She suddenly marveled, “My God, if You hadn’t come along when you did, I might have married Timberline, in time! There’s not much to choose from in Crooked Lance, and a woman does get lonesome.”
“I know the feeling, ma’am. Reckon we were both lucky, the way it all came out in the wash.”
“you mean you were lucky. You must be pretty pleased with yourself, right now. You got the man they sent you after, solved the murder of your missing partner, and made fools of your rival law officers. I’ll bet they’re waiting for you in Denver with a brass band!”
“Might get a few days off as a bonus. But I got a spell of travel ahead, first. This train won’t be in Cheyenne ‘til the wee, small hours. Pullman car is routed through to Denver, but we’ll likely sit in the yards for a spell before they shunt it on to the Burlington line. Be lucky if we make Denver by noon.”
She looked up at the ornate, polished paneling and said, “I never rode in a Pullman before. How do they fix it into bedrooms or whatever?”
“These seats sort of scrootch together over where our legs are, right now. A slab of the ceiling comes down to form an upper bunk, with the stuff that goes on this bottom one stored up there. They run canvas curtains around these seats. Then everybody just goes to bed.”
“Hmm, it seems a mite improper. Folks sleeping all up and down this car with only canvas between ‘em.”
“The wheels click-clack enough to drown most sounds. I mean, sounds of snoring and such.”
“Be a sort of unusual setting for, well, honeymooners, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t know. Never had a honeymoon on a train.”
“I never had one at all, damn it. What time do you reckon they’ll start making these fool beds up?”
“Later tonight. Maybe about the time we’re pulling Into Rawlings.”
“That’s a couple of stops past Bitter Creek, ain’t it?”
“Yep. We’ll be getting to Bitter Creek before nine.”
“Oh.”
They rumbled on as night fell around them and the porter started lighting the oil lamps. Kim Stover rubbed at a cinder or something in her good eye and said, “I reckon I’ll walk up to the freight section and see to my pony.”
Longarm rose politely to his feet, but didn’t follow as she swept past him and out. And likely out of his life, forever, a bit ahead of time.
He sat back down and stared out at the gathering darkness, wondering why he didn’t feel like dancing. He’d pulled off a fine piece of work, with no loose ends worth mentioning and no items on his expense voucher they could chew hem out for, this time. Not even Marshal Vail would blanch at paying for that horse he’d lost, considering the laugh they’d had on the War Department. So why did he feel so let down?
It wasn’t on account of shooting Cotton Younger. He’d been keyed up and braced for it ever since he’d noticed that funny blue shine to that too-black hair.
“Come on, old son,” he murmured to his reflection in the dirty glass. “You know what’s eating at you. You can’t win ‘em all! This time, you got into damn near every skirt in sight. Including some you’ll never know the who- all about! So just you leave that redheaded widow woman alone. She’s the kind that needs false promises, and that ain’t our style!”
The train ate up the miles in what seemed no time at all. Longarm couldn’t believe it when the conductor came through, shouting, “Next stop Bitter Creek! All out for Bitter Creek!”
He glanced around, wondering if she was even coming back to say goodbye. It didn’t seem she was. But, what the hell, mebbe it was better this way.
He got to his feet and walked back to the observation car as the train slowed for Bitter Creek. He was out there, puffing his cigar, as the train pulled into the station.
He glanced over at the winking lights of the little cow town as, up near the front, the sounds of laughter and nickering horses told him they were unloading from the freight section. He started to lean out, maybe for a glimpse of red hair in the spattered, shifting light. But he never saw her.
Someone fired a pistol into the air with a joyous shout of homecoming. Even though they had a long, hard ride ahead, the Crooked Lancers were a lot closer to home than he was. Then again, he didn’t have a home worth mentioning.
As laughter and the sound of hoofbeats filled the air, the train restarted with a jerk. He stood there, reeling backwards on his boot heels as they pulled out of the place where it had all started. Some riders waved their hats and a voice called out, “So long, Longarm!”
He didn’t wave back. He threw the cheroot away and watched the lights of Bitter Creek drop back into the past. As they passed a last, lighted window on the edge of town, he wondered who lived there and what it was like to live anywhere, permanently.
Then he shrugged and went inside. The observation car was dimly lit. The bartender had folded up and closed down the bar for the night. He walked the length of the train back to his own seat, noticing that they’d started making up the Pullman beds and that the centers of each car were now dim corridors of swaying green canvas that smelled like old army tents. After a short while he got up and went to his own berth and parted the curtains to get in.
Then he frowned and asked, “Where do you think you’re going, Miss Kim?”
The redhead was half undressed on the bunk bed. So she just smiled shyly and said, “We’d best whisper, don’t you reckon? I’m sort of spooked with all these other folks outside these canvas hangings.”
He sat down as she moved against the window side to make room for him. He took off his gunbelt, saying softly, “You got lots of cows expecting you, Kim.”
“I know. They’ll keep. You warned me when we met I was destined to get in trouble with the law.”
