Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (20 page)

Charlotte nodded, her moment to stand up for Owen lost in a furious riot of barking dogs.

It was coming on dawn when Clyde Drake stepped out of his cabin, leaned against the railing of the porch, and lit himself
a cigarette. His bleary red eyes were underlined by dark circles, testament to his almost sleepless night. Taking a deep drag,
he waited for the tobacco to settle him, to calm his nerves. Absently, he rubbed at his throbbing temple.

It’s a hell of a mess I’ve gotten myself into…

The orders Clyde had been given by Carter Herrick weighed heavily upon him. It was a dangerous, bold plan. While the chance
for the destruction of Grant’s property and injury to its hands was great, so too was the chance
of Clyde’s own discovery. To make matters even worse, his fellow conspirator was again dragging his feet, complaining about
the risk they were taking. They had been up half the night arguing about it. In the end, Clyde knew that he would have to
be the one to realize Herrick’s demands.

Clyde Drake had never been the brains of an outfit, instead always content to be the muscle who did what he was told. At the
orders of others, he’d beaten defenseless old men, burned houses down to the ground, slapped around women regardless of their
age, and even robbed a bank in Kansas. He’d never regretted what he had done, content to fill his pockets with the money he
was paid, even if that cash soon disappeared on whiskey and whores. But even a man such as he could clearly see that Carter
Herrick was growing unbalanced and that his desire for revenge on John Grant was consuming him. He was becoming reckless,
willing to risk it all as he became more and more desperate. But the real problem was that he wasn’t risking his own neck,
but those of his men.

“And that means me,” Clyde mumbled to the dawn.

Carter Herrick wanted John Grant ruined, not dead. But there was going to come a time when Clyde was going to have had enough
of dancing around the matter. Ruthlessness was a trait he had in spades. He had no problems with killing the man, even if
that contradicted his boss. The man whom Herrick held in his pocket would
undoubtedly try to stop Clyde, but he’d only get dead alongside Grant.

But first Clyde would do what Herrick asked. He’d do it carefully, cautiously, but he
would
do it.

Stamping out his cigarette butt, Clyde went back into his cabin in search of an elusive couple hours of sleep.

I
SWEAR,
one of the things that I’ve never been able to decide on, no matter how hard I try, is in what season would it be the best
to die,” Constance Lowell declared, her withered hand rising to her chin in a pose of reflection. “Of course I know that we
get no choice in the matter, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering, all the same.”

Try as he might, Owen could not think of a way to escape the old woman short of simply running away.

Owen cringed; he had been planning this moment for a couple of days, thinking that it would be nice to come and surprise Charlotte
as she finished her day of teaching. After their passionate kiss, he’d resumed his job of picking Hannah up outside of the
law office where she worked, but on this day he had made arrangements for his sister to get home by other means, leaving him
free to pick up Charlotte after school.

He’d come early, parking on the street opposite the school. The wide, treeless road hadn’t offered any shade from the relentless
beating of the summer sun, the truck’s cab roasting like an oven, so he had taken refuge under the paltry shade offered by
a young maple tree in front of the funeral parlor; still, it had afforded
some
protection.

Owen hadn’t even noticed her approach.

“They all have their ups and downs, pros and cons, as my father was fond of saying at great length,” Miss Lowell kept on,
either oblivious or uncaring about his indifference. “Spring can be beautiful with all of the flowers, but even in these parts
it’s likely to rain. Summer is so very pleasant, but what if the day is just as unbearably hot as this one? Fall is my favorite
time of year, but once again it’s a question of weather. Even winter, with an invigorating chill in the air, there’s a problem
in trying to dig a hole in the hard ground! I just don’t know!”

… how I’m going to get out of this!

“Which one would be your favorite, young man?”

“Umm,” he stumbled, unprepared for her question, “I suppose I’d say fall.”

“But have you considered the problems of—” she started, but Owen had already managed to tune her out.

Of course, Owen knew all about Constance Lowell; if you spent enough time in Sawyer, she was sure to be mentioned. The stories
were many, each more unbelievable than the one before. He’d heard about the time she had stood up and applauded a particularly
strong sermon
for the burial of the town’s longtime grocer, about how she often showed up at weddings clothed only in black from head to
toe, and about how even at her own father’s funeral it seemed to everyone in the congregation that she was having the time
of her life. Somehow, Owen had always managed to avoid her… until now.

“Do you ever wonder how people will find out how you died?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, her question jarring him.

“Because I wonder about it all the time,” Constance chirped cheerily. “For most people you meet, word of their demise is circulated
in print, written up in the obituary column in the newspaper, but for someone of my stature, maybe it would be broadcast over
the radio,” she kept on as her eyes twinkled at the possibility.

Suddenly, the school bell rang, as pleasant a sound as Owen had ever heard in his life, and a sigh escaped his lips.

Children rushed out of the school’s front doors, boys and girls of all ages running past them down the walk like foxes intent
on returning to their den, talking all the way. Constance paid the children no attention, prattling on as if they were not
even there.

“Word of mouth would almost certainly carry news of my passing to most in town, going from ear to ear, especially over the
telephone, but among the important people in town, I suppose—”

Finally, Charlotte came out of the school just behind
another woman, an odd-looking lady who went off down the walk in a huff without a word.

Looking at Charlotte made Owen’s heart do funny things. There was no point denying he thought she was beautiful; the way that
the streaming sun shone through her blond curls as they lay on her white blouse sent a tremor through his chest. When she
finally noticed him, her lips curled into a curious smile, and he left Constance in midsentence.

“Is something the matter?” she asked when he had reached her side.

“Why would there be?” He smiled slyly.

“It’s just that I wouldn’t have expected to see you here,” Charlotte explained. “You usually make me walk home.”

“Today’s special.”

“Really?”

“I thought… I thought that maybe you might like to come somewhere with me,” he managed. “There’s a place that I found when
I first arrived from Colorado, a bit outside of town and near the river, that I wanted to show you. I was hoping that we could
talk… talk about the other night…”

“About our kiss?”

“Among other things, I reckon.”

“Won’t Hannah be angry that we’ve left her in Sawyer?”

“It’s already taken care of.”

Owen could see that Charlotte was pretending to think
his offer over, teasing him a little, but he already knew she was going to accept.

“All right.” She nodded. “I’ll go.”

“Right this way.” He smiled, taking off his hat and waving it toward the truck, heat shimmering off its metal body.

As they drove off, Charlotte waved at Constance Lowell, who was still rambling to herself in front of the funeral parlor.

Charlotte felt a tremor of nervous excitement as Owen drove the truck past the school and headed out of town. She had never
been in that direction; her route from the ranch led through town and stopped at the school, never farther. Today would be
different. With a cool breeze rushing in through her open window, they passed the last house on the outskirts and kept on
going.

For a little while they drove parallel to the railroad tracks, traveling in reverse of the route Charlotte had taken when
she had first come to Sawyer. She remembered a fenced-in herd of cattle here, a formation of rock there. But then the road
turned away and Owen drove them down into a depression where the sparse wild grasses stood still unmoved by the wind.

“It’s not far,” Owen assured her, his tone casual, his hand lolling out the window.

“You’re not going to tell me what it is you’re taking me to see?”

“It’s a secret.”

Even though she didn’t know where they were going, Charlotte felt glad to be traveling there all the same. Her day at school
had been difficult; another uncomfortable exchange with Paige Spratt about the benefits of wholesome, married life had been
followed by an afternoon spent with rambunctious kids who were sick of being cooped up in the heat. Well, so was she.

She was glad to be with Owen…

“I hate to admit it, especially to you,” he said, breaking their shared silence, “but I’m impressed, Charlie.”

“With what?”

“With you being a teacher,” Owen explained, taking a quick glance at her as he guided the truck along a curve in the road.
“It takes an awful lot of guts, something special, to get up there in front of a classroom and try to teach a bunch of kids.
Heck, I don’t think I have it in me.” He laughed. “About the first time someone gave me any guff, I’d light into them in such
a way that I’d be certain to get fired.”

“It’s not that hard. I’m more impressed with what you do.”

“Driving you back and forth to the ranch?”

“No, not that.” She laughed. “With how you work with the horses.”

“There’s nothing to it. All you need to do is learn their language.”

“It’s not any different with children.”

Owen shook his head. “I’ve seen the way they act up. They’re more stubborn than any horse I’ve ever met.”

“Remind yourself about that the next time one of your favorites doesn’t want to get into its stall for the night.”

“You might have a point there,” he replied, and they both laughed.

The road gently dipped and rose before them until turning to the right beside a lonely stand of trees that stood silently
watching, one of them leaning so far to the right that it looked to be giving them directions.

“Here it is,” Owen said.

Charlotte’s eyes widened in wonder. The road had come to a sudden end, vanishing into a broad watering hole. Brilliant rays
of sunlight, a kaleidoscope of color, reflected off the surface as if it were made of glass. Along the shoreline, thin reeds
broke through the water, reaching for the crystal blue sky above. A swallow drifted a few inches above the surface before
it suddenly darted down to snatch an unwary bug for its meal. Charlotte was surprised and delighted by what Owen had introduced
to her. She got out of the truck, leaving the door open behind her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said when Owen joined her. “How did you find it?”

“Whenever I arrive somewhere new,” Owen explained, “I like to look around to get the lay of the land, so when I dropped Hannah
at the lawyer’s office, I’d go exploring to see what there was to see. I’ve taken every road out of town for miles, hoping
all the while that no one will notice how
much gas I’ve been using.” He laughed. “I found this place by accident.”

“Maybe it was meant to be.”

“I don’t know if I believe in that sort of thing.” Owen shrugged. “But I’m glad to have found it nonetheless.”

Owen led Charlotte around the edge of the water, a startled frog jumping in as they approached. He held out his hand to steady
her when they climbed a difficult rise. Farther ahead, under the shade of a lone tree, an outcropping hung out over the water.
The view was magnificent. Wiping her brow in the heat, Charlotte had an urge to jump in and cool down, which made her laugh.
Owen spread out a horse blanket he had brought along. From somewhere, he produced a couple of apples.

“It isn’t much, but it was all I could scrounge.”

“It’s more than enough.”

For a while, they were both content to just look, enjoying each other’s silent company. A clump of daisies grew nearby; Charlotte
plucked at their delicate white petals, letting the faint breeze pick them up and whirl them down to the water below. Owen
absently skipped small stones across the water, counting the loud kerplunks of their journey on the pond.

“This makes me a bit homesick,” Charlotte said wistfully.

“I didn’t bring you here to make you sad.”

“And here I thought that was exactly why you brought me.” She looked at him with a teasing frown. “But I grew
up on a lake in Minnesota and I guess I just didn’t know how much I missed it until now.”

“There were plenty of lakes in Colorado, too, but I don’t miss any of them.”

“What was it like?” she asked, turning to face him.

“What was what like?”

“Growing up in Colorado. Aren’t there things you miss about it, about your childhood?”

Owen’s mood darkened; the change was so marked and sudden that it took Charlotte aback, but she wanted to know all about him,
to understand him.

“There isn’t much of my childhood that I miss,” he finally answered, his voice as sad as the limp breeze.

“Because of your mother’s death?” Charlotte prodded.

Charlotte felt Owen begin to close up, to erect the walls he relied upon to block out all that was unpleasant. She could only
imagine how often he had resorted to that tactic, but it was obvious that he’d had a lot of practice. But then his eyes found
hers and held, softening as a low sigh of resignation escaped his lips. She knew then that their kiss had changed him, at
least toward her, allowing him to open himself, if only a crack.

“My mother was a wonderful woman,” he began, his eyes somewhere distant, “kind and caring, always ready with an encouraging
word. She liked to sing, to struggle at the stove, and insisted that I get a proper schooling. I thought she was beautiful,
in the way that most sons regard their mothers, but others also thought her pretty. I never
knew her to speak ill of anyone, even when they deserved it. Through all of that, she was resigned to keep burdens to herself.
I’ve no doubt that was what killed her.”