There was something about the first day of a new year that made a man look at his life and wonder what he was making of it. He had been on his quest now for more than six years, and all he had to show for it was a few hundred dollars and a lot of memories.
The thought that the time to go home and settle was nigh had occurred to Merlin with increasing frequency, ever since he'd decided he'd had enough of trailing behind a herd. Oh, there was still the Pacific Ocean and the Grand Canyon to see, and maybe those giant trees he'd heard tell of, out California way, but otherwise he'd pretty much done all he'd set out to do.
He'd need to be at home when Ma and Pa went on their trip to Australia. Handy as he was, Abel couldn't mind the place by himself. And the River Ranch was going to be sitting empty after next year, according to Ma's last letter. Josh Ellensberg was getting too old to manage it--leastwise he'd claimed to be. Pa had hinted he might not hire anyone else, if Merlin was through with his wanderings. He'd always said that part of the Lachlan holdings was to be Merlin's share.
Trouble was, Merlin wasn't ready to settle. Not yet. One of these days...
The Bijou Café was closed, so he went on down the street to Lambert House. He'd never eaten there--too fancy for his blood--but he'd heard the food was fine.
There was a line outside the door. He was a couple of places back from Bruce Redmond, so he nodded a greeting.
"Word sure gets around," the young teller from the First Platte bank said. "Look at this crowd."
"Did I miss something?" He had bought a copy of the paper a couple of days ago, but had never gotten around to reading it all. There'd been something else to do every night since he'd come to town, from the Christmas service at church to the do-or-die chess game with Dean Roderick, down at the Railroad Saloon. They'd finally called it a draw at one-thirty this morning.
"It's a Lambert House tradition. Free fancy breads and coffee for all comers on New Year's Day. This year should be better than ever, because the new baker is a real artist. Not just bread and pie, either. Fancy French pastries, too, and cakes of all sorts."
"Well, that's fine." Merlin had never had much of a sweet tooth, but he did like a good loaf of bread like Ma made, the kind with a crunchy crust and the tang of good sourdough starter.
The line moved forward. "Say, it looks like they're putting folks together at the tables. Join me?" Bruce said.
"Glad to," Merlin agreed. He'd brought his book along to read while he was eating, but he wouldn't mind having company instead. A man should be neighborly when the opportunity arose.
They waited another quarter hour before a table for two opened up. The waiter handed them each a menu as soon as they sat down. Merlin gave it a quick scan and saw what he was looking for. He'd heard the ham dinner here was one of the best, and had already made up his mind to try it. Ma always served ham on the first day of the year.
While he waited for someone to take his order, he took a look at the dessert list, a separate sheet tucked inside the folded-over pasteboard cover that held the days' offerings.
He hadn't seen such a fancy menu since he'd left New Orleans.
The ham was moist and tasty, the sweet potatoes rich and buttery, and the beans well-spiced. The fat roll on a separate plate, with a fancy little ball of butter, was like a cloud. It all but melted in his mouth, yet it had a good chewy crust and a tang that took him back in memory to his Ma's table. "I wonder if I can get a dozen of these," he said, as he swallowed the last bite. "A man could live on them."
"They sure live up to their billing," Bruce agreed, as be patted his taut belly. "I swear, I don't know where I'll put dessert, but I'm damn sure gonna have some."
The fancy breads spread on a table along one wall were as good as any he'd tasted. The one with the little sign that said "Stollen" was his favorite. Reminded him of the one Ma always made for Christmas. When he walked out of the restaurant, he was as satisfied as he could ever recall being after a big meal. He begged off accompanying Bruce to the saloon, claiming a need to get to bed early. In truth, he wanted to meet the baker, and he wanted to do it alone.
Anybody who could bake like that was worth getting to know.
The back door of the restaurant opened into a small yard. Merlin took up post at the side of the shed that stood in one corner. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, besides asking about getting a weekly dozen of those rolls. What if she was sixty and weighed three hundred pounds? What if he was mean-tempered, like that big colored cook at Madame Lespard's in New Orleans?
He was turning to walk away when the door opened and a woman appeared. She wore a man's greatcoat, too big for her. When she stepped out onto the snowy ground, she slipped, flailed her arms to keep from falling.
Quick as a wink, he caught her. She was quite an armful, what with the heavy coat and all. She smelled of yeast and warm bread and something spicy.
As soon as he laid hand on her, she stiffened and started to fight him. "Turn loose," she squawked. Her arm swung up and the side of her hand caught him smartly on the ear.
"Hold on there. I'm trying to help--"
"Let me go!"
"Suit yourself." He released her.
Since she was still threshing around, her feet went sliding and she landed on the packed snow with a breathless "Ooof!"
Merlin knelt in front of her. "You all right?"
She raised her head and for the first time he got a good look at her in the light of the lantern beside the door. Even though her hair was skinned back from her face, he could see it was dark as midnight. Her eyes were as green as spring leaves.
"Go away or I'll scream," she said, a little breathlessly.
"Cal? Cal Smith?" He couldn't quite believe he'd found her.
She raised her chin and peered at him. For a moment she seemed puzzled, and he realized his face must be entirely in shadow, eyepatch and all.
He removed his wide-brimmed hat. "It's me. Merlin."
She stared at him so long he started to worry she'd freeze her behind. At last she whispered, "Merlin?" She gave a little hiccup. "Merlin? You came."
"Soon as I got word. Now, why don't you stand up and tell me what you need me to do?"
She burst into tears.
Merlin hadn't been raised with four sisters for nothing. He scooped her up--she wasn't a featherweight like she'd been the last time he'd known her--and carried her over to the stoop. The snow in front of it had been tromped into ice, and he nearly fell down before he could get himself sat, with her on his lap. Tucking her head between his chin and his chest, he stroked her back. "There, there," he whispered over and over. "You'll be fine. I'm here. There, there."
Gradually he became aware this was no longer the skinny little girl he'd taken with him on that jaunt into Montana. Underneath the yeasty, spicy scent was one he'd learned to recognize as pure woman. She was soft, not bony, round, not angular as the pretend-boy had been.
How old is she now? I never did know for sure, but I always figured she wasn't more than twelve. That would make her, what? Eighteen or nineteen.
She's a woman grown.
And didn't his body know it?
Callie felt safe for the first time since she'd left Mrs. Flynn's bakery, back in Virginia City. The knot of ice that had seemed to be stuck tight in her belly was dissolving. After a while, she managed to stop bawling. "I'm sorry," she said, and heard the raspy sound of her voice.
"Never mind. My sisters always said a good cry was better than medicine to make a body feel better." His hand, which had been stroking her back, dropped away.
She wished he'd put it back. Being touched with gentleness and care was something she'd missed for so long.
"Maybe. But it sure doesn't feel very good." She sat up and stared at him. "You've changed."
"Got a little bigger, is all."
"You're older." As soon as she'd said the words, she wanted to take them back. What a silly thing to say. Of course he's older. It's been six years.
"So are you." There was a note in his voice that sounded almost like laughter. "Older and prettier." His gloved fingers touched her cheek lightly. "Still have those green eyes, though. I've never seen the like, not in all my travels."
She reared back, so he was no longer touching her face. "Don't."
His touch had felt too much like a caress. Too gentle, too kind. It made her want to bawl again, because it felt so good.
His hand dropped. After a moment, he stopped staring at her face. "So, what can I do for you, Cal Smith?"
"Well--" She closed her mouth. What could he do for her? What had she imagined he could do, when she'd sent that desperate telegram to him? She was free of her pa, so she didn't need him for that. She had a respectable job, so she didn't need him to support her. She even had a place to sleep, so she didn't need his help there either. "I don't know," she admitted when no ideas came to mind. "When I sent the telegram, I was scared, and you were the only person I could think of who might rescue me. But now--" She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't need help. Everything's fine."
His lips tightened and she felt his body stiffen. "Do you need a friend?" he said, finally.
The last little piece of ice in her belly seemed to melt. "Oh, yes, Merlin. I really do need a friend."
* * * *
Merlin couldn't decide to be relieved or disappointed. He'd come all this way, feeling like a knight going to the rescue of his lady fair, and Cal didn't need him. He kicked at the rutted snow as he walked back to his hotel. She had herself a good job, which was more than he had. Her pa might be a son of a bitch--any man who'd abandon an innocent girl in a strange town was the worst sort of villain--but he'd set her up to have a way to take care of herself. There probably wasn't a town in the whole country where a baker couldn't find a good job.
Maybe he should move on. From what he'd seen so far, Cheyenne was not a place to enjoy winter. The wind never seemed to stop blowing, and it often carried icy crystals that cut an unprotected face like tiny knives. He could catch the train tomorrow, and in a few days be in California. Sunny, warm California, instead of cold, windy Wyoming Territory.
What if her pa comes back? Seems to me she's been taught to mind him no matter what. How far would she go to keep him happy? And how far would he go to use her?
He stomped the snow from his feet on the boardwalk in front of the hotel. The notion of sitting around Cheyenne all winter, just keeping an eye on Cal, didn't appeal. Now if he were to find work, something interesting, that would be a different story. He didn't need the money, but he needed the occupation, something to fill his days so he wouldn't hover over her like a hen with one chick.
Her image appeared in his mind, green eyes, milky skin, and the smile that even six years ago had always made him want to smile right back at her. He'd never had the urge to hover over a woman before, but doggone if he didn't now.
* * * *
Callie pulled the door open a crack once she heard Merlin's footsteps growing fainter. She could see him silhouetted against the street lamps. He still wore a wide-brimmed hat the color of sand and his coat was just like the one she remembered--blanket-lined canvas, but a little darker shade. His britches were black and tucked into the laced boots he wore instead of high-heeled riding boots. The face she'd remembered so well was older, but still his, with the same wide smile now bracketed by deep creases, what her grandpa had called laugh lines.
When he disappeared around the corner, she let the door swing shut, and leaned against it with her eyes closed. Even if Pa comes back, Merlin won't let him take me away again.
And then her breath caught in her chest. What if Merlin goes away?
* * * *
The Daily Leader wasn't much help. Merlin didn't fancy the notion of tending bar, had no ambition to be a deputy sheriff, and never again wanted to work as a cowman. Not for somebody else, anyhow.
In the past, he'd found more than one job by asking around. Since Cheyenne seemed to be a place where the rails met roads going in all directions, he reckoned more than one freight business had an office in town.
He stopped in at the Great Western Corral to say hello to Gawain. A casual question about freighters brought the information that most of them had offices and barns along the road to Camp Carlin, the big Army supply depot. "Likely contracting to haul freight to the forts." The chill wind all but snatched the words from his mouth. "I swear it's ten degrees colder than yesterday."
He was wishing he'd hired a buggy by the time he reached the first freight barn. The wind had more than just a bite to it. The freight barns, with attached corrals, were strung out along half a mile of road, with plenty of open space between. He strolled along, reading signboards. Most barns had offices attached, but they all looked deserted. Maybe nobody shipped in winter.
Not likely. Folks needed supplies winter and summer. Farther on, he saw a wisp of smoke disappear quickly, carried away by an icy gust.
"Somebody's home." The sign above the barn door said "Morrison & Robb, Freighters." A smaller sign directed inquiries to the office across the road. Before crossing, he took a look around.
The corral was larger than most, and held a good-sized herd of mules, mostly huddled under the wide shed roof. Good looking stock, too, well-cared for.
He knocked on the door marked OFFICE.
"It ain't locked."
The room was dim, a candle its only light. Two men sat with their heels propped on the edges of a scarred desk. One held a tin cup, the other a beer bottle.
"Help you?"
He'd heard that voice before. Stepping closer, he bent to peer under the man's hatbrim.
"Well, I'll be hog-tied and hornswoggled. Murphy Creek."
"Huh?" Murphy went to set his cup on the desk, but he moved too fast and his chair went over backwards. "Goddamn it. That hurt," he said, as he rubbed the back of his head.
Merlin held out a hand, bracing himself for Murphy to try at pulling him off his feet. With a chuckle, Murphy waved it aside and scrambled up. Once he'd dusted his hat off and replaced it on his head, he grinned. "Now how did you know I was wishing you--or someone like--would show up about now? Want a job?"