This is a work of fiction, using characters from the film, “3:10 to Yuma”.  No insult or invasion of privacy or infringement of copyright is intended. The story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

Unexpected Opportunity

©2008  by:  Layne Richards

PART FIVE

Once in the bedroom, Wade began to pace.  Dammit, this was almost too much to bear!  A willing woman in the house and he was down here alone!

If she'd been the kind of woman he usually bedded, there wouldn't have been a problem.  She'd be experienced enough to handle things herself, without his having to do very much at all, other than enjoy himself.

But Lacey was different altogether.  With it likely being her first time, there were things she wouldn't know how to do.  Things he'd have to show her.  And, despite her willingness , and the desire and passion he was seeing in her, she'd be awkward and shy.  He couldn't remember a time when he'd been totally alone with a woman, yet been so frustrated!

Lacey lay in her bed in the loft and listened to Ben Warner pacing in the bedroom.  She knew what was wrong.  Knew because she was feeling it too.  And how could she?  He'd been here two days.  Two days!

Yet, somehow, the length of time didn't matter.  Her body had begun to feel an ache it had never felt before from the moment she saw him, and the passage of time, however short, made it stronger.

She should feel ashamed of herself.  Her ma had taught her better.  A woman's body, her love, were gifts to be given only in marriage.  Though somehow, Lacey knew that, had Tom Wells not been killed, had her wedding to him gone ahead as planned--she would not have felt this way about him.

His smile had not lit up the room for her when he walked in.  His voice had not made her shiver when he spoke.  His eyes on her had not made her feel weak.  And she could never, ever picture herself having been ready to share his bed before their wedding.

But, had Ben Warner not told her that he was not feeling well enough yet, she knew she would be with him right now.  The morals and values taught her by her ma and pa were simply overwhelmed by her feelings for him.  Lacey lay awake for hours, finally falling into a fitful sleep, which was not at all restful.

~*~

Twenty miles away in town, Jim Greer also lay awake upstairs in the saloon.  The woman whose bed he shared slept soundly, her breathing barely audible to him from the other side of the bed.

Greer's dark, bearded face was pensive in the lamplight.  He was thinking of Ben Wade.  Of his boss' face when Ben had been looking at Lacey Miller in the small house where Jim had left him.  Greer was positive that he had seen something of the look in Wade's eyes that used to be in his own.

That was back during happier times, Greer thought to himself.  When money was not always plentiful, but he'd had his family by his side.  He'd been sure, then, that he could do anything, overcome any obstacle--just because of them.  His wife and son.

Rolling onto his side in the semi-darkness, Jim lit a cigarette, thinking back to the day-more than two years ago now-when he'd lost them.  At that time, the railroad was laying track in western Texas, where Greer and his wife had their small ranch.  The railroad had been desperate to obtain Greer's land, since it lay in the path of the shortest, safest route west.

But Jim and his wife had refused to sell.  They had put all of their savings into the ranch, coming west following the war when Greer had been injured serving in the army of the Confederacy.  Their son, Josh, had been born there and they wanted to raise him there, leave the land to him eventually.

The railroad, however, had been determined.  When Greer had repeatedly refused their best offers to buy the place, they had sent Pinks to persuade them in other ways.  Jim had been in town buying supplies that day.  Believing no one to be home, the Pinks had set fire to the Greer house.

Jim had come home late that afternoon to find his wife, Helen, and one-year-old Josh in the cellar--dead from the thick smoke that had penetrated their hiding place.  They'd never had a chance. 

Since that time, Greer had taken every opportunity to repay the railroad for taking the lives of his wife and son.  Joining Ben Wade's gang had been another way to accomplish that.  Greer felt a sense of satisfaction with every coach they robbed, every Pink they killed.  However, at times, he allowed himself to remember the good times with his family--the love he felt for them and the happiness that had come just from being with them. 

And Greer knew he'd seen a touch of that feeling in Ben Wade's eyes when he'd looked at Lacey Miller.  Knew that Wade wondered at times just what life could be like settled down and with a good woman at his side.   He'd told Wade nothing of his own past.  They were not friends--not in the sense that Greer had been friends with his neighbors in Texas.

But Jim Greer had seen a lot just by observing Wade over the past year.  The man could be as cold as the rocks on the Arizona desert at night, but there was also a warmth in Wade's eyes at times.  Especially when he looked at women. 

Greer didn't know why, but women, especially, had some kind of hold over Ben Wade.  The man seemed to revere them, yet hate them at the same time.  There seemed to be some deep hurt in Wade's past - just as there was in Greer's own - that colored everything where women were concerned.

A good woman - a woman like Lacey Miller- might be able to heal some of that hurt, Greer thought to himself.  And he wondered if Wade could ever bring himself to give a woman like that a chance.  And even if he could, would it really matter?  Wade was an outlaw and, sooner or later, the law was bound to catch up with him.

Sighing deeply, Greer crushed out the cigarette and rolled over on his back to sleep.  They had three more days before they headed back to pick up Wade.  He intended to get as much rest as he could before then.

~*~

The next morning, Ben walked into the kitchen as Lacey was making coffee.  It was apparent that neither of them had slept very well.  Ben said good morning to her in a short, almost cross, manner.  She replied equally shortly.  It was as though neither of them knew what to say to each other.

When he had finished a cup of coffee, Ben told her he was going for a walk down to the creek, saying he needed to keep moving.  After he'd left, Lacey decided she needed to do something energetic to get her out of her mood.  She'd strip the beds and wash the sheets.  That'd give her plenty to do.

She did her own bed first, putting the other set of clean sheets on it, then setting the large wash boiler on the stove for the washing.  While the water was heating, she went into her parents' room.  She stripped the quilt from the bed Ben Warner had been using.

As she pulled the sheets and the pillowcase off the bed, Lacey caught the scent of him lingering on them.  Hugging them to her, she breathed in the strong, warm smell.  It was intoxicating, as individual to him as his eyes and his voice.  The ache which she'd thought herself too tired to feel this morning had come back as strongly as it had been last night.

Nothing was getting done like this, she told herself sternly.  Lacey put the set of clean sheets and pillowcases on the bed and replaced the quilt.   As she turned to gather up the dirty sheets, her eyes fell on the sketchbook lying on the table by the bed.

Unable to resist the temptation, she picked it up, turning its pages slowly.  Birds, horses, sketches of men that she assumed were his ranch hands.  Then she saw several drawings that she recognized as herself.  There was one of her sitting in the rocking chair by the bed.  One of her working in the garden.  One in which she was sitting on the front steps.  The last one was of her standing in the moonlight, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders.  He must have drawn that last night. 

Ben's drawings were good.  He put in fine details--the expressions on people's faces, the tilt of a bird's head, the waving grass in the wind.  His sketches were further evidence of his constant careful observations of everything around him.

Who was this man, really?  He was a rancher, yet he didn't talk about his ranch.  He told of travels he'd made, people he'd met, and he spoke of his horse almost as though it was human.  For most of the men around here, their ranches were their lives.  You'd almost think some of them didn't have families, the way they talked land and cattle, but not Ben.  He'd answered the few questions she'd asked about his ranch, but he hadn't volunteered anything further.  It was a little strange.

Shrugging, Lacey picked up the sheets and added them to the washing in the kitchen.  While they were boiling, she made some lemonade, putting it in the cellar to keep it cool for later.

When she'd finished the sheets and hung them on the clothesline, Ben was still not back.  She began to get worried.  Just when Lacey had decided to go and look for him, she saw him coming up the trail.  He was looking a little more relaxed, had a little more spring in his step, and definitely looked cleaner.  He must have had a bath while he was at the creek.

Ben was carrying an armload of the wild pink roses that grew along the bank.  "I brought somethin' for you, darlin'."  He indicated the roses, his smile back in place as though it had never been gone this morning.

"Thank you."  It was so good to see that smile again, and it was infectious.  She couldn't help smiling back at him.  Putting the roses in a pitcher of water, she brought some lemonade out for them.  They sat in the swing at one end of the porch, sipping lemonade and enjoying the breeze.

Ben Wade looked around him at the clean, neat house.  At the barn with the horses grazing beside it.  At the neat front yard and, last, at the beautiful young woman sitting in the swing next to him.  The thought went through his mind that - add a young ‘un or two playin' in the yard - this could be one of those perfect pictures of family life.

He caught himself up short, disgusted.  What was he thinking?  That didn't exist.  He'd known that since he was eight years old.  Was all this idle time and his wound getting to him?  Or was it this girl getting to him?  This girl who took care of his needs and expected nothing in return.  This girl with her sweet, pretty face and her easy, comfortable companionship.

Maybe it was that way she had of looking at him.  That concerned look that said she was worried about him.  That hungry look when he was close.  That longing look that told him she was willing to do whatever he wanted, no questions asked.  Dammit, he still couldn't find any hidden motives behind those looks!

"What is it you want from me, Lacey?"  He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud, until she turned to him with a questioning look on her face.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do you want?  It ain't such hard question, Lacey.  You've bandaged my wounds, fed me, taken care of me.  Why?  What is it you get out of all this?"  His voice had become hard.

"Why should I get anything?"  Lacey was puzzled.  "You need help.  I’m helping you.  That's all."

"Come on, sweetheart."  Ben was becoming more annoyed and his voice reflected it.  “You have to want somethin' in return.  All women want somethin'!"

Lacey rose from the swing, a little nervous at the hardness and insistence she could hear in his voice.  "Maybe you've just been around the wrong kind of women," she told him teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.  What had gotten into him?

"Why don't you just drop the sweet and innocent act, Lacey?  You say you don't want money!  So, what is it you want?"  Ben was on his feet now, too, his voice and his eyes angry. 

"What's wrong with you?"  Lacey was angry now, too.  "You come here needing help!  I help you!  Now you're angry about it!  You're not making any sense!"

Ben wanted to grab her by the arm and shake that look from her face.  To keep himself from doing it, he stalked off the porch and out to the barn.  A few minutes later, Ribbon trotted from the barn, Ben on his back. 

They rode off toward the north.  Lacey was too surprised to even call out to him.

Chapter Six