Cowboy Comes Home. Rachel Lee
he gave Dan Fromberg the roofing estimate, he made his way back to his one-room apartment on the second floor of a hotel that was almost as old as Conard City. Not that that was so godawful old, he supposed, but the building bordered on ancient.
It must have been a grand old hotel in its day, he often thought, near enough the train terminal to be convenient, but not so close that its patrons would have been breathing coal smoke and the aroma of cattle in the stockyard awaiting shipment. In fact, it was just about midway between the courthouse and the terminal. The way people were apt to lay things out in the days when your own two feet were the favored form of transportation.
What a person mainly noticed about the place now, though, was that the halls were dark and musty, the stairs and floors creaked and it looked like a firetrap.
His apartment was different, though. In the old days, they’d believed in building rooms big. He had a huge living room, an alcove for his bed, a tacked-on kitchenette and a bathroom with a claw-footed tub. His tall windows overlooked the street and faced south, so that sunlight poured in all winter long. All of this for less than anything else he could have rented in town.
If he hadn’t been so fixed on his plan for a youth ranch, he could have turned this place into something spectacular.
But this afternoon, with the sky so leaden and a sleet storm getting ready to move in, he was finding it just a bit difficult to remember the potential he’d seen here. The hallway and stairs were as dark as if it had been night, and his apartment wasn’t much better. He turned on a couple of lamps, but it didn’t help much. The early-winter night would be falling soon, and all of a sudden he didn’t want to be sitting here alone.
He decided his budget could handle dinner at Maude’s, so he pulled on a warmer jacket and drove back up the street toward the church and Maude’s place, which was right across the street from Good Shepherd. By the time he reached the diner, night had fallen.
Maude’s was brightly lit but nearly empty. He slipped into a booth that let him look out the front window, and as he scanned the menu, he saw Anna and Dan leave the church together and get in their cars.
Anna’s was an old vehicle, one that had seen all its better days long before it had come into her possession. It was big, built like a tank, and she backed up cautiously before pulling out of the parking lot and heading up the street. He realized she hadn’t brought the dog, and he wondered if she was going to leave it in the office all night. That didn’t seem right.
But then he noticed that she wasn’t heading toward her home. Instead she turned up to the courthouse square. So did the reverend.
Shrugging, he went back to the menu. Maybe they had a meeting to go to.
“What’ll it be, Cowboy?” Maude asked in her usual belligerent fashion as she slapped a mug of coffee down in front of him. She was a plump, older woman with grizzled gray hair and a no-nonsense face. “Eat hearty.
They say it’s gonna get damn cold tonight.”
“Sleet’s in the forecast.”
“Yup. And don’t skip the pie, neither. We got an elderberry pie that’ll knock your socks off.”
“Save a piece for me, then.” He gave her a smile, but she didn’t return it. He wondered if anyone had ever seen Maude smile. “Two bacon cheeseburgers with extra fries and a bowl of spinach, please.”
“Spinach?” She looked surprised.
“If you have it.”
“Oh, I have it, but most folks want salad.”
“I like spinach.” He shrugged.
“Why don’t you have a side of onion rings instead of them extra fries? We got a shipment of some really good sweet onions.”
“Sounds good.” He’d never eaten here when Maude hadn’t changed his order somehow. On the other hand, he’d never regretted following her suggestions.
She stomped away, leaving him to sip his coffee and stare out into the night. It was warm in here, he found himself thinking. Warm. Despite the threatening weather, people would come and go.
He figured he might stay here a while.
He was certainly in no hurry to go back to his empty apartment.
The five-o’clock bail hearing for Lorna Lacey was a special session called for the child’s benefit. The court’s earlier business was finished, and no other prisoners stood in the dock.
The girl herself, hands handcuffed before her, sat with her head down at the defense table. Beside her sat an attorney Anna didn’t recognize, apparently someone the Lacey family had brought in from another town. Sam Haversham, the prosecutor, was standing at his table skimming through a thin file. Probably Lorna’s file, Anna thought.
It was amazing how quickly you could develop a file when you got in trouble with the law.
Apart from herself and Dan, the only other observers were Bridget and Al Lacey, both of whom were sitting with Dan in the front row. Anna sat farther back, preferring to be unobtrusive. Besides, she hated courtrooms. They gave her the willies.
At the front of the room, the court clerk sat at her desk beside the judge’s bench, and in front of the witness box sat a stenographer, feeding the leading edge of a fresh stack of fan-folded paper into her machine. Two bailiffs stood to the side, chatting quietly with Nate Tate.
The door to the judge’s chamber opened, and one of the bailiffs called out, “All rise” as Judge Francine Williams walked to the bench. Lorna, Anna noticed, had to be encouraged to stand by a gentle tug on her elbow. When the judge sat, everyone followed suit.
Judge Williams sat and spent a moment glancing over some papers in front of her. “Good afternoon.” She devoted a few minutes to reciting the case number and charges for the record, and having the attorneys identify themselves.
“Now,” she continued, “let’s get right to the point, shall we? We all know why we’re here, and I’m willing to dispense with the usual formalities, if no one has any objection?”
“No objection, Your Honor,” both lawyers answered immediately.
“Good. I’m sure everyone wants to get home for dinner. We have an unusual case here, unusual at least for Conard County. We have no facilities suitable for the keeping of a thirteen-year-old girl. Our limited juvenile facilities are set up only to handle boys, and I really don’t want to see this child in the county jail overnight, so I’m going to ask the prosecutor to be reasonable in requesting bail. Mr. Haversham?”
“We’re fully prepared to be reasonable, Your Honor. In fact, considering that Lorna Lacey has never been in trouble before, we were prepared to agree to have her released on her own recognizance. However, another fact has come to light, which I need to bring to the court’s attention.”
“And that is?”
“Miss Lacey told Sheriff Tate that if she is released on bond she will start another fire.”
Anna’s hands clenched in her lap.
Judge Williams looked at Nate. “Is that true, Sheriff?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned her attention to Lorna’s attorney. “Mr. Carlisle, what’s going on here?”
The lawyer cleared his throat as he rose to his feet. “A moment to confer with my client, Judge?”
“By all means,” the judge said. “Be advised that if your client made such a threat, I won’t be able to release her from custody. Would you like to straighten that out for me?”
“Certainly, Judge.”
The lawyer sat back down and had a hurried, hushed conversation with Lorna. Anna found she was holding her breath, and her nails were digging in to her palms. Her heart squeezed when the man stood back up to speak.
“My