by Kari Trumbo
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Excerpt from:
To Honor
and Cherish
Kari Trumbo
Little Springs, Kansas 1900
Chapter One
Jax sat at his favorite poker table. It sat in the front alcove of the saloon, created by a recessed door, nice and private. Chancing a glance outside, he watched a man he’d hoped to never see again lumber down the opposite street.
Groaning involuntarily, he pulled his hat down low over his eyes. Old habits were hard to break, even knowing he couldn’t be seen. Jax squinted to see better as Lars Larson, with three of his burliest friends, cut a path down the other side of the street sending all manner of humanity running.
The fearsome crew ducked into the Whitte House. It was a small boarding house, but the only accommodations in the tiny Kansas town. Jax had been staying at the very same house and now he wouldn’t be able to go back there. He pursed his lips and shook his head. He couldn’t go back, he’d have to replace everything he owned, yet again.
Jax growled at Mac, his friend and dealer of the hand they were playing. “You didn’t tell me Larson was back in town.” Tossing two cards on the table, he waited for Mac to hand him replacements.
“You didn’t ask,” Mac replied, poker face firm, placing the two cards on the table. “But if I were you, and I’m glad I’m not, I’d find somewhere to hide where you won’t get caught.”
Jax looked at his hand with a blank face and laid down two pair. Mac folded the house’s hand.
“He keeps finding me. I’ve been to every town in the area and a lot of towns outside the area. Hiding somewhere Larson won’t look has proven impossible. I thought coming back to Little Springs would throw him off, but it seems that’s not the case.” He waited for Mac to deal again, drumming his fingers on the table.
Mac shuffled the bent and worn deck. “Saw an ad in the paper. Looking for cowhands and a foreman. About an hour outta town at that ranch that was hit by the twister. He’d never think you were actually workin’.” Mac gave a hearty guffaw while he tossed ten cards between the two of them.
“Working with cattle again.” Jax’s glance raced skyward. “Not really what I wanted to be doing, Mac. Long hours, and it doesn’t matter how much you’re paid because there’s no time to enjoy it anyway. And, if I’m working in one place that makes me an easy target.” His gaze darted back outside. People were just returning to what they had been doing.
“Better than gettin’ shot, Jax. That ranch is pretty remote. Lars wouldn’t be able to track you like he can if you’re moving from town to town.” Mac handed him a newspaper from under his seat. “I was reading this before you came over. Was thinking of looking at the job myself.”
Jax took the paper without looking at it, set it to the side, and sighed. The weight of the world sat on his shoulders; they slumped under the pressure. It was late into the evening, and he would be out of light soon. He’d need somewhere to stay tonight, and a foreman job meant he would have lodging.
He needed enough money to get far, far away from Lars Larson and a foreman job would pay well. Running had made him tired and bitter. It was uncanny how easily he’d been found in every little town. Maybe the people he thought were his friends, really weren’t.
He took a long drink of his beer and pulled his old hat off his head, hitting it against his thigh before putting it back on. He took his glass to the barkeeper, squared up his tab and asked him to use the little-known back exit of the parlor. The locals called it Wayward’s Way because it was frequently used by those who had a need to escape some wayward choice which was about to catch up with them.
He kept his head down and tried to blend in as much as possible. Finding his horse at the city livery, he left his rent with the liveryman, who was as honorable as they come and would make sure the boarding house got what Jax owed. Then, he turned his horse and high tailed it out of town.
Reading the ad in the fading light, he thought the directions to the ranch seemed easy. He directed his horse along the well-worn road, hoping they would tolerate someone showing up after dark to enquire about the job. It occurred to him someone else may have already taken it, and he’d just have to ride on. He wouldn’t be a simple farm hand. If that was the only option left, he’d ride to the next town. Cow hands worked too hard for too little and Jax wasn’t interested in doing that job at this stage of his life.
He approached the first house he saw, but it was small and there was no way they needed a foreman for anything. He rode on at a walking pace and about five minutes later he came to a large ranch house. This was more of what he’d expected: a two-story log house with a huge porch all along the front.
Down at the far end he could see what was left of a large barn, and fence as far as the eye could see. He came all the way around the front of the house and saw no one. The house was completely dark. It was early for everyone to be in bed, even on a ranch.
Riding a bit further, he saw a woman sitting out on the side porch bathed in the light of a small kerosene lamp and engrossed in a newspaper. She didn’t appear to see him. He had difficulty seeing anything else in the twilight with the dark colored clothing she wore. She looked like a specter, a small white head floating in the darkness.
Jax rode a little closer. The woman was oblivious to him, lost in her reading. As he rode nearer to the house, the faint light of the nearby lamp shed enough of a glow to see she was small and frail. She had pretty features, but her face held great sadness and longing. A face like that could get a man in trouble, but would it be more trouble than what he ran from already?
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