Salvation in the Rancher's Arms. Kelly Boyce
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tired-looking waitress made him rethink his decision. The place had a faded and worn-out feel to it, as though its heyday had come and gone years before.
For himself, he couldn’t have cared less. A campfire and can of beans were all he needed, but a lady like Mrs. Sutter deserved nicer surroundings. And given the news he was about to deliver, a comfortable setting was the least he could provide. But it was too late now.
He motioned for the waitress to refill his cup of coffee, hoping this one would taste better than the sludge served earlier. The dark liquid she poured into the chipped mug reeked of tree bark scorched in the fire. He’d seen warmed tar with a more appetizing consistency.
Mrs. Sutter appeared at the threshold separating the small dining room from the main lobby, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. An air of vulnerability lingered around her as she stood on the precipice as if trying to decide whether to continue on or retreat. The urge to protect her against what he needed to do surged up, and he struggled to stuff it down as Mrs. Sutter dropped her hands to her sides, straightened her narrow shoulders and stepped forward.
Caleb stood as she approached his table.
“Evenin’, ma’am.” He nodded, then remembered his manners at the last minute and rounded the table to pull out her chair. She was already half seated by the time he reached her. Apparently Mrs. Sutter didn’t stand on ceremony.
“Thank you for meeting me, Mr.—” She stopped. Confusion marred the clean lines of her face. Again, he was struck by her simple beauty. She shook her head and folded her hands primly in her lap. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”
He hesitated. He’d had used many over the years. But for some reason he didn’t want to lie to her. He didn’t delve into why.
“Beckett,” he said. “Caleb Beckett.”
She smiled, a small, halting expression lost in the dark depths of her eyes. “Mr. Beckett.”
The name sounded foreign. Like returning home after years away and finding the landscape had changed shape. Yet, when she said it, her tone and the small hint of a smile made him remember the boy he used to be. For a brief moment, a sense of belonging enveloped him.
He quickly shook it off and returned to his seat across from her. “Would you like something to eat?” A pale cast marred her skin. The shock of the past twenty-four hours had exacted a toll, he suspected, despite her outwardly calm demeanor.
“No. Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” She pursed her lips and two narrow lines formed between her brows. He curled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching over and smoothing them out. She didn’t deserve to be put through this worry and distress.
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Although he had little choice. They had business to discuss and the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could leave.
Mrs. Sutter let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping on the exhale. “I am hoping you can give me some answers.”
“Answers?” He stared down into his coffee cup and turned the mug around in his hands. This was the part he had dreaded.
“Do you know why my husband was in Laramie? He told me he was purchasing cattle at the auction, but...”
But purchasing cattle didn’t get a man shot in the chest and stuffed in a pine box.
Her gaze did not waver; even without looking at her, he could feel it on him. Despite Sutter’s unflattering description of his wife, Caleb found her straightforward manner appealing. He found her appealing, a fact that disturbed what little peace he had. He chose his words with care.
“Could be he did attend the auction.”
“But that’s not where you met him.” She lifted her chin. “I would prefer if you would be honest with me, Mr. Beckett. Do not feel you need to spare my sensibilities or protect me from the truth. I’m quite capable of handling it, whatever it is.”
He didn’t doubt it for a second. Rachel Sutter didn’t strike him as the type to shirk from the storms life threw her way.
“I met your husband at the Broken Deuce. There’s a poker game held there every year during the auction. A lot of money can change hands. Fortunes won or lost at the turn of a card.”
“And my husband,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Was he—?”
Caleb nodded. “He played at my table, ma’am.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Did he win?”
He could tell from the way she stared down at the table with a hard set to her mouth she already knew the answer. Caleb didn’t bother to sugarcoat it for her. He doubted she would appreciate being pandered to on top of everything else.
“No, ma’am.”
A bitter laugh shot out of her as her head dropped back. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a long breath and recapturing his gaze. “No. Of course he didn’t.” She licked her lips, the motion mesmerizing him for a moment, shooting heat to parts he tried not to think about.
She had plump, full lips. Again he was struck by the contrast between the vision sitting before him and the wife Sutter had described. Had the man been blind as well as stupid?
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She waved off his apology. “How did he get himself shot?”
Caleb rubbed at a stain on the tablecloth and debated glossing over what had happened. No woman should have to hear the details of this. But she had asked him not to hold back, and he figured he owed her that much. “Your husband got upset when the game turned against him. He accused a man of cheating. I think by then he had lost so much, maybe he figured he had nothing left to lose. He made a move to draw his gun, but...”
He peered across the table at her. She stared at the spot on the tablecloth he had been rubbing with his finger. When he stopped speaking, she filled in what he left unsaid, her voice quiet. Beaten.
“I take it whoever he planned on shooting was a faster draw.”
Caleb nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Who?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Do you know the name of the man who shot my husband?”
He debated lying. Nothing good could come of this. But, she had asked him for the truth and again, he felt compelled to give it. “A man by the name of Sinjin Drake.”
“What happened to him?”
Caleb arched an eyebrow. “Drake?”
“Yes. Did they...did they hang him?” Her bottom lip quivered, the first breach in the stone wall she had built around her emotions. She pulled the errant lip into her mouth catching it with her teeth.
“No. They said the shooting was self-defense.”
“Was it?”
Caleb shrugged, wishing she would let it go. It did her no good to hear this. And it did him no good to tell it.
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor. Caleb rose to his feet.
“I thank you for your time, Mr. Beckett. For bringing my husband’s body home—” her hands fisted together in front of her until he could see the white of her knuckles “—and for telling me the truth.”
He said nothing.
“Will you be staying in town long?”
He wasn’t sure why she asked. Politeness perhaps. Although she had risen to leave, she now seemed uncertain of where to go or what to do.
“Unlikely.”
She gave a curt nod. “Well then...I should—”
“There’s