“It seems so random,” she said. “Where’d you hear about it?”

He gave her a half smile. “I met a man on the train out of Amarillo. He told me about it.”

“It sounds good, Thatcher, but you could have the same job here.”

“It would be hard for me to work for Bill again.”

“I get that, but—”

“And I can’t wear a badge and be married to a local moonshiner.”

“You haven’t even asked me to marry you.”

“Will you marry me?”

“No.”

He laughed and nuzzled her neck. Sliding his hand into the vee of her thighs, he whispered, “You don’t have to give me your answer right away.”

He kept her occupied for the next half hour, rearranging her limbs to allow him access to enchanting spots, turning her this way and that to explore and entice, lazily mapping her sweet body with his hands and lips and tongue. He tormented her with his dalliances until she gasped now.

He pushed into her, and the fever pitch that he’d aroused in both of them combusted. He emptied all the sadness and disappointment, uncertainty and longing that he’d experienced in the past few weeks into her.

He was now convinced that everything that had happened since his leap from that freight car had been predestined. He’d been making his way home. But not to a place. To a person. He would only ever be home with this woman.

Still breathing hotly, he rested his forehead against hers and pushed his fingers up into her hair. “I love you, Laurel.”

“I believe you do.”

“And you love me.”

“I’m thinking it over.”

“Naw, you love me, and you’re gonna marry me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. I have a knack.” He melded their mouths, and by the time he ended the kiss, he’d convinced her.

* * *

The next morning, over breakfast, he said, “On our way to Bynum, I thought we’d stop over in Dallas, and get married there. Spend a couple of nights in a hotel. In a hotel bed.”

At the stove, she sent him a smile over her shoulder. “I’ve never been in a hotel. And I’ve only seen the skyline of Dallas from a distance. Tell me about Bynum.”

“It’s pretty. Green. Lots of trees. I looked at a house that has a barn.”

“You could keep horses.”

“I could teach you to ride.”

She carried over a plate of hotcakes and set it in front of him. Lips smiling against his ear, she whispered, “You already did.”

He pulled her onto his lap. “You took to it good, too.” He lowered his head and snarled against her breast.

She pushed him away. “Stop that. Irv could come in. What’s the kitchen in this house like?”

“Large and airy. You could bake to your heart’s content. I’ll bet you could sell slices of pie at the racetrack.”

“There’s a racetrack?”

“Um-huh.” His hand had ventured inside her housecoat and was toying with her nipple through her nightgown. “It causes some excitement. But otherwise, it’s a sleepy little town where nothing much happens.”

His mouth replaced his plucking fingers. She leaned her head back and gave him access. Faintly, she said, “Your hotcakes…”

They got cold.

* * *

Thatcher went to the boardinghouse. Mrs. May greeted him with her characteristic geniality. “Don’t think you’re crawling back, ’cause I done rented your room.” She’d packed everything in his trunk and put it in her root cellar. He retrieved his belongings and happily left the place for the last time.

He went from there to Fred Barker, literally with hat in hand, and profusely apologized for having left without notifying him. “I didn’t even return the rifle you loaned me.”

“No never mind,” Barker said. “Sheriff sent a deputy over with the rifle and a note, explaining. ’Fraid some of the owners of the horses you were training came to get them.”

“I don’t blame them a bit.”

That week, he worked at the stable several hours a day, exercising the horses belonging to Barker. On his last day, as he was about to leave, he said, “I’ll always be in your debt for hiring me that first day.”

“I ain’t ever been sorry for it. Never saw a horseman good as you. I’m gonna miss havin’ you around. Roger’s plumb heartbroke.” They shook hands. “Good luck to you, Thatcher.”

Thatcher tipped his hat and walked away. Barker called after him. “I like them spurs.”

Thatcher smiled back at him. “I’m gonna try to earn them.”

* * *

Bill was sitting in one of the rockers on his front porch when Thatcher drove up in Laurel’s car. He got out and walked to the porch. As he sat down in the second chair, he motioned toward the cane propped against Bill’s. “How’s the leg?”

“Okay. Just aches. Some days worse than others.”

For a time, neither said anything, then Thatcher asked after Mrs. Amos.

“I’m taking her to Temple. They’ve got a three-month program, but she hasn’t had a drop since the arsenic thing. She wants to get well. We’ve been talking a lot about Tim. I think she’s finally come to terms. The other day, we even laughed over something he’d done when he was a boy.”

“That’s good, Bill. That’s real good. She’ll be all right. I’m sure of it.”

Bill waited a moment, then said, “Mila Driscoll’s body was recovered.”

“No trouble locating it?”

“Not after I passed along your description of that rock pile. Her uncle took her remains to New Braunfels for burial.”

“Driscoll?”

“The sorry son of a bitch has fired two defense lawyers already, and they were glad of it. The judge granted a change of venue, so at least he’s off our hands. If the state doesn’t hang him, he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars.” He looked over at Thatcher. “You’ll probably be subpoenaed to testify when he comes up for trial.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Patsy Kemp took Norma’s baby boy and moved to Colorado to join her husband. They never could have kids, so they’re happy to have him. I told her we suspected that Bernie Croft had fathered the boy, and that in all probability he’d been the one to assault Norma. She was shocked. She’d never met Bernie, only knew him to be the mayor.”