Head In The Clouds
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“How long do you plan to stay here?” the woman asked. She was sitting in a rocking chair on her porch, looking at him as he stood beside his horse. “You know that if you’re staying at our hotel or stopping with one of these ranchers around here, it will cost more.”
He nodded slowly and said nothing. He didn’t need to explain anything, but she wanted to hear him say something so maybe he would stop looking at her like he did when they were alone. When she had asked him what was wrong back there in town, he’d told her he’d been thinking about how to get them safely away from the men who were hunting them for revenge.
She knew that wasn’t true. He looked uncomfortable and nervous because he hadn’t gotten over the fact that she was wearing a man’s clothes. It bothered him that a woman would wear trousers; it should bother him even more that he wouldn’t let himself be with a woman who wore them.
That would mean admitting that there was a reason for his feelings that went deeper than just having a different body shape or sexual preference.
He still couldn’t accept that the real cause of his discomfort was that he wanted to make love to her but could not.
“Do you have family in this area?” she finally asked. She wanted to hear him talk again, any words would do.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to tell anyone where I am until we can travel farther west,” he said quickly. Then he added, “We’ll move faster then.” He turned abruptly toward the house and walked inside without saying another word.
For three days they traveled by wagon train across the high plains, heading due south. They camped each night in different places. They never stayed anywhere longer than a few hours. At night they always kept their distance, keeping watch from far off and moving before daybreak.
Sometimes they rode fast during the day, covering many miles in short order, and other times they traveled slowly, taking time out for rest and a midday meal. Each morning they woke early and left as soon as possible.
They tried to avoid towns along the way, but sometimes there were no other choices. On this particular occasion, they came to an isolated ranch, one of the very last ones along the old Oregon Trail.
On top of the hill above them stretched an open meadow surrounded by thick stands of pine trees on all sides. In front of the house was a large barn where horses grazed while cattle watched from behind its walls.
They tied up our horses and walked into a big kitchen with a large wood stove set in the middle of a table filled with covered dishes waiting to be heated. There was no sign of life except for three chickens pecking in a small yard under a lean-to porch.
An empty whiskey bottle lay near the stove. A half-dozen empty bottles lined the shelves of a long wooden bar in a room adjacent to the kitchen.
The house smelled musty and stale, and it appeared abandoned and lonely, but it was clean and well cared for.
A large fireplace filled a corner in the living room with logs stacked neatly beside it. Two comfortable chairs sat on either side of the fire with a low couch between them.
When she walked down the hall to her bedroom and closed the door behind her, she saw that every room was neat and tidy, and spotless. She’d spent enough time cleaning houses in the city to recognize a home that had been occupied regularly.
“Did you leave your things packed?” he called from outside.
She turned on the light and went through a box on a shelf and found her toiletries inside. After she brushed her hair and teeth, she opened the door and went downstairs. He stood there holding a basket.
“I put fresh clothes in this for you,” he said. “You may want to change before dinner.”
His tone implied that he wouldn’t be joining her for supper. His eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. He held the basket in one hand and took the steps two at a time when she reached the bottom floor.
She carried the basket to the kitchen and set it on the table. She felt awkward, as though he expected her to offer him some kind of help, but there was none. The kitchen was too big for such a little house, so the cook stove was in a separate building.
In the dining room, she saw that a man and a boy were setting food on the table.
“Mr. Johnson? Are these my guests?” she asked.
“Yes,” the man replied. He was tall and muscular with a full white mustache and bushy black eyebrows. He wore suspenders over loose pants and suspender buckles on his shirt. “This is my son, David.”
David smiled at her and nodded his head in greeting.
After the two men served themselves, the father turned toward her and said, “Please come sit here next to me.”
She sat at the end of the table closest to him and across from his son. They both stared at her. For the first time since they arrived at the ranch, she realized how much older the man actually was than she was.
“Where are you from?” his father asked.
It seemed like an odd question, so she answered, “I’m from San Francisco.”
The father’s brows lifted slightly as if he didn’t believe her for a moment.
“Why do you ask?” she asked.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, “Because you have the look of someone who lives on the streets.”
Was that why she looked out of place in this house? Because she lived on the streets?
He went on to say, “My wife died of cancer a year ago and I haven’t had much luck finding new wives. You don’t know how bad it gets without a woman around here to take care of things.”
Her mind swam and she struggled to keep the conversation going as he talked about his loneliness and lack of female companionship. All of it was true; he spoke with complete sincerity, but she knew nothing about his personal life and couldn’t guess what might’ve happened to his wife or if he wanted a new bride.
It occurred to her that she should have lied, but then she wondered why she would lie about anything. Her only concern was that her real intentions hadn’t been apparent and her job was already complicated enough.
While the two men finished their meal, she watched David’s eyes watching her closely. Was he wondering if she was the one who had shot his mother? Did he think that her being here meant she was responsible for her death? Or maybe he wasn’t thinking about her at all but instead pondering how close he came to meeting his own untimely death on the road yesterday.
Once their plates were cleared, his father stood up and asked, “Will you join us for a walk in the field after we finish our coffee?”
She looked at him and tried not to frown. “Would I need to bring my gun?”
The man laughed, “Of course not.”
When he and David left the room, she followed them out to the barn, where the horses were stabled. A few cows grazed in another section and a chicken pecked at the ground near a pile of straw.
They climbed a wooden ladder and walked along a rope railing attached to the wall that surrounded a small pasture, and stopped when they reached the center. They sat on the rail facing each other.
“Do you know how to ride a horse?” the man asked.
“No, sir,” she replied.
“Then you’ll stay on this side of the fence. Don’t move until I tell you. If a cow or horse approaches, you stand still and hold on tight.”
“How high up does that fence go?” she asked.
“High enough so we can shoot at coyotes without worrying about hitting the animals.” He leaned back against it and rested his arms behind his head, staring down the open field. “If we get hungry, we just climb over the fence and go inside.”
She imagined him coming up from below in order to shoot at the coyotes and thought again how easy it would be to reach through the bars and strangle him with the rope.
“Did you see those men shooting last night?” he asked casually, changing subjects and looking at her over the top of his spectacles.
“I did.”
She noticed that his eyes glowed red beneath the lenses. She hadn’t seen any such sign before, yet she believed that she’d witnessed his demon powers, so she assumed that there must have been a reason why he was so different from everyone else she met.
“What color were they?”
“I couldn’t see colors,” she replied.
“You’re sure they weren’t purple or yellow or green?” His lips curled into a crooked smile and he glanced down the fence line. “I’ve always liked green myself.”
“So you think I’m lying about seeing the men?”
“Well, I can’t imagine anyone else could see something that doesn’t exist. Do you know what I mean?”
A loud whinny broke the silence and startled her. A few feet away, a gray-and-white horse trotted toward them.
His father called, “Wait till I tell you to move.”
The horse neighed loudly and circled the fence twice. When he returned to his post, the man said, “There are plenty more horses. We keep four of these beauties and the rest belong to my friends who live on the other side of the mountain.”
The woman didn’t respond; she kept her eyes on the white beast that was now standing quietly beside its stall. It was a beautiful animal and reminded her of the horse she used to own, but it didn’t seem very friendly. Maybe it was because she couldn’t see the man’s demon power; perhaps the horse sensed her presence as an intruder and reacted accordingly.
The man went on to talk about the horses and his love for them, telling her that he was partial to roans because they had the prettiest coats. “Have you ever ridden a roan?” he asked.
“Only once. I never liked being around them and I couldn’t afford to take care of them, so I sold my horse and left Montana.”
“Why did you leave?”
She shrugged. “It was time to return home.”
David’s father asked, “Where do you live?”
“In San Antonio. I worked as a dressmaker and owned a shop, but it closed when the business failed.”
He looked surprised by her answer, and then a look of sadness crossed his face. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the horse. After a while, she realized that he didn’t ask her any more questions. Perhaps he wanted her to share her feelings about leaving the ranch.
***
The sun shone brightly in the sky. Birds chirped as they flitted from tree branch to tree trunk, calling out in song. The grasses swayed in the wind, reminding her of the waves at the ocean. She took a deep breath of air filled with the smell of freshly mown hay and the faint scent of manure that wafted from the barns.
“This is my favorite place,” she said. “I don’t want to leave.”
“I’ll miss you if you leave,” he replied. “Maybe we should find another way to communicate.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small box, which he opened and showed her. Inside lay a necklace made of tiny beads.
“My wife’s bracelet.” His voice sounded hollow and emotionless as if he’d buried the truth somewhere deep inside himself. “I lost it years ago after she died, and finally found it again in a pawnshop.”
When she looked closely, she saw that the black beads had been replaced with multicolored ones. “You’re lucky to have a piece of your wife’s jewelry.”
“She’s gone, but her memory lives on,” he said softly, and then added, “That’s where the name came from. My wife loved flowers.”
“What happened to her?”
“Nothing good.” He sighed and stared off into the distance, remembering what he’d told her earlier: his wife had died of a sudden illness, and their baby had survived but suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen, which had caused permanent damage. The child lived only two years.
“How terrible!” She felt sorrowful for him and his loss. “Does this mean you can’t have children now?”
He nodded sadly and said nothing more.
As the woman watched him, she sensed that his life had been hard—far worse than she would have imagined. No wonder he seemed bitter and angry at times. Her sympathy grew stronger.
After some thought, she decided that this might be the perfect opportunity to get close to David to learn more about his demon powers and to figure out how he could help his daughter. If he hadn’t mentioned anything about helping others, she wouldn’t have known that he cared; all she knew was that he hated the fact that his power was a curse, not a gift.
“If you want me to stay, I’ll have to work,” she said. “But you won’t know if I’m doing a good job unless someone tells you. Will you give me a chance?”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the house and back to her. “Yes. For my little girl, if nothing else.”
The man smiled. “I don’t mind if you talk to the horse or walk among the animals, but if you try to go into any of the buildings, you will have to put on a mask before you come outside, and I don’t want anyone seeing you except me and my family. And no one must know you are here. I need to be able to hide you if we’re ever attacked.”
She nodded in agreement and said, “I promise I’ll do everything possible to keep your secret and protect myself. Can I see the barn?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let me show you.”
They walked through the main building, down a set of stairs to the ground floor, then up another flight to reach the second floor, where she saw a long room that housed the horses, which were saddled and ready to ride. The next level contained stables, storage rooms, and a small kitchen. A door led out to a porch that overlooked a large corral filled with horses.
A couple of men rode past on horseback, heading for the barn. One of them whistled and yelled something that sent the horses into an excited whinny. The other stopped briefly to watch the horses and then rode away.
When they left, the woman saw a young boy running toward the barn, waving a toy stick and yelling, “Hey, Joe! Come here!” He ran around the corner, then returned to play with the horses. They nuzzled his face and bumped against each other, and the boy giggled.
As they walked across the dirt-covered barn floor, the woman noted that the stalls weren’t much bigger than prison cells and held two or three animals. She tried to imagine living like this, with little space, so close together. “Where do you sleep?” she asked.
“There isn’t enough room for us, but my parents are kind enough to let me use one of the rooms when I visit.”
“I’ve never slept in such a small place.”
“Neither did we until we moved here years ago,” he said, “but it’s all we can afford.”
He led the way through a door to a narrow hallway leading to the front of the house, which he unlocked using a key. As she followed him inside, she looked around and saw that it was a plain and unadorned two-story building.
The walls were made of unpainted wood; there were no drapes or curtains on the windows, just simple iron bars that were secured tightly. She wondered why he lived so simple compared to the wealth she’d seen at the ranch.
She followed him down a short hall to the end of which was a large room painted white, furnished with two straight-backed chairs, a table, and a small bookcase holding a few books on top.
“It doesn’t seem like much, does it? But it’s comfortable enough,” he said, glancing around and smiling.
The woman went closer to a painting hanging on the wall and noticed that it depicted a man riding a horse. Next to it was a photograph of a young girl standing next to a horse that was pulling a wagon full of children. The girl’s eyes were sad and her mouth pursed in concentration.
“That is beautiful,” she said and touched the frame of the picture, which made him glance at her for a moment before turning back to the photographs. “What’s her name?” she asked. “Is that your daughter?”
He nodded and then explained, “Her name is Rachel.”
The motherly feeling she felt surprised her; it was as though she already knew him as if he had always been part of their lives. Perhaps it was because he looked so much like his daughter. He seemed familiar to her, too—like a neighbor from the country she had once visited or maybe someone who belonged to her own family.
His dark hair, brown eyes, and handsome features reminded her of her father.
“Rachel seems very pretty,” she said, looking at the photo again. “And so does this picture.”
After he finished showing her the room, he pointed to the back door. “I guess that’s the best place for us to meet. You can sit on the steps there or come inside if the weather turns bad. It usually rains more often than not.”
She nodded and thanked him, then hurried outside, eager to get out of the stifling airless building. As soon as she stepped into the sun, she gasped. The sky was a deep blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers and grass and made her realize how hot it really was. And yet she felt cool.
She glanced around to see if anyone else was watching them, then headed over to where the wooden steps led down to the dirt road. When she reached the bottom, she stood on the edge of the walkway and gazed up the street to where she could make out a few buildings.
He was waiting for her on the corner, sitting in the shade of a tree that shaded his front yard and was surrounded by an array of colorful flowers. She watched him take off his hat, wipe the sweat off his forehead and toss it aside. The wind ruffled his dark hair that matched his eyes. With one hand he pulled at his thick dark braid, which came down halfway to his waist.
She sat down next to him, and after they exchanged pleasantries, he asked what sort of work she did. She told him she worked for the state department and had recently come to Wyoming to investigate a possible poisoning case.
“Do you know what poison they used?” he asked.
“I’m still investigating,” she said. “But the victim is a child who was poisoned with arsenic.”
“That’s horrible.”
They talked for almost an hour about everything under the sun: the weather, the scenery, the people, the food, and the horses and cattle of the area. By the time she was ready to leave, they both agreed that neither was ready to stop talking. It was nice to be able to talk with someone without worrying that she would say something offensive or reveal some hidden secret.
As she turned to go back up the stairs, he stopped her with a question. “What kind of work do you do here in town? I suppose you must have a lot of free time since you’re not busy investigating a poisoning case.”
“Yes, I’m doing my best to avoid that,” she said. “My job is to find whoever killed those three miners and bring them to justice.”
“How long will it take before you find who did it?” he asked, frowning as if he didn’t believe her.
She tried to look serious while thinking of a reply. “We are hoping to catch the killer in the next few weeks.”
When she walked away from the house, he was still watching her. The motherly feeling she felt toward him surprised her and brought a lump to her throat. She hurried back up the steps and took a seat next to him in the shadow of the tree.
After they exchanged names and occupations, she explained about the miners’ deaths. She couldn’t imagine how any human being could harm another person—especially innocent children, but she knew that murderers were born to kill. And when it happened, no one could prevent it.
His expression darkened when she mentioned the children’s death, and she found herself wondering if that was one of the reasons why he never married. Or perhaps he had been unable to marry because he had become an outlaw and was now wanted by the law. But even if he was guilty of murder, he wouldn’t have deserved such a terrible fate.
She glanced over at the house. A woman carrying a basket came out to water the flowers. Rachel ran up to help her mother as she passed through the gate. Her sister followed behind. She waved and said goodbye to the two women before turning back to John, who was still gazing at the young girl.
“Why aren’t you out with your wife or daughter?” she asked. “It looks like you could use a little sunshine.”
He smiled. “You don’t know how fortunate you are to have a family. Mine died years ago. They didn’t die suddenly or violently, thank God. We just got older and sicker until we finally passed away.” He looked at her as if trying to memorize every detail of her face. “The only thing that keeps me going is this place,” he added quietly.
“Where would I go without them?” she mused. “I have so much trouble making decisions on my own. My sister worries that I’m going to forget our mother and father.”
“Well, I can tell you’ve done a wonderful job of caring for yourself.”
“I try very hard,” she said. “And I love my family dearly.”
“I’ll bet they appreciate that.”
She hesitated to ask him what he meant by that, but curiosity made her ask anyway.
“Your sister and your nieces look a lot alike,” he said. “Is there a chance that one of them might have inherited your mother’s gift for painting?”
“That’s very sweet of you to mention that,” she replied, smiling. “But I should probably warn you that my niece doesn’t have any artistic talent.”
“Then it must be a genetic trait.”
“Actually, it has more to do with our father than anyone else.”
“So you think it was his talent that carried through the bloodline?”
“Yes, that and a bit of our mother’s.”
“You mean her skill at baking cookies or her knack for sewing?”
She nodded. “Both of those things.”
“If I was to guess, I’d say she was the better cook,” he said, staring into her eyes. “And I think you’re the better artist.”
Rachel was shocked and hurt at his assumption that she wasn’t a fine painter. She was also startled when he reached over to touch her sketchbook. His finger traced the line of her jaw, drawing a shiver down her spine.
Before she could protest, he picked up the book and flipped through it. When his gaze settled on a black horse standing under the tree, she couldn’t contain her surprise and started to laugh. She hadn’t realized that she had drawn a black horse.
He frowned again. “Are all your horses black?”
“No, some of them are white,” she said. “Or gray, which reminds me of a storm cloud coming in.”
“Do you paint these pictures in order from lightest to darkest?” he asked, holding her sketchbook between his thumb and forefinger.
“Not exactly.” She closed the book and held it in front of her chest. “The lightest is a white horse, but after that, the colors get darker until you reach a black one.”
She noticed that her hand trembled as she spoke about the drawings. He seemed to know something was troubling her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied, glancing toward the house. It was time to leave. “I need to check on the rest of the herd before sunset.”
As she walked away from him, she wondered if he could see the change in her expression. There was a strange tension between them, and she had never felt anything like it in her life. As if sensing her discomfort, John called her name.
But she turned away before he could speak and hurried inside the fence. The thought of being alone with him for another minute almost made her faint. And she didn’t want to feel like that around him. Not only did she find his dark eyes fascinating, but he seemed to have a way of making her feel comfortable and protected.
If that happened too often, she knew that she would end up getting attached, and it was best not to form any attachments when she was living in such a dangerous place.
When she went out to take her position on the wagon wheel, she found the two men talking to each other across the corral. One was tall and muscular like the cowboys. This man was dressed differently from most of the cowboys, wearing an elegant brown suit with shiny black boots. He looked so different from the others that she wondered if he was a relative of the ranch hands.
“I understand you’ve been hired by the local sheriff to find this man,” said the man in the gray suit. “It’s a difficult task, and you’ll have to use every tool available to catch him. That includes tracking his footprints and following his trail.
But don’t expect to be able to track him for long because there are many places he can run to. So far we haven’t been able to pin him down, which makes my job even harder.”
“How long will this go on?” Rachel asked. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”
The man smiled at her. “We’ll have this mystery solved in no time.”
Rachel was stunned by his words, wondering why they bothered him so much. Did he fear for his safety? Or had he already lost someone to the killer? Her stomach knotted as she listened to their conversation, but it was soon interrupted when John called her back outside the fence.
“Let’s make it official,” he said, handing her a set of keys. “My sister left me these in case anything happens to her. They belonged to Mother, and I’ve kept them close to me ever since.”
With that said, he led the way toward the barn, and Rachel followed behind him. Inside, she saw that the barn contained a number of stalls where she could put the horses for the night. Then John took her to the office inside the house. He unlocked a large drawer and handed her the key. “That’s where you’ll keep your belongings and supplies unless I tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking at her sketchbook and pencils.
He shrugged. “Just do what I ask. Now, let me show you to your room.”
They went upstairs, and Rachel stopped in the middle of the hall, realizing that she didn’t have any idea where to start unpacking her things. She looked over her shoulder toward the office and saw that John had disappeared into the study.
“Where are we going?” she whispered, hurrying after him. “This is my room—”
Before she could finish her sentence, she heard a noise coming from the hallway. She froze, and her heart started racing again. John reached the bedroom door and quickly stepped inside, holding it open for her.
Rachel hesitated in the doorway, and he waited for her before shutting the door. “You might want to wait outside until we’re through,” he said, turning to face her. “Don’t worry; nobody else is around, except for me.”
Rachel glanced down the hall toward the stairs. “But you were just leaving the house.”
John raised an eyebrow. “There’s a second story to this place. Nobody will hear us.”
As he spoke, her heart sank deeper, and she remembered how badly she wanted to avoid being alone with him. He had a way of making her feel as if she were safe, despite the fact that she was miles from anywhere in the middle of nowhere.
She swallowed hard, thinking about how she had seen him in the corral earlier, and now she was in a private moment with him alone inside his bedroom—in a place where no one would be able to reach them. She had never felt so nervous or vulnerable. She wasn’t afraid of getting caught, but something told her that she might lose herself in the process.
“Why did my mother leave me these keys?” Rachel asked, trying to distract her mind and forget about her surroundings. “What does she mean when she says ‘it belonged to Mother?'”
“I think she meant the keys to this room belong to her,” he said, taking her hand as he walked her back down the hall. “Mother left this place years ago after Father died. There’s not much here to remember her by, but she loved this home.”
He opened the door for her and then closed it again once she was inside, sitting her bag on the floor beside the bed. “If you need anything, just ring the bell in the hallway. That’ll wake me up. Otherwise, go ahead and get settled. The sooner you do, the sooner we’ll be out of here.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Can I get some dinner while I’m at it?”
“Of course.” John smiled as he stood next to her. “I’ll order it right away.”
The End