Forever and Always (3 page)

As Logan lay there waiting for sleep to come, he thought back on his decision to undertake this final journey using his birth name rather than Elliot Lowe, the name he'd used for the last thirty-one years of his life. Elliot Lowe fitted the man he'd been in Chicago, but he'd left everything about that life behind. He wanted to be Logan Holstock for the time he had left. It's where he'd begun. It's where he wanted to finish.

* * *

Sibyl loved her family and friends. She deeply appreciated the love they had for her and Kitty and their concern for her in the wake of Norman's death. However, at this moment, all she wanted was to be left alone with her cousins. Naomi would worry about her, but she wouldn't suffocate her. Laurie had lost her first husband, so she understood what Sibyl was feeling now. Sibyl felt a little guilty, but she feigned exhaustion so the people wouldn't linger. There would be plenty of time for them to commiserate with her at Norman's funeral and the reception afterward.

It would be held in her home, the frame house Norman had built as a monument to his importance. It was bigger than any house in town, was on a larger lot, and was in the central part of the street. A wide porch afforded entrance to a hall with large parlors opening off each side. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views out to the street—passersby could see in as well—a reason why Sibyl preferred a sitting room at the back of the house. Stiff-backed Victorian furniture—Norman's choice—filled each room. Several large mirrors as well as family portraits hung over walls covered with white wallpaper featuring gold fleurs-de-lis. Sibyl disliked both rooms and entered them as seldom as possible.

“I'm really okay,” she told the doctor. “It was a shock, but I'm over the worst of it. I just need some rest.”

“You know they're here because they're worried about you.”

“I'll be better by tomorrow. If they want to know what happened, they should talk to Cassie. She never misses any detail.”

“Okay, I'll run everybody off, but they'll be back with enough food for a church supper before nightfall.”

“Laurie and I will take care of that,” Naomi said. “I don't want Sibyl to do anything but rest.”

Not everyone took kindly to being told to leave, but it was hard to argue with the doctor. Within ten minutes, everybody was gone, leaving the three cousins alone.

“Do you think it was wise to leave Cassie and Horace in charge of the bank?” Naomi asked.

“Who else could I have asked? Either one of them knows more about it than I do.”

“Norman was just like his brother,” Laurie said. “I know I shouldn't say this, especially under the circumstances, but you should feel relieved to be out of that awful marriage. Everyone in town knows you were miserable.”

Sibyl had never wanted to marry Norman. But after the events of a particularly tragic night, she'd been nearly out of her mind, and so emotionally distraught she'd given in when her father had threatened to disown her if she didn't marry Norman. At that moment, she hadn't cared what might happen to her. During the following seven years, she'd had plenty of opportunity to wonder if being disowned wouldn't have been better. It was humiliating to have to be ashamed of her husband, horrible to feel she had to hold her tongue in public when he'd done something disgraceful. Norman had some good qualities, but they never came close to compensating for the character traits that had made him the least liked person in Cactus Corner.

It was ironic that now Norman was dead, she should feel guilty. If he hadn't been so anxious to avoid talking to her at breakfast, he might still have been at home when the robbery started. But no, Norman would never have allowed the bank to be opened or closed by anyone else.

“I'm not going to allow you to feel guilty just because you're glad Norman is dead,” Naomi said.

“I'm not
glad
,” Sibyl objected. “He was a terrible husband and worse father, but I can't be glad he's dead.”

“Then I'll be glad for you,” Naomi said. “I'm not afraid he'll rise from the grave and come after me.”

All three women laughed. Shocked at her behavior, Sibyl sobered quickly.

“But now that Norman
is
dead, what are you going to do about the bank?” Naomi asked.

“I have no idea.”

“You could sell it,” Laurie suggested.

“I don't even know enough to do that.”

“You could combine it with Papa's bank,” Naomi suggested.

“Which would put Cactus Corner back in the position of having just one bank.”

“You don't think Papa will cheat anybody, do you?” Naomi loved her cousin, but she wouldn't allow anyone to criticize her father.

“Of course not, but I think everybody has been better off with a choice.”

“I agree with her,” Laurie said.

“So do I,” Naomi countered, “but Sibyl doesn't know a thing about running a bank.”

“I could hire Ethan to teach me.”

“And what is Papa going to do while Ethan's helping you? He can't be the town's doctor and its banker.”

Sibyl was tired of this conversation. “I don't know what I'll do, but the bank will stay closed until after Norman's funeral. That will give me time to think of something.”

The women talked about funeral arrangements and what food the neighbors could bring for the wake.

“Now that I'm thoroughly depressed, I think I'll go home,” Laurie finally said. “Jared and Steve are wonderful with the children, but I don't like to leave them too long. They tend to forget they have a ranch to take care of.”

Naomi laughed. “Colby is just as bad. We shouldn't have needed any more proof that they were brothers.”

Everyone in town knew Laurie and Naomi's husbands adored their children. That's why it had been so painful to have everybody know Norman had wanted so little to do with Kitty that he had planned to send her away to school at the tender age of six.

“Did anyone find out what happened to the stranger who stopped the robbery?” Naomi asked Sibyl.

“I asked everyone I talked to, but nobody saw him leave. With all the confusion, he probably just walked away.”

“That's too bad. People have been saying we ought to stop depending on the soldiers at the fort and hire our own sheriff. From the way you said he handled a gun, that man sounds like a perfect candidate for the job.”

He might appear on the surface to be the perfect candidate thanks to his fine shooting, but even though she'd shared only a moment with the stranger, Sibyl was certain
that
was something he'd never do.

* * *

Logan brought his horse to a stop near his new camp—his permanent camp, he hoped. He'd pitched his tent in the pine forest that lined the Mogollon Rim. The small stream flowing nearby plunged noisily into one of the many brush-and-rock choked canyons that carried water from the Rim to the Verde River below. A series of sun-filled meadows offered forage for his horse while the forest provided all the meat he could eat. After dismounting and stripping his horse of its saddle, he led the animal to the creek to drink. A short distance away, a Hereford cow accompanied by her yearling calf was enjoying the cold, clear water. From her size, Logan expected she'd drop another calf any day now. She was late. All the cows he'd seen already had calves at their sides. He figured they belonged to the people living in the big house he'd seen when he was looking for a suitable place to camp. He'd spent two days observing movement around the ranch before choosing a site he hoped they wouldn't find before he had time to die.

He grinned when he saw the dog appear at the edge of the clearing. “If you've followed me again, I guess you're not afraid of me.”

The dog watched Logan intently.

“It's not supper time yet,” Logan said. “You're going to have to wait.”

After staking his horse out to graze, Logan started a small fire to make coffee. For years he'd matched his adopted father drink for drink, but he stopped altogether when he decided to leave Chicago. He didn't want anything to cloud his memory or his appreciation of his last days. He wanted his experience of each moment to be crystal clear, every detail remembered, every minute savored. He'd always known in the back of his head that he would die someday, but he'd assumed he wouldn't need to face his mortality for decades to come. Learning he had only a few months left had been such a shock it had knocked him out of the pattern of living he'd occupied for most of his life. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Taking his coffee, he headed toward the Rim. The dog followed. A thick carpet of needles still damp from yesterday's rain muffled his footsteps. The tangy scent of pine filled the air with a crisp, clean fragrance unlike anything he'd experienced in Chicago. The air under the pines was cool and invigorating. It made him wonder why he'd given up working outside to spend his days in an office. Yet he knew the answer.

The business. It had always been about the business.

He'd cared so much about it that he'd let it crowd everything else out of his life. But what good did that do him now? While it was thriving, he was dying. He was a wealthy man who wouldn't live to spend a tithe of the money he'd worked so hard to acquire.

He reached the edge of the Rim and looked out over the valley two thousand feet below. The Verde River was a thin ribbon that meandered through the valley, collecting water from various streams and canyons as it went. Cottonwood leaves hung breathless in the still air, waiting for the monsoon rains to reinvigorate the landscape. The white faces and red bodies of fat Herefords were scattered as far as he could see, some in small groups, others singly, still others accompanied only by their calves. It was a peaceful scene, yet one that thrummed with a vitality whose power to impart life lay in quiet strength rather than raucous noise. He'd never seen that before. Would he have time to learn to understand it?

The dog had followed Logan at a safe distance until something caused him to turn and run back into the surrounding forest. A moment later, Logan heard the sound of a horse's hooves. He turned to see a young man riding toward him. It was pointless to attempt to hide. Maybe he could convince the young man to keep his presence secret. He wanted to preserve his solitude. He wanted no witnesses to his bouts of weakness and nausea. Pulling himself up to his full height, he prepared to meet the stranger.

As he drew closer, Logan realized the man was no more than a teenager. He appeared determined to discover the reason this interloper was camping on his grazing range, but he was cautious about approaching a stranger alone. Logan decided to make it easy for the boy. “Get down and have a cup of coffee. I just made it, so it's still hot. I'm sure you want to know who I am, what I'm doing here, and how long I plan to stay.”

The boy looked uncertain. “I didn't know anybody was up here until I saw your smoke.”

“It looked like a nice place to set up camp for a bit. Water and graze for the horse, and plenty of game for me. Don't worry about your cows. I'd never shoot one of them.”

“My uncle paid a lot of money for them,” the boy said. “We take looking after them very serious.”

“And you should. The coffee's good. You really ought to try it.” Logan was careful to make it clear he wasn't carrying a weapon and didn't plan to approach his tent.

“I appreciate the offer, but my uncle would knock me upside the head if I did anything so stupid without knowing something about you.”

“Well, let me try to set your mind at rest. My name is Logan. I come from Chicago.”

“You mean the Chicago in Illinois?” The boy was obviously impressed.

“It's the only Chicago I know. Anyway, I was tired of working in an office all the time, so I decided to come west. This seemed like a nice place to settle for a bit, so I did. While I expect you'll tell your uncle about me being here, I hope you won't go spreading it around. I'll go into town maybe every week or so, but I like to spend most of my time alone. I won't bother you for long. Now tell me your name and what you're doing here.”

“I'm Steve Smith. My uncle and I own the Green Valley Ranch.”

“You're mighty young to be a ranch owner.”

“I'm old enough.” The boy seemed defensive. “We sold our ranch in Texas and came out here. Uncle Jared says it's like changing one desert for another.”

Jared!
That was the name of one of his brothers. Was it possible this was the Jared Smith he'd read about? It wasn't likely that a Jared Smith from Texas could be his lost brother, but he couldn't ignore the possibility. Wanting to see his brothers before he died was the whole reason for coming west, but he didn't plan to reveal his identity because he didn't want to leave them mourning. Just seeing them and getting to know a little about them would be enough.

“I understand the rainy season will start soon,” Logan said. “It is a little dry.”

“The rain won't last long. It's usually just enough to keep everything from drying up and blowing away. I appreciate the offer for coffee, but I've got to be going. You might want to be careful. Some gang tried to rob the bank yesterday. Some guy showed up and shot every one of them dead, but there might be more robbers hanging around. They'd be mighty desperate.”

“I'll make sure to keep a careful watch. Who was the man who shot them?”

“Nobody's ever seen him before. He just walked into the bank, shot the robbers, and then disappeared. You'd think he'd want to stay. There might be a reward for those guys.”

“Was there?”

“I don't know, but there might have been.”

Logan recognized the eagerness of a young man for an exciting adventure to relieve the humdrum nature of his life. He wanted to tell Steve he was more fortunate than he knew, but he knew the boy wouldn't believe him. “I hope it's all right if I stay here awhile. I'll even help watch your cows. Tell your uncle I said to drop by anytime. If I'm not at the camp, I won't be far away. This is beautiful country. There's a canyon a little ways from here I'm looking forward to exploring.”

“If you get hurt in some of these canyons, nobody will ever find you.”

“I'll be careful. You, too. It's a long way down to your ranch.”

“I know an easy way down. Maybe I'll show it to you if you're here very long.”

“Thanks. I'd like that.”

As Logan watched the boy ride away, he felt a pang of regret. He could have had a son like that boy. As it was, he was going to leave this world with no one to mourn or remember him. Not even Bridgette. He'd known from the beginning she was only marrying him for the money.

For some reason, that made him think of the woman in the bank. He didn't know why he should be thinking of her now. The moment he'd entered the bank he'd been focused on the robbers. He'd barely had time to remember what she looked like before people started rushing in from the street. Still, there was something about her that stood out even amid the confusion. Maybe it was the way she remained calm when the robber tried to use her as a shield. Maybe it was that she was sensible enough to appear to faint so he could have a clear shot. Maybe it was something as ordinary as her beauty, the way she dressed, or the way she wore her hair. He didn't know what it was, but the impression was no less powerful for lack of a reason.

She was not an ordinary woman.

It was a foolish waste of time to be thinking about her or any other woman. He was a man without a future. He had begun to mark off the days. It was the only way he had to guess how much time he had left. Though he'd traveled as quickly as boat and horse could take him, the trip from Chicago had taken more than a month. He'd been such an unpleasant traveling companion people avoided him. Traveling on horseback had allowed him to keep his distance. He'd chosen this spot to set up his camp for the same reason, but he hadn't been suffering quite as much lately, with the exception of a few bad spells. Maybe it was the clean air and release from the strain of running a large and successful business. Maybe it was the hours of peaceful sleep or the physical exercise. Whatever it was, he was grateful to be feeling better even if it was a false security. Each good day was a gift he intended to enjoy to the fullest.

He looked up when the dog emerged from the trees. “I thought you'd be back. Not willing to give up the free meals yet? Don't worry. I won't quit until you're able to hunt on your own.” He swallowed the last of his coffee. “I guess it's time to go hunting again. It takes a lot to keep you fed.”

Maybe he'd head into town tomorrow. The robbery had kept him from conducting any of his errands. Setting up an account with the bank could wait, but not the purchase of some staples, the most important being more coffee. He expected he'd soon receive a visit from Steve's uncle. Hospitality required that he offer his guest something to drink. Besides, he wanted to convince the man to let him stay on his land. He liked it here. It was nothing like the life he'd led in Chicago. Much to his surprise, that had a strong appeal to him. Being away from the city and his life-consuming work had forced him to confront himself, to see who he
really
was. Much to his surprise, he had no idea.

He knew he'd been adopted at five after his parents died from a mysterious fever. He knew he had two younger brothers. He'd been taken in by a man who traveled the Santa Fe Trail before concentrating his business in Chicago. As far back as Logan could remember, he'd worked alongside his father. Being without children of his own, Samuel Lowe had treated Logan as his own son, had given him his own name. In turn, the boy had bonded with his father so firmly his only interests had been his father's interests.

Now every part of the only life he'd known had been left behind. His slate had been wiped clean, and his image had disappeared from the mirror. In its place was a man he didn't know. Instead of a three-piece black wool suit, stiff cotton shirt, and ascot, he wore faded denim pants and a plaid shirt. His topcoat was now a rain slick. His bowler hat had been replaced by a wide-brimmed hat with a flat crown, his square-toed shoes by boots. His house with its fifteen rooms and servants had been exchanged for a tent and sleeping bag, his carriage for a single horse. His kitchen was a coffeepot, two pans, and a Dutch oven.

The price for all this freedom had been the loss of who he was. It hadn't taken Logan long to realize he didn't regret it. It had been a surprise at first, but he'd been so consumed with the problem of getting as far as possible from Chicago as
quickly
as possible that he hadn't had time to do more than face the inevitability of his death. Once he had done that, what he'd left behind didn't matter any longer. He intended his death to be private and to take place in beautiful, peaceful surroundings. There were few better places for that than the Verde River Valley.

He hadn't intended to develop an interest in anyone, but already that was a danger. He'd been intrigued by the woman at the bank. There was something about her that wouldn't allow him to forget her.

Then there was Steve. Maybe it was what Steve stood for rather than the boy himself, but he could see himself in the boy's shoes, proud in the saddle, on the cusp of manhood, his whole future before him. In a way he represented the family Logan had never had. Bridgette had never spoken of wanting children, and he'd been too busy to give it any thought.

It was time to stop thinking about what might have been. He didn't know how he was going to fill his remaining days, but he couldn't spend them dwelling on the past or a future he wouldn't have. The present was all he had. He had to find a way to make the best use of it. He'd been feeling better today. He'd ride into town in a day or two. He didn't have many good days. He didn't want to waste them.

“Keep on the lookout for squirrels while I'm gone,” Logan told the dog. “I never knew how much I disliked the damned little critters.”

* * *

Sibyl sat on the front pew, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Kitty sat next to her, her body rigid, her eyes staring straight ahead. Sibyl wished she could have spared her daughter, but there were certain rituals in small towns that couldn't be avoided and which required slavish adherence to the rules. Funerals ranked near the top of the list. Only immediate family was allowed to sit in the front pew. They must all wear black.

Sibyl wore a black dress, hat, and veil, but Kitty wore her navy blue Sunday best. If that wasn't good enough, it was too bad.

The clapboard church was small with bare walls. The wooden pews had straight backs that made sitting in them uncomfortable. They kept the parishioners awake and eager for the end of the service. All the windows along the side of the church were of plain glass, but the two behind the altar were stained glass scenes of Christ's birth and crucifixion. Norman and his brother had given them in memory of their parents. Sibyl and her cousins had paid for the piano that made the singing bearable.

Sibyl had asked for an open casket. She and Kitty had stood next to it as what must have been every person in Cactus Corner above the age of twelve—and quite a few younger—came to offer condolences. That was fine. What she found difficult to bear was the extravagant praise being offered from the pulpit by Reverend Simpson. To hear him talk, you would have believed that Norman had been kindhearted, generous, fair, loving…it was useless to go on. He'd been none of those, and everyone in town knew it. She thought it a sacrilege to mouth such untruths about a man just because he was dead. It had to be even more difficult for Kitty to hear a man who'd treated her so brutally praised so lavishly. She unclenched her fists, took her daughter's hand, and gave it a squeeze. Kitty didn't look up, but she could feel her daughter's tension ease.

After what seemed like an eternity, Reverend Simpson brought the service to a close. The pallbearers came forward—Jared, Horace, and her cousins Ethan and Ben—to carry the casket in the procession to the cemetery. Sibyl and Kitty followed close behind. Her cousins Naomi and Laurie came to walk on either side of them.

Laurie whispered, “It'll soon be over.”

Laurie understood better than anyone else. She'd been married to Noah, Norman's brother. There hadn't been much to choose between the two men.

Sibyl would have been content with
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
, but the reverend hadn't exhausted his bag of fulsome praise. By the time he finished the graveside service and invited the mourners back to Sibyl's house for a collation and a chance to express their sorrow in person, she was squeezing Naomi's hand so hard it had to hurt. But the formal part of burying Norman was almost over. Sibyl promised herself that once the last person left her house tonight, she'd never again pretend that Norman had been anything but the bastard he was.

* * *

Logan hadn't intended to attend Norman Spencer's funeral service, but the town had closed down for the occasion and he found himself swept along by the townspeople despite any protest he might offer. He couldn't do any of the things he'd come into town to do until the reception at Mrs. Spencer's house was over and people returned to their jobs. He didn't really mind the delay. He was impressed that apparently everyone thought so highly of the banker. If only half of what the minister said was true, Norman Spencer must have been an outstanding man. His death would be a great loss to the community.

His widow's behavior appeared to support that view. She looked to be in such deep shock she was unable to show any emotion. Their daughter appeared to be in such distress she clung to her mother and the woman who walked on her other side. Coming from Chicago where he knew hundreds of people, Logan found it awkward being in a small town where his only speaking acquaintance was a teenage boy. He drifted toward Steve when the graveside service ended.

“I had expected to see your uncle before now.”

Steve recognized him immediately, but no one else did. He'd escaped through the back door before anyone else saw him. “You would have if Aunt Sibyl's husband hadn't been killed. Laurie's been staying with her, which means we've been looking after ourselves and eating leftovers.”