A Time to Stay
She slammed the door hard enough to rattle all the windows and shrieked in desperation when the bolt jammed. With a surge of strength she slammed it home, keeping Jimmy away from her, though from the stricken look on his face, she doubted he would follow.
He made her feel too much. She struck the door with the palms of her hands with all her fury, gasping for air. It did nothing to stop the flood of emotion. She slid down the back of the door as the sobs tore through her, wracking her whole body. She hadn't thought she had any more tears left in her, had not expected this absolute tidal wave of grief to wash through her.
She had wanted to hurt him. She had wanted him to feel the agony of the truth, to turn his hope to make things right to ash in his mouth.
And she had succeeded. She had leveled him, destroyed him with the truth she had used like a weapon. She'd all but heard his heart crack wide open.
What she hadn't expected was that his devastation would reflect right back at her, his grief like a mirror for hers, making it as raw and fresh as the day Kid had died.
Now, the grief that always simmered beneath the surface boiled into the realization of how badly she had hurt Jimmy and she doubled over. How could she have done that to him, motivated by nothing but bitterness and her own misery? He hadn't deserved that from her. She eased down on the floor there by the door, wrapped her arms around herself and went to a thousand pieces.
In time, she heard hoofbeats and peeled herself from the floor, watching as Jimmy, atop his palomino, tore away from the station. The pain in her chest to see him leaving was physical, and she pressed her hand there as if she could ease the ache so easily.
She had desperately wanted him to go, but the sting of it was agonizing. Her heart was divided as ever.
Tears kept falling of their own accord as she walked to the bunk that had been Kid's. She lay upon it, as she had since returning, fingers tracing the edge of it, wondering if his touch had ever followed the same path. It was almost like holding his hand.
The years had stolen any hint or smell of him from the bed, but she could close her eyes and see him here, only a step away from her upper bunk. It had been both comforting and agonizing to be so close to him in the early days of their odd courtship and in the heated months that followed.
She hugged a pillow to herself hard for a moment, then forced herself to take deep breaths, knowing she needed to calm herself.
Her body curved around the still small rise in her belly, hands testing it gently, assuring herself she was still growing with the life she carried, the life she prized high above her own.
It was a blessing, the last bit of Kid left in the world. It was also a curse that robbed her choice of whether to go find him in whatever place came next. She wasn't sure she would have, now or ever, but there had been moments in those first days when the pain made even breathing unbearable and she had considered it. At times, it seemed unfair to her, as if he had taken the easy way out. She knew it was ridiculous to feel that way, knew that he certainly would have chosen to remain by her side, to experience peace with her. But she still felt he had broken any number of implicit and explicit promises by leaving her so soon.
"God damn you," she whispered brokenly, without heat, exhausted after her storm of weeping. She did not know if she cursed herself for her cruelty, Jimmy for coming here and stirring her heart, Kid for leaving her, or if she damned all of them together.
She knew only that the baby that quickened in her belly was the thing anchoring her to this ruthless world.
He rode like the hounds of hell were nipping at Sundance's heels. He thought if he rode fast enough, far enough, he could distance himself from the truth. He would have killed a hundred fine horses beneath him if he could outrun it, but it rode right there on his shoulders and it weighed more than the world.
He pulled his horse to a sudden halt, dismounted while the horse was still skidding. He was at the lake he had always come to when troubled, years ago.
Without thinking, he drew his weapon and emptied the chamber into a tree, yelling and cursing as he did so. Unsatisfied, he drew the other and emptied that too.
Then, undone, he backed into another tree and slid down it, bowing his head and crying like he had not since he was a boy.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there, feeling sick and lost, but the light had shifted when he climbed to his feet. He felt calmer, more collected, though he didn't pretend the full impact of the loss had settled on him yet. He felt marginally better, having made up his mind. He climbed back on his horse.
Sweetwater had not changed much in all the years since Emma had first brought them into town, demanding their town manners, whatever that meant. The corner of Jimmy's mouth lifted in a mirthless almost-smile, thinking that he and the others had likely seemed like lost causes to her in that respect.
There was one notable addition to town. The Western Union telegraph office was across the street from Tompkins' store. Jimmy looked up at the wires that had nailed the coffin shut on the express, shook his head.
He was a simple man. Some would say an uneducated one, and despite his attempts to better himself, he supposed they were right. How tapping a lever here got his words to another place was beyond his understanding; he regarded it with as much suspicion as witchcraft. Still, it was a damn sight more convenient than riding a thousand miles and he had use of it now.
The man behind the desk looked up when he paused in the doorway, eyes widening and darting to his guns. The clerk swallowed audibly, which irked him.
"S-Sir?" the clerk stuttered.
"I ain't gonna shoot ya," he muttered, wondering what his face looked like to inspire the instant fear from the clerk. "I need to send a message to Rock Creek. Can you do that?"
"Anywhere we got an office," he said proudly, and Jimmy wondered how the hell the wires knew to carry the message to Rock Creek rather than New York or San Francisco.
"Just write down your message here on this form and I can send it on its way."
Jimmy took the pen and stared at the form. It occurred to him belatedly that he would have to tell them about Kid's death in a few short words, that he would have to devastate them, do to them what had been done to him.
He was worried for Teaspoon especially. God, he couldn't imagine how Teaspoon would react to losing one more of them. Three gone. Four remained, maybe five if Jesse had survived the war he'd been so anxious to join. It seemed like Lou might be as lost to them as Jesse was.
He had no idea how in the hell he would word the message, soften the blow.
"I-I...can write for you...if you don't know h-how," the clerk said anxiously, hovering at his elbow like a horsefly.
Jimmy gave him a long look that had the clerk sitting back down. He realized there was no way to break it to them softly, there was nothing easy about the news, whatever words he used.
Annoyed, and devastated, Jimmy scratched out:
Kid is dead. Lou alone. Staying on. J.
He looked at the words a long moment, felt his gut hollowing with dread and grief. Recorded there in black and white, it seemed starkly real, final.
"This message is to go to Rachel Dunn at the schoolhouse in Rock Creek...you got that?" He knew Rachel was strong enough to shoulder the news, knew she would understand he wanted her to tell Teaspoon the way she thought best. It still ached to think of the woman who was half-mother, half-friend to them reading his blunt words. Forgive me, Rachel, he thought as he handed the clerk the message.
"That'll be a dollar," the clerk said after reading the message. He looked at Jimmy with hesitation, as if he was unsure whether to comment on his loss or not, Jimmy's face apparently deciding him on not.
Jimmy shook his head in amazement as he paid the dollar. It was no wonder they had been put out of business.
"If there is a reply, where should I send it?"
"Emma Shannon's old place," he muttered. "You know it?"
"Used to be a pony express station, if you can believe that," the clerk informed him and chuckled. "I guess we put them out of their jobs over there. Thought it was abandoned?"
"It ain't," Jimmy said flatly, gave the man another long look and then exited the office.
As he stepped on the street, he heard the tapping of the message inside and looked up again at the wires, guessing his grim words rode along on them, along with Kid's ghost.
She tired easily these days, and she must have fallen asleep there on the bunk though it was early afternoon and there were plenty of chores to see to.
She startled awake and saw the sun slanting down the walls. For a minute she wasn't sure what day it was, or whether it was morning or night. She sat up, felt like her eyes had been rubbed with sand. Her head ached fiercely too. She paused on the edge of the bunk a moment, clutching her skull.
Slowly, she stood, dared looking in the mirror on the wall, wondering what she must have looked like to Jimmy.
The pale woman in the mirror had her eyes and the general shape of her face, but otherwise she might not have recognized herself. The reflected woman looked gaunt, disheveled, half-mad. She couldn't remember the last time she had looked at herself, was startled by what she had become.
She reached for the silver-backed hairbrush on the small chest below the mirror. Her fingers traced the beautiful scroll work on the back of the brush. Like most things, it reminded her of Kid. It had been a gift from him. He had noticed her admiring it in a store in Richmond, had presented it to her the next day over her protests that she didn't need such a frivolous thing and they needed to save money for the farmhouse they planned on purchasing.
You ask so little, Lou...let me give you this small thing just because it made you smile. That's reason enough sometimes, you know.
He had always liked to watch her brush her hair out every night as he was lying across their bed, waiting for her to join him. She had been able to see him in the reflection of her small vanity mirror. He had always watched intently, charmingly spellbound by the simple task. It had made her feel beautiful the way he was content just to look at her. She had loved even more when he sometimes got up from their bed and came to stand behind her, taking the brush from her unresisting grasp and finishing the job himself impatiently before he pulled her to her feet and then toward the bed.
She closed her eyes and swayed there in the bunkhouse, desire for her husband twisting low in her belly, followed by the sorrow that his hands would never wind through her hair, nor cradle the base of her skull as he urged her head to fall back so he could bend and take her mouth.
She realized she was hugging the brush to her chest, found it a poor substitute for him. Meeting her eyes again in the mirror, she unbraided and brushed out her hair, and thought if she could just look quickly enough out of the corner of her eye maybe she would see him reflected there.
But that was a fantasy she tortured herself with too often; she was alone. She was used to being alone, had spent more days alone than not during her marriage. But this was different. He wasn't ever going to come back to her. It was more than being alone, more than loneliness. It was desolation.
She thought she might be imagining the approaching hoofbeats when she first heard them, but they persisted. Heart squeezed into her throat, she lay the brush in its place. She tucked her gun into the waistband of her pants and pulled the curtain back with a trembling hand.
A man was riding toward the main house. He was astride a fine black stallion, wore impeccable clothes. Everything about him screamed prosperity and purpose. She saw him glance around, unimpressed, though his eye lingered on Katy in the corral. She had been here over a month and had not seen a soul. Two visitors in one day was two too many.
She walked out of the bunkhouse as the man dismounted and started toward the main house with purpose.
"Wouldn't climb those stairs," she warned across the distance and felt some satisfaction when he nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, looking guilty, and him acting like he was doing something wrong put her immediately on her guard.
"Can I help you?" she asked as the man switched directions and came toward her. She jumped lightly down from the porch and walked to meet him in the yard. She did not want to feel obliged to ask him into her home.
She would never put herself in that position again.
"Yes...um, Miss? I was looking for the new owner," the man told her.
"You found her," Lou said and didn't miss the surprise in the man's eyes nor the way his gaze swept over her dirty clothes as if he found the fact she owned anything unlikely.
"I meant your...father, perhaps? The man of the house."
Lou felt her hackles rise, felt wary of the man.
"Who are you?" she asked, not willing to admit to him yet that there was no man on the property.
She could tell he didn't like the direct question from her, but he hid it quickly. "My name is Silas Warner. I own all the neighboring land to...your...property." Again the skeptical look over her that suggested she had probably stolen even the clothes she wore.
"And you are?" the man asked.
"Lou...Louise McCloud," she hated she tripped over her own name.
"Miss McCloud, would you be so kind as to fetch…"
"It's Mrs.," Lou interrupted him, closing her hand tightly so she could feel her wedding ring. She could tell he also didn't like being interrupted. There was an air of annoyance growing around him, he was ready to be done with her.
"My apologies, Mrs. McCloud. Would you be so kind as to fetch your husband as I have a business proposition for him?"
She was dismissed, as far as he was concerned, she thought. It made her angry, reminded her of why she had disguised herself as a man for those years.
"My husband is dead, Mr. Warner. But even if he wasn't, if you have business, you'd have to run it by me too."
He was at a loss for words for a moment. Lou got the feeling he wasn't often taken by surprise and that he did not care for it any more than he cared for her.
"You're alone here, Mrs. McCloud?" his voice was incredulous.
"Well, I have the horses for company," she said and saw his patience was thin.
"I...see. Well, I'll get right to the point. I have been trying to buy this land from Emma Shannon for years. She wouldn't sell it to me."
"That's cause she was selling it to us...or me rather," Lou said as if it were obvious.
"Yes well, I have come to make you a very generous off-"
"It ain't for sale," she interrupted him.
"But you haven't even heard the offer," Silas argued.
"Ain't accepting offers on something that ain't for sale."
"Everything's for sale, Mrs. McCloud. I am prepared to offer you three times what this property is worth."
"That's a very generous offer," she acknowledged.
"So you'll consider-"
"No, I won't. The property is not for sale, Mr. Warner. Not for any price."
"You're being as ridiculous as the fool woman who owned this place before you!"
"Careful, Mr. Warner, that fool woman is like family to me."
"What can you possibly be doing here all by yourself? How in the world are you going to put this patch of dust to any use?"
"That's not any of your business 'cause it's my patch of dust," Lou said calmly.
He was agitated, and Lou concentrated on the feel of gunmetal against her back. Silas Warner was not a man used to hearing no. She got the feeling he would tolerate it even more poorly coming from a woman.
"Listen to me," he began and he took a step toward her and reached for her as if he might take hold of her arm. Lou raised her chin, fire in her blood. She was ready for a fight, she had plenty of anger stored up for just such an opportunity.
He paused with his hand in midair, and they both turned toward the sound of a horse approaching fast.
Lou's heart quickened. It was Jimmy, though why he had come back she couldn't guess.
He pulled the horse to a stop and sat there wordlessly behind her. She glanced at him, but his attention was intent on the man she suspected he had seen move toward her. She guessed both she and Jimmy had felt that step was one too far.
Silas Warner dropped his hand and backed up one step.
"If you're a smart woman, you'll consider my offer, Mrs. McCloud."
"You have my answer, Mr. Warner and it's my final word on the matter. But I'm pleased to be acquainted with my neighbor," Lou said, and offered her hand.
He ignored it. "I hope you'll come to your senses. The offer stands when you've had enough. It's a dangerous place out here, Mrs. McCloud. All sorts of terrible things could happen. Especially to a woman alone."
"She ain't alone," Jimmy said behind her. His voice was neutral, but she thought Warner probably heard the returned threat in it, just as she did.
She glared at Jimmy over her shoulder, wondering what his angle was, but she did not contradict him in front of Warner. She ain't alone. His words had hit her hard, stirred up emotion that she swallowed down with difficulty.
Warner divided a long look between her and Jimmy.
"Seems like you've moved on from your dead husband," he said nastily, and Lou flinched as he turned on his heel back toward his horse.
Neither she nor Jimmy moved as he mounted up and rode back in the direction from which he had come, back ramrod straight with his displeasure.
Lou finally turned and looked at Jimmy, saw the concern and questions about what he had interrupted in his eyes, and knew behind those immediate questions there would be a hundred more that she wasn't ready to answer.
"Go away," she told him flatly. She walked back into the bunkhouse without another word, and bolted the door again.
A/N: Thanks so much for your excitement and encouragement about this new story. I am obsessed with getting it down, although it is breaking my heart at the same time! Killing Kid is killing me!
