The Stranger from Abilene

Chapter 30

The Sinclair cabin lay in a tree-covered hollow at the base of Tucker Knob. It was a dark, dismal place, but as Kelly had pointed out, it did have a fairly solid roof. The marshal had discounted the fact that it had no door, no windows, and its only furnishings were a rickety table, a stool, and a stone fireplace that must have been the late Mr. Sinclair’s pride and joy.

Clayton spent an uncomfortable, sleepless night in the cabin, sharing space with a pack rat’s brood. Come first light, he stepped outside under a crimson and jade sky and drank from the shallow creek that ran off the mountain. He splashed water on his face, wet and combed his hair, and rasped a hand over the rough stubble on his cheeks. He needed a shave, but his kit was back in the hotel at Bighorn Point.

Clayton saw the rider at a distance, coming on at a trot astride a small horse. He ran into the cabin, strapped on his gun belt, then stepped outside again. He took a quick glance at the flaming sky, swallowed hard.

Dear God in heaven, don’t let this be Shad Vestal.

It wasn’t.

Even when the rider was still a ways off, Clayton saw it was a girl.

Closer . . .

Yep, a right pretty girl at that.

Closer still . . .

Hell, it was the girl from the hat shop. The one who’d helped him after Lee Southwell sideswiped him with her buggy.

She rode a mouse-colored mustang and had a sack of groceries tied to her saddle horn.

“Howdy,” Clayton said, smiling, wishing he’d had a shave.

The girl swung out of the saddle. “Howdy yourself, Mr. Clayton.” She held out a hand and Clayton took it. “Nice to see you again.”

“And you too.”

“I’ve brought the supplies Marshal Kelly promised.”

“Oh yes, thank you. Is there coffee in that poke?”

The girl’s freckled nose wrinkled as she smiled. “There sure is.”

“Can I interest you in a cup?”

“You bet, Mr. Clayton. I haven’t had any coffee yet this morning.”

“Call me Cage.”

“All right, Cage.”

“I . . . um . . . I . . .”

“You’ve forgotten my name, haven’t you?”

“Sorry,” Clayton said.

The girl’s smile widened, white teeth in a pink mouth. “Well, that’s understandable. You were still very shook at the time. Emma. Emma Kelly.”

“Of course.”

Clayton stood gazing at the girl. Damn, she was pretty. She wore a split canvas riding skirt and a tailored yellow shirt. The red glow of the sky tangled in her hair and touched her cheeks with rouge.

“Coffee?” she said, smiling.

Clayton looked like a man waking from a pleasant dream. “Yes, yes, of course, coffee.” He gathered his wits together. “Is it coffee? I mean, coffee it is.”

Kelly had thought of everything—a small coffeepot, frying pan, and canned milk that Emma poured into her cup. He had also included tobacco and papers, a welcome addition.

She sat on the stool while Clayton perched precariously on the edge of the table, building a cigarette.

“How long have you known Nook Kelly?” he asked.

“Oh, about three years or so. I was raised by an aunt, and after she died, Nook helped me find a job and a place to live. He’s been very kind to me over the years; looks out for me like the big brother I never had.”

That last pleased Clayton. “Like a big brother”meant there was no romantic relationship between Emma and the marshal.

The girl’s eyes rose to Clayton’s. “What will you do when you find”—she hesitated, changed tack—“when your business in Bighorn Point is done?”

“Go back home to Kansas and make a go of my ranch.”

“Is it pretty there, where your ranch is?”

“Well, I think so. My place is on the Smoky Hill River, just south of Abilene. Cottonwood trees shade the cabin in summer and hold back the worst of the winds come winter. Summer or winter, a hush lies on the land like a blessing, makes a man stand back and look and wonder and say, ‘This is where I live, and this is where I’ll be buried.’” Clayton looked embarrassed. “That was a dumb thing to say.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’d like to see your land one day.”

“And I’d like to show it to you one day.”

Emma’s eyes dropped and her lashes lay on her tanned cheeks like fans. After a few moments she rose to her feet.

“I must be going,” she said. “Nook worries about me.”

“I’d like to see you again,” Clayton said.

“You will,” Emma said. She stepped to the doorway. “Cage, be careful. Since you arrived, I think Bighorn Point has become a dangerous place.”

“You’ve been talking to Kelly.”

“I know he feels it, but I feel it too. There’s something wrong. It’s in the air.”

“Take care of yourself, Emma,” Clayton said.

“And you, Cage. And you.”

After a woman a man cares about walks away from him, she leaves silent echoes behind, empty spaces where she sat, where she stood, and he thinks that nothing can ever again fill them.

Clayton was left with only the lingering scent of Emma’s perfume, a memory of meadow flowers, and he felt as though he had found something and then lost it again, a fairy gift that vanished with the rising sun.