by Lydia Olson
“Open up, Tucker,” Crane said, knocking twice again. “Now.”
Booted footsteps approached the door slowly, and it opened to reveal Tucker Willis with a weary expression. There was a glossy quality in his eyes that indicated he was on his fourth or fifth drink.
He stood in the doorway sucking air through his teeth, which clenched a cigar. “What do you want, pretty boy?”
Crane held up the letters he retrieved from the stagecoach.
Tucker furrowed his brow. “You want to be pen pals or something?”
“Let me in,” Crane said.
Tucker drew a breath. “Try again.”
Crane sighed. “Please, let me in.”
A sardonic grin stretched from one of Tucker’s ears to the other as he stood aside and motioned for Crane to enter with an exaggerated swing of his arm. Crane entered, and paced nervously with his hands on his hips.
Tucker closed the door. “Why the heck you here at this hour?”
Crane crooked a finger in Tucker’s direction. “I just cleaned up your mess with the stagecoach,” he said. “Now I gotta track down the women you cut loose, and the other man you failed to mention. I already wasted six hours on the train stopping off in a couple of nearby towns to see if they were there. I didn’t have time to search anymore. I had to drag myself back here to make sure the town was still in one piece.”
“Oh, right,” Tucker said. “I forgot to tell you about the mouthy fella I cut loose, too.”
“Well, if they’re not dead, they’re out there somewhere. They’ll report you without question, and I don’t need to tell you what that would do to me.”
“Well, keep looking,” Tucker said as he moved toward the bottle of whiskey resting on the nightstand in the corner. “This is your job.”
“No, you don’t get it.” Crane held up the letters. “I found these in the stagecoach before I disposed of the refuse you left behind.”
Willis bit off the cork of the whiskey bottle, spit it on the ground, and sat in the rocking chair near the window looking out onto Clarendon’s main street. “Again,” he said, “what the heck do I care about a bunch of letters.”
“They’re from my woman,” Crane said, “the one that I’m supposed to be wed to. You robbed the stagecoach with the woman I was set to marry on it!”
Tucker took a moment—and then he laughed. “Well, roll me hard and put me away wet. Isn’t that a coincidence. She must be the one that said she was pregnant.”
Crane felt his heart skip a beat. “What?” he said with an incredulous tone. “What are you talking about?”
“There was a fella with her,” Tucker said, “a real mouthy ingrate. He said he was married to her and that she was pregnant. He even kissed her to prove it.”
A weakness came into Crane’s knees accompanied by a sickly feeling in his stomach. What? he thought. That can’t be. He … kissed her? He said she was pregnant? Can that be true?
“David Bryant,” Crane said, thinking of the name that he saw on the manifest.
“Come again?” Tucker said.
Crane composed himself and drew a breath. “That’s the name of the man she’s with,” he said. “David Bryant.”
Tucker shrugged. “Makes no difference to me what his name is. The two of them are probably wandering the desert, by now.” He laughed. “I know you’ve tried looking for them, probably should, too. But chances are they’re dead.”
“I can’t go looking for them,” Crane said. “You know how much time and ground I have to cover? I was only able to check two places today. I had to sell mine and Frederick’s horses so we could take the train to cover more ground. I haven’t even gotten the official word from the stagecoach company that the passengers never arrived in Clarendon yet. Me asking questions about them prematurely doesn’t look too good”
“When are they due?” Tucker asked. “The stagecoach?”
Crane sighed. “I just took a gander at the incoming passenger manifest at the stagecoach office a half-hour ago. The stagecoach you robbed is due in tomorrow, and they’ll only be declared late after two days pass. If I go looking for them now, it’ll raise suspicion.”
Tucker shrugged again and swigged his whiskey. “Sounds like a personal problem, Crane. I don’t know what any of this has to do with me. Find them.”
Gritting his teeth, Crane clenched the letters in his hand and stormed up to Tucker. “Because you caused this!” he exclaimed. “For all I know, my future wife is dead because of you, and even if she isn’t, if she shows up with this Bryant fellow with her—you’re still holing up here in Clarendon. They’ll see your face! They’ll know who you are, and if that happens, we got a whirlwind of trouble that’s going to brew.”
Tucker stood up from his chair—slowly. “Say what you’re going to say, Crane.”
“You need to leave Clarendon. Now. At least for a little while until I sort this mess out.”
Tucker swigged his bottle again and shook his head. “That I can’t do.”
Crane’s eyes went wide. “Why?”
“Got a train robbery I’m doing in three days,” he said. “Biggest score I’ve ever had.”
“What?”
“Are you stupid? I said I’m robbing a train.”
“This is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“One of my boys just found out about it,” Tucker said. “And I’m not leaving until I take it down. It’s the kind of payday that you can live on the rest of your life, so you’re dreaming if you think I’m not going to do it.”
“Tucker,” Crane said. “You can’t do a train robbery here. The US marshals will end up bearing down on the town at full force in the blink of an eye. Our little arrangement will get exposed in a second!”
“No, it won’t. You worry too much.”
“Tucker, you can’t do this. You can’t take the train.”
With a red-hot look in his eyes, Tucker looked at Crane, and said, “Watch me.”
Crane ran his hands through his hair, feeling as though he should start pulling it all out. “Come on, Tucker,” he said. “If this woman and her companion are still alive, if they lay eyes on you—”
“Deal with it, Crane,” Tucker said. “I’m staying in Clarendon until I take the train. After that, I’ll leave, but not until then.” He pointed to the door. “Now, get the heck outta my room, and don’t come back here with any more of these petty little intrusions.”
With that, Tucker turned his back on Crane and said nothing more as he lit his cigar and a knock came at the door. The door opened, and in walked a lady of the night, dressed in a red dress with a lecherous look in her smoky eyes that were levelled on Tucker.
“Go on,” Tucker said to Crane. “This little lady and I have got some business to take care of.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around the woman’s waist as Crane was forced to leave the room.
Crane felt the muscles in his jaw tensing. His skin felt hot. The tendons in his hand began to tighten as his fingers curled slowly into a fist. He was tired of feeling like he was putting his tail between his knees, well past the point of reacting to all of Tucker’s slights and jabs like he was his lapdog.
“Excuse me, miss,” Crane said with a sardonic grin, “could you please excuse me and my associate for a brief moment?”
Tucker rolled his eyes as the young lady began rubbing his shoulders. “I said to take a walk, Crane.”
“Now,” Crane said with a deep rumble in his voice. “Otherwise, I’ll lock you up for the night.”
The young woman’s demeanor quickly shifted from loose and relaxed to tense and nervous. She left the room, closing the door behind her as Tucker’s eyes turned into slits.
“You’re pressing your luck, Crane,” Tucker said. “I told you to—”
“Enough,” Crane growled as he crooked a finger at Tucker. “I’m not standing idly by while you talk to me like some kind of servant. Who in God’s name do you think you’re speaking to? I run this town.”
“I
thought that was the Sheriff’s job.”
“Spare me. That old man is nothing more than a worthless old codger trying to wait out his time until retirement.” Crane took a step forward. “Tell me, Tucker: who do you think is going to be running Clarendon after that last touch of whiskey finally takes a toll on the Sheriff’s ticker? Huh?” He poked his thumb into his chest. “Me. Make no mistake about it. And just because you and I have struck up more than our fair share of deals does not mean you get to sit around and tell me what’s what. I’ve given you too much leeway, Tucker, and all of that comes to an end, right here and now.”
Tucker said nothing, his eyes unblinking as he stared at Crane. He rocked in his chair, his breathing filling the air as Crane stood tall before him. After a moment, he slowly rose from his chair, and said, “Look at the gall on you, boy. When did you start acting like a man?”
In the blink of an eye, Crane produced his six-shooter, cocked back the hammer, and fired a round into the floorboards near Tucker’s feet. Tucker was unmoved, as if nothing had happened as the shot echoed through the room.
Crane, gun still in hand, cocked the hammer back again and aimed it square at Tucker’s head. “Call me boy one more time,” he said, “and the undertaker will be taking your measurements before the night is out.”
Tucker sucked air through his teeth as he slipped his hands in his pockets. The vein in his forehead jutted out, and for the briefest of moments, his reaction to Crane having grown a spine was akin to that of a deer being cornered by a ravenous mountain lion. “You seem set on your ways, Crane,” he said. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”
“You’re going to start treating this situation,” Crane said, “as a partnership. I’m not your friend. I’m not someone you can just walk all over. You’re going to start listening to me, and that’s all that we’re going to say on the matter. It’s either that, or I can shoot you where you stand.”
Two seconds passed.
Three.
And then Tucker slowly nodded his head.
“Well,” Tucker said. “I guess I’m going to start paying you more respect, Deputy.”
With that, Crane disengaged the hammer on his weapon and jammed it back into his holster. “We’ll talk more about that train job later,” he said. “And my percentage on the take that you would have given me on it just doubled.”
“Fine. Just find that women of yours. And deal with it.”
Saying nothing more, Crane turned on his heel, left the room, and slammed the door behind him with a solid slam before standing outside of it. He breathed easy for a moment, satisfied that he finally stood up for himself—but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that doing so had edged Tucker Willis toward retaliating against him sooner rather than later.
Chapter Sixteen
Sleeping on a bed for the first time in what felt like an eternity was a welcome reprieve for Sarah. She awoke early the next morning to the sounds of Curtis and David working on the roof, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee that made Sarah’s stomach rumble with delight as she walked into the kitchen after dressing in the dress that Delores had given her. A steaming cup was on the counter, and Sarah could see Delores through the window in the garden off to her right, tending to a grouping of petunias. Sarah picked up her coffee, blew away some of the steam, and made her way outside.
The chill from the early morning weather licked at the back of Sarah’s neck. The sun peeked over the tops of the mountain range, and for the first time in a few days, Sarah felt that she had slowly slipped back into some form of domestication.
Delores, watering her petunias with a small tin can, turned and offered up a smile. “Good morning, my dear. How did you sleep?”
Sarah returned the smile. “Quite well, Mrs. Curtis,” she said. “I feel more than rested.” She approached the garden, taken aback by the brilliant array of colors that sprouted from the ground. For the briefest of moments—Sarah forgot that she and David were on the run from a deranged killer.
“My goodness,” Sarah said, her eyes wide. “What a lovely garden.”
“Thank you,” Delores bid her. “It took quite some time to make it grow, but I’m proud of how it turned out, and the time and effort it took was well worth the wait.”
Sarah crouched down beside her. “You know,” she said, “I’ve tried my hand several times at gardening, but I just don’t think I have, as they say, a green thumb.”
Delores waved her off. “Oh, that’s nonsense,” she said. “Everyone has the potential to make something grow. It just takes time, and patience.” She pointed to the roof. “You see that man up there?”
Turning her head, Sarah looked up at Curtis and David putting the finishing touches on the roof. They worked side-by-side, both men appearing proud of the labor they had put into the job.
“That man,” Delores continued, “my husband, is probably one of the most hard-headed men I’ve ever met in my life. When I first met him, he was downright difficult to deal with. I was certain, at the time, that he would not make a good suitor.”
Sarah furrowed her brow. “Really? You two look appear so happy together.”
“Oh, we are,” Delores said. “Make no mistake about it. But it wasn’t always that way.” She began pruning her flowers. “Yes, my dear, he was quite resistant to being with me for some time.”
“Why was that?” Sarah pressed her hand against her chest. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Not at all,” Delores said. “You see, Curtis came from a rough upbringing. His parents were no bargain, and he had suffered quite a lot in his lifetime—fighting in the war, trouble finding employment, a rather bad bout of tuberculosis he almost died from.” She leaned in close to Sarah and lowered her voice. “In fact, he was married to another woman before he was wed to me.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Delores offered up the subtlest of nods. “Yes, he was,” she said. “To a rather treacherous woman, I might add. It was an arranged marriage, so to speak. She hailed from a wealthy family, and she was quite spoiled and accustomed to getting her way. Needless to say, Curtis was unhappy when he was wed to her, and it took a lot of time and pain in order for him to be free of that relationship. Once he was, I think it left a sour taste in his mouth.”
“Well,” Sarah said, “what made him turn around?”
Delores shrugged. “Time,” she said, “and patience. I was so uncertain for some time that Curtis and I were not meant to be together. I found myself always coming up with reasons why it would not work. For a while, I thought he was just too surly to be involved in a relationship. But the more time I spent with him, and the more care and attention I gave to it—just like I do this garden—showed me that all he needed was someone to show him that he was worth the time and attention. It’s so easy to overthink things like that, just like it is with tending to a garden. But again, the more care and time you give it, the more that it will, quite literally, grow and flourish.” She grinned. “And now, here we are, together for what has felt like an eternity, and I mean that in the best possible sense.”
As Delores said the words, Sarah couldn’t help herself from focusing on David. He was smiling as he worked alongside Curtis, his sinewy frame lit by the rising sun as a smile stretched across his face. After a moment, he looked down at Sarah, and the two of them locked eyes. She felt a flutter in her chest, and looking up fondly at David, she gave a demure wave that made his smile grow wider. In return, David tipped his Stetson before setting back to work. Sarah could not help but feel grateful that he was her partner in the journey they were on to Clarendon. In that moment, Sarah felt her bond with David grow stronger than it had been before Delores showed her the garden.
***
After David finished retiling the roof with Curtis, Delores set about preparing lunch before David and Sarah were set to make their departure. With their stomachs full and new clothes on their backs—David having been gifted a pair of trousers from Curtis—David set about se
curing saddles on the horses he had procured from Curtis and assisted Sarah onto the caramel-colored horse.
“Are you settled?” David asked.
Sarah nodded. “I am, yes.”
“Good.”
Delores, a small brown cloth sack in her hand, held it out to Sarah. “Here, my dear,” she said. “I’ve given you two some supplies for the road—jerky, crackers, and some cheese. It’s not much, but it should hold you over for a little stretch of time while you make your journey.”
Sarah reached out and squeezed her hand. “I appreciate this more than you know,” she said, “as well as your advice.”
Offering up a wink, Delores lowered her voice to a whisper and said into Sarah’s ear, “Stay close to this man with you. He clearly comes from good stock.”
