tell myself there was no way you could have prevented Cranston’s death,” Sam said. “Given the same circumstances, I might have called it just like you did. Still doesn’t mean that I can accept what happened.”
Whatever had made Sam say that much, Tom was grateful for it. At least they were talking. “I don’t expect you to. I wish it had gone the other way.” He could commiserate and tell him that not a day went by that he didn’t regret what had happened. He could still see his partner crumpling to the floor, still see the shock on his face as his life bled out. They had orchestrated any number of scenarios to make sure they each had each other’s back, just not the presence of a little boy who should never have been on that train car in the first place.
“But it didn’t,” Sam stated. “And along with Cranston, Amanda’s life was destroyed.”
Amanda blamed him, but no more than he did himself. Surely she hoped he would have died instead of her husband. It was the number one reason he didn’t want a wife or family with the type of job he had. It wasn’t fair to them. He’d talked to Cranston a number of times before the man married, trying to dissuade him from getting hitched. His warning had fallen on deaf ears. And now it had all come to pass. Being right didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“I heard she had a girl.”
For the first time, Sam smiled. “Lacy is a little over a year old now.” He stood and paced the length of the small room twice, then came back to stand in front of him. “All right, Tom. It is obvious this is personal. I can’t help but think I’d want to do the same thing if it were me. Meet me at the bank first thing Monday morning. I’ll have your stipend and we can hash out any further details then.”
Tom stood. It felt as if the first obstacle had been overcome. After the ride south, his horse needed another day of rest and so did he before heading into the backcountry. “Fair enough, but I want to leave immediately afterward. I need to get an idea of the lay of the backcountry.”
Pastor Warner’s sermons usually held her attention, but this morning Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate one wit on his words. She found herself checking the pews behind her, scanning for Tom’s presence. When she didn’t see him, she wondered why she even hoped he might attend services. The thought exasperated her. Her brother would call her naive and foolish, and in this instance, she would agree with him. When Tom was posted here, he would attend services with the others from the fort. It was a way for them to mingle with those in the community and also a way to escape the daily sameness at Fort Rosecrans. But now he was no longer in the military and he certainly didn’t have a stake in anything in La Playa.
As the pastor droned on, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted back to when Tom had been posted here in town. The memories of him came back as vivid as though it were yesterday. Especially the last time she’d seen him.
It had been near the end of the workday, that day in late July. The daylight lingered long after the last customer had left the store. She had yanked a bolt of fabric out from under the stack of other bolts and spread it on the table, thinking that the creamy white cotton would be perfect for pillow cases. It was for her trousseau and it was one thing she knew would be appreciated if only by her. Preston had stopped by earlier and listened with a disinterested expression at her idea for crocheting edging out of the same color thread and adding pink rose florets for further decoration. “Feminine nonsense,” he called it. Her brother had chuckled condescendingly and the two of them had left for a drink at the saloon. Those two, she had come to realize, were cut from the same cloth. She remembered that the thought had bothered her.
Earlier that morning, Terrance had accepted his birthday present—a deep reddish-brown shirt she’d sewn with embroidered initials on the pocket. She’d known by his expression he didn’t care for it. When had he become so difficult to please? Seemed all he liked were personally tailored suits from that Marston’s store in San Diego. How could her sewing hope to compete with that?
It was a relief that he had chosen to spend the evening with his lady friend in the city. After the shirt fiasco, she wouldn’t have known what to do to celebrate his birthday. He had even set aside the cake she’d baked, saying he’d taste it later. And then he’d left for San Diego! A day-old cake was preferable to a few more moments with his sister!
A knock sounded at the doorpost. She should have closed the door after the last customer but the summer day had been so warm that even her thick braid had felt like a heavy blanket lying down her back.
“Miss Morley?”
At the sound of Corporal Barrington’s deep voice, delight had spread through her. This was a surprise! He’d said he had duty. Smiling inwardly, she smoothed the fabric once more and then turned to the door.
“Permission to enter requested, miss.”
He looked gallant standing there in his blue uniform, his yellow bandanna fluttering at his neck from the light evening breeze. The uniform set off the blue in his eyes so perfectly. She remembered wondering if there was a special event at the fort that day. Earlier a few gunshots had gone off, equally spaced such as would happen in a ceremony. She grinned at his use of formal address. “Hello...Corporal. You are quite late. I don’t know if I shall give permission or not. I was just closing up.”
He glanced into the store, ducking his head as he swiped off his blue cap and stepped just inside the entrance. “It’s quiet in here. Where is your brother?”
“He’s celebrating his birthday in the city.”
He raised a brow and said in a conspiring manner, “So you are...a woman...alone?”
She nodded, a giggle bubbling up. “That doesn’t mean you have permission to enter. I don’t allow miscreants in my store.”
“Miscreants?” He teased her with a wounded look and then pointed at her feet where Patches rubbed against her skirt. “You allow that cat in... I’d say I rate better than a cat.”
She picked up Patches. “He’s not just any cat. He’s my expert mouser.” She rubbed her cheek against the smooth orange hair on her pet’s head. “What is your specialty?”
“Why I can shoot a flea off a rabbit at fifty paces.”
She laughed softly. “There is no way you can prove that claim, Corporal.”
He grinned. “No way to disprove it, either.” Then he straightened, all amusement evaporating from his countenance and a tender expression entering his gaze. “I can’t believe how much those brown eyes of yours sparkle when you laugh.”
It was the first time he’d ever said anything so personal...and been serious about it. Although sometimes she’d catch him looking at her and she would wonder if, maybe, he was thinking those kinds of thoughts. But then, they never spoke to each other about it. This was a bit unusual. “What is it, Tom?”
“Something came up today. I want you to celebrate with me. Are you free?”
She lowered Patches to the floor. “Certainly.” Picking up her light pink shawl, something to keep her arms covered properly in public, she slipped it over her shoulders and then stepped through the doorway, pulling the door shut.
He waited on the steps. “I have something special
