The Redemption Of Jake Scully. Elaine Barbieri

that that uneventful ride would initiate an endless, uncomfortable journey that had not yet come to an end.

      Lacey did not choose to recall the countless times along the way that she had doubted the wisdom of making the journey alone. She had not taken into consideration that the passing years would have dimmed the memory of a wild country where civilization was held partially at bay by longhaired, thickly bearded and heavily armed men—a place where she stirred surprised attention and whispered comments wherever she went.

      Despite the tedium and discomfort of the journey, however, Lacey found herself somehow shaken at the thought of her arrival in Weaver, where she would meet up with a past she suddenly realized she hardly remembered.

      Lacey looked at the unpaved trail ahead, then glanced up at the shadowed mountain peaks in the distance. Why was it that everything looked so unfamiliar to her? Why had the ten years she had been away dimmed all clear memory of this place?

      The sound of a crackling blaze echoed unexpectedly in her ears. She felt the heat…the flames…the smoke…the fear. She saw the faded image of her grandfather’s body.

      Yes, all clear memories had dimmed…except one.

      Lacey closed her eyes. She clutched her small Bible tightly in her hand.

      “Are you all right, ma’am?”

      Lacey looked up, focusing for the first time on the disreputable-looking fellow seated across from her. Like the two other rough-and-tumble male passengers presently sleeping, his hat was stained, his beard was overly long, his clothes were worn and the gun at his side was exceptionally large—but the concern in his bloodshot eyes was obviously sincere.

      She replied, “I’m fine. I’m just tired, I guess.”

      “We’ll be getting to Weaver, soon.” The fellow frowned and added, “If you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am, Weaver is a fine little town, but it’s not accustomed to ladies like you.”

      Lacey almost smiled. “I was born in Weaver—or thereabouts.”

      “Oh.”

      “I’m going home.”

      The fellow nodded. “Been gone long, ma’am?”

      “Awhile.”

      He nodded again. He looked at the Bible in her hand. “Going to join Reverend Sykes, are you?”

      “Reverend Sykes?”

      “I hear he’s a fine man and real dedicated to his work in the church.”

      “I’m sure he is, but I don’t know him.”

      The fellow’s frown deepened. “You’ll be having somebody meet you in Weaver, I hope.” He stammered, “I mean, it’s a fine little town, but…well…”

      Lacey stared at the unkempt fellow more closely. Because of his questionable appearance, she had done her best to ignore him and the other two occupants of their coach when she boarded. Now, glimpsing the man inside his unappealing exterior, she was oddly warmed by what she saw.

      Lacey replied with a smile, “Someone will be meeting me. His name is Jake Scully. Do you know him?”

      “Jake Scully.” The fellow blinked. “He’s…you…I…”

      He took a breath, then continued with a tip of his soiled hat meant as an introduction, “My name’s Pete Loughlin, ma’am. I’ll be spending some time in Weaver, and I want you to know I’ll be at your disposal if things don’t turn out the way you expected.” He paused, adding, “I hope you’ll remember that, ma’am.”

      “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Loughlin. My name is Lacey Stewart, and I thank you for your concern.”

      “Everybody calls me Pete, ma’am.”

      “Thank you. I’ll certainly remember your offer, Pete.”

      His face reddening unexpectedly, Pete averted his gaze toward the window and ended the conversation as abruptly as it had begun. With no recourse but to follow his lead, Lacey turned to the Bible in her hand, silently embarrassed that she had been so harsh in her first assessment of the dear fellow. She looked down at the page to which she had inadvertently turned.

      Judge not, lest ye be judged.

      Somehow startled by the familiar passage, Lacey glanced back up at Pete Loughlin, whose bloodshot eyes had fallen closed.

      A timely lesson, gently served.

      Lacey’s spirits lightened.

      

      The stagecoach rounded a turn in the trail and Weaver came into view. Lacey reached up nervously to adjust her hat and smooth back a few pale wisps that had strayed from her upswept coiffure. She then slipped her Bible into her reticule and gripped the handle anxiously. Her three fellow passengers had somehow awakened the moment Weaver appeared on the horizon. They appeared as eager as she to see the end of their journey.

      Lacey did her best to ignore Pete’s frown as they entered town and she searched the street in vain for a familiar face. She struggled against an expanding anxiety as the conveyance rumbled farther down the dusty main thoroughfare, passing a livery stable, a blacksmith’s shop, a bank, a hotel. She scanned the street more closely, seeing what appeared to be a jail, a barber shop and several other stores. Her gaze halted. Memory stirred when she viewed the establishment that took up the major portion of the street at the far end.

      The Gold Nugget Saloon.

      Lacey took a shaky breath, then searched the street again. She was expecting too much, she knew, to expect Uncle Scully to be waiting for the stage as she had hoped. The exact date of her arrival had been uncertain when they had last communicated. She certainly couldn’t expect that he would meet every stage the week she was expected to arrive.

      The stage shuddered to a halt in front of the mercantile store and Lacey’s heart began pounding. She silently scolded herself for her rising apprehension as she waited for her fellow passengers to alight. She reminded herself that she had just traveled hundreds of miles alone, that she had walked through the Gold Nugget’s swinging doors by herself once before, and she certainly could do it again.

      “Ma’am…” Lacey took the hand Pete offered her. She stepped down onto the street as he continued politely, “If you’re needing any help…”

      Lacey skimmed the street again with her gaze. She saw a tall, gray-haired gentleman step out onto the boardwalk a distance away. Her heart leaped when he turned in her direction.

      “Lacey?”

      She went still at the sound of the deep, familiar male voice behind her. She turned toward the big man who started toward her from the shadow of a store’s overhang.

      Lacey’s throat went dry as the well-dressed, dark-haired man approached. This fellow wasn’t old at all. Actually, he appeared to be a man in his prime, with strongly cut features and dark brows over eyes that were a soft, sober gray.

      Lacey caught her breath. She remembered those eyes.

      The man stopped in front of her. He said, “Welcome home, Lacey.”

      “U-Uncle Scully?”

      “If that’s what you want to call me.”

      Lacey looked over at Pete, who remained stiffly solemn beside her. Uncertain why he stood rooted to the spot, she said, “I’d like you to meet one of my fellow passengers on the stage, Uncle Scully. His name is Mr. Pete Loughlin, and he’s been very kind.”

      Scully’s expression remained unchanged as he replied, “Pete and I are old acquaintances.” He addressed Pete directly, adding, “I appreciate your looking after Lacey, Pete, but she’s in good hands now.”

      Scully turned again to Lacey. “I’ll get your bag.”

      Dismissing the introduction and Pete with that statement, Scully strode toward