Familiar Stranger In Clear Springs

She swallowed. “Mr. Barrington.” The sound of his name came firm and cool. “I assume it is...‘Mr.’ now by the way you are clothed. Not ‘Corporal.’ Not ‘Captain.’”

“‘Mr.’ is fine.” He ducked his head under the door frame and stepped farther into the store. The door swung shut behind him with a solid whump. He didn’t even jump at the sound. In fact, he appeared a bit dazed as he looked at her, almost as though he were seeing a ghost. “What are you doing here?”

His question baffled her. Where else would she be? “I’m not sure I follow...”

He huffed out a breath but still eyed her warily. “Same here.”

The timbre and cadence of his voice hadn’t changed and she recalled with a sharp pang how at one time she had loved its sound. He spun his hat slowly by the brim as the silence lengthened uncomfortably between them.

Her pulse picked up. “You’re looking well,” she managed to say. He did look well. She couldn’t quite get over how he’d filled out in the years since she’d seen him. Irritated at herself for feeling even the slightest twinge of physical reaction she rested her hands on the countertop and intertwined her fingers, glad to have the solid wood between them to steady her.

His gaze swept down to her hands.

She thought he frowned, but she couldn’t be sure under all that scruffy beard. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you at all. It’s been so long.” She was rather pleased with herself. She had spoken coherently even though her insides were dashing to and fro.

“I just got in from up north. Near Stockton. Thought I’d take a look around, check out the changes.” He broke eye contact, finally releasing her from his hold, and glanced about the store—a cursory, uninterested look. “Hasn’t changed much.”

“Things are near the same here—except, of course, the army is gone.”

“Heard that happened right after I left.”

“For a while things were tough. Businesses left. But now the new nail factory is helping turn things back around. The men building it often use this store and the Fursts are reopening a small branch of the bank here, which will be good for the area.” She didn’t want to talk about the town or the nail factory. She wanted to know where he’d been and what he’d been doing since she’d last seen him. All the polite inanities meant nothing to her in the face of that. And yet...why should she care where he’d been? He’d left her and by the sound of it was only here on a whim. She began to wish he’d just go, just leave her in peace. She didn’t need his brand of tormenting.

“You been working here all that time?”

She shrugged slightly, still confused at his question. “Of course.”

The kettle whistled.

Startled, she jumped, having forgotten about the tea. Relieved to have something to do, she turned back to the stove and grabbed a quilted pad to protect her skin, and then slid the kettle off the burner plate.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger. What happened to that rich fellow?”

Still facing the stove, she absorbed the import of his words. He thought she had married? Then he didn’t know? Her mouth dropped open before she covered it with her hand and turned quickly to face him. “I...I never married Preston.”

He pulled back as though she’d slapped him, an incredulous look on his face “Never? What the deuces happened?”

Why was he suddenly angry with her? She was the one who had been spurned. He left her! In the middle of the night he left her without a word! “You have no call to raise your voice at me, Mr. Barrington.”

Rapid footsteps sounded outside the door and her neighbor, Mrs. Flynn, barged into the mercantile. The interruption punctured the air of discord that had grown between the two of them. Elizabeth exhaled.

Her heavyset neighbor was huffing like she’d run a race rather than just walk across the dirt road. The woman glanced sharply at Tom and then back at her. “Oh, my. I didn’t realize you had a visitor. I had a bit of extra stew, dear. Thought you might like it for your supper.” She raised the item in her hands—a dish covered over with a heavily embroidered towel.

The bright innocence in her expression didn’t fool Elizabeth. Apparently she had seen Tom enter the store and wanted to find out what was going on. “Mrs. Flynn, this is Mr. Barrington,” she said, trying to muster up a more gracious attitude. “He has just come to town and didn’t realize I close the store at dusk.”

Tom glanced from Mrs. Flynn back to her, sizing up the situation. It was unseemly for a man to be present in the store after hours unless it was family. Her reputation could be called into question. His jaw tensed as he slid on his hat and tipped the brim to Mrs. Flynn. “Ma’am.” He turned back to Elizabeth, his blue gaze stormy. “Sorry to interrupt your evening Miss Morley. I’ll just take my leave.” He strode out the door.

She sank into the nearest chair. Truth be told, she was grateful for the reprieve. His question hammered inside her with no answer. Why had the man thought she married Preston? It didn’t make sense, not after the kiss they’d shared. How could he think she would go and marry someone else after that earth-shattering kiss?

Her neighbor’s eyes were alight with anxious speculation. It wasn’t every day that the town spinster was caught alone with a gentleman caller. She wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Flynn had this spread faster than a fever all over the village by tomorrow. She groaned inwardly, realizing the looks she might have to endure at church services tomorrow morning. If only she had thought to keep the door wedged open. At least that would have made everything more socially acceptable. As it was, Tom’s entrance had completely flustered her.

“Nothing untoward happened,” she said irritably. For goodness’ sake, she was a grown woman. And this was her store. Her house.

Mrs. Flynn set the covered dish on the counter. “I understand, dear. I just thought you might need my help with an uncomfortable situation. I was on my way over when I heard raised voices.”

That stopped Elizabeth. “You interrupted...because you were worried?”

Mrs. Flynn readjusted her wire-rimmed glasses on her button nose and peered down at her. “Of course. You live alone. Someone has to watch out for you. And I know your mother would appreciate it.”

“Then thank you. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful just now.”

The older woman fussed with the placement of the towel over the bowl, trying to keep the steam and heat contained. “Did you know that man, dear?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Once, a long time ago.”

“He’s rather gruff if you ask me. And unkempt.”

Her appraisal sparked a memory, making Elizabeth relax her grip on her frustration. “You should have seen him in his army blues. He was quite dashing.”

She ignored the woman’s sudden renewed interest and rose, walking over to the counter and the bowl of stew. The aroma of onions and cooked meat wafted up. She wasn’t hungry in the least. Not now—now that she knew Tom Barrington was near. “Thank you for this. It smells delicious.”

“You are entirely welcome. I’ll...just be going, then.”

“Good night, Mrs. Flynn.”

Elizabeth waited for her to leave, and then shut and latched the door. Through the crack between the shade and the window frame she peered out the window and watched her neighbor enter her house. Exactly how long did the woman intend to look out for her? Until she herself was ninety? Her brother... Mrs. Flynn...they meant well. In their way, they made her feel safe. She loved La Playa, loved the harbor and the people. Truly, she did. But lately the town seemed to close in on her in the same way that the air could feel heavy before a threatening storm.

She walked to the stove and poured the hot water from the kettle over the tea infuser while her thoughts centered on all that Tom had said. He thought she was married! All this time! For all these years! It was so improbable. Could that be why he had never answered her letter?

And now, what did it mean that he was back? He had given no reason for his being here, and since he’d believed she was married, it certainly wasn’t to see her.

Would he return? Would she see him again? He might come back—although judging from his past record she didn’t know why she should believe that. Slowly, the tightness in her chest eased. Perhaps the question she should be asking herself is whether she wanted him to. Just thinking that way made her stomach churn. No. Definitely no. It would not be for the best.

* * *

“Come on to the house.” Sam Furst tilted his head, indicating Tom should follow him. Tom descended the hotel’s steps and together they walked past the livery. Neither spoke until Sam stopped before a house that was easily the largest one in the small town. An aged picket fence surrounded the two-story clapboard house and matching carriage house.

“Watch your step,” Sam said when he opened the gate for Tom to pass through. “Got a few loose bricks that need repairing.” Sam led the way, unheeding of Tom’s slight hobbling and slower gait. That’s how Tom wanted it. No concessions.

When he entered the house, Tom heard a woman speaking in a cultured tone somewhere down the hall and out of his sight.

“Amanda is in the kitchen,” Sam mouthed quietly. He ushered Tom into the small private library off the hall and shut the door. “She has taken it upon herself to ready this house for me to inhabit again. We haven’t been here in years—ever since we moved to the city.”

Tom wanted to ask how his sister was doing, but thought it best to see first how Sam handled the meeting. If he was tense and...hostile, Amanda would be that and more.

As Sam lit the lantern, Tom removed his felt hat and took in the changes that a year had wrought on the man.

Furst had put on weight. Nothing that would slow him down. His face was slightly fuller—fleshed out—as though he didn’t get much time to be out of doors now that he’d entered the banking business. His light brown hair had been cut short recently and his small mustache and goatee, although thin in areas, had been trimmed to a tidy length. His clothes looked to be brand-new and a bit on the large size. Maybe, like this new job, he was counting on growing into them. He looked more the part of a banker now—stable and moneyed. Sam removed his hat and with his other hand smoothed back his short, pomaded hair. With the motion, his jacket parted, revealing a silk vest with a chain and watch fob.

Sam didn’t extend his hand—not that Tom had expected him to. Too much water under the bridge for that. The last time he had seen him they weren’t on the best of terms so Tom figured he should address him formally.

“Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Furst.”

Sam hesitated a second—as if the title were still new to him—but then motioned to the wingback in front of the cold fireplace while he sat down in the chair opposite. Tom moved to sit and Sam followed his every move, sizing him up with his gaze. “I thought that injury would have healed by now.”

“It has as much as it’s going to.” He hoped that wasn’t a point against him in collaborating with Sam.

“I wouldn’t have recognized you. You always have been a chameleon.”

Tom rubbed his beard, thinking maybe he should have shaved for this meeting, although he doubted a small thing like that would put him in the Fursts’ good graces. Besides, maybe he once was a chameleon but no longer. It had been hard enough to blend in with his six-foot-four-inch frame, but now the catch in his walk made it even harder. It made him slow...and awkward at times. A person could pick him out of a crowd, which was not a good thing for someone who was a field agent.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d gotten out of this type of work. Last I heard the government let you go.”

So Sam had been keeping tabs on him. Interesting. “Just took a hiatus. Had to let my leg heal...” And a few other things he wouldn’t go into.

“But you are not with the government?”

“No. Not any longer. My choice.” The desk job they insisted he take hadn’t suited him.

“I am surprised the agency sent you.”

Tom didn’t blink at the rub. “I am the best man for the job. Wells Fargo knows that.” He’d been running down thieves and criminals for years—particularly gold thieves. He knew how they operated and was usually one step ahead of them.

“I suppose so...now that Cranston is gone.”

On hearing his partner’s name, a shaft as cold as an icicle sliced through him. Sam probably didn’t need to know that he had asked for this assignment. First, Tom needed to prove to himself that he still had it in him to manage an operation, but more than that, he needed to atone for Cranston’s death. He owed it to Cranston, and to Amanda, his widow.

“Just so you know...when Amanda heard it might be you they were sending she wasn’t happy.”

“Guess that’s understandable, considering things.” Considering their past. He had never expected to talk with Sam or his family again. His showing up here was a reminder of their loss.

“In the event she walks in on us...you’ve been warned.”

Tom nodded. “Understood.”

“Did you stop at the main bank? Talk to my father?”

“I tried to,” he answered honestly. “He refused to see me.” He raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t need Sam’s blessing or permission. He could do what he wanted to do without it. Yet if all went well, he’d be helping the Fursts and maybe atoning somewhat for his partner’s death. So why did he feel like he was in front of a firing squad?

Sam studied him for a minute, his fingers steepled in front of him. Likely he wondered if he should follow his father’s lead. Tom just hoped he’d keep an open mind. Finally Sam lowered his hands. “All right. Here’s what I know.”

Now it came to it. Tom leaned forward.

“A month ago there was a robbery in Bakersfield, similar to the one we had recently in Clear Springs. They tried running the ore down the mountain in the dead of night like we did and still ended up getting waylaid by the crooks and losing ten thousand dollars in gold bullion.”

“They’ve got someone on the inside,” Tom said immediately.

Sam drew his brows together. “How can you know that?”

“They were ready. At night. Doesn’t take much to deduce.”

Sam sighed. “Well, then go ahead. What’s your take on things?”

“Wells Fargo is aware of all you just said. They think it is likely the same group of thieves. Their ploy was successful, which makes Wells Fargo believe they’ll target you again. They’ll gain a certain arrogance in succeeding. Criminals do. And the fact that you are so close to Mexico makes it all too easy for them to slip over the border and disappear.”

Sam listened, but then pulled back, his gaze clouding over. “I just can’t get past why the agency sent you after what happened. Because of you, my sister is a widow.”

The barely controlled emotion shook Tom up. He had known, even though it had been an entire year, that he would encounter anger. Still, Sam’s attitude made him feel all over again how unworthy he was to be alive when Cranston, Amanda’s husband, wasn’t. “I’ll get the job done, Sam. If anything, I have more at stake in the outcome than any other field agent.”

Sam let out a sigh. “Guess you have something there.”

“Believe me, no one wants this more than I do. I don’t care how messy things get.”

Sam clasped his hands over his stomach and blew out a breath.

Tom could tell he wasn’t getting through to him. “Let me put it another way. Wells Fargo hired me. Not you. I answer to them so I am going to do this whether I have your cooperation or not. Without it, there is more of a chance I won’t be successful and you may lose more gold. If we work together things will go smoother. We can collaborate and figure out a few moves that keep us ahead of any robbery.”

Sam snorted. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

He was still on shaky ground. That wasn’t a yes from Sam, but at least he was able to joke about it a little. “I know what I have to do and thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam huffed, still tense. Then slowly he relaxed his shoulders. “However, I agree. We do have to work together.”

Tom waited. This entire meeting was awkward as they both tried to assess where they stood with each other.

“You’ve got nerve, Barrington, showing up here after all that has happened,” Sam finally said. “But then maybe that’s exactly what is needed in this situation.”

Nerve had nothing to do with it. What he had was nothing to lose. He was through living his life in the shadows like an injured dog, the way he had for the past year. Losing his partner had eaten at him until he barely recognized himself.

“I tell myself there was no way you could have prevented Cranston’s death,” Sam said. “Given the same circumstances, I might have called it just like you did. Still doesn’t mean that I can accept what happened.”

Whatever had made Sam say that much, Tom was grateful for it. At least they were talking. “I don’t expect you to. I wish it had gone the other way.” He could commiserate and tell him that not a day went by that he didn’t regret what had happened. He could still see his partner crumpling to the floor, still see the shock on his face as his life bled out. They had orchestrated any number of scenarios to make sure they each had each other’s back, just not the presence of a little boy who should never have been on that train car in the first place.

“But it didn’t,” Sam stated. “And along with Cranston, Amanda’s life was destroyed.”

Amanda blamed him, but no more than he did himself. Surely she hoped he would have died instead of her husband. It was the number one reason he didn’t want a wife or family with the type of job he had. It wasn’t fair to them. He’d talked to Cranston a number of times before the man married, trying to dissuade him from getting hitched. His warning had fallen on deaf ears. And now it had all come to pass. Being right didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“I heard she had a girl.”

For the first time, Sam smiled. “Lacy is a little over a year old now.” He stood and paced the length of the small room twice, then came back to stand in front of him. “All right, Tom. It is obvious this is personal. I can’t help but think I’d want to do the same thing if it were me. Meet me at the bank first thing Monday morning. I’ll have your stipend and we can hash out any further details then.”

Tom stood. It felt as if the first obstacle had been overcome. After the ride south, his horse needed another day of rest and so did he before heading into the backcountry. “Fair enough, but I want to leave immediately afterward. I need to get an idea of the lay of the backcountry.”

Chapter Three

Pastor Warner’s sermons usually held her attention, but this morning Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate one wit on his words. She found herself checking the pews behind her, scanning for Tom’s presence. When she didn’t see him, she wondered why she even hoped he might attend services. The thought exasperated her. Her brother would call her naive and foolish, and in this instance, she would agree with him. When Tom was posted here, he would attend services with the others from the fort. It was a way for them to mingle with those in the community and also a way to escape the daily sameness at Fort Rosecrans. But now he was no longer in the military and he certainly didn’t have a stake in anything in La Playa.

As the pastor droned on, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted back to when Tom had been posted here in town. The memories of him came back as vivid as though it were yesterday. Especially the last time she’d seen him.

It had been near the end of the workday, that day in late July. The daylight lingered long after the last customer had left the store. She had yanked a bolt of fabric out from under the stack of other bolts and spread it on the table, thinking that the creamy white cotton would be perfect for pillow cases. It was for her trousseau and it was one thing she knew would be appreciated if only by her. Preston had stopped by earlier and listened with a disinterested expression at her idea for crocheting edging out of the same color thread and adding pink rose florets for further decoration. “Feminine nonsense,” he called it. Her brother had chuckled condescendingly and the two of them had left for a drink at the saloon. Those two, she had come to realize, were cut from the same cloth. She remembered that the thought had bothered her.

Earlier that morning, Terrance had accepted his birthday present—a deep reddish-brown shirt she’d sewn with embroidered initials on the pocket. She’d known by his expression he didn’t care for it. When had he become so difficult to please? Seemed all he liked were personally tailored suits from that Marston’s store in San Diego. How could her sewing hope to compete with that?

It was a relief that he had chosen to spend the evening with his lady friend in the city. After the shirt fiasco, she wouldn’t have known what to do to celebrate his birthday. He had even set aside the cake she’d baked, saying he’d taste it later. And then he’d left for San Diego! A day-old cake was preferable to a few more moments with his sister!

A knock sounded at the doorpost. She should have closed the door after the last customer but the summer day had been so warm that even her thick braid had felt like a heavy blanket lying down her back.

“Miss Morley?”

At the sound of Corporal Barrington’s deep voice, delight had spread through her. This was a surprise! He’d said he had duty. Smiling inwardly, she smoothed the fabric once more and then turned to the door.

“Permission to enter requested, miss.”

He looked gallant standing there in his blue uniform, his yellow bandanna fluttering at his neck from the light evening breeze. The uniform set off the blue in his eyes so perfectly. She remembered wondering if there was a special event at the fort that day. Earlier a few gunshots had gone off, equally spaced such as would happen in a ceremony. She grinned at his use of formal address. “Hello...Corporal. You are quite late. I don’t know if I shall give permission or not. I was just closing up.”

He glanced into the store, ducking his head as he swiped off his blue cap and stepped just inside the entrance. “It’s quiet in here. Where is your brother?”

“He’s celebrating his birthday in the city.”

He raised a brow and said in a conspiring manner, “So you are...a woman...alone?”

She nodded, a giggle bubbling up. “That doesn’t mean you have permission to enter. I don’t allow miscreants in my store.”

“Miscreants?” He teased her with a wounded look and then pointed at her feet where Patches rubbed against her skirt. “You allow that cat in... I’d say I rate better than a cat.”

She picked up Patches. “He’s not just any cat. He’s my expert mouser.” She rubbed her cheek against the smooth orange hair on her pet’s head. “What is your specialty?”

“Why I can shoot a flea off a rabbit at fifty paces.”

She laughed softly. “There is no way you can prove that claim, Corporal.”

He grinned. “No way to disprove it, either.” Then he straightened, all amusement evaporating from his countenance and a tender expression entering his gaze. “I can’t believe how much those brown eyes of yours sparkle when you laugh.”

It was the first time he’d ever said anything so personal...and been serious about it. Although sometimes she’d catch him looking at her and she would wonder if, maybe, he was thinking those kinds of thoughts. But then, they never spoke to each other about it. This was a bit unusual. “What is it, Tom?”

“Something came up today. I want you to celebrate with me. Are you free?”

She lowered Patches to the floor. “Certainly.” Picking up her light pink shawl, something to keep her arms covered properly in public, she slipped it over her shoulders and then stepped through the doorway, pulling the door shut.

He waited on the steps. “I have something special planned. No questions, all right?”