William Johnstone - A Good Day to Die

The storeclerk and the young woman set the packages down in the back of the cart and went back into the store.

“Good-looking gal,” Johnny stated. “Seems familiar, somehow.”

“That’s Fay—Fay Lockhart, hoss,” Luke said, laughing. “Don’t you recognize her?”

“She’s filled out nicely since the last time I saw her. I’d have bet she would have been long gone from Hangtown. She always talked about how much she hated it here and couldn’t wait to leave.”

“She’s been gone, and now she’s back. Like you.”

“And you!”

“No staying away from Hangtown, is there? Calls you home. Fay got married and moved away, but here she is, back at the same ol’ stand.”

“Married to who?” Johnny pressed.

“Some stranger, name of Devereaux. Cavalry officer. Way I heard it, they met while she was visiting kinfolk in Houston. He was on leave. They courted in a whirl and got hitched. He went back to join his troops and got killed a month or two later. Fay came back here to live with her folks.”

Johnny thought that over. “Believe I’ll go say hello to the widow.”

“That’d be right sociable of you.”

“I’m a sociable fellow, Luke.”

“With a pretty girl, you are.”

Johnny didn’t deny it. “Coming?”

Luke shook his head. “She’s your friend.”

“Yours, too.”

“I knew her to say hello to, back in the day. That’s ’cause I was a friend of yours. Elsewise we moved in different circles. Them high-and-mighty Lockharts don’t have no truck for us Pettigrews.”

“For the Crosses, neither,” Johnny said.

“You and her got along pretty good, I do recall.”

Johnny tried to wave it away. “Kid stuff.”

“She ain’t no kid now,” Luke said.

“I noticed.”

Luke indicated some empty rocking chairs on the front porch of the Cattleman Hotel. “I’ll set there for a while, take a load off.”

“Them stairs ain’t gonna be a problem?”

“I can handle ’em.”

“I’ll be along directly, then.”

“Take your time. Tell Fay I said hello, for what it’s worth. If she even remembers me. Regrets about her dead husband and all—you know.”

“Sure.” Johnny tossed the stub of his cigar into the street, where it landed with a splash of tiny orange-red embers. Crossing the street, he climbed the three low, wooden steps to the boardwalk. He took off his hat, running a hand through straight, longish black hair, pushing it back off his forehead and behind his ears. He put the hat back on, tilting it to a not-too-rakish angle.

Unconsciously squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and went into Lockhart’s Emporium for the first time in over five years.

It was a big rectangular space, with a short wall fronting the street. Rows of shelves filled with goods lined both long walls. Beyond the door lay an open center aisle flanked by trestle tables, bins, and barrels filled with merchandise—everything imaginable. From black broadcloth jackets and gingham dresses to bolts of cloth, needles, and thread. Hardware, including plows, tools, harnesses, traces and saddles. Cracker barrels and casks of nails, sacks of beans and flour, rows of canned goods. Luxuries and necessities, it was filled with a world of stuff.

Owner Russ Lockhart, Fay’s father, was absent from the premises. No doubt he was at the big table in a private dining room at the Cattleman Hotel, where his brother-in-law, town boss Wade Hutto, held court every Saturday morning, attended by Hangtown’s gentry of bankers, merchants, and big ranchers. The Saturday morning meets were one of the few things that could entice Russ Lockhart out from behind the store’s cash register.

The store was busy, crowded with customers. Johnny didn’t have to look hard to find Fay. She just naturally stood out from the rest as she showed a bonnet to a townswoman. Her aunt Nell, a sour-faced old biddy, was helping out.

A watchful young woman who kept a wary eye on the clientele, Fay glanced up to see who had entered. She saw a handsome, well-dressed young man about her own age, a not-so-usual sight that made her look twice.

“Would you take care of this lady, Aunt Nell? I’ll only be a moment.” Not waiting for an answer, Fay put the bonnet down, scooting out from behind the counter and down the center aisle.

Nell started to squawk, choking it off as Fay kept moving toward the newcomer, her eyes shining, smiling warmly. “Johnny! Johnny Cross!”

“Howdy, Fay. Long time no see.”

She reached out with both arms, taking his hands, squeezing them warmly. He couldn’t help noticing a thin gold band circling the base of her ring finger. Wedding band.

Unsure how to respond, he was a bit awkward.

Fay leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek. His skin tingled at the contact. Some free-falling strands of her hair brushed his face, smelling sweet. Intoxicating.

She stepped back, still holding his hands, looking him over. “It’s so good to see you!”

She released him, hands falling to her sides. “I heard you were back. I was wondering when we’d run into each other. Why didn’t you come to see me sooner?”

“I’ve been busy getting settled back at the ranch, fixing the old place up,” he said.

“You’ve been busy, all right. Everybody’s talking about how you cleaned up that awful outlaw gang. You’re a hero, Johnny!”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Fay. These things are like fish stories, they get all puffed up in the telling. I just pitched in and helped out a little where I could, that’s all.”

“Don’t be so modest. It was a wonderful thing you did. Not a man or woman was safe with those killers on the loose.”

“Nice of you to say so, anyhow. I was sorry to hear about your loss, Fay. Your husband, that is. Real sorry.”

Fay’s face clouded, emotion flickering across it. Her blue eyes were shadowed and sorrowful, her mouth turned down at the corners. “Thank you, Johnny. Lamar—Captain Devereaux—was a gallant officer and a gentleman.”

“I’m sure.”

“You would have liked him.”

Johnny wasn’t so sure about that, but he nodded as if he was.

Fay said, “Who hasn’t lost someone in the war? Your brother, Cal ...”

Johnny shook his head. “No, Cal didn’t make it.”

“That’s what I heard. Now it’s my turn to say I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Behind the counter, Aunt Nell snapped, “Fay! I could use some help here!”

“In a minute, Aunt Nell. I’m talking with an old friend.”

Nell thrust her head forward, peering at the young man. “Johnny Cross! Land’s sakes! I didn’t recognize you. It’s the first time I ever saw you in clean clothes.”

“Nell!” Fay said sharply.

Johnny touched the tip of his hat brim to the older woman. “And a good morning to you, ma’am.”

“Is it? We’ll see,” Nell said, her tone and expression indicating otherwise.

“So you’re going to be staying in Hangtree?” Fay asked.

“For a while,” Johnny answered.

“Good. I’m glad.” Faye smiled, putting the full force of her considerable personal appeal behind it.

Johnny felt it all the way down to his toes as he became distantly aware of some kind of commotion brewing outside. It was like the buzzing of a nearby fly that hadn’t quite yet begun to pestify.

Somebody shouted out in the street. People in the store started moving up front to see what it was all about.

A man outside was yelling, going on about something at some length and sounding distinctly unhappy.

Muffled by distance, Johnny couldn’t make out the words. But he didn’t care for the man’s tone. Something about it, some raw, ragging note of derision, made the back of his neck start to get hot.