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Warmth encompassed her face. Indeed, her entire body heated, knowing precisely what he meant. “I’ll never be too tired.” She laughed and stood as well, then walked straight into his arms.

He dropped a kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you later.” He broke their embrace and walked to the front door, then just stood there with the door open for the longest time, his gaze roaming over her. “I love you, Mrs. Goodrich,” he said before he let himself out.

The heat in his stare as well as his words remained with her while she cleaned the kitchen and left the house shortly after he did. She cut across the town square, spotting Mrs. Dameron weeding the flower bed along one of the walkways.

The woman stuck her gardening spade into the rich dirt of the flower bed and rose from her kneeling pad as she approached. “I hear congratulations are in order, Tresia.” She smiled as she removed her heavy work gloves. “You and the marshal.”

“Thank you! I didn’t realize you knew.”

Mrs. Dameron patted her hand. “Everyone knows, dear. The whole town has been buzzing about it since Mr. Peabody stopped in the Silver Spur the other day and told everyone he’d married you and Marshal Goodrich.

I understand he got a few free beers out of his announcement.

” She smiled. “Maybe Lucy Hart can find someone for me.”

Tresia laughed. “I’m sure she could. You should go and see her.”

The woman winked at her, and in that moment, she became young again, despite the mop of white hair poking out from beneath her bonnet and the wrinkles on her face.

“Maybe I will. It’s been a long time since Mr. Dameron passed.

” A look of sadness passed over her features, as if she remembered the good life she’d had with her late husband. “Heard you got your store back, too.”

Not much stayed secret in Serenity. “I did. I’m heading there now to get ready for my grand re-opening.” She grasped Mrs. Dameron’s hand, noticing the strength in her fingers which belied the gentleness of her touch. “Speaking of that, I should get moving. The store isn’t going to clean itself.”

“Have a good day, dear, and congratulations once again. I hope you and Marshal Goodrich will be as happy as Mr. Dameron and I were.”

“Thank you!”

Spirits high, she continued across the town square, then stopped at the edge of the street and just looked at Sullivan’s Emporium. Pride rippled through her, as well as a sense of coming home.

Removing the key from her drawstring purse, she headed across the street and let herself into the store.

She stood there in the doorway for a few moments, wondering what she should tackle first. The dusting?

Sweeping? Mopping? It was all a mess, though not as bad as the apartment had been.

“Well, nothing is going to get done with me standing here.”

Hours later, she came out of the back storage room with a bucket of clean water to mop the floor one more time.

It was her third bucket of water, but the floor had been that filthy.

Her back hurt and a blister had formed on her hand from gripping the mop so tightly.

But the store looked like it once had. The chandeliers, now dust free, glowed brightly above the displays, which were dust free as well.

She placed the bucket on the floor behind the counter then glanced up at the giant bear who kept watch over the register.

The thought of moving him again seemed a little daunting at the moment as she’d already moved him twice—and he was heavy, despite the wheeled platform he rested on.

“Too bad you can’t move yourself out of the way. ”

She walked behind him and started to push when the little bell over the door jingled. “I’m sorry, we’re closed,” she called out.

There was no apology from whomever walked in, nor did she hear the bell jingle again as they left. She moved out from behind the bear. “We’re clo—” She stiffened and her breath caught as she came face to face with the last person she thought she’d see. “Frances.”

The woman stood close to the door, wearing that smile that wasn’t a smile at all. To her left was Seth Humbolt. Devlin had told her about him. Seth was the person Frances relied upon the most to carry out her dirtiest work.

And at this moment, Tresia wasn’t sure who scared her more—Frances or Humbolt—but she wasn’t about to show either one of them her fear. “What do you want?”

“Did you really think you and that bastard I called my son-in-law could scare me away from my granddaughter? Did you really think I would not come back for her?” Frances took a few steps away from the door then gave a quick nod to the man, who moved in the opposite direction. “Where is she?”

Tresia straightened her shoulders and moved away from the bear to stand directly behind the counter, keeping the glass and wood structure between them, her focus on Frances though from the corner of her eye she watched Humbolt gravitate toward one of the ceramic tea sets on display. “Avery isn’t here.”

The resounding crash of that tea set being swept off the table onto the floor made her jump, but she never lost focus. Anger flashed through her.

“Get Avery.” Frances barked. “She’s my blood.”

“I will not. She doesn’t belong with you. She belongs with her father.”

Another cacophony of noise made her flinch as Humbolt pushed a table filled with brand new copper pots and pans to the floor. The sound seemed to echo, and she turned her head for a just a moment, not only to stare at the man, but to try to discern what could be used as a weapon to defend herself.

Frances smiled, a parody of what a real smile should be as she took a few steps closer. Her eyes were wild, so dark they appeared almost black, and held what Tresia could only assume was rage. Or insanity. Perhaps both.

“Humbolt is enjoying himself,” Frances said in a voice that confirmed the woman was indeed utterly mad as all the shovels and rakes, brooms and mops leaning against the wall went clattering to the floor. Tresia refused to flinch again.

Was he trying to distract her? Make her take her eyes off Frances? Yes, he was. And he was moving closer to her, step by slow step as each display tumbled or crashed to the floor, which didn’t help the fear and anger that made her heart pound and her mouth dry up.

She took a breath to help her remain calm, though it didn’t work, and moved slightly, taking a few steps further away from Humbolt, which brought her closer to Frances, though she was still behind the counter.

She had to find a way to reason with the woman but how was that accomplished with someone like her? Reason didn’t seem to be something Frances understood.

Another crash resounded as Humbolt swept all the dishes from the shelves where they were—had been—displayed. Her hands curled into fists at the damage. On the outside, she fought to look calm.

“I thought you were going to ruin Devlin.”

That made the woman deflate, just a little, as her cheeks reddened.

“I’ve changed my mind.” She acted as if it didn’t matter, though Tresia could see it plainly did.

“It seems that Devlin Goodrich is a true hero. No one on my payroll wants to touch him.” She glanced at Humbolt.

“Except for him. He has an axe to grind with the marshal, don’t you? ”

Humbolt grinned and it was even more evil than Frances’ smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tresia stared at the man, unable to take her focus away from him and that wicked grin. She shouldn’t have done that. She felt rather than saw Frances take another step toward her. She swung her gaze back to the woman and finally saw her salvation—a way to defend herself.

There, on one of the tables, was a weapon—the hammer she’d used earlier to fix that table.

There was a screwdriver, too. They weren’t much, but she could reach them.

She wished now that she had kept a gun hidden in one of the cubbies behind the counter, but she’d never been a fan of guns.

How ironic that she married a man who used guns for a living.

She moved a little closer to the table.

“A little more, Humbolt, if you please. I think we’re making Tresia here nervous.” The woman cackled, actually cackled, making the hair on the back of Tresia’s neck rise, as Humbolt pushed over her display of soaps—the one she’d worked so hard to get right.

And Tresia made her move. She stepped from behind the counter, grabbed the hammer and paused. What could she do with it? There were two of them and only one of her.

“What are you going to do with that?” Frances laughed as she pulled a little derringer from her pocket and aimed it at her. “A hammer is no defense against a bullet.”

What she needed was help. Something to draw attention. She glanced at Humbolt. He was closer, almost to the counter.

She hauled back and threw the hammer with all her might toward the plate glass front window. It shattered with a loud crash.

“Well, that was a stupid thing to do. Now you have no weapon.” Frances laughed and glanced toward Humbolt, who was much closer now than he had been.

He reached for her, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her chest, lifting her off her feet.

He squeezed tight, making it difficult to draw a breath.

She struggled, trying to get free, but he squeezed a little harder.

Not only could she not breathe, but dark spots shadowed her vision.

If she kept struggling, Humbolt would likely squeeze the life from her.

“Now where is my granddaughter? She’s not at the house. She’s not here and she’s not at your friend, Lucy’s, either, so where are you hiding her?”

Tresia struggled to speak. “If you kill me, you’ll never know.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, but you won’t win against me. Humbolt here has ways of convincing people to talk. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.” Her eyes narrowed as she focused on her henchman. “Show her.”