A Cowboy's Promise By: Linda Ford

Chapter 5

"A man from no place. On his way north. Not the sort of man to like too much, Emma."

Holt recognized Lizzie's caution for what it was—a warning to her little sister to remember this was temporary. He wished he could assure her it was misplaced. But it wasn't. For his own safety he had to keep moving.

But for now, he intended to honor his promise to Mr. Tate. The door to the store opened and Lizzie slipped away. The fire began to thaw out the room. "I'm going to see about more fuel," he told Emma and stepped outside. There was only enough wood for a month or less, he thought as he examined the woodpile. He moved to the coal shed. A small heap in the middle of the floor. No wonder Lizzie was rationing it so tightly. It would take him more than a few days to provide a winter's supply. Might even take a week. He grinned. Didn't seem such a bad prospect. 

Then he thought of his pursuers, just days behind him. He rubbed at his throat at the specter of being caught and taken back. Holt shrugged off the thought. He had given his word, and he wouldn't break his promise. 

He chopped wood for kindling then filled a coal bucket and carried it inside. But Holt drew to an abrupt halt as he entered the living quarters. The room glowed with hominess. A pot simmered on the stove, filling the air with a pleasant aroma. Mr. Tate reclined on his pillows as Lizzie helped him drink from a cup. Emma sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, playing with a doll. 

The scene filled him with sharp regret; a man on the run could never enjoy such pleasures. But this temporary taste was a gift from God. He would enjoy every minute of it and cherish the memory in the future. "It smells like home in here." 

Lizzie glanced up. "I just made tea. Do you want a cupful?" 

"Sounds good. I'll get it." But by the time he hung his hat and shucked out of his coat, she had placed a steaming cup on the table for him. "Thanks." 

Emma sat across from him. "Where's your home?" 

Holt felt Lizzie and her pa's silent interest in his answer. "Used to be Ohio. Before my pa died." 

"My ma died, too." 

"I'm sorry. But you got your pa and your sister." 

She nodded, her eyes bright. "They love me." 

"What's not to love?" 

She giggled at his question. Then tipped her head to study him more. "So why didn't you stay with your ma?" 

"I did some, until she married again. My stepfather didn't much like having a sixteen-year-old boy hanging about. So I left." 

"Aww. That's sad." 

He let her mull it over as he sipped tea that cheered his insides. 

"So where you going now?" 

"Nowhere in particular." 

"Then how do you know you aren't there already?" 

Emma's innocent question hung in the air. Holt couldn't tell her that staying wasn't safe, no matter how much he might want to. He had no wish for them to get mixed up in his troubles. Regret boiled through his insides, scalding them with loneliness and desperation. "I just know."