Page 24 of Long Arm of the Cowboy

Before she could nod in agreement, he was moving off, long legs carrying him away from her. Seconds later, she heard the front door shut.

She hurried to the front to peek out the windows. He stood in the yard in a patch of sunlight. His cowboy hat was tugged low enough that she couldn’t see his eyes but even through the door, she could discern the deep timbre of his words.

Did he realize how loud he was when there was no background noise to cover his words?

He was speaking to someone in clipped tones about sending him “the brothers.”

Nowthathad an ominous ring. Her reporter’s mind jumped to mafia men surrounding the cabin to guard them, complete with dark suits and machine guns.

If they were lucky, these brothers would be taking the bomb off their hands.

Then what? She couldn’t go back to East Canon knowing the guy who paid her to deliver the bomb knew she never had. He’d be after her. Would Clay leave her alone to deal with it? After all, everyone else in her life had. She couldn’t exactly rely on anybody, not even Andrew if she were honest.

Her big brother had done what he could, but in the end, if he hadn’t joined up when he did, he never would have gotten out of their small town. As conditions declined and more and more crime seeped in, her brother would have been very susceptible to it. He would have ended up in prison or worse. Hehadto leave her, and she would never hold that against him. She was so proud of Andrew and all he achieved. If not for him making sure she had all she needed in college, she never could have made it through and gotten her degree.

She stood at the door listening for another minute or two, but Clay only seemed to be speaking in monosyllables or code she couldn’t make sense of.

She drifted away from the door and moved around the cabin, exploring. First thing she did was check the kitchen for food. Second was a water source. She’d lived in too many ratty places in her life to know better than to trust the water.

After turning on the kitchen faucet, she let some water run into a glass she found in a cupboard. She sniffed it and found it odorless.

Good start.

A place this remote must have a well, and whether or not the water from it was filtered was anybody’s guess. Without digging further, she’d just have to chance drinking the stuff—and bathing in it too.

“Ohh, a hot bath sounds good right now,” she said to herself.

Silence always got to her. There was too much silence in her life. Sometimes after the garage below her apartment closed for the night, she kept the TV on just to hear the men’s voices she was accustomed to.

She pictured Andrew and his buddies—even Clay—talking together. Back in the day, nobody paid any attention to the little girl in the corner, but just listening to people talk offered her comfort.

She rummaged through cupboards and pulled out a few cans. “Black beans. Why do people even buy black beans? They’ll keep you alive, sure, but they taste like crap.” She turned the cans so she didn’t have to see the labels. Then she pulled out some canned processed meat.

Nowthisshe could work with. She’d made many a meal out of this stuff.

When she opened another cupboard, she let out a cry. “Bread! Thank god—we’re saved!”

She hastily examined the loaf for mold and checked the expiration date as well. “At least the last occupant left something behind worth eating.”

On a shelf under a small window sat several camping lanterns, candles and flashlights. She took these and lined them up on the counter with the other supplies. Standing back, she assessed the haul.

“This should last for…a day. Damn. That makes me nervous.”

Well, she was hungry, and she knew a man of Clay’s size had to burn a lot of calories. She set to work preparing some food.

A glance at the window showed her that the sun was setting, leaving a gold cast to the world outside. The idea of seeing Clay bathed in that light almost made her look out at him again, but she held back.

She tested the camping lanterns first just to see if they worked. They set such a cheery glow in the dim space that she left them running. Then she located some matches and lit three fat white candles.

With the space looking much homier, she found a cast iron skillet and wiped it out with a towel before setting it on the range burner. When she let the canned meat slide from the can onto a plate in a satisfying plop, her stomach growled.

How long had it been since she’d made this favorite of hers? “Oh! I hope there’s mustard.” She moved to the refrigerator and opened the door to stare at the sparse contents. There was mustard, but it was just about the only thing in there.

She set it on the counter and returned to fixing the dish.

“If Clay doesn’t like it, then he’d better be ready to hunt us some meat because there’s nothing else here,” she said under her breath.

Soon she was humming as she performed a task she’d done countless times over the years, slicing the meat into slabs and setting them in the bottom of the pan. As they sizzled, she located a toaster in a bottom cupboard and tentatively plugged it in, then even more tentatively put some bread down to toast.

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