by Nathan Jones
“There's a bit of a difference here,” he protested.
“Is there? Randall's the one who kidnapped me. He did that because he knew you're the sort of person who'd trade yourself to save me, even though I'm practically a stranger. And you did.” She reached across the table to rest her hand on his, ignoring how he tensed. “You came to us for help with the bandits, and we turned you away. But when it was us who needed help you walked under the gun of a man who wanted you dead for us.”
Skyler looked away. “Maybe your dad was wrong to completely blame me. But that doesn't mean it's not at least partly my fault. Doesn't mean I don't blame myself.”
“Because you're a good man who takes responsibility for the consequences of your actions.” Adalia squeezed his hand gently. “In the end it all turned out okay. Thank you, Skyler.”
It felt nice to hear her call him by his first name again. He felt his face flushing and coughed uncomfortably, lifting his glass to finish off the last bit of whiskey in it. He wasn't sure how to reply to such heartfelt words without sounding trite. “I'm glad you're okay,” he said quietly. “I'd never have forgiven myself if I'd gotten a friend hurt.”
Her eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand again. Then she leaned back in her chair, lightening her tone. “Some folks around town are talking about offering you the job of sheriff.”
Skyler blinked. First Hancock and now her? And on that note, when had she had a chance to overhear that kind of gossip, living an hour out on her homestead like she did? “Sheriff? Just my track record since coming to Lone Valley should speak against me.”
“Don't be modest,” she murmured, full lips curving upward in a slight smile. “I'm speaking in support of the idea, that's for sure. And my family.”
“Even your dad?”
“If he knows what's good for him,” Adalia said sweetly. “Maybe being sheriff will give you a reason to stick around so I'll get to see you again. I'll need to start making excuses to come into town.”
He blinked again, once again feeling his cheeks flush. He was too drunk to keep up with all the unexpected directions this conversation was going in. “I imagine I'll be riding your way often enough. I could always stop in.”
“You'd better.” She looked around the saloon, then gracefully stood and circled the table to lean down and kiss him on the cheek. As he stiffened in shock she turned briskly towards the door. “Don't waste your time here drowning your sorrows, Mr. Graham,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away. “It doesn't suit you.”
Skyler gathered his jaw off the table as he watched her leave, absently rubbing his cheek where he could still feel her soft lips. Well, that hadn't gone at all how he'd expected.
Sheriff, huh? He had to admit there was a certain appeal to the idea of following in Gray Tucker's footsteps. Although right here in Lone Valley, right now? He wasn't sure he was ready to step into a responsibility like that.
On the other hand, it would provide a reasonable excuse for avoiding going home and having to face the sight of Tabby having moved on with her life with someone else.
Mila came around a short while later, whiskey bottle in hand. “Another?” she asked, gesturing at Skyler's empty glass.
He shook his head and turned it upside down. “Think I'm ready to settle my tab, thanks.”
It was her turn to shake her head. “Robert covered it, as thanks for returning his stolen goods.” She cocked her head to the side, giving him a curious look. “And something else that had him awful cheerful. What was that about?”
Skyler wasn't about to spill the beans on that surprise. He shrugged noncommittally. “Guess he was just happy to see the valley safe again.”
“Guess so,” the young woman agreed slowly. After another curious look she dug around in a smaller pocket on her apron and pulled out a key. “Here, you're in Room 3. Just up the stairs on the right. Robert covered that, too.”
“Well I'll have to thank him next time I see him.” Skyler somewhat unsteadily gathered his stuff and picked up his hat. But tired as he was he wasn't in the mood to sleep just yet, so he decided to take a walk outside to clear his head.
Hefting his gear, he stumbled around the tables to the door, and once there plopped his hat on and ducked out into the night.
Lone Valley only had so many places to go, at least places he was comfortable going with the world spinning around him, so he headed down Main Street past the various establishments. Before long he inevitably passed Hancock's Mercantile, and on a whim veered over to the door and knocked.
It opened quickly, suggesting the proprietor had been in the storefront, and light spilled outside. “Graham?” Hancock said warily. “You're not one of those types who gets plastered and wants to spend hours chatting up strangers, are you? Grateful as I am for your generosity, I've kind of got work to do.”
Skyler snorted. “Wasn't you I wanted to chat up. Still using your storeroom as a prison?”
The man hesitated. “Well yes. Although I'm not sure it's a good idea to let you at him when you're drunk as a skunk.”
“Don't worry I'm not planning to rough him up. Just want to ask him a question.”
Hancock stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Fair enough I suppose. You did capture him, after all.”
“Thanks.” Skyler followed the trader through the storefront to the back, where he waited while the man unlocked his storeroom.
Hancock started to open the door, then paused. “Being drunk makes a man do things he normally wouldn't. I'm trusting you to remember how prisoners should be treated.”
“I will,” Skyler promised. He dumped his stuff by the doorway and stepped through, aware of Hancock leaving the door open behind him. Although at least the man moved out of view to offer some semblance of privacy.
Well that was fine. Not like he had any secrets to share with the former bandit leader.
Randall was hogtied and bound to one of the shelves to keep from rolling around, same as Lobo had been. Seeing the old man in such a pitiable state, it was hard to remember the suffering he'd caused.
The bandit craned his neck to watch as Skyler approached to crouch a cautious distance away. “So what is this?” he asked in bitter amusement. “Can't summon up the courage to face me until you're three sheets to the wind?”
Skyler ignored that. “How you doing, Randall? Being treated well?”
“What do you care?” Although the man shifted in obvious discomfort. “But seeing as how you're completely wasted, don't suppose you're carrying a bottle with you to share with a poor condemned prisoner?”
“Nah.”
“Nah you don't, or nah you won't?” Randall demanded.
Skyler shrugged. “Pick one.”
“Where's your Christian charity, Graham?” the former bandit leader whined piteously.
It never failed to amaze Skyler, how the people who reveled in lording over and abusing those they had power over suddenly became the loudest advocates for understanding and kindness, once their power was stripped away. They were usually completely sincere in it, too, with zero self-awareness about the blatant hypocrisy.
“Guess I must've forgotten it sometime after you threatened to make me watch your men rape my friend after I gave myself up,” he snarled. He spent a moment fighting to regain his temper before continuing. “You're getting food and water until the League comes to string you up, I'd call that charity.”
“Doesn't have to end that way.” Randall hesitated, lowering his voice. “Been saving up to retire from the life, you know? Caches of gold, silver, jewelry, guns and ammo, from here to Thatcher's Hollow in Minnesota. You help me get out of this, I can see my way clear to making sure you get half.”
It was possible the man was telling the truth. There hadn't been much in the way of valuables in the saddlebags of any of the horses Skyler and his friends had captured from the bandits, or on the bodies of those they'd killed. Not much on Randall, either.
Just weapons and ammo, a few useful
tools for camping and living rough, and what they'd stolen from Hancock's store.
Might be that someone would be interested in trying to get their hands on ill-gotten bandit wealth, maybe the League if they interrogated Randall before executing him. But Skyler couldn't say he was, especially if it meant letting the man escape justice for his crimes.
“Can't say I'm all that interested,” he said. The former bandit leader opened his mouth, and he added sharply, “Wouldn't be interested if you offered me it all to save your sorry hide, either, so no sense wasting your breath.”
Randall sagged back in his bonds. “Figures you'd turn your nose up at anything so crass as enough wealth to live comfortably for a decade. So what're you here for? To gloat?”
“I just want to know how you got to thinking like you do,” Skyler said. “You made a mistake ten years ago, sure, and a lot of good people suffered because of it. But people can forgive mistakes, even serious ones. I know I've been offered forgiveness I wonder if I deserve.”
“You don't,” the old man spat, voice full of spite. “You deserve to have your-”
He spoke over the former bandit leader, struggling to keep his tone mild. “But you never admitted you made a mistake. You blamed Trapper for everything, attacked him when he was in the middle of rescuing you and everyone you cared about. Then you said terrible stuff to my mom she didn't deserve. That's why you got shunned by the group, not because your decision got everyone captured. And you have no one but yourself to blame for that.”
“You want to judge me, you little pissant?” Randall snarled. “What do you know about life?”
“More than you, I'd say. I know right from wrong.”
The bandit laughed harshly. “Wrong? You've never seen wrong.” He struggled with his bonds to lean closer, lips twisted in a snarl of pure hatred. “You ever see your best friend get gunned down in front of you, then get shoved in a cage and forced to watch helplessly as his wife and every other woman you know and care about is brutally gang raped by an invading enemy day after day, week after week?”
Skyler looked away, gritting his teeth. He'd listened to the screams of Mer and Jenny and Keri and the other women he'd saved from that Sangue camp as he fled at Brandon's insistence, before returning later to get them out. He'd watched friends get killed by Sangue, felt helpless at not being able to stop it. He'd seen Aunt Vicky and Fiona and Lisa struggle to get past Newpost.
But he hadn't seen it, and thanked God for that. “I know people who did, and didn't let it turn them into monsters.”
“You mean like wannabe daddy-in-law Bob?” Randall said with a sneer. “He wasn't in charge. He didn't have dozens of people clamoring for him to solve all their problems as if they were helpless little kids, only to turn around and blame him the moment things went wrong.” His look of pure hatred returned. “Blamed me worse than the monsters who'd captured us, even.”
“Still trying to blame everyone and everything but yourself?” Skyler shot back, although he wondered why he was wasting his time. “You're the one who ignored the warning of the guide you hired, figured you'd be a hero.”
“Yes, Trapper's “timely” warning.” The old bandit spat at his feet. “Even if I'd ordered everyone to scatter the moment we heard that first whistle, it wouldn't have made a difference. Sangue would've spent a bit longer rounding us all up, and probably treated us even more harshly for inconveniencing them. More men beaten to death under a taskmaster's whip. More women raped to death.” He spat again. “But it's easier to blame the guy in charge, even when there was nothing anyone could've done.”
“Aside from my dad, who saved everyone, including you.” Skyler kept speaking over the old man's sudden blaze of fury. “Meanwhile you used what happened as an excuse to give in to your true nature, a monster every bit as bad as Sangue.”
Randall thrashed against his bonds. “I should've shot you in the head instead of taking you prisoner! I should've let my men at that girl the second we got our hands on her! I should've-”
Skyler figured he was done with this conversation, considering he was about to lose control and end up breaking his promise to Hancock about not hitting the old man. So he stood and strode for the door, grateful when the trader wasted no time slamming it behind him. He could still hear Randall's muffled voice through the thick wood, but thankfully couldn't make out any words.
“I have a feeling that was a waste of time,” he told Hancock, voice a bit more unsteady than he meant it to be.
“Could've told you that,” the man agreed. “Common bandits have little in the way of wisdom to offer.”
Skyler leaned against the wall; the room was really starting to spin around him at this point. “Speaking of offers, I'll take it on faith you weren't tempted by Randall's supposed loot either?”
The trader snorted. “I run a reputable and lucrative business in a prosperous town. I've got better things to do than chase myths of bandit gold stolen from poor travelers. Even if I didn't want to see that man hang for everything he's said and done.” He cocked his head, eyeing Skyler curiously. “Although you're right that I couldn't help but overhear a lot of your conversation, and boy was it an earful. Was the Trapper you were jawing about the one from down in New Emery?”
Skyler felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Probably. He's my adoptive dad.”
Hancock whistled. “Well how about that? Didn't realize the son of a bona fide legend was gracing our little town.” The trader clapped him on the shoulder. “Guess you're well on your way to following in his footsteps.”
He just grunted and headed for the door. “Thanks for covering my tab, and letting me have a word with the bandit. I'm going to go pass out.”
Chapter Eighteen
Word
Skyler jolted awake at a pounding on his door. “Northern League Armed Forces, open up!”
He curled up on his bed and groaned. He would've been a lot more alarmed by the intrusion if he hadn't recognized the voice. As it was, the League presence took a backseat to his pounding head and queasy stomach, unpleasant reminders of why he usually didn't drink this much.
Still, he wasn't about ignore an officer of the largest remaining power in what was left of the United States. Or a friend, although that was always hit and miss with the man in question.
So with another groan he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the door, cracking it open and squinting blearily outside. “Captain Kristof,” he mumbled. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
“Here in Lone Valley, or outside your door?” the man asked with a wry smile. “Heard you're the main witness to some trouble with bandits in the area.” He snorted. “Which I could've guessed, with your track record.”
You're late by a few days. Skyler rubbed at his temples; gah, he felt awful. “Always happy to do the League's job for them,” he replied. “Although since when does a baker's dozen bandits warrant a visit from a company commander?”
“Rarely. Although in this case I didn't even know about it until I got here. Just another hassle to take care of.” Kristof grimaced. “I'm here because word reached us that some notables in the valley, personal friends of Colonel Crenshaw apparently, are planning a wedding. The Colonel can't make it, so I'm here to shake hands and slap backs as an official representative of the Northern League in his stead.”
And he sent you? Skyler thought with some amusement.
Even though he didn't say a word, his expression must've said it for him. The officer snorted. “Yeah, really could've done without an assignment glad-handing cowpokes who don't even live within our borders. The price I pay for being on the short list for promotion to major.”
“Hey, those “cowpokes” are close friends of my family,” Skyler protested. “And you should know they were the ones under attack by the bandits, which caused them to move the date of the wedding up. It was yesterday, so you'll have to offer belated congratulations.”
“Well, belated certainly suits my feelings about it, friends of Trap
per or no,” Kristof muttered. He sighed. “But for now, I need to get the rundown about these bandits from you so I can order a hanging.” He motioned curtly. “Come on, we can talk over breakfast.”
Skyler swallowed rapidly at the queasy thought of food. “Yeah, let me hit the latrine first.”
The officer eyed him irritably. “Have a bit too much fun at the wedding yesterday?”
“Something like that.” He eased past the man and bolted down the hall, shouting over his shoulder. “Be right back.”
“Be sure to drink some water!” Kristof called after him, actually breaking his professional facade enough to sound amused.
✽✽✽
If there was one thing that could make Lisa leave her new husband's bedside, especially since he was sleeping, it was the sound of approaching engines.
Long gone was the terror invoked by that sound, so tied to Sangue for so many years. Now it was the herald of the Northern League's arrival, something to be anticipated and celebrated. Not least because her family had more than a few friends among League visitors, both the traders and in the military patrols.
This group looked to be military, judging by the two gray-gold painted trucks pulling into the yard off the rough road leading from town. Although her eager rush out the door faltered slightly when she saw that the expected welcome figure of Colonel Crenshaw emerging from the second vehicle had been replaced by a different officer.
This man was tall and had a solemn, even severe cast to his narrow features. She thought he looked familiar, an impression that was increased as he spoke. “Miss Hend, uh, that, is, Mrs. . . .” he trailed off uncomfortably as he approached, obviously aware that she'd married but having no idea to whom.
“Lisa Westman,” she hastened to say, coming to his rescue. She couldn't help the shiver of delight that swept through her at saying her new name. Offering her hand, she continued warmly. “And you are?”
