The Green Lace Corset, стр. 57
In the morning, she relaxed on the pillow and watched the snow with gratitude. It would give her sore body a chance to recover. She waited for Cliff’s “I told you so,” but it never came. He wasn’t one to gloat.
He brought her flapjacks and a cup of coffee, and held up the rum bottle from the mantel. “Want some?”
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“Thought it might make you feel better is all.”
“What do you mean?” she asked nonchalantly. “I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
As soon as he went out to feed the horses, she hobbled to the mantel, grasped the rum, and poured some in her coffee. She might need to drink more of this in the future. She was determined to become an expert rider and hightail it out of there like that mountain man on his mule as soon as possible.
The blizzard took over the ranch for five days and made trudging to the outhouse and back almost impossible. “I promise this is the last storm of the year. Spring will be here before we know it,” Cliff said. He’d go in and out to feed the horses and bring in more wood, then rush back to sit by the fire and smoke his pipe. They had begun to act like an old married couple. They bickered about his tracking in slush and whose turn it was to clean up the dishes or put another log on the fire. Even the smell of his pipe tobacco and the way he nagged her to read her poems annoyed her. Instead, she suggested they memorize some psalms and began reciting them to each other.
He put up the wooden rods he’d whittled, and they finally hung the curtains. “These are the downright best-looking ones I’ve ever seen,” he said. As he began to close them, she told him not to—she liked to feel close to the weather and to see nature outside.
At night, primal murmurings echoed from the cot and crescendoed to a sharp pitch, then grew quiet. She imagined him beside her in the bed, where she could inhale his earthy scent, feel his rough hands on her body. When awake, Sally Sue fought those notions. She’d need to stay alert in case his mood shifted and he again became that man who’d held a gun to her chest. But in her dreams, which never lied, desires for him floated in and out of her mind like flickering flames, cool and then hot.
The dreams whispered to her, Let go. Let go. You can trust him.
Several days later, the storm subsided and gave way to a radiant sky. Sally Sue woke to birdsong and stepped outside. The smell of sage was in the air. Snow still graced the peaks, but at the ranch below it had melted, and her icy heart along with it. The pond thawed. The ducks were back. Soon she’d be able to ride again.
Cliff poked his head inside the cabin. “I’m off.”
“Where’re you going?” She followed him outside to Roan, tied up to a fence post.
“Just off.” He tacked up his horse and climbed on.
“When’re you coming back?” She sounded like her nagging mother.
“Stay close.” He stared at her for a moment, then trotted away up the hill.
This was her chance. As soon as he was out of sight, she set to searching for the money again. She’d find it, mount Scout, and take the road out of here. She’d leave the horse in Flagstaff, hitch a ride on a train or a stagecoach, and finally go back home.
She searched in the privy and stomped under the big oak to feel for loose holes in the muddy ground. Even though it was forbidden, she climbed into the barn loft, pitchforked the hay, and looked in every nook and cranny, but to no avail. She couldn’t go without any money.
As night fell, Socks in her arms, she stepped outside and watched for Roan to appear, fire red in the moonlight. Why hadn’t Cliff returned before nightfall, as promised? Had he lied so she wouldn’t try to venture away? Was he sleeping under the stars on the nearby ranch that Mack had mentioned was looking for hands? Or perhaps he’d slipped into town to whoop it up with the girl in that green corset. Sally Sue felt a twinge of silly jealousy. Or—her heart sped up—Mack had caught Cliff. He was locked up in jail and getting ready for the gallows. The poster had said DEAD OR ALIVE.
The full moon appeared, so near she wanted to reach up and touch it. A smattering of stars blinked around it. Eerie shadows began to cover the moon. The mesmerizing whiteness receded in a crescent of darkness that gradually increased until a red glow alight with fire covered the entire orb, the sky around it a canopy of midnight blue. Then, curve by curve, the moon slowly returned to its former white glow.
Her skin prickled and Socks’s head popped up as a far-off coyote howled, a snarly, strangled cat sound ensued, and screams followed. Two months earlier, these sounds would have terrified Sally Sue, but now they intrigued her into thoughts of what might have happened. It was all nature’s way.
She went back inside, got in bed, and tucked Socks beside her. This missing Cliff reminded her of when her father had left. She couldn’t breathe and imagined never seeing him again. She thought of Cliff’s teasing grin, the curve of his strong shoulders when he groomed the horses. Slowly, she had begun to get used to their life together: She no longer flinched when he came near, no longer expected his compliments to be mocking, relished their quiet evenings by the crackling fire as he whittled curtain rods or braided leather reins and she sewed or tatted, Socks sleeping on the floor between them.
She could