Elaine Barbieri - The Redemption Of Jake Scully

“There’s no more to tell. I don’t know how it all ends. It’s all…shadows.”

Scully stroked Lacey’s fair hair as he held her in his comforting embrace. When he moved her away from him at last, he whispered, “You don’t have to be afraid of the shadows anymore, Lacey. That’s what I’m here for…to chase the shadows away.” He smiled and wiped the dampness from her cheeks with his palms, “That’s why your grandpa sent you to me, and there’s no way I’d let that old man down.”

“We share that, don’t we, Scully?” Lacey’s small smile was shaky. “We both loved him.”

“Yeah…we share that.”

“And he loved us both.”

Scully appeared to consider Lacey’s statement for a moment before he responded, “Yes, I suppose he did.”

“He would never think you aren’t respectable enough.”

“Lacey…”

“I’m not moving from the Gold Nugget.”

“Lacey…”

“Not yet.”

Scully looked down into Lacey’s resolute expression. He would pursue that argument another time.

It was happening again.

Barret Gould stood behind the carved mahogany desk in his impressive office, his expression tight as he faced his two hirelings. Blackie Oaks had been an itinerant wrangler who couldn’t hold a job and Larry Hayes had been a waster too lazy to labor honestly to support himself when he’d run across them shortly after arriving in Weaver years earlier. He had used their services openly whenever their meager talents served his purposes as Weaver’s best and only attorney, and as one of its best-respected citizens. His “generosity” in giving the two “good, honest work to do” had been commended by many. What Weaver’s residents didn’t know, however, was that he had also used Larry and Blackie’s services covertly when opportunities to advance himself financially beyond the confines of the law were presented.

In both situations, however, his contempt for the limited mentalities of the two men was boundless.

Barret struggled to control his ire. He had been raised in San Francisco, the only child of wealthy parents. He had made good use of his pleasing appearance—thick brown hair, deceivingly warm brown eyes and even, patrician features—from an early age, and had employed it to great advantage when attending the best schools. Scholastically and socially successful, he had graduated as a lawyer with a great future in store while enjoying a clandestine lifestyle that went unsuspected.

But that was before his father was found to have participated in illegal activities and the family wealth was confiscated. That was also before his father was sent to prison a broken man and his mother took whatever family funds could be salvaged and ran off with her lover.

When he’d discovered he was also being investigated for participation in his father’s illegal affairs and the same fate might follow for him, he made a fast escape. He had chosen the vast, wild interior of the country as the best place for him to hide, yet Weaver, Arizona, had been as far as he had been willing to run.

Barret would never forget his disgust when he arrived in the small, unimpressive town wearing hand-tailored clothes and a deceptive smile. He had since used his practiced facade to become a valued member of the community while silently despising Weaver for its ignorance, for its location in the middle of nowhere and for its lack of proximity to any city of reasonable refinement. He had sworn that he’d find a way to restore himself to the civilized world before his youth was spent.

Eleven years had passed since then, eleven years of silent frustration made bearable only by the sum accumulating too slowly in his name to have made the lost time worthwhile.

Barret struggled to suppress his disdain at Blackie’s undiscerning observances as he said, “You’re telling me Scully and Lacey Stewart rode out into the wilderness with no apparent destination in mind, then turned around and came right back to Weaver. That doesn’t make any sense. Lacey has waited more than half her lifetime to claim her grandfather’s strike. There’s only one place she’d want to go if she went out riding.”

Larry, the smaller of the two men, interjected, “Scully and the lady didn’t come right back. They stopped at a stream for a while to cool off.”

Barret glared with impatience. “‘The lady…?’ That ‘lady’ you’re talking about is Lacey Stewart, you know…the same Lacey Stewart who was a child at her grandfather’s cabin ten years ago. The same Lacey Stewart who could’ve identified you and Blackie as the men who shot her grandfather.”

“Yeah, but she’s all growed up and she’s a lady now. And she didn’t blink an eye when she saw me and Blackie on the street a few days ago.”

“She saw you?”

“Yeah, and she didn’t give us a second look.”

Barret took a firm hold on his forbearance. “So you’re telling me, that’s it…they just stopped at a stream to cool off? They didn’t get as much as halfway toward the old man’s cabin?”

“Right.”

Silence.

“They did a little cuddling while they were at the stream, is all.”

“Cuddling…”

“Yeah, it looked to me like the lady was crying for some reason, and Scully was trying to comfort her.”

“They didn’t…you know…?”

“No, they didn’t even come close. They just stayed for a while until the lady got herself back together, and then they headed back.”

“Was it Scully’s idea to turn back, or was it the woman’s?”

The two men exchanged glances before Blackie replied, “I’d say it was the lady’s. She didn’t want to go on.”

Barret nodded. She didn’t want to look anxious. The girl was smarter than he thought.

He said, “All right, that’s all I need to know for now. Get out, and remember what I said. Don’t let that ‘lady’ out of your sight.”

Waiting until both men had left his office and closed the door behind them, Barret sat down at his desk and reached into his drawer for the small sack that was never far from his reach. He withdrew the gold nugget from inside the sack and held it tight in his hand as he had many times before. He recalled the moment when Charlie Pratt had walked into his office late that first day. Short, wiry, unkempt, Charlie had been indistinguishable from any other prospector he had ever seen, but when the old man smiled and put the nugget down on the desk in front of him, Barret knew his moment had come.

A man of few words, Charlie told him he’d struck it rich, that he wanted to register his claim in his own name and that of his granddaughter, and he wanted to do it “real legal like, so there’d be no problem afterward.” Charlie left the nugget behind for a “retainer” without disclosing the location of the claim, and said he’d return to sign whatever papers were necessary in a couple of days.

Barret’s heart pounded in vivid recall. He had immediately set Blackie and Larry on the old man’s trail. His plan had been simple. Charlie had kept his strike a secret. He had been cautious enough not to tell anyone but Barret about it. Blackie and Larry would follow the old man, find his claim and report the location back to him so he could record it in his own name before the old man returned—“real legal like, so there’d be no problem afterward.”

A familiar knot of frustration twisted tight inside Barret as memory returned the details of the debacle that followed.

Charlie also had been smarter than he thought. Charlie had evidently spotted Blackie and Larry following him and had led them on a circuitous trail obviously meant to confuse them before reaching his cabin in darkness. He had then tricked them into thinking he had gone to his bed, only to appear unexpectedly behind them with a gun, demanding to know what they were after.