It was eight o'clock in the morning and Rosemary Coulter was already out and about scouting out stories for her weekly edition. Compared to big city newspapers, her single sheet might have seemed somewhat amateurish to some; however, it was a labor of love which showed through in every syllable that she typed and Rosemary's network of reliable informants was on par with anything in Edmonton or Calgary. Proof of this was seen in her growing readership which had begun to expand from Hope Valley proper to some of the nearby towns. There were also the overtures being made toward her to sell by Wyman Walden and his group of financiers. It wasn't that the venture was particularly lucrative at this given point. Rather, it's that her investigative journalism had a way of highlighting the threat that Walden brought to the character of their community – to the degree they wanted to shut her up. Still, she wasn't the only one who wouldn't sell, so at present she wasn't one of their biggest targets.

Entering the mercantile, Rosemary perused the store for a few minutes while her number one informant, Florence Yost, was cheerfully waiting on a customer. Far be it from Rosemary to interrupt the flow of Florence's husband Ned's business – plus, being the editor-in-chief of a major area newspaper (in fact the only area newspaper), she knew she needed to protect her sources. So, she waited until the door shut behind the man before making a bee-line over to Flo who pulled out a list of new information that she had been compiling for their meeting.

"Okay what do you have for me today?" Rosemary asked, pulling out a notepad that she'd carried in with her.

Florence looked down at her list. "I think it's something really big. You know those men with the really tall man that came into town a couple of weeks ago? The ones that the Pinkertons had words with?"

"Yes. I know them."

"Well, one of them came in here yesterday and picked up a package from New York City. It was addressed to, let me see here… a J. Morgan Hiatt."

"J. Morgan Hiatt? Who is that?" she asked.

Florence looked at Rosemary matter-of-factly "I have no earthly idea. Figured that was up to you and your investigative skills. Anyway. It was a fairly large box, and heavy."

Rosemary looked out the window. "Did you mention this to Constable Grant? I know he's been watching the Pinkertons for months."

"No." Florence replied. "It's not ethical nor allowable for me to speak about what comes in people's mail…unless of course it's for a greater cause…and the person shared with keeps her sources a secret. Perhaps if it's anything important – you could tell him?"

"Yes. I will." Rosemary grinned. "And, your secret is safe with me. Anything else?"

Just then the door to the mercantile opened and in walked Lucas Bouchard. He stopped briefly and put on a stilted smile as he felt heat rise to his cheeks when both Rosemary and Florence's eyes turned toward him.

"Ladies." He said, looking briefly around the room and grabbing the first thing that he could find which was a bag of coffee beans. Taking it up to the counter, he reached into his pocket in order to get some money to pay for the item.

"Coffee? Are you giving up tea?" Florence asked, moving to the counter to ring up his purchase.

"Um…no. It's…it's for the restaurant. Gustav, um…" he stumbled with his words as he handed a five dollar bill across the counter.

"I thought Gustav bought in bulk?" Florence said immediately, sneaking a look at Rosemary who was busy looking busy.

Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, he…he does…um…it's…it's personal." He stated, coming up with the best lie he could at the time. Florence raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips then opened the cash register drawer.

"I see." She replied. "Your change is four dollars and fifty-three cents."

"Um…keep it."

"Excuse me?" she said, surprised.

Lucas glanced at Rosemary who quickly looked away and he lowered his head just as Florence reached to hand him his change. "Thank you." He said softly. "Say, I, um…I didn't happen to get any mail, did I?"

Florence looked at him with recognition then walked over to the mail and pulled out a small box about the size of a journal. "Yes. As a matter of fact, you did. From Mrs. Helen Bouchard."

An immediate smile came to Lucas's face as he reached for the package. "That's wonderful!" he said, then looking back at Rosemary, who was not hiding her interested gaze, he blushed. "I mean, good. Very good. I've been waiting for this. Thank you, ladies. Now…if you'll excuse me." He said with a bow a he backed out the door and nearly ran into young Robert Wolf as he was coming in.

"Oh…sorry, Mr. Bouchard." Robert said but Lucas was already several feet away seemingly oblivious to the encounter. Robert moved a couple of steps into the room and looked at both of the ladies and smiled a half-smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Coulter. Good morning, Mrs. Yost."

"Good morning, Robert." The ladies said in unison.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Florence asked.

Robert looked nervous as he looked around the room. Quickly, he grabbed a pound of coffee beans and brought them to the counter. Florence raised both eyebrows. "We seem to have a run on coffee this morning. Aren't you a little young for that?"

Robert bounced on his heels. "Um…it's up…it's for my parents." He said, lying unconvincingly.

Rosemary stifled a laugh from the corner of the room as Florence attempted to do the same. "I see." She said. "Well, that'll be forty-seven cents."

Robert's eyes grew wide, but he reached into his pocket for some change. Looking at what he had in hand and then at the coffee, he chuckled.

"Actually…um…I was wondering what you might have in stock for a…you know…a, um…girl."

"A girl?" Florence replied as Rosemary covered her mouth and turned away.

"Yeah." Robert replied. "A girl that likes…you know…guy things."

"Guy things?" Florence asked.

"Yeah. Like fishing and stuff like that."

"Oh, okay. She's a tomboy?" Florence said, walking over to a specific cabinet where fishing lures were kept.

"Um…yeah -well, not exactly." Robert said, shuffling his feet. "She's kind of artistic too."

Florence stopped and tilted her head. "Well, which is it? Fishing or art?"

Robert backed up and rubbed his hands on his trousers, "um…I, um…"

Immediately, Rosemary came up behind him with something in her hand. "May I suggest a lovely hair comb?" she asked.

Robert looked down at her hands and then back up at her eyes.

"Pretty but with a little pizazz." She added. "Just like Allie."

Robert looked down and blushed, but took the beaded comb from her hands. "Thank you, Mrs. Coulter I'll take it." He said, turning back to Florence who suppressed a smirk toward Rosemary as she left the store.

Across the street, Constable Nathan Grant walked into Abigail's Café determined to find the town's sheriff and judge, Bill Avery. Bill was busy, as he often was, in the kitchen trying to perfect a chicken-salad sandwich to mimic one that he had tried in Grand Prairie a few month's prior. Before Nathan could say anything beyond his name he shoved a sample on a spoon into Nathan's hand. Nathan paused for a moment, partaking of the concoction before his mouth contorted into a pucker.

"Too much vinegar?" Bill asked.

Nathan grabbed a glass of ice water off of a tray that Minnie Canfield was about to take into the dining room and gulped some down.

"Salt. How much salt did you put in that?" Nathan replied.

Bill frowned. "Salt. None. The vinegar is supposed to…" He dipped his finger in a sugar bowl and tasted. "Clara!"

"Yes," answered the young expectant mother on the opposite side of the room.

"How many bowls of sugar did you fill this morning?"

She looked wide-eyed. "Just that one and the one over at table 3."

Bill shook his head. "No wonder Mrs. Parrott left in a huff. You have to pay more attention…"

"Bill." Nathan interjected.

"You switched the salt with the sugar and…"

"Oh! Oh, dear!" Clara said, proving it out to herself by tasting the 'sugar.'

"Bill. Can this wait? I received something important from headquarters." Nathan said.

Bill turned to Clara. "Please, go get the sugar bowl from table three and just…fix it!"

"Right away!" she replied, scampering off.

Bill shook his head and dumped the remainder of his chicken salad into the garbage. "Ever since she's been in the family way, her head has been someplace else." He wiped his hands on his apron. "So, what do you have?" he asked the constable.

"Got word that there are some bootleggers travelling through the area. Escaped over the border when North Dakota authorities tried to shut down their still. Leader is name Davey Tyler."

"Tyler. As in the Tyler gang?"

"Yes. Younger brother. And get this…they don't have anything more than a sketch of him, but they say he's always accompanied by a very tall man."

"Ah, our town visitors" Bill looked with recognition. "I knew those guys were up to no good. But, you say they're bootlegger. There's no prohibition up here. Why would they even bother coming here except to hide out?"

"Chief inspector said that they believe the men have aligned themselves with something bigger. Something beyond bootlegging. Some other form of organized crime. At the very least, I wanted you to know as I'm very interested in bringing them in for a little chat, if you know what I mean."

Bill nodded. "I'll keep my eyes open."

"Thank you, friend." Nathan replied as he put his hat on and walked toward the door.

Back in the saloon, Lucas Bouchard sat down on a bar stool holding the package that had come from home. Things were quiet that morning as it was prior to the lunch-time rush and few residents ever stopped by in the mornings. Gustav was busy preparing a special treat, Boeuf Bourguignon, as the dish of the day and the smell of red wine, onion, beef and bacon wafted through the air making Lucas's stomach rumble. But, culinary appetites were the least of his concerns that morning. Rather, the small book, a decoy object requested from his mother, was what was on his mind.

Eagerly, he opened the package and opened the book to the middle where, tied to a ribbon, there was a diamond ring – a ring belonging to his grandmother Bouchard and handed down to her from her mother before that – a ring he planned on giving to his beloved Elizabeth later the next evening over dinner in Union City after they took in a play. Smiling, he looked at the ring and placed it in his jacket pocket for safe keeping then closed up the book.

With great hope in his heart, he carried on with his day – as did the rest of the inhabitants of Hope Valley, blissfully unaware of the dangers which lay ahead.