Man in Black

Chapter 1-3

“Oh, I loved it! It’s been so much fun!” Jo fairly bubbled with her enthusiasm. Listening, Melissa felt a slight stir of envy. It would be so different to throw herself headlong into fun as her friend did. How would it feel?

“Enough to come back?” Charlie sounded a little anxious. “Oh sure. You bet! The Gulch Gang’s great.”

“How about you, Melissa?”

“I enjoyed it too. Everyone was so nice. I only came along to humor Jo, but—”

“Next time you can come for yourself, but I hope you bring Jo too.” He glanced down to give Jo a special smile and then looked back at Melissa. “And I take that back, about wasting your time on Lawton. You must have found a button the rest of us missed.”

After Jo pulled out and headed down the highway toward Linda Vista, she turned to Melissa. “Well, Lis, it wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

“No, it really was fun. They all seem like such nice people.” Of course nice was not a word she would associate with Lawton Kane, but then she couldn’t quite think of him as part of the group, either. The rest of them were nice—funny, warm, ordinary, and nice. Sitting in their midst was a bit like falling into a feather bed—warm, safe, and comfortable.

If Lawton had not been there, that’s all it would have been, novel and nice. In the long run, that might be best, certainly less risky, although not very exciting. At that instant, Melissa didn’t know whether she wanted merely nice or something so different she had no words for it at all.

* * * *

After he returned Melissa to her seat, Lawton glanced around the room. Seeing the expressions of amazement and disbelief, he knew there’d be gossip and questions. Already he heard the buzz of whispers. “Look at Kane. What’s old Killer doing dancing with that girl?”

As quickly as he could, he made his way out of the clubhouse. Why had he done anything so impulsive and foolish? He could have said no. He should have said no. But he couldn’t resist the plea in her eyes, dim their hopeful glow.

When he reached for the keys to his truck, the crackle of paper in his pocket reminded him. The note. The damned note. Stuck under the wiper blade this morning when he was in town. He didn’t have to take the scrap out and unfold it to picture the message in his mind.

“The lost has been found. There are no hiding places. Where is the bullet that bears your name, Gringo? You will not know until it bites.” The crudely printed block letters looked like a child’s writing, but no child had penned those words.

Ten years of freedom were over. Maybe that last dance had been an act of defiance, but it was still impulsive and still foolish. But why her and why now?

He asked himself the same question a dozen times before he fell asleep that night and never did come up with a satisfactory answer. He’d seen any number of prettier women, certainly flashier and more worldly ones. She seemed terribly young, yet she had a poise and dignity which didn’t match her apparent age. As soon as he saw her, he’d felt a jolt of recognition, as if he knew her. But that had to be impossible. Girls like her didn’t move in his circles.

He all but forgot his role in the skit because she became his only reality. That wasn’t like him at all. He never played to the audience. So why had he stood and stared like a fool, drowning in two deep brown eyes, eyes holding glints of carnelian and topaz like the fire in an opal? Why had he been paralyzed, frozen there while some strange current arced between them? And he’d smelled roses—the old fashioned spicy-sweet kind of roses.

She’d come with the little redhead who was so taken with Charlie. He’d have to ask Charlie who they were. No, damn it, they were just groupies. He never bothered with groupies. They came and went, common and pesky as ants at a picnic. Why pay any mind to them? They probably wouldn’t be back and he’d soon forget all about her.

It hadn’t been easy, but after retiring, he’d carved himself a new life here in the San Marcos Valley. When he inherited the ranch from Uncle Jack, everything fell into place. Besides work on the ranch, he had his membership in the Gulch Gang to occupy his time. Since he couldn’t quite become a total hermit, at least the Gang’s profits all went for good causes, either the restoration or some of the local charities. And he found it amusing at times to play at dangers that had once been much too real, a way to keep old skills honed while he relaxed.

Lately, the fireplace building jobs were picking up too. Funny, he would never have guessed he’d enjoy anything like that, but after helping his friend, Les Perry, a few times, he’d discovered he had a flare for it. He found a peculiar challenge in choosing the right stones, each with its unique color, pattern or shape, and setting them to create a massive and serviceable work of art, a one-of-a-kind structure that reflected the character of the house, the owners, and the area.

No, he’d worked too hard to jeopardize it all now for a piquantly pretty face or a slim, supple young body. Even if she fit into his arms so pleasantly he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel in a more intimate situation. A girl like that, with understated elegance and the unmistakable air of class and privilege, couldn’t be anything but trouble. The plump little redhead was more his style, but he wasn’t drawn to her at all, wouldn’t have been even if she hadn’t been hanging around Charlie.

With resolution born of long practice, he turned his thoughts and started a mental list of things-to-do that would keep him far too busy to think about women. He had too much unfinished business from his past, poised to erupt into trouble. This time nobody was going to get hurt because they were too close to him when it happened. He’d kept that promise to himself for a long time, and he wasn’t going to break it now.

Melissa. Why did the name have such a lilt to it, flowing like a beloved old tune when it ran through his mind? It fit her somehow, dainty and old-fashioned. Damn it, why hadn’t he forgotten her? Already.