So Little Time

by Al Lacy

  “Well, since she’s another man’s wife, you’d better keep your hands off her,” Frank Sandoval said.

  Jason gazed at Rya with a burning look, then turned and stomped away.

  Jay Dutton called after him, “You stay away from her, buster!” Jason didn’t look back.

  Trembling in the arms of the two women, Rya ran her gaze to the men. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “Our pleasure, Miss,” said Dutton, picking up Rya’s books and notebook “Are you a teacher here at the school?”

  “Yes,” Rya said.

  “May we take you home?” asked one of the women, introducing herself as Shawna Dutton. “Our buggy is right over here.”

  “I … I only live two blocks away, ma’am,” said Rya, her voice shaking. “I can walk.”

  “I really think it’s best if we take you home, honey,” said Shawna.

  Rya nodded, placing a hand over her stomach. “All right. Thank you very much.”

  21

  WARD LAMONT APPEARED AT THE OPEN DOOR of McClain Reardon’s office. “Hey, young man, shouldn’t you be on your way home? Everybody else left here twenty minutes ago.”

  McClain grinned, picked up the papers on the desktop, opened a drawer, and slid them inside. Rising from the chair, he rubbed his eyes and said, “Yeah, boss, you’re right. I was just trying to get those papers for the new Myers-Westerman project done. I’ve got to spend tomorrow afternoon with the big cheeses and their board of directors.”

  “You look tired, son. You can finish those papers easily in the morning, can’t you?”

  “Sure. I just wanted to get started on the papers for the new firehouse building in the morning. But it can wait till Saturday.”

  Lamont stepped up to him and patted him on the back. “McClain, you’re doing a marvelous job. Especially for a man who’s never been in the construction business. You really catch on quick.”

  McClain grinned. “I try.”

  “Now, you get on home and tell that sweet girl I said hello, won’t you?”

  “Sure will,” said McClain, heading for the back door. “See you in the morning.”

  McClain walked to his buggy, patted the horse on the neck, and untied the reins from the hitching post. As he guided the horse down the alley and onto the side street, he began whistling a tune he had learned in Sunday school the previous Sunday. Moments later, he turned onto Main Street and headed toward El Camino Avenue. He smiled when his eyes fell on the vacant lot where the Lamont Construction Company would be erecting the new firehouse. Sacramento was growing so fast it needed a company of firemen on the west side of town. The other was on the east side, where the town first began.

  When McClain turned onto El Camino Avenue, his heart skipped a beat. In a few more minutes, he would hold the woman of his dreams in his arms once again. She always got home about an hour and a half before he did. They had been married only five days, but he was sure he already loved sweet Rya a thousand times more than he did when he carried her across the threshold last Saturday night.

  The setting sun’s fiery rim had the western horizon aglow with golden light when McClain guided the buggy into the driveway of the small two-story house and headed past it toward the barn at the rear. Moments later, he made his way onto the back porch and stepped into the kitchen, where he would find Rya cooking supper.

  The kitchen was unoccupied, and there was no fire in the cookstove. There were no place settings on the table.

  McClain frowned and headed into the hall. “Rya! Honey, where are you?”

  He paused at the open door of the small sewing room where she did her studying, but it too was unoccupied. Heading toward the parlor, he called out again, but there was no answer. Maybe she was detained at school for some reason.

  But a strange uneasiness ran through his mind. Trying to shake it off, he called Rya’s name again, this time louder than before.

  Nothing.

  Why should she be delayed this long at school? Something was wrong.

  He moved back out into the hall and paused at the foot of the stairs.

  Suddenly his ears picked up a sound coming from upstairs. There were muffled sobs, accompanied by moans that almost sounded like they were coming from an injured animal.

  Fear shot through his heart as he bounded up the stairs. As he hurried down the hall, he noted that the door to the master bedroom was closed.

  The sobbing and moaning sounds were louder as he paused before the door then turned the knob and stepped into the room. His wife was curled up on the bed.

  Hurrying to her, McClain eased onto the edge of the bed and laid a hand on her trembling shoulder. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  When she opened her tear-filled eyes, McClain saw terror in them. It was so stark, it sent a chill through him, weaving webs of ice in the hollow of his bones.

  “Honey, what is it?” he asked, carressing her hair.

  A shudder coursed through her. “It … it’s Jason.”

  McClain’s eyes widened. “Jason Lynch?”

  Rya nodded slowly. “Yes. He … he was waiting for me when I came out of the school building. He was like a madman, McClain. He said he had come here to marry me. When I showed him my wedding ring, he went into a rage.”

  She sat up and rolled up the sleeves of her shirtwaist. McClain’s eyes fell on the dark purple marks. “This is what he did to me.”

  McClain clenched his teeth until his jaw muscles throbbed. What had been ice in his bones was now molten lava. Anger pulled down the corners of his mouth.

  Rya told him how Frank Sandoval and Jay Dutton had rescued her from Jason, and they and their wives had brought her home.

  McClain folded Rya into his arms. “I must find those people and thank them for what they did. And then I’m going to find Jason.”

  Easing back in his arms so she could look into his eyes, Rya said, “Darling, I know you’re angry. So am I. But please don’t do anything that will hurt your reputation here in town. This is our home, now. You mustn’t jeopardize—”

  Rya winced and buckled in the middle, running a hand to her stomach.

  McClain’s brow furrowed. “Your stomach?”

  Head bent down, Rya nodded, her hand gripping her midsection.

  “I’ll go mix your powders the doctor gave you for pain. Maybe you should take some of the nerve medicine, too.”

  Rya had not needed either since Dr. Yarrow had given them to her, but now she agreed it would be best to take them both.

  Moments later, when the medicines had been administered, McClain said, “You just lie here and rest, sweetheart. Let the medicines do their job. I’m going to find Jason if he’s still in town and have a talk with him.”

  “Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for.”

  “I won’t. I promise. You’re right. I mustn’t jeopardize my standing in the community. But if Mr. Jason Lynch is in town, he’s going to be told in no uncertain terms that he had better leave you alone and that it would be in his best interest to get out of Sacramento.”

  Worry crowded into Rya’s reddened eyes. “McClain, be careful. Jason could be dangerous. He wasn’t wearing a gun when I saw him, but he probably is now. And with his twisted mind—”

  “I’ll be careful, honey. You rest. I’ll be back in a little while. Did the Sandovals and the Duttons happen to tell you where they live?”

  “Yes. Shawna Dutton wrote both addresses down for me. They’re on a piece of paper at the very front of my school notebook. It’s downstairs on the top of the chest in the entryway.”

  McClain pulled a soft quilt up over her shoulders. Bending down, he kissed her trembling lips. “Now, don’t worry. When I first saw those marks on your arms, I was angry enough to—well, to inflict untold punishment on him. That won’t happen now, but I am going to make sure he understands that he’d better never touch you again.”

  He kissed her once more, then walked toward the door.

  Rya’s eyes fo
llowed her husband as he left the room, a fervent prayer for his safety deep in her heart.

  Since Sacramento only had two hotels, McClain decided he would try the newest and largest first. As he stepped out of his buggy, he thought of how warm and friendly both the Sandovals and the Duttons had been to him when he knocked on their doors and expressed his appreciation to them.

  Entering the lobby of the American Hotel, he approached the desk, where the clerk was just finishing with a middle-aged couple, When McClain stepped up, the clerk smiled. “Yes, sir. Do you need a room?”

  “No. I’m looking for a man who is visiting here from Virginia. I’m not sure which hotel he’s staying in. His name is Jason Lynch. Is he registered here?”

  “Yes he is, sir. But he’s not in his room at the moment. He left about half an hour ago after asking me about some of the nearby saloons. I named three: the Golden Lantern, the Gun Barrel, and the Bulldog. I don’t know which one he might be in.”

  “Thank you,” said McClain, and returned to the street.

  He ran his gaze up and down the street, and saw that the closest saloon was the Golden Lantern. The next closest was the Gun Barrel. When he didn’t find Lynch in either of those, he walked a block to the Bulldog Saloon and pushed through the batwings.

  Even before he could look around the place, he heard a familiar voice. At the bar, Jason Lynch was in a heated argument with another customer.

  The bartender moved up between them. “If you two wanna fight, do it outside!”

  Jason Lynch did not even notice McClain Reardon as he and his adversary stomped outside, followed by a half dozen would-be spectators.

  McClain also stepped outside to observe.

  As soon as the two angry men stepped into the dust of the street, they started punching. The fight lasted less than two minutes. An unconscious Jason Lynch lay on his back in the street, and the man who had put him out dusted off his hands, laughed, and went back inside the saloon with the others following.

  Jason had lost his hat in the fight. It lay a few feet from him. McClain picked it up, walked to a nearby water trough, and filled it up. He carried the hat to where Jason lay and poured the water in his face.

  Jason stirred slightly and made a groaning sound, slowly rolling his head back and forth. His eyes remained closed. The groaning stopped after several seconds, and he lay still.

  People were collecting on the boardwalk, gawking.

  McClain dipped another hatful and doused him with it a second time.

  Jason opened his eyes and saw the tall, broad-shouldered man standing over him. The street lamps were bright enough to expose McClain’s features, but it took Jason a few seconds to clear his vision enough to recognize him. He shook his head, blinked, and focused on him again.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” McClain said. “You manhandled my wife today, and you and I are going to have a little talk.”

  McClain leaned over, grabbed Jason by the shirt collar, stood him on his feet, and jammed the wet hat on his head. Looking him straight in the eye, he said, “Your head clear?”

  Jason licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “All right. I have a message for you and I want to make sure it gets through.”

  Jason licked his lips again. “What’s that?”

  McClain gripped Jason’s upper arms until the pain showed in the man’s face. “Get out of town, Lynch. And don’t come back.”

  More people were gathering on the boardwalk.

  Wincing from the pain, Jason tried to free himself, but it was as if his arms were clamped in a pair of steel vises. “You don’t own this town! I can stay here if I want.”

  “Not when you treat my wife like you did this afternoon.”

  Jason shook his head. “Aw, I never—”

  “Don’t deny it, mister! There were witnesses.”

  Again, Jason attempted to pull away from McClain’s grip, but found himself unable to move.

  McClain shook him hard. “Don’t you ever lay hands on my wife again. Rya’s name isn’t Garrett anymore. It’s Reardon. Do you hear that, Jason? She’s my wife. You stay away from her, or you’ll be sorry!”

  With that, McClain let go of the man. Jason turned to walk away, stumbled, and fell. Mumbling something no one could understand, he scrambled to his feet and staggered down the boardwalk in the direction of the American Hotel.

  One of the men in the group stepped up. “You’re that new man Ward Lamont hired, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “McClain Reardon.”

  “I’m Neal Caldwell,” said the man, offering his hand.

  McClain met his grip. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Caldwell.”

  Looking up the street where Lynch could still be seen staggering along, Caldwell said, “Did we hear it right? That guy manhandled your wife today?”

  “Yes. Left bruises on her arms.”

  “Guess I can’t blame you for talking straight to him. What’re you going to do if he doesn’t heed your warning?”

  McClain shrugged and glanced at the small crowd. “I don’t know, but he’d better not ever get near her again, or he and I will both find out.”

  “You know him, Mr. Reardon?” asked a young man in the crowd.

  “Vaguely. He’s wanted for quite some time to be suitor to the young lady I married. Well, you folks might as well move along, now. The excitement is over.”

  As the crowd was dispersing, Neal Caldwell moved close to McClain and said, “I sure wouldn’t want be in that guys shoes if he ever comes around your wife again.”

  When McClain came home from work the next day, Rya had fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and hot bread on the table. McClain was glad to hear that her stomach had given her only a little pain that day.

  While they were eating, Rya said, “Darling, I sure hope Jason is gone.”

  “Looks like it. I stopped by the hotel on the way home from work, and the clerk told me he had checked out about nine-thirty this morning.”

  “Good. I hope he goes back to Virginia and finds himself a girl to marry.”

  McClain let a thin smile touch his lips. “Well, whether he finds that girl or not, he’d better not come back here and bother you anymore.”

  The days passed quickly, and on Friday evening when McClain entered the kitchen from the back porch, Rya smiled at him from where she stood at the cookstove. “Hello, darling. Did you have a nice—McClain, what’s wrong?”

  He put his arms around her, held her close for a moment, then looked into her eyes. “Jason’s still in town.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Remember I told you about a man who introduced himself to me as Neal Caldwell the other night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he came into the office today. He owns Sacramento Hardware. He knows Ward well, because Ward built the hardware store for him. The two of them were talking in the outer office when I happened to come out of my office. Neal told me he ran into Jason this morning at the lumbermill just outside of town. Bill Barton, the owner of the mill, was in the process of firing Jason when Neal walked into the office. After Jason stomped out in anger, Barton told Neal that Jason had started trouble with another employee, and he had to fire him. The other employee said Jason’s been a troublemaker ever since he hit town. He’s started fights two or three times a week in the saloons.”

  Rya shook her head. “Why does he stay around? I’d think he’d want to get out of Sacramento.”

  “You’d think so. There’s nothing here for him. With his reputation as a troublemaker, nobody’s going to give him a job.”

  “Well, at least he hasn’t come around me. You must have gotten through to him.”

  McClain set his jaw. “If he knows what’s good for him, that’s the way it’ll stay, too.”

  On Monday, Rya left her classroom at the close of the school day, and moved down the hall, books and notebook in hand. As she headed toward the boardwalk, he
r line of sight went to a man who stood across the street, looking at her.

  Jason! What’s he doing here? Immediately pain gripped her midsection.

  She turned onto the boardwalk and moved down the street. She could feel his eyes on her as she reached the intersection and crossed the street as usual, but she did not look back.

  Rya wondered if he was following her, but was afraid to turn around and find out. As she hurried toward home, she noted residents on their porches and in their yards and took comfort. Soon she was drawing up to the small two-story house, and breathed a sigh of relief when she mounted the porch steps, glanced down the block, and saw no sign of Jason Lynch.

  When McClain came home from work, he stepped into the kitchen and smelled the sweet scent of supper cooking, but Rya was not there. He hung his hat on the peg by the door and called, “Sweetheart, I’m home!”

  There were footsteps in the hall and Rya entered the kitchen, trying to work up a smile. McClain read her eyes. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  She moved to him, wrapped her arms around him, and laid her head on his broad chest.

  McClain held her close. “Honey, what is it?”

  “Jason.”

  McClain put a hand under her chin and tilted her face. “What about Jason?”

  “When I left the school building to come home, he was standing across the street, watching me. I didn’t acknowledge his presence. I just hurried home.”

  “Did he follow you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m at least glad for that.” He studied her eyes. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

  She nodded and stepped back “I’ll get supper on the table.”

  “I’ll take you to Dr. Yarrow’s house right after we eat.”

  “There’s no need,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “Jason’s presence caused it, so nothing is different. I’ll take a dose of both medicines, and it’ll be better in a little while.”

  While they were eating supper, McClain said, “What do you suppose Jason’s game is now?”