It was early morning and Luke sat up with his back propped against an aspen tree. He closed his eyes, trying to tell himself he’d done the only thing he could do.
Just before daybreak, he had crept through the darkness to the stable, his bedroll and saddlebags clutched under his right arm. A pale gray light had begun to form on the horizon, and his steps had quickened. Hank would be getting up soon, making coffee. Luke would miss their conversations on the front porch.
He came upon Smoky in the small corral, and his spirits lifted. The big stallion was his best friend; they’d been through hell and high water together. He still counted it a blessing that the no-good thief and back shooter hadn’t stolen Smoky. A blessing—he was beginning to sound like Suzanne.
He stepped inside the shed to retrieve Smoky’s saddle and bridle. The big horse threw his head up and nickered. When Luke lifted the saddle onto Smoky’s back, its weight brought a slight twinge of pain to Luke’s sore shoulder. The Waterses had done a first-class job of patching him up; the wound was quickly healing.
He started to cinch up the girths, and almost before he realized it, he was thinking of Suzanne again. She was good with horses; she sat one like she’d been born there.
What would she think when she awoke and found him gone? Would she care? He tried to tell himself that she and her pa would be disappointed that they’d lost a free hand, but those thoughts brought him shame now. His conscience jabbed at him, and the God he had run from had laid a message on his soul: the Waters were true Christians, setting an example of the way people should live. If all people had treated him as they had, he wouldn’t have forsaken his faith. Maybe he hadn’t forsaken it, after all.
He left the gate open as he entered the corral. Smoky was already pawing the ground. Luke planted a boot in the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle, surprised not to feel more pain.
He kept a tight rein, walking the stallion slowly out of the corral. Once they reached the back meadow, he gave the big horse his head, and they tore across the valley toward the lowest knoll on Morning Mountain. Once there, he drew rein and shifted in the saddle. Far behind him, he could see the weathered little cabin outlined in gray light, nestled peacefully in the valley. There had been a few times, at that cabin, when he had experienced the kind of peace and contentment he had been seeking for a very long time.
He had known that kind of life once, but it seemed so long ago and far away that he scarcely remembered how he’d felt. He did recognize a longing for that kind of life; perhaps it was the reason he felt so restless and unhappy now. Perhaps it was what drove him, harder and harder, to find something worthwhile again.
Last night, hearing the words Suzanne had spoken in the kitchen, knowing for the first time how destitute they were, he couldn’t take another bite of food from their table. It would be like taking food out of their mouths!
Lowering his hat over his forehead and shifting his weight in the saddle, he turned his eyes toward the road ahead. A soft ache settled around his heart, but he’d get over it…
The sound of a prairie dog scampering around the next tree awoke him. He stretched, being careful with his left shoulder, and came slowly to his feet.
He squinted at the road leading to the next ranch. Time to go; time to get on with his life.