Silver Creek - G.L. Snodgrass Page 0,8

eyes before he looked over at his friend. The man swallowed hard and said, “We’re sorry Reb … Miss Johnson. We didn’t mean noth’en.”

Becky nodded her acceptance of the apology.

Luke shifted his gaze to the first cowboy and raised an eyebrow.

The man clenched his jaw and hesitated. His glare shifted over to the front door, obviously wondering if he could get away without having to say anything. Either that, or desperately hoping someone would come in and alter the situation.

Luke slid to the left just a bit to put himself between the man and the door. This idiot wasn’t leaving until Becky got her apology.

Seeing the move, the man blanched. Slowly, the cowboy looked around the room at the half dozen other customers staring at him. Again, Luke could see it in the man’s eyes. He knew that this story was going to spread like a prairie fire. The tale could end only two ways. He apologized, or he ended up dead on the floor.

Swallowing hard the cowboy glared at Becky. “We’re sorry,” he snapped.

“No,” Luke said as he waved his gun to emphasize the point. “You’re sorry. It was you that thought you could manhandle her.”

The man gritted his teeth then took a breath. “I apologize.”

It was as if someone had opened a window and let in the fresh air. The tension was turned down a dozen pegs as Luke uncocked the pistol.

The cowboy turned and stormed out. His friend, close on his heels.

“Luke,” Becky said as she watched him holster his gun. Her eyes coming back up to meet his with a look of bewilderment and wonder.

He smiled at her, “I swear girl, you draw trouble like honey draws bees.”

Her cheeks grew pink then she suddenly threw herself into his arms. “Luke, I can’t believe it’s you.” A new awareness came over him. Becky was all grown up. The soft scent of roses surprised him while the feel of her in his arms was one of those special moments he’d recall on his deathbed.

Then, as if remembering there were people about, she pulled back to stare down at the floor.

“You came,” she whispered.

He felt his world settle. Months of worry and questions were answered. He had been troubled the whole way across the country thinking she might have moved on. That he might spend the next ten years chasing her from town to town. But, she was here, as beautiful as he had anticipated and it was obvious she needed his help.

“Of course, Becky. I told you I would.”

She looked up at him slowly with a strange look. “I never really doubted it.”

.o0o.

Rebecca Johnson fought to wrap her mind around the fact that Luke Parker stood there, right in front of her. Tall, strong, heroic, Luke Parker. It was as if her world had shifted to a new reality. Luke Parker was here to help.

Men were settling in their chairs as the restaurant returned to normal. Knives and forks clinked on plates. Low conversations buzzed about the room as men discussed what just happened. Her heart jumped to her throat as she thought about Luke confronting Mark Felton and Troy Cooper.

What had she done? The man had put himself at risk because of her. Suddenly the thought of Luke getting hurt seemed too much. No ranch was worth that.

He removed his hat and gave her just a hint of a smile. A touch of that oh so familiar Luke smile. Not enough, but a hint. He’s even more guarded now she realized. He had always been a bit stoic. Confident, quiet, but sure of himself. Even as a boy. But now, it was something else. Something that kept him hidden.

He was no longer the thirteen-year-old boy she remembered. Tall with a square jaw. There was a hardness about the eyes. As if he had seen too much in a short life. Then the army shirt registered. The stagecoach was constantly returning soldiers from both sides. Men still wearing parts of their former uniforms.

“Hanna forwarded your letter to me,” he said as he turned his hat in his hand. “Found me in Virginia, I would have been here sooner but the army can be slower than a bear in winter.”

“You were in the army? The war between the states,” she asked as she recognized the marks on his shoulders that used to hold an officer’s epaulets.

“Calvary,” he said as he nodded to the yellow braid on his hat. “They made me a Lieutenant.” The hidden pride in his voice