The hotel was a dismal one, and no one had come around this morning to relight the kindling. "Told her she could look for a charcoal stick if she wanted. It keeps her happy." Bobby Fairweather sipped at his beer and ignored the greasy bacon that was his breakfast. A few minutes later the child was happily ensconced at a table by the window, drawing on the back of an old wanted poster she'd found nailed to the wall. Somehow, she had managed to comb out the worst of the snarls in her curls, and she looked more like a fairy child than a human perched daintily at the edge of the splintery chair. Stephen frowned and glanced worriedly out the window. He knew Janice couldn't follow him, but he still felt as if lightning would come down out of the sky to strike him dead. He shoved that idiocy aside and verified the time with the slatternly woman who came to remove the plates. The train would be arriving soon. He gathered up his saddlebags and crossed the room to his daughter. "Come on, kid, it's time to go." He glanced down at the paper.
