but.â¦â
âIt suits me.â
Kennedy shrugged. No accounting for taste and the stranger seemed to be well enough heeled. He took Standishâs money, gave him a receipt for the supplies and followed him out to the boardwalk.
âI didnât want to say anything in there, in front of the missus,â Kennedy said, but.â¦â The storekeeper hesitated. âI.â¦â
Standish cocked his head and waited.
The shopkeeper scratched his chin. âI donât want to say anything, but.â¦â
âSay it.â
âYour neighbor, Mrs. Belshaw, she.â¦â
âHavenât met her.â
Kennedy nodded, âWell, I.â¦â Kennedy sighed, âI donât think what they say about her is true. I donât believe a bit of it, anyhow, I donât know what youâve heard, but.â¦â
âHavenât heard anything.â
âGood. Anyhow, thanks for your business, mister.â¦â
âMy friends call me M.J.,â Standish said. âThatâs what I would like you to call me.â
Kennedy smiled. âIâll do just that.â
CHAPTER 2
Hortenzia sensed they were nearing the cabin. She stepped faster as they left the main road. The mare seemed to know that safety lay in that little cabin in the forest. Standish nodded. No one had recognized him in Last Chance. He was sure of that. If they had.⦠Standish shook the thought from his mind.
They were in the trees, now, the coolness of the shadows welcoming. Sally whickered from behind the wagon. She had followed all the way from Last Chance. She wanted the freedom of the meadow and the soft sun and the ice-cold water from the creek.
Standish smiled. Sally had a mind of her own, and her instincts had saved him more than once. They pulled into the clearing, and Standish backed the wagon to the door of the cabin. He would have to store his goods there until he had built a root cellar. He set the wagon brake and untied Sally.
âGo get yourself a drink, Sally girl. Hortenzia will be along in a few minutes.â Sally tossed her head, snatched at a clump of bunch grass and danced away in her new shoes.
Standish took a bucket from the wagon, stepped inside to the spigot and filled it with cold, clean water. He carried the bucket out to Hortenzia, balancing the load with his left arm, the bucketâs bail cutting into his fingers of his right hand. He set the bucket on the ground and patted the horseâs neck. âYou did a good job, Hortenzia. You and Sally and I will get along just fine. Now, you have a drink, and Iâll unload the wagon as quickly as I can. Is that alright with you, girl?â
Hortenzia dropped her head to the bucket. Apparently she had been taught not to talk to strangers. Standish stood with his hands on his hips. He would unload the wagon first and then put his new bed together. The bed pricked Standishâs conscience. Sleeping in a bed, on a mattress with sheets and covers seemed too grand for him. Still, a man should allow a little luxury into his life. Standish continued the argument with himself as he carried boxes of canned foods into the cabin.
He was unloading a box when he came on the ham. He had thought that he would save the ham for a special occasion, but the thought of honey-smoked ham triggered an irresistible impulse. He would have the ham tonight. Tonight was a special occasion wasnât it? He had a home. He would be sleeping in a bed with a roof over his head. That was special wasnât it? Ham tonight with some of those potatoes. He would start the stove, put the potatoes in now and the ham a little later. He had things to do, and once the ham started to cook, well.â¦
Standish sat at his table, his back to the west wall. He had opened the door, the heat from the stove making the cabin too cozy for his taste. He shrugged. There was a time when he might have killed for the warmth.
He had put the horses to bed earlier.
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley