LITMIR.BIZ

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stroked his mustache. “Ah, to go meet that young sheriff?”

      “Land’s sake, no. You’re an incurable romantic. Suppose I went clear out there and hated him on sight.

      Suppose he was disappointed that I really can’t cook and I’m not a clingy little blond doll?”

      “You have to take a chance on love or you’ll never have it. And believe me, dear, love is worth the gamble, if it’s the real thing.” He sighed as if remembering.

      “I’ll be moving on as soon as I make some decisions.” With that, she put up the “closed” sign and began dusting the display cases.

      That night, she lay awake for a long time. What was she to do? She might get along fine with the new owner, but Lark’s heart wasn’t in the millinery shop anyway. She longed for the sunny plains of Texas, but she couldn’t go home until she’d made a success of her life. After all, Lacey was probably doing very well now with a picture-perfect life, and Lark had surely annoyed Uncle Trace by running away from that fancy finishing school.

      What happened the next morning helped make her decision. Lark had been to pick up the mail and passed the sheriff’s office. The early May weather was warm, and the door was open. A pile of wanted posters lay in disarray on the floor by the desk, and on the top was a fair likeness of Lark with the caption: $500.00 reward. Accessory in Buck Shot bank robbery.

      She grabbed up the posters. Underneath was another with a sketch of Snake and Larado. $1000.00 Reward. Bank robbers and killers. Teller shot in the back. Contact Buck Shot law enforcement.

      Oh my God. She hadn’t thought Larado would shoot a man in the back. Since there was a poster out on her, it wouldn’t be but a little while before someone around here recognized her. Very quietly, she clutched the posters, glancing around. She could hear the elderly sheriff talking to an inmate in a cell in the back. So far, so good. Lark went out the door, made sure no one saw her, and tore the posters to shreds. She was too close to the town of Buck Shot and she sure didn’t want to end up in prison. Damn that Larado for getting her into this mess. She’d like to slap that handsome, grinning face into next week.

      Late that afternoon, she told Pierre she would be leaving the next morning.

      “So soon? But Miss Mew Mew and I don’t want you to go until we’re ready to leave town.”

      “I’ll miss you, but I’ve got some prospects.”

      “Ah, the young sheriff?”

      “Who?” Lark hadn’t given another thought to Lawrence Witherspoon since she’d mailed the letter a few days ago.

      “You wrote him again, didn’t you?”

      “I don’t think it was meant to be.”

      “I’m sure you two will be very happy.”

      Lark laughed. “You’re getting ahead of the story.”

      “I started the correspondence, so I’m responsible for this love match.”

      “I may not even go to Rusty Spur. West Texas is tough country, even for Texans. Now I’ve got some packing to do. You ought to be gathering up things too, if you’re leaving for New York.”

      They ate supper together one last time. Afterwards Pierre tried to give Lark a little extra money, which she refused. The next morning, with much tears and hugs, Lark caught a stage. Except she really didn’t know where to go from here. She’d at least try to get farther away from the scene of the bank robbery. Later, she took a train and rode that farther south. When she crossed the Red River, she knew she was back in Texas, God’s country. She was homesick for her uncle’s ranch and too pigheaded stubborn to go home defeated. She decided she couldn’t face “I told you so.” But in the meantime, what to do? Where to go?

      Rusty Spur. The words popped into her head. She’d heard it was an isolated, tiny town way out in west Texas. West Texas was a vast, empty, flat prairie. The chances that anyone would find her there were pretty small. She wouldn’t have to marry the sheriff—she’d go out there, get herself a job, and make her decision later. If she didn’t like the town, she could always leave and go someplace else. “Everyone says that’s the trouble with you, Lark,” she muttered. “You never face up to anything. When the going gets tough, you run.”

      This was the most loco thing she’d done in her life—except for running away and then getting mixed up with Larado, that drunken saddle tramp.

      In Dallas, she sent a wire to the sheriff in Rusty Spur:

      Dear Sheriff Witherspoon. Stop. Coming to visit your town. Stop. You are not obligated in any way. Stop. I intend to get a job and just need a friend. Stop. Most sincerely, Lacey Van Schuyler.

      After she’d sent the wire and gotten back on another train headed west, she had grave misgivings. Land’s sake, what kind of fool thing had she done? Well, she needed a place to hide out until this whole thing blew over and no more wanted posters got sent out. The Territory might not send posters to Texas anyway. The farther away she got from the scene of the crime, the better off she was.

      The train only went within ten miles of the town, although it was building that direction, the conductor told her. Then she had to take another stagecoach. She almost lost her nerve and got back on the train. After all, running away when faced with trouble was the thing she did best. Just as she was making that decision, the train slowed to a stop, and the conductor put her valise out on the crossroads. There was nothing visible for miles.

      “You’ll like the town,” the conductor assured her. “Tough new sheriff turned it from a wild, wide-open place to a quiet place to live.”

      “Oh?” She was intrigued. Lawrence Witherspoon didn’t sound like a gun-totin’, two-fisted lawman. But how could she tell? “I—I’m not sure I want to go—”

      “But of course you do, ma’am.” The conductor took her elbow and helped her off the train even as she was protesting. “Town needs strong young women to make it grow. You got folks there?”

      “Uh, no, thinking of opening a business.”

      “A woman running a business?” His craggy face was nothing short of incredulous. “No wonder you’re hesitating, lady. Women wasn’t meant to run businesses.”

      That was like waving a red flag at a bull.

      “I beg your pardon, I’m a very good businesswoman.” She marched off the train and stood there with her valise as the train switched to another track and pulled out.

      What had she done? She stared after the departing train, wishing she were on it. There was no place on earth as flat and desolate as west Texas. In the distance, she saw a cloud of dust on the horizon, and then a stagecoach loomed into view. After a few minutes, it pulled up near her in a rattle of harness and a cloud of dust.

      “You for the stage, ma’am?” A lanky young boy stared at her with open curiosity. “We don’t get many people on the weekly stage, especially not purty women.”

      She decided to ignore that remark as he hopped down, threw her valise up on top, and helped her into the stage. There was nobody else aboard.

      Good, Rusty Spur really was a sleepy town with only a weekly stage. Chances were her wanted posters might not be arriving out there. She knew enough to open her own millinery shop…if she could get financing from the local bank. That would buy her some time, and then she could decide what to do next. Maybe when she had her own successful store, she’d be willing to let her family know where she was.

      It was a long, dusty ride in the rattling coach out to Rusty Spur. There was a crowd gathered on the street as the dusty stagecoach rolled down Main Street. What was this all about? Then she saw the banner hanging over the middle of the street. WELCOME LACEY VAN SCHUYLER.

      Oh dear, she hadn’t expected this kind of attention.

      The stage drew up before the two-story hotel and the crowd gathered around.

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