Salvation in the Rancher's Arms. Kelly Boyce

boys and I will be staying at the Pagget tonight. You can send the bill over there.” She turned and left the undertaker’s office. She’d figure out how she’d pay it tomorrow.

      Today, she had a husband to bury.

       Chapter Two

      Caleb stood against the side wall of the church, closer to the front than he wanted to be. It gave him too clear a view of Rachel Sutter. The new widow sat flanked on either side by two boys. One he guessed was around fifteen, too old to be her son. The other he doubted was more than six or seven. Neither bore any resemblance to her or Robert Sutter.

      The church was packed to capacity. It seemed everyone in town had come to pay their respects despite the short notice. Several men lined the walls with him. A few cast glances his way, though none addressed him directly. Just as well. He didn’t plan on staying longer than necessary, and the fewer people who remembered his face, the better.

      The reverend stood at the front of the church, the pine box to his right. He cleared his throat, signaling he was ready to start the service.

      It was easier to think of it as a pine box. Nothing special. Not something containing a body or a man or a life that used to be.

      But try as he might, Caleb couldn’t erase the image of Sutter’s face when the bullet slammed into his chest. There had been an instant, a split second when the shock registered on Sutter’s face and he knew he was going to die. Caleb had seen that look on a man’s face before, but it still sent a chill straight to his core.

      Sutter was dead before his body hit the filth encrusted floor of the Broken Deuce Saloon.

      Caleb wished he’d never sat down at the card table. Never witnessed the man’s death. Never ridden into Laramie at all.

      The reverend’s voice droned on. “Thou hast also given me the shield of thy salvation, and thy gentleness hath made me great...”

      Caleb recognized the passage. It was from the book of Samuel. His grandfather had spent many nights twisting its words to suit his ends. Caleb gave his head a gentle shake. How many years would need to pass before he could bury those memories?

      He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, letting the wall take most of his weight. He wasn’t sure why he’d come here today. He hadn’t been inside a church for so long it was a wonder he hadn’t burst into flames the moment he passed through its double oak doors. He didn’t know Sutter outside the brief hours before he’d died and hadn’t particularly liked what he had known. He didn’t know the man’s family or the people in this town. He could have ridden in, handed over the body and disappeared into the sunset.

      Except he still had business to attend to. And some things a man couldn’t walk away from, no matter how much he wanted to.

      His attention drifted away from the reverend and rested on the widow. Dressed in black, she wore a small matching hat perched forward on the top of her head. Her hair, a deep mahogany, was twisted into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, but whatever held it in place seemed destined to give in to its weight. Strands had worked their way free and curled down her narrow back.

      She stared straight ahead at some point over the reverend’s shoulder, away from the pine box containing her husband. Her stoic expression never altered. Caleb tilted his head to one side and studied her, surprised to find her beautiful, though certainly not delicate. Bold, graceful lines and dark, almond-shaped eyes shaded by the short veil of her hat held a man’s gaze captive, but it was the wealth of inner strength that radiated from her strict posture and the way she hugged the young boy to her that he thought would endure in the mind long after.

      To hear Sutter tell it, his wife didn’t possess a single redeeming quality to make a man look twice. Given what a pompous loudmouth the man had been, Caleb should have known his opinion wasn’t worth a lick.

      She turned, as if sensing his attention. Caleb froze, unprepared for the potency of her dark eyes catching his. For several seconds, he forgot to breathe. Forgot not to stare. Forgot his reasons for being here.

      Then, as quickly as her gaze had found him, it slid away. The effect of it, however, lingered like a shadow and he couldn’t shake the sense that she hadn’t looked at him, but into him. As if in those few brief seconds she had plunged inside the darkest recesses of his heart and taken a good look around.

      A shiver crept up his spine and nestled at the base of his neck, making the hair prickle and stand on end.

      That’s destiny tapping you on the shoulder, his mother used to say.

      Caleb shrugged. He was not interested in destiny today. He wanted to take care of business and be on his way. More so now than ever.

      “Heard he told her some cockamamie story about goin’ to Laramie to buy cattle.”

      Caleb’s ears perked up. The man next to him stood half a head taller than his own six feet but couldn’t have weighed enough to matter soaking wet. He’d addressed the man beside him, who stood out of Caleb’s sight.

      “Geez, Styles. Ain’t no way he could afford to be buyin’ more cattle in Laramie or anywhere else. ’Course, with Kirkpatrick breathin’ down his neck, guess you can’t blame the man for trying. Wouldn’t have done no good. Kirkpatrick’s bought up all of Bobby’s gambling debts. Jus’ a matter of time before he stops waitin’ on gettin’ paid back.”

      Styles shrugged his bony shoulders. “Probably jus’ as well he got ’imself shot, then. Save Rachel the trouble when she finds out jus’ how much he owes.”

      Caleb furrowed his brow. It sounded like Sutter had dug a deep hole and was about to drag his whole family down into it with him.

      “Ain’t that the truth,” the other man said. “Still, cain’t say I’m surprised much. Bobby always was a gambler. Like my pappy always said, a man is what his past was.”

      A woman in the pew next to them turned around and shushed the men. Both straightened and mumbled their apologies, but their words resonated through Caleb.

      A man is what his past was.

      The thought filled him with a deep sense of desolation. If that were true, there was no hope for him.

      * * *

      Rachel sat through the service focusing on what needed to be done rather than the words spoken by Reverend Pearce. If she listened, she would fall apart. Reality would settle in, take root and grow like a weed until it choked out everything else. She had to keep her mind on the future, not on the past or what might have been or all the things she’d done wrong. It couldn’t be changed now.

      She had to think of the boys. They needed stability, a place to call home, a future to look forward to. Someday, a part of the ranch would be their legacy. Maybe all of it, given that she had no children of her own.

      A prickling sensation tickled the hairs at the back of her neck, pulling her away from her ruminations. She turned to her left and scanned the faces of the congregation who had come to pay their respects. Her gaze swept the line of men standing along the wall and settled onto the stranger next to Jeremiah Styles.

      He leaned against the wall, and though his manner appeared casual, Rachel sensed a predatory air about him, as if his posture was nothing more than a ruse. His sharp gaze spoke of a man well aware of his surroundings and any threats it might present. Lean and broad shouldered, he maintained an air of readiness, like a mountain cat about to strike. A frisson of unease tangled itself around her.

      His gaze bored into hers, steady and unwavering. There was something in those eyes. Something hungry. Desperate. Haunted. It was like looking in a mirror.

      Rachel’s breath caught and she turned back to face the front. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and forced her heart to slow.

      She knew who he was. Strangers were easy to pick out