Louis had returned with Monte and Judge Proctor, riding a magnificent black stallion.
“Like to ride over and spend the night at our place?” Smoke asked Reverend Morrow. “It’s a lot closer than town, and we have the room. ’Sides, I’d like Sally and Bountiful to get to know each other.”
After consulting with his wife, the young couple agreed. Those returning to the Sugarloaf made their way slowly homeward, Smoke and Sally and Ralph and Bountiful in buckboards, the rest on horseback.
“It’s so beautiful up here,” Bountiful said, squeezing her husband’s arm. “So peaceful and lovely and quiet. I think I would like to live up here.”
“Might have a hard time supporting a church up here, Bountiful.”
“Yes, that’s true. But you could do what you’ve always wanted to do, Ralph.”
He looked at her, beautiful in the sunlight that filtered through the trees alongside the narrow road.
“You would be content with that, Bountiful? A part-time preacher and a full-time farmer?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure of several things, Ralph. One is that I’m not cut out to be a preacher’s wife. I love you, but that isn’t enough. Secondly, I’m not so sure you’re cut out to be a preacher.”
“It’s that obvious, Bountiful?”
“Ralph, nothing happened back East. It was a harmless flirtation and nothing more. I think you’ve always known that. Haven’t you?”
“I suspected. I should have whipped that scoundrel’s ass while I was feeling like it.”
He spoke the words without realizing what he had really said.
Bountiful started laughing.
“What is so…” Then Ralph grinned, flushed, and joined his wife in laughter.
“Ralph, you’re a good, decent man. I think you’re probably the finest man I have ever known. But you went into the ministry out of guilt. And I think that is the wrong reason for choosing this vocation. Look at us, Ralph. Listen to what we’re saying. We’ve never talked like this before. Isn’t it funny, odd, that we should be doing so now?”
“Perhaps it’s the surroundings.” And for a moment, Ralph’s thought went winging back in time, back almost eight years, when he was a bare-knuckle fighter enjoying no small amount of fame in the ring, open-air and smokers.
The young man he’d been fighting that hot afternoon was good and game, but no match for Ralph. But back then, winning was all that Ralph had on his mind, that and money. And he was making lots of money, both fighting and gambling. The fight had gone on for more than thirty rounds, which was no big deal to Ralph, who had fought more than ninety rounds more than once.
And then Ralph had seen his opportunity and had taken it, slamming a vicious left-right combination to the young man’s head.
The young man had dropped to the canvas. And had never again opened his eyes. The fighter had died several days later.
Ralph Morrow had never stepped into another ring after that.
He and Bountiful had known each other since childhood, and it was taken for granted by all concerned that they would some day marry. Bountiful’s parents were relieved when Ralph quit the ring. Bountiful was a bit miffed, but managed to conceal it.
Both had known but had never, until now, discussed the obvious fact that Ralph simply was not cut out to be a minister.
“What are you thinking, Ralph?”
“About the death I caused.”
“It could just as easily have been you, Ralph,” she reminded him. “You’ve told me a thousand times that the fight was fair and you both were evenly matched. It’s over, Ralph. It’s been over. Stop dwelling on it and get on with the matter of living.”
Quite unlike the strait-laced minister, he leaned over and gave Bountiful a smooch on the cheek. She blushed while the old gunfighters, riding alongside the buckboards, grinned and pretended not to notice.
After supper, the young couples sat outside the cabin, enjoying the cool air and talking.
“How many acres do you have, Smoke?” Ralph asked.
“I don’t really know. That valley yonder,” he said, pointing to the Sugarloaf, “is five miles long and five miles wide. I do know we’ve filed on and bought another two thousand acres that we plan to farm. Right now we’re only farming a very small portion of it. Hay and corn mostly. Right over there—” again he pointed, “is seven hundred and fifty acres of prime farm land just sittin’ idle. I think we overbought some.”
“That acreage is just over that little hill?” Bountiful asked.
“Yes,” Sally said, hiding a smile, for it was obvious that the minister and his wife were interested in buying land.
“We’ll ride over in the morning and take a look at it, if you’d like,” Smoke suggested.
“Do you have a proper saddle for Bountiful?” Ralph asked.
“We’re about the same size,” Sally told him. “She can wear some of my jeans and ride astride.”
Bountiful fanned her suddenly hot face. She had never had on a pair of men’s britches in her life. But…this was the West. Besides, who would see her?
