Arthur rode his large black Shire into Horseshoe Overlook just after sunset, a fresh whitetail deer carcass slung over the horse’s back. He was headed for Pearson’s table when Miss Grimshaw came hurrying toward him, her skirts swishing with urgency.

“Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan! There’s a woman. A strange one, up on the overlook. Says she’s here to see you. Wouldn’t speak to me, or Dutch, or even Hosea. Said she’d only talk to you.”

Arthur blinked, eyebrows drawing together as he slid the deer off the horse and onto Pearson’s table with a grunt. He looked over at Grimshaw with suspicion.

“A woman? Out here? How’d she get past the guards?”

“That’s just it,” Grimshaw said, falling into step beside him as he started toward the overlook. “She just appeared. No horse, no wagon. It’s unnatural, Arthur. Be careful. She gives me the chills.”

From a distance, Abigail and Tilly were already watching from behind one of the wagons, whispering nervously.

Arthur spotted the woman before he reached her, standing at the edge of the overlook, her back to them all, gazing silently over the valley below. She was small. No taller than five feet, maybe a little over, but curvy, the shape of her figure only hinted at beneath a dark, poncho-style cloak that hung to her thighs. The black pants and laced boots she wore clung snugly to her form, and her long brown hair was braided neatly down her back, healthy and untouched by the dust of travel.

She didn’t move when he approached. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t seem to care about the eyes boring into her from the trees behind.

Arthur slowed, his hand resting near his holster out of habit. No visible weapons. No bags. No horse.

Just a strange woman, standing where no one should be.

“Ma’am?” he called out, his voice steady but cautious. “You lookin’ for me?”