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 NINE

The next morning, Ben rose at the same time as Lacey.  "Can't have you thinkin' I'm lazy all the time," he grinned at her.  "I'll go tend the horses while you fix breakfast."

In the barn, Ben's mind turned to the last few days.  As he gave oats to Ribbon and to Lacey's mare, his mind was still on how this whole situation would play out tomorrow when Jim Greer and his men came for him.  He'd formed a plan, which he hoped Lacey would agree to - one which didn't involve telling her his real name.  Not for awhile anyway.

He was murmuring to Ribbon and thinking about how unreal it all seemed when his own reality was brought sharply back to him.  It came in the sound of a pistol being cocked behind him.  "Get your hands up, Ben Wade!"

Raising his hands, Ben turned slowly.  Saw a dusty cowboy with a nervous, but determined, look in his eye and a gun pointed right at Ben's heart.  He grinned at the man.  "Careful there, friend.  Wouldn't want that thing goin' off accidentally now, would we?"

"Maybe you wouldn't, Wade!"  The man snorted.  "But I ain't too particular about it.  The reward on you's the same alive or dead!"

That had happened right after his escape from the 3:10 to Yuma, Ben remembered.  The railroad had finally gotten fed up.  Set its sights on getting him whether they got to make an example of him or not.  Probably pained Butterfield no end, Ben had figured at the time.

"I was just thinkin' that, with it goin' off accidentally, you stand a good chance of missin' friend."  Ben was still grinning at him.  "And if that happened, I'd be obliged to kill you instead of you killin' me."

"Shut up, Wade!"  The man was still determined, but still nervous too.  "You start saddlin' that horse of yours.  Now!  Or I'll just kill you where you stand!"

~*~

In the house, Lacey had finished with breakfast and was anxious for Ben to return from the barn.  Looking out the window to see if he was coming yet, her eyes caught the movement of a man with a gun!  He was creeping slowly toward the barn door and as she watched stunned, he entered it.

Forgetting all about breakfast, Lacey quickly grabbed the rifle from its place in the corner.  It was always loaded and shoot-ready, but she had learned from her father to check it every time anyway.  After doing so, she opened the door quietly and headed toward the barn, her heart in her throat.

She didn't know who the man in the barn was but from the way he was creeping about he had to be up to no good.  What if he were some sort of outlaw looking for a place to hide out?  Oh God, he might kill Ben!  She kept her footsteps as hushed as possible, straining her ears to hear what was being said in the barn.

When she reached the barn door, Lacey saw the man had a gun pointed at Ben.  Ben was turning around to saddle his horse.  "All right, mister!  Drop your gun!"  Lacey had raised the rifle and had it pointed at the back of the man's head.

The sound of her voice startled the man and he swung to face her.  Ben wasted no time.  Grabbing a pitchfork, he used the handle to knock the pistol from the man's hand.  Picking up the gun, he pointed it at the other man. 

Meanwhile, Lacey had recognized the other man when he turned toward her.  He was a hand from a nearby ranch who'd helped her father out on occasion.  "Hank!" she gasped, lowering the rifle slightly.  "What on earth are you doing, creeping around here pointing guns at people?  Have you lost your mind?"

The man now had his hands raised, with Ben pointing his own gun at him.  "Miss Lacey!  Don't you know who that is?"  He gestured toward Ben.

"Of course I do."  Lacey rested the butt of the rifle on the ground.  "His name's Ben Weston.  He's a rancher.  He got shot and I've been tending him."  She reddened slightly and dropped her eyes, thinking of exactly what "tending" Ben had involved.

"Weston!"  Hank snorted.  "Is that what he told you?  Miss Lacey, that's Ben Wade!  The robber!  The man who killed Tom Wells!"

"That's just ridiculous, Hank!"  Lacey almost laughed.  "He's just a rancher who got shot when some rustlers jumped him and his men."  Her eyes swung to Ben, who was still holding the gun pointed steadily at Hank Mitchell.  "Tell him, Ben."

The man she'd come to love more than anyone in the past few days remained quiet.  "Ben."  A note of dread and desperation had crept into Lacey's voice.  "Tell him!"

"He can't!"  Hank's voice was becoming quietly desperate too.  "'Cause he's Ben Wade!  Pick that rifle up and put it on him, Lacey, before he kills you too!"

Lacey, though, was rooted to the ground on which she stood.  The expression on her face mirrored shock, disbelief, and devastation.  Her body felt as though it had turned to stone - unable to move.  She was searching the eyes of the man who stood there holding the gun, who was suddenly a stranger to her.  Why wasn't he denying what Hank had said?  Why wasn't he laughing and telling them that this was all some big mistake?

As she stood stock-still, her mind racing, that deep, quiet voice that made her shiver finally spoke.  "Lacey." 

Ben's voice was calm and still, despite - or maybe because of - the anger flowing through him.  He hadn't intended for her to know.  Not yet, anyway.  "Go back in the house, Lacey.  I'll take care of this."

Would she listen to him?  Would she pick up that rifle and turn it on him as she had the first morning he'd arrived here?  Ben waited a moment, his eyes burning into hers.

Finally, Lacey's frozen body seemed to thaw a little.  That voice, those eyes… They affected her, regardless of whose they were.  Still in a state of unreality, she turned slowly, taking the rifle and walked toward the house.

"Miss Lacey!"  Hank called out to her in panic.

"I think you can hush now, friend."  Ben Wade's voice was now still and cold.  "If you'd just ridden on, ignored seein' me, things woulda been all right."  Ben was thinking of himself and Lacey, rather than Hank Mitchell.

"But you just had to stick your nose in where it wasn't needed."  The quiet voice never wavered, never rose in pitch.  "And you ruined things for all three of us."  Ben nodded in the direction in back of the barn.  "Just start walkin'."

In the house, Lacey's numb feelings were still with her, as were her whirling thoughts.  Ben Wade?  She'd spent the last four days with Ben Wade?  How was that possible?  Of all the men in the world, how could she have even met him, let alone fallen in love with him?

Oh, God...  Dropping into a kitchen chair, she covered her eyes with her hands.  They felt icy against her hot face.  This was all a mistake.  It had to be.  It just wasn't possible.  In a few minutes, Ben Weston would come in laughing, telling her that he'd sent Hank on his way, after the two of them had straightened things out and shook hands.

In the next instant, Lacey almost jumped out of her chair as the loud, ominous sound of a single gunshot reached her.  Trembling, she sat there staring at her shaking hands.  Although her mind still raced in disbelief of all this, she knew with a quiet certainty that Hank Mitchell was now dead.

A few moments later, she heard footsteps across the porch.  Jumping up, she raised her rifle and pointed it at the doorway.  The door opened slowly, with the slight creak it had had for years.

Ben Wade gazed at Lacey with a calm he was far from feeling.  She looked confused, desolate, scared.  He hated that fear in her eyes.  It had been only a little while ago this morning that those same eyes had been full of love when they rested on him.

"You gon' shoot me now, darlin'?"  He spoke matter-of-factly and closed the door, as though nothing unusual was going on.  "Before breakfast?"

His eyes met hers again and, slowly, he reached out with the hand holding the pistol and placed the gun on the table.  "If you are, please get it over with.  If you're not, I'm a little hungry.  Think I'll fix myself a plate."

Still watching Lacey, Ben walked around the table toward her.  The rifle barrel followed him, but he could see the doubt and hesitation in her eyes.  When the end of the barrel was a mere half-inch from his chest, he reached out and took the gun from her.

Lacey's fingers were cold and nerveless. If this was really Ben Wade, then she should pull the trigger.  But both her mind and her heart were crying out to her.  Shoot the man she'd slept in the same bed with for the last two nights?  Kill the man she'd professed her love to a mere half-hour ago?  A half-hour that seemed like a lifetime now.  A lifetime filled with hurt and misery.

When Ben's hand touched the rifle, she surrendered it to him without a word.  Then, with a gasp, she burst into tears and ran out the door.  On the porch, she dropped to the top step, sat there and cried.

Who was she crying for, she wondered.  Hank Mitchell, whose life had been taken only a moment ago?  Tom Wells, the man she would have married, whose life had been taken a year ago?  No, she realized suddenly.

She was crying purely for herself.  For her own loss.  For the life she'd been dreaming would be hers with a man named Ben Weston.  In a mere few days, she had allowed herself to imagine an existence with a home, a white picket fence, a beautiful yard with children playing in it.  All with a handsome, bearded, blue-eyed man at her side.  One who teased her and made her laugh, and made her blissfully happy every night as he held her in his arms.

A life Lacey now knew would never exist, because the man around whom it was built did not exist.  He'd been a dream, a delusion, a lie.  Her heart feeling as though it weighed more than one of the boulders in the desert, Lacey sat quietly.  She was unable to cry any more.  The tears were all used up.  She waited for Ben to come out to her.  To leave.  To kill her.  To do whatever he would, because she didn't really care any more.

Despite his profession of hunger, Ben had sat at the kitchen table without eating.  He listened to Lacey's sobs.  Surprisingly, her pain made him hurt as well.  But there was something else. 

Disbelief.  Incredulity.  A woman crying over him?  Couldn't be.  She must have known that Hank Mitchell better than he'd thought she did.  A woman wouldn't cry over Ben Wade.

Finally, when her sobs had stopped and he couldn't take the silence any more, Ben went out to the porch.  Lacey still sat there on the top step.  She looked up at him.  Her eyes were red, her face swollen, but he saw what he hadn't believed he'd see.

Somewhere in there, the love still existed.  The hurt and despair were layered over it all, but love and trust were still there underneath.  Hardly daring to breathe, he sat down beside her on the step.

She didn't flinch, didn't draw away, but simply watched him.  Reaching out a hand, he stroked her face, as though he were trying to wipe away the tears.

"What now, Ben?"  The pain was still in Lacey's voice, shakiness from all the crying she'd done, but she had to ask the question.  "What happens now?"

Chapter Ten