Elizabeth Lane - The Stranger

This time, when she closed the door behind him he heard the sharp, metallic click of the bolt.

Enough light remained for Caleb to see his way to the springhouse, but night was falling fast. He balanced his burden against the wall while he fumbled with the lock, turned the key and released the hasp. The door creaked inward and he stepped into the shadows.

The hair rose on the back of his neck as the nightmare memories crept around him. Laura’s anguished screams echoed off the walls, ripping through his senses. He felt the awful snap of bone and his own sick helplessness as Zeke’s blade opened her beautiful face. His eyes recoiled from the glint of light on Mark Shafton’s rifle and from Noah’s dark bulk in the glare of the sunlit doorway. The air was thick and smothering like a foul hand clamped over his face, shutting off his breath. It was as if the fear and evil born in that dank place had taken on a life of its own. All Caleb wanted was to get out of there.

His hands shook as he replaced the milk and butter in the cool box and stumbled out into the night. His mother had warned him about the spirits that lingered in places where some awful event had occurred. As a man, Caleb had chalked her stories up to Comanche superstition—until now.

Laura went in and out of the springhouse every day, he reminded himself. Did the horror of the place haunt her as it had haunted him? Or had she managed to wall it off into some forbidden corner of her mind? Caleb’s jaw clenched at the thought of what she must have suffered and the courage it must have taken for her to stay here alone.

Filling his lungs with the cool evening air, he closed the padlock and hung the key on the nail beside the back door. Lamplight flickered through the window as Laura went about her work in the kitchen. Caleb pictured her small, quick hands, washing, wiping, putting everything in order for tomorrow. What would it feel like, he wondered, to stand behind her, wrap his arms around her shoulders and cradle her gently against him? He wouldn’t ask heaven for more—just holding her would be enough, feeling her warmth and smelling the sweet, clean aroma of her hair. That was what he’d missed most in the past five years. In most any town there were whores who could be had for a few dollars, but simple tenderness was beyond any price he could pay.

Frustrated, he turned away from the house and walked toward the shed where he’d laid out his bedroll. In the east a waning teardrop of a moon hung above the horizon. Clouds floated across its pitted face. The moon was scarred, and yet it was the most beautiful object in the sky. What would Laura say if he told her that?

But what was he thinking? He was a half-breed and an ex-convict. Even if his family’s crime could be rubbed out and forgotten, a woman like Laura wouldn’t be caught walking down the street with him.

He crossed the yard, keeping an eye out for skunks and rattlesnakes. His horse stood dozing in the corral. Its ears twitched as Caleb passed the fence. He could saddle up and go tonight, he thought. Maybe he’d ride south, skirting the foothills, all the way to Mexico. He could build a new life there, with his own little ranch and a fiery-eyed señorita who didn’t give a damn about his past as long as he bought her pretty things to wear.

But no, he had fences to mend, firewood to chop and ditches to clear. He had an injured boy who could still take a turn for the worse, and a brave, beautiful woman who could only do so much without his help.

With every day he stayed here, the risks would mount. But Laura needed him. And while she needed him, he wouldn’t leave her. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until he could leave her safer, happier and better off than he’d found her.

Wispy clouds were streaming over the mountains. Dark against the indigo sky, they floated like tattered silk on the evening breeze. Caleb’s eyes traced the path of a falling star. He was bone tired, but something told him he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight.

In Laura’s window, the light had gone out.

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