winchester rifle in there under a false bottom.” She shrugged when he cocked an eyebrow at her and slowly shook his head. “I think it is important to be prepared.”
    “Is there a cannon being delivered later?”
    She gave him a flat smile and pointed to the door again. “Out.”
    He stood and pocketed the derringer. “Going.” He opened the door and held it that way when Molly the maid appeared carrying kindling and a box of matches. He let her pass and paused another beat. “Thank you,” he said.
    “It’s nothing, sir, but you are quite welcome,” said Molly.
    Quill did not correct the girl’s impression that he was speaking to her. Over the top of the maid’s head, he caught Calico’s eye to make certain she knew that she was the one he was thanking. From the look of mild annoyance on her face, he guessed that it either did not matter to her or that she thought he was not moving fast enough. Congratulating himself for relieving her of her pistol, he ducked into the hallway.
    *   *   *
    Ramsey Stonechurch stood as the pocket doors to his study parted and Katherine Nash was shown in. He motioned her forward, waved his sister-in-law off, and invited her to sit.
    “Miss Nash,” he said, his dark brown eyes making a study of her from head to toe. She was wearing a simply tailored black wool gown, cinched at the waist by a blacksilk scarf that she wore as a belt. The gown had long sleeves, a white collar, and another silk scarf that was secured at her throat by a cameo brooch and fell down the center of the bodice like a man’s ascot. “I think my sister-in-law was pulling my leg, which is astonishing since she has almost no sense of humor. I look forward to telling her that she made a very good job of it.”
    Calico had not yet taken the chair she was offered. One hand lay lightly across the curved back. “How do you mean, sir?” she asked as if she did not know.
    He indicated the whole of her person with a sweep of his hand. “Your attire. Beatrice would have me believe you arrived in buckskin trousers and a Stetson and intended to sit for the interview in that mode of dress.”
    “Really? I can’t imagine.”
    “It was difficult for me also. Please, sit.”
    Calico did and fixed a polite smile as he did the same. She waited