The Lawman's Bride. Cheryl St.John
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men were moving what looked like a large cabinet of some sort into a building across the street. When she recognized one of them as the marshal, she walked closer and watched as they maneuvered the wooden piece through the doorway. After much grunting and a couple of curses, they disappeared inside the building.
“Marshal Connor,” she called from the open doorway.
His shirt was damp, and a trickle of perspiration meandered down his cheek. He took a kerchief from his pocket and mopped his face and neck. “Miss Hollis. Come on in.”
Inside was as hot as the outside. The musty smell was stifling. There was a desk hobbled together out of an old door and a couple of chairs that had seen better days. A paint-chipped table held odds and ends of dented cups and a few supply tins.
“If that’s it, I’ll be headin’ out,” the other man said. He tipped his hat and left the building.
The old dog lay on a blanket, but raised its head to sniff the air. It didn’t look toward Sophie.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Seems fine. How are you?”
“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the big cupboard against the interior wall.
“New gun cabinet,” he answered. “This is our temporary jail.”
She noted the freestanding cages that had been rigged together. There wasn’t a piece of paper in sight. It had struck her round about dawn that her escapade had been for naught since everything in the jail had been burned up without any help from her. Wasn’t that just her luck?
“I brought you this.” Reaching into her pocket, she produced a coin and held it out.
Clay saw the dollar, and knew she meant for him to have it. His first instinct was to refuse to accept it, but something in her expression warned him to reach for it.
She dropped the coin into his palm. “We’re straight now.”
“Hardly.”
“What do you mean?”
“You saved Sam from burning to death.”
“Yes, well you stood up for me that day. Over the broken plates I mean. You saved my job.”
“That was my fault anyway, so it’s not the same.”
“Just say we’re even.”
Beneath the brim of her beribboned straw hat her eyes were dark and deep, filled with feminine mysteries. Her delicate beauty belied the strength she exhibited and the wide stubborn streak he’d had cause to come up against. For some reason it was important to her that she not be beholden to him. Right then he understood and respected her even more. “We’re even.”
She glanced around the nearly empty room. “All right then.”
He didn’t want her to go. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
She turned on her heel and headed back into the bright sunlight. Once again Clay felt the heat. Eventually the subtle scent of lilacs dissipated and all that remained was the austere room, and the disturbing memory of Sophie.
The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Glad for that, Sophie took her three-day leave as planned. Bag packed, she showed her pass to the ticket agent and boarded a train headed for Wichita, though everyone believed she was going to meet an aunt in Kansas City. She’d heard recommendations for a moderately priced, clean and safe hotel, so she checked in and spent two days shopping and two evenings at the theater.
On her last night in a hotel room similar to the many others she’d lived in over the years, she sat near the window watching the street below and relishing her freedom by puffing on a two-dollar cigar.
Her reflection in the pane of glass showed an attractive young woman, a woman who received attention and invitations from men. She considered Amanda, a lovely girl with honey-colored hair and a bright smile, a wholesome and attractive young lady, and wondered how it could be that no one had taken a fancy to her yet. Was she too eager? Too available or unassertive? Perhaps when Sophie returned she might mention the appeal of mystery. Amanda deserved the husband and family she desired. It wouldn’t be long. Soon she would be married and have moved on to a new life.
An image of the Chaneys’ kitchen in Newton wavered in Sophie’s thoughts, and she remembered the family seated around that table. The vast differences in her life from everyone else’s struck her anew. The fact that she never returned interest in men set her apart from other women. What about five years from now, should her luck hold that long and her identity remain a secret? Ten years. Where did she see herself?
But she wasn’t looking for the same things, she assured herself. She had a different plan. She was setting aside money to start her own business. But somehow she needed to speed up the process.
Eventually no one would tell her what she could do or what she could wear or how to act. She would be…The reflection in the glass revealed smoke curling around her head into the room behind her. The empty room.
Was this how she intended to live her life from now on? Independent, but unattached? Free, but…
Dare she recognize the thought?
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