10
Walker
We rode up to our friend Lane Haskins’ house; the downstairs windows glowed with soft lantern light. The man himself came out onto the porch and put his hat low on his head. Tucking up the collar of his coat, he came down the steps to meet us.
Luke handed Celia down from his lap and Lane was there to help her. Luke dismounted and stood beside her and introduced our bride.
Lane replied with a simple tip of his hat. “Ma’am.”
Climbing from my horse, I joined them.
“Celia, this is Lane Haskins, an old friend,” Luke said by way of introduction.
We’d known Lane for a decade. As a mine owner in Jasper, he and Luke had the same profession, fell in with the same circles; he’d even housed Luke one winter when he’d been caught in Jasper after the pass closed. While his mine was small
