Author's note: I do not believe that there is a need for any cautions. If you find something that bothers you, do not hesitate to let me know.

This is a story that is set in the Old West and in the present day. It starts out slowly, but it speaks to the fact that transgenderism is not something new but has existed for a long time.

- Marina Kelly and Monica Rose
Proof-read by Qmodo

Chapter 1 - Prologue

Nebraska, summer 1897

Mitch Bridger, the wagon master and the son of the legendary Jim Bridger, finished his morning ride through the grouped wagons on the train and headed over to the chow wagon where his chief scout Bill Cody was waiting for him. They both sat on a make shift bench that had been put together for their extended stop. They had been forced to halt the wagon train's progress because many of the settlers had become sick.

The quarantine wagons were set away from rest of the train, the chow wagon and main camp fire sat between the two sets of circled wagons. Bridger had done his time in the Army of the Potomac and knew that cholera was not easily contagious, but he thought that it would keep rumors and panic down. Everyone on the wagon train knew about the Cholera Pandemic of 1837 that had killed thousands and filled many a cemetery. Some religious fundamentalists still insisted the disease was some form of righteous consequence which only afflicted those who were least likely to be in God’s grace. Those in the wagon train with Irish last names were ostracized, as some saw cholera’s causation as based in the unchecked immigration into the United States of foreign born persons, especially the Roman Catholic Irish with their genetic inferiority.

Bridger, along with the more rational members of the train, tried to relieve tensions and avoided discussing the cause of the malady and concerned themselves with the more practical matter of treating the afflicted and preventing its further spread. The sick were isolated away from the healthy in the second ring of wagons. Volunteers to care for the sick were few and far between as most still believed that the disease was contagious. Even family members were reluctant to tend to their sick kinfolk. Thankfully, this trip had included a young woman who was knowledgeable in caring for the infirm. Mitch watched with admiration as Yolanda moved between wagons treating the victims.

Bill offered Mitch a steaming cup of coffee and said, “Hey Mitch, any more come down with the pestilence?”

He took a sip of the beverage before answering and he just shook his head. “No Buff. Thank the lord we may be over the worst of it.” The wagon master didn’t want to condemn anyone else to the quarantine wagons. “I made my tour of the wagons and it looks like no one else has come down with it.”

“Damn it Bridger! You know I hate that Buffalo Bill moniker!”

“Sorry Bill, it is said you shot over 4,000 of them in a two-year period. It seemed to be a well-deserved title."

“Ah shucks, it twern’t that hard to do. Those is the dumbest creatures on this here planet.”

I just wish you had left a few of them for us. We could use the fresh meat. Thanks to men like you, they are now as scarce as virgins in a whore house.”

They both looked across the makeshift compound to where the hospital wagons sat, each man lost in his own thoughts for a moment. The wagon train had been stopped for the past two days because of the number of people who were down with cholera. It was about twenty percent of the people on the train and it would be next to impossible to move on in this situation.

Cody turned to Mitch and brought up his old argument. “I tell you Mitch, we still got a fur piece to go. We need to just leave those folks and push on to Oregon. If we lose any more time, we will never get out of the mountains before the snows hit. We sure don’t need a repeat of what the Donner party went through.”

Mitch looked around to ensure no one could over hear him and said, “Damn it Bill, you know I agree with you. But if I even suggested that we just move on and leave those people, we quite probably would face a revolt. Every one of them settlers are armed. I don’t want to face down a bunch of angry farmers armed with Colt rifles. I’m worried enough about those farmers shooting at an Indian scout. We’re in Pawnee territory and they’re friendly for the most part. Shoot one of them and we could all lose our scalps.”

Bill went on to say, “I have seen cholera outbreaks during my time scouting for the Union Army, but nothing quite this severe. Back in Missouri, I heard reports of cholera in earlier wagon trains, but I never put much stock in those tales. I never expected we would have to deal with it.

“If we maintain this pace we will have no other choice but to winter over in Wyoming territory at Fort Laramie. I sure don’t want to spend a cold winter next to an Army fort but it would beat being Sunday dinner if we got caught in the blizzards. Bill, I know that this sounds pretty cold of me, but all I can do is hope that anyone who is going to die would do so quickly.”

Cody nodded solemnly in agreement.

While they were talking, they saw a swarthy-looking young woman exit the back of one of the quarantined wagons and trudge tiredly on to the next one.

“I don’t know why you decided to make some dark skinned half-breed Indian the doctor on this trip.” Bill sneered.

“I know you don’t like her, Bill,” Bridger replied. “I couldn’t find a replacement after Doc Anderson broke his leg before we left Independence. If we hadn’t pushed off on schedule, we would have to cancel this trip and that wasn’t an option. I thought that we were damned lucky that girl was along with the Wilsons. Hell, she set an arm and leg on a couple of folks before your own men got to their part of the train after that tornado overturned their wagon. But she ain’t no half-breed. Most folk refer to her as a gypsy. Bill, let me give you some advice. Don’t call her a gypsy to her face. She’s made it plain to anyone who will listen that she's Romany, claims her family comes from someplace called Hungry, wherever that is.

“All I care about is that she is the finest midwife on the train. The women folk openly seek her help and advice. On top of that, she spends her evening’s learn’n the young’uns their letters and numbers.”

Bill egged his friend on, “I’ve seen good and bad Injuns, but I never seen one that could read and write. Until I know more about her, I don’t want anything to do with her. She is always reading or writing in that damn book of hers. I reckon it just ain’t natur’l for a servant girl being able to read and write. Besides, from my experiences, a young woman without a man or family is nothing but a passel of trouble.”

“Listen Bill. I’ve kept a keen eye on her. She gives the young bucks a wide berth. It’s like she is not interested in finding a man and I don’t need the trouble caused by a bunch of boys chasing a girl looking to become a woman. She's the best thing we have, next to a trained physician.”

Cody shook his head. “Maybe its doctr’n and maybe it’s just gypsy magic. I just don’t trust her.”

Mitch stood and stretched his legs, “All I know is that she seems to have a mystic understanding of herbs and poultices. No one who was with her when we were getting water has gotten sick. I talked to her about it and she said that she stopped some of the young’uns from using water that the animals had been walking through. She thinks that those who are sick drank the soiled water.”

Cody finished his coffee and grimaced at the fact that it was now stone cold. “Dag nab it Mitch, she may be the medical person for us, but; that don't make me no nevermind. It doesn’t mean that I have to accept her,” he said. She may be a nicin looking gal, but when she looks at me with those dark eyes, it’s like she can look inside me. It makes my blood run cold.”

“Oh come on Buffalo, an Indian fighter and Army scout being afraid of a mere girl. I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want just keep her away from me.”

Cody stomped off to corral his men so that they could head out on their hunting and scouting parties. Mitch watched him go, bemused at Cody’s unwillingness to accept Yolanda. Did it matter what the girl was? He didn’t care if she was white, black, Indian, or whatever. She was a valuable person to the wagon train and he was thankful that he had discovered her talents. Cody would just have to deal with his mistrust and hope that he didn’t need her help on the trip. However, the luck Bridger had seen so far on this trip made it doubtful that anyone would get to Oregon without getting hurt or sick at some point.

* * * * *

As Yolanda climbed out of the Johnson’s wagon, she saw Mitch Bridger and Bill Cody watching her from their spot by the chuck wagon. Because she was the wagon train’s medical practioner, she was entitled to eat with the staff of the train. She just was not hungry though. Besides, everyone would want to keep their distance from her. Death and disease had a way of scaring people.

Since people had started to become ill with the cholera, Yolanda had hardly slept. She’d already spent hours getting everyone stabilized and then trying to recruit help from the rest of the members of the wagon train. Even though she had assured everyone that cholera was not a disease that could be contracted like a cold, she had only been able to find four volunteers brave enough to be willing to care for the ones who could not care for themselves. She had given them a quick lesson on how to help everyone who was ill and how to maintain their own hygiene to remain healthy. She kept a low fire going all the time to maintain a supply of hot water. She insisted that everyone wash their hands after leaving a patient. What good it did was a mystery to the helpers but they followed orders and so far, none of them had become sick.

Once she had help, they worked to clean everyone up who could not do so for themselves and to get food and water into those who would take it. They all wished that they had more help, but they made do with what they had. It was afternoon of the second day of their stop before Yolanda was able to consult the journal she had been given by her mother before the wagon train left Independence. She had been adding to it with information she gained along the way as well as using it as a personal diary. She kept it on her person at all times and would not allow anyone else to read it.

Yolanda was proud of the fact she a full blooded Romina who had been trained in the healing arts by her mother, a midwife and herbalist. The pronoun ‘her’ was a bit of a misnomer. Yolanda was actually a young man just entering puberty. He’d been unjustly accused of murder back in his home town of Independence and his mother had disguised him as a young woman to escape a lynch mob. To pay for his passage, he had agreed to indenture himself to the Wilson family as a servant to help with Hiram’s sickly wife and their two small children. Hiram had been very happy with her when Mr. Bridger had seen Yolanda’s actions after a tornado had swept past the wagon train. He had asked Yolanda to act as the medicine woman for the train and that meant that the Wilson wagon ended up in the middle of the train, escaping the dust-eating position near the very end.

Yolanda had been through her journal three times without finding any information that could help them. If this had been a civilized area, a trained doctor would have been called and he would have known how to treat cholera. As it was, all she could do was try to treat the symptoms and to get food and water into her patients and work to keep them clean and warm.

Everyone was holding their own in the wagons she visited until she reached the Anderson’s wagon. Two of the family’s children and their mother had been hit within hours of each other. She found the youngest child, April, still and cold in her blankets. She blinked back tears while she quietly covered the small body and moved it to the back of the wagon. As much as the loss of the little girl tore at her heart, Yolanda still had to check on April’s older brother and mother. There would be time to cry later. Both of the other two were weak from dehydration, but with Yolanda’s help and encouragement, they were able to keep down the water she gave them.

Once she was done seeing her patients, Yolanda went down to the river to get cleaned up. She avoided the marshy areas that they had passed through as the wagon train made its way to their camping area. She didn’t know why, but the damp ground and bogs made her uneasy and she had warned the children in her charge away from the area. Of course, she wasn’t teaching her reading classes right now. The parents had pulled the children back to their wagons while there was sickness present. Besides, they didn’t want Yolanda to infect their children.

Yolanda essentially collapsed into her bedroll when she reached the tent Bridger had arranged by the wagons for her. She appreciated the gesture, but she also suspected that he was trying to keep the infection away from the main medical wagon.

It was midafternoon when Marie Hanson shook her awake so that Yolanda could eat. Marie left her alone to eat her modest meal of cornbread and beans with tiny bits of venison mixed in, while she and the other helpers checked on everyone in the wagons. She assured Yolanda that everyone was still doing okay and left Yolanda to pick at her meal.

Once Yolanda decided that she had eaten all she was going to, she tracked down her helpers to make sure that no one needed attention. April Anderson’s father had dug a grave for his daughter on a bluff away from the trail and someone had fashioned a marker. Yolanda stood to one side as she was laid to rest, silently weeping for the little girl who had not had a chance to grow up. She wished that she knew more about medicine so that she could have saved April. She said a silent prayer for April and an apology for not being able to save her. She hurried away once the short service was over, not wanting to speak to anyone, most especially April’s father.

She found herself wandering near a wooded area across a field from the wagon train. She must have been lost in her thoughts, either from anger with herself or because she was feeling sorry for herself. She walked toward the trees with the intention of sitting in the shade to think, but pulled up short when saw two men standing on the edge of the forest.

It was immediately apparent to her that she was looking at a pair of Indians. One was much older than the other, with longish grey hair, and the other sported a black, braided pony tail from the back of his shaved head. There appeared to be a family resemblance between them, making Yolanda think that she was looking at father and son.

The older man was dressed in leather jacket and trousers with a pouch that hung in front of him on a turquoise necklace. His son could have been only a few years younger than her own father would have been. He too wore a leather jacket, but it looked more like a vest. A modern-looking knife in a leather scabbard hung from the belt of his trousers. Both men were wearing leather moccasins that were tied around their ankles. Obviously, the stories she had heard of Indians always going barefoot were wrong.

She had heard all the stories of what Indians did with captives and was immediately frightened. Once they found out that she was not a natural girl, they would kill her out of hand. At the moment, they showed no signs of aggression and almost seemed to be trying to make themselves appear to be non-threatening. As much as she wanted to turn and run back to the wagons, she knew that they could outrun her easily. Instead, she began to back away slowly without turning, silently cursing herself for being so far away from the wagon train alone.

There were probably twenty paces between them at the moment, so they all had a good view of each other. When she began edging away, the older Indian raised his hand to indicate that she should stop. It was not a threat as she could see that their hands were empty.

Even though she was terrified, her tired mind grasped at the idea that the people who lived here might be able to help her. Finding a way to get her need across would be a challenge though. Against her better judgment, Yolanda stopped her tentative steps toward escape. If these men wanted her, they had her and they would not be pleasant about it if they did.

Yolanda did not know it at the time but this encounter would turn out to be wagon train’s salvation.

She bowed slightly in an attempt at respect, gaining return bows from them both. The stories Yolanda had heard about the plains savages had led her to expect men to be walking about with war paint on their faces and covered with nothing by a loincloth. The men in front of her put a complete lie to those stories. Both were clear skinned, with deeply tanned faces.

The three studied each other for several moments before Yolanda tried to communicate her problem. She pointed back to the wagon train and mimed someone being violently sick. Then she held up her hands and raised her fingers one-by-one. The message was that many people were ill.

Yolanda could not have been more surprised or delighted when the older man said, “Bad water.” It should have stood to reason that there would be someone who might speak English, considering the number of pioneers who must have passed through the area over the years.

She nodded and said, “Yes. But I don’t know what to do.” She spread her hands helplessly. Her eyes misted up when she let herself think about how small April Anderson’s body had seemed and how few people had been present when she had been buried. She did not want to bear witness to more of these tragedies.

The old man studied Yolanda for a few moments longer. In her mind, he was the younger man’s father. She did not know if their interest was because she was a woman or if it was her swarthy coloring. The plains Indians were familiar with blacks as the Buffalo Soldiers, the name the Native Americans gave the “Negro Cavalry”, had fought in this area during the Indian wars. Her skin color was one of the things that made her stand out among everyone else on the wagons. Some people on the train assumed that she was a free Black instead of a Gypsy and she had given up explaining herself to folks.

He turned to his son and spoke quickly in their tongue. Yolanda was a bit surprised to see that the older man behaved deferentially to the younger one. Respect for age was a universal trait among all societies, so the older deferring to the younger had to mean that the younger man held a position of importance. Yolanda concluded she was in the presence of the tribal chief, but she wasn’t sure. Her question was answered when he turned back into the trees and called out in his language. Half a dozen braves seemed to appear from nowhere and run up to them. After the chief spoke to them, they looked briefly at Yolanda before fading back into the trees. She had apparently stumbled upon a hunting party as she now saw that the trees held drying jerky and the ground was littered with animal skins.

Yolanda had no idea what was going on, but she decided that it might be safer to try to return to the wagons after all. She bowed to the Indians again and smiled warmly, knowing that she faced the tribal equivalent of royalty.

Before she started to turn away, the chief said, “Come.” He gestured for her to follow them into the woods. She paused for a moment, considering whether it was safe to do so. The fact that she was being invited to follow them and that she was not being forced, made her decide to find out what they wanted. Besides, they were being friendly and refusing to cooperate might make them angry.

She followed them a ways into the trees until they reached a clearing with a small fire. A brave was tending the fire who stood when the old man approached. He poured out cups of water from a clay pot that sat near the fire and handed each cup to the older man who sprinkled crushed leaves into it before passing it on to the chief and to Yolanda. The fact that he was dispensing herbs and feeding them to the chief meant that the chief trusted him. She had heard enough stories from Mr. Cody’s out-riders to think that he might be his tribe’s shaman or medicine man.

She was not sure how she should behave, so she watched her hosts for clues. Just being invited to be their guest was confusing to her and she did not want to offend them. She doubted that anything she did would be bad for the wagon train, but she was getting the feeling that they had been waiting for her and that she was here for a reason. Something in her wanted to be deserving of the hospitality these men were showing her.

“Drink,” the medicine man told her. She took a strong sniff of the cup she held and could only smell some aromatic herbs. She took a tentative sip before taking a larger swallow. The tea had a minty, but peppery flavor that seemed to spread through her head and chest. It had a calming sensation upon her and she smiled at the feeling. The two men sipped their tea with her and returned her smile.

The tea appeared to have no other affect other than to taste good and to make her feel like she could breathe more freely. Perhaps she could learn how to make it and help some of her future patients who might have the croup or bad colds? She noticed that the tired feeling she had come into camp with seemed to have lessened, a sensation she was glad for. Maybe she could think through how to help the wagon train.

A discreet cough from the old man caused her to look up from her cup and her thoughts. Both were looking at her with a combination of expectancy and appraisal. The shaman also seemed to approve of her reaction to the tea. What could they want from her? She had heard the stories the outriders on the wagon train would tell about the Indian tribes. They said that Indians always just took what they wanted. They would have just grabbed her if they were going to kidnap her. Right? But even now, it seemed as if she were being treated as a guest and not some sort of target.

The shaman must have been able to understand her confusion because he reached out to touch her lightly on the forehead then below her throat. All he said was, “Two spirits,” as he smiled and bowed his head to her. The chief bowed his head to her as well. It was not until she had reached Fort Laramie and had spoken to the folks there before she understood what had actually happened here.

The medicine man beckoned to her again and said, “Come,” as he came to his feet. The chief also came to his feet as Yolanda stood. He bowed his head to Yolanda again before he left her with his father.

The old man moved easily, making her wonder if he really was as old as he appeared. Yolanda followed him over to an open lean-to. The old man gestured that Yolanda should be seated as he made himself comfortable as well. His helper stood off to one side, not really part of this meeting, but his attention upon the shaman.

In the shelter of the lean-to were small piles of leaves and plants. Some she knew from the lessons her mama had taught her while others looked completely foreign. She recognized the leaves and stems as some that she had seen on their travels from Missouri. She also saw at least one pile of dirt or ashes, so she assumed that some of these herbs needed to be roasted or burnt.

What ensued was an intensive education in herbs and healing. The medicine man proved to be able to communicate quite well with a combination of gestures and the words he must have learned from the wagon trains that had preceded hers. She learned that as the tribe’s medicine man he was revered for his second sight. With the disappearance of the buffalo, the tribe was having a hard time finding enough game to feed everyone. So despite his advanced age, he was asked to accompany the hunting part to lead them to game to sustain the tribe. Yolanda was mightily thankful that his tribe had been treated with respect by preceding wagon trains.

As he finished showing her each bundle and trying to explain how it could be used, the medicine man would tie it up and set it to one side. The final bundle was the pile of ash and it was quickly apparent that it was more than just waste. When he began showing her that the ashes came from certain trees and that it should be mixed with water before being consumed, she understood that it was another medicine. When his pantomime made her see that it could be used for the bad water illness she was being confronted with at the wagons, her eyes grew round.

It was all she could do to keep herself from tearing this finial bundle from his hands. She suddenly felt like her body was vibrating with excitement. She had to get back to the wagons. There were children who desperately needed her help, and this medicine could save them. Her energy must have been obvious to the medicine man because he smiled at her and rose to his feet in one smooth motion. He helped Yolanda stand and he handed her the bundle containing the ashes.

That was all that it took for her. She took the ashes from him and bowed deeply in respect. She was smiling madly as she turned and literally ran back through the trees toward where the wagons were parked. She passed a couple of braves who had not quite concealed themselves, but she paid them no mind even though both were armed with bows. They also did nothing to her, causing her to realize later that they were not present as guards to keep her there.

She seemed to cross the field in no time at all and she was among the group of armed men who had started to gather. There were angry voices raised, scolding her for wandering off for so long without telling anyone, but she barely heard them. She ran through the crowd, making a direct line toward her work tent.

The tent was just a sheet thrown over a rope and a couple of poles. She really missed the Wilson’s wagon and all of the children she had been caring for. When so many people had started to become ill, Mr. Wilson had thought that it was better to have his wife’s helper to be near her patients instead of exposing his children. He wouldn’t listen to her assurances that they were safe as long as they continued to drink clean water and to be careful about their hygiene.

She set the bundle she carried down on the makeshift work table. She already knew that the amount of ashes she had been given was woefully short of what she was going to need. She was going to need more. Once she had been shown that feeding a patient small doses of wood ash, she could see that it would help to fight the dehydration that was killing her people.

The solution was given to her as Mitch Bridger stepped into the tent with his hat in his hand. “Miss Petalengro,” he said heavily. His tone of voice was very similar to what she had heard coming into camp. “This territory is not safe and I do not want you leaving the wagons again without one of my men.”

Not wanting to argue the issue with him, Yolanda nodded quietly. “Mr. Bridger, I discovered something while I was out there that will cure the sick. I’m going to mix up a potion to give to my patients, but I am going to need more.”

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Charcoal.”

* * * * *

“Do you think we should wake her?” Yolanda’s helpers were stood outside one of the wagons after having checked everyone. Yolanda had been going strong from the time she had come running back to the wagons until the last patient had been treated with the concoction she had cooked up. To keep anyone from questioning the wisdom of feeding ashes to people, Yolanda had worked in her tent to create the thick-looking paste. She also did not share the secret with anyone, other than Mr. Bridger, there would be time for that later. If they knew what she was going to feed the sick people, she would have to fight for their cooperation.

Yolanda had watched over everyone after treating them, going from wagon to wagon to see if there was any change. She almost collapsed from exhaustion after her fourth round. Daniel had caught her as she practically fell out of the wagon and he had carried her back to her tent. He and Amelia had taken care of ensuring that Yolanda was laid out on her bedroll and her tent had been closed up.

“It has only been a few hours since she went to sleep,” Amelia told the rest. “Let’s check everyone again in an hour. Once we are done, we can wake her up and tell her what has happened.”

She was only a year or two older than Yolanda and she thought that their young doctor was doing a wonderful job. Yolanda was the younger sister that she wished that her parents could have had.

There were only four of them to check on the conditions so many people, so it was almost two hours later before they gathered again.

“I had to clean up a couple of the kids,” Amelia said. “But it doesn’t look like anyone is any weaker.”

Daniel reported on the condition of the older pioneers he had checked. “Mr. Jackson wanted water and he said that he felt kind of hungry. I think that’s a good sign.”

Mary and Sophie echoed similar results and all four of them actually smiled. “Do you think that we can tell Yolanda the good news?” Sophie asked.

They all nodded. This was something worth waking their acting doctor up for. As a group, they walked over to Yolanda’s tent where Amelia untied the flaps. Only the older girl went in to wake Yolanda while the others paced excitedly. It looked hopeful that the sickness might be beaten, but they wanted Yolanda to make that call.

It was only a short time later that Yolanda was standing among them, yawning herself awake. They allowed her to relieve herself at the latrines before they all assailed her with their bits of good news. They followed her anxiously as she went from wagon to wagon, checking on the conditions of the occupants.

It appeared to be good news. The sickness seemed to be lessening, but she thought that it would be wise to continue to feed her charcoal mixture to everyone until she was sure. She was smiling when she told her team that it looked like their medicine was working, but she would need to mix up more. It was going to take her an hour or more before she was ready, so she sent them to their wagons to rest while she worked.

She sought out Mitch Bridger to get her charcoal and found him overseeing the bonfires he had started in response to Yolanda’s request. Yolanda was able to collect several handfuls from each fire and a couple of the men helped carry the baskets back to her tent. It was only a matter of time now before she had this sickness beat. She was not going to watch another baby be buried because she could not do anything.

Sadly, April Anderson’s mother and brother had not been strong enough to recover from the cholera, despite the care that Yolanda and the others had given them. Yolanda had wept openly when they were laid to rest beside April on the bluff that had become a small cemetery for pioneers that would never reach Oregon.

* * * * *

The wagon train remained in place for another two days before the cholera victims were strong enough to travel. Time that had Bridger grinding his teeth. As much as he wanted to get moving again, he knew that forcing the recovering victims to leave too soon meant that they would only slow the rest down and they would be burying more settlers as a result. He directed his frustration into roaming up and down the wagon train yelling at wagon owners to make sure that their wagons were ready to travel. To show that he was not completely inconsiderate, he moved the wagons that belonged to the cholera victims closer to the middle of the train.

Yolanda’s time was spent in moving back into the Wilson’s wagon and caring for the Wilson children. Hiram Jr and James were very happy to see her as they had been kept with their mother while Yolanda was taking care of her patients.

After storing her bedroll and medical supplies, she saw to Mrs. Wilson’s needs. The mother of two was not sickly, only weaker than most and prone to tiring easily. Elisa and her family would not have been allowed to join the wagon train if she had been an invalid and Yolanda’s addition to the household had appeased the wagon master at the time the wagon train had departed Independence, Missouri.

“I’m so very glad that you did not get sick Yolanda,” Mrs. Wilson said.

“I was lucky ma’am,” Yolanda responded. “I thought that I knew what I needed to do to protect us, but we could have all gotten sick.”

“But you didn’t,” the older woman said with a smile.

“No, but I wasn’t able to save April Anderson and the rest either,” Yolanda said, tears forming in her eyes.

Elisa pulled Yolanda to her and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“My dear,” she said over Yolanda’s head, “you did something that no one else here could do and you did the very best you could do. I’m very proud.”

Yolanda had come to think of Mrs. Wilson like a second mother. It had been months since they left Missouri and she missed her own mother terribly. She had been homesick for the first couple of nights, but the need to take care of the children had kept her distracted.

“I have some clothes that I want you to have,” Elisa said, pushing Yolanda out so that she could look at her. “They are some dresses that I no longer wear and I would like you to be able to have some pretty things to wear once in a while.”

Yolanda didn’t know what to say. All she could do was say, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Yolanda,” Mrs. Wilson started hesitantly. “You have been with us for a while now and the boys love you. I have come to think of you as the daughter I never had. Would you please call me Mother?” It was obvious that she was as afraid of being rejected as Yolanda was.

The tears in Yolanda’s eyes that had dried, started again. “I would be glad to call you Mother, Mother,” Yolanda said through her tears. The two of them proceeded to look through the dresses Elisa was giving away. Then Yolanda held up a short, rigid garment and she looked at her surrogate mother with a confused expression.

“It’s a corset dear. It gives you a smaller waist and pushes your breasts up.”

Yolanda fumbled for words and said, “I have nothing to push up.”

Mrs. Wilson hugged her again and patted her gently on the shoulder. “I know dear. Your secret is safe with me.”

Yolanda smiled tentatively as a cold finger seemed to stroke her spine. She wasn’t sure what secret the might be talking about, having no breasts or the greater one of her true sex. She had been so careful not to be seen or reveal herself.

“Thank you,” was all she could say. That was the safest route. If she asked for an explanation, she risked the possibility of making Elisa wonder what else might be going on and that could reveal the very secret that would ruin her life.

Mrs. Wilson looked in the eye and said, “Dear, you have been taking care of my sons for weeks now and I have watched you. I’ve seen you changing and I have seen glimpses of your body. I have seen you blossom into a beautiful young woman and I am sure that it is only a matter of time until you develop the charms that separate us from the men.”

She paused for a moment and continued, “I really do think of you as my daughter. I want you to be more careful when you change clothes and when you answer nature's call. Most people will not be understanding, but you are a lady in my book.”

The two of them exchanged another tight hug and then Hiram Jr. and James came running up to the wagon looking for Yolanda. She had suggested a picnic before the wagon train pulled out, so the four of them gathered up their blankets and baskets and made their way out the fields beside the camping area.

The boys were thrilled to be with her again and that they were able to run and play. Everyone they saw along the wagons was laughing and singing while they worked. It was as if they thought that the illness had been cured instead of the symptoms being addressed until the sickness had run its course. Yolanda really hoped that no one else became that ill any time soon.

Because Elisa could not make the long trip across the field, they set up their picnic under a tree beside the fields. Yolanda had no concern about the possible danger from Indians because of how she had been treated by them and she assured Elisa that they would be okay, without explaining anything. While they were not in a settled area, all the activity from the wagon train made it unlikely a wild animal would attack them. Their destination was actually a large patch of wild flowers she had seen. They could see acres of blues, reds, and yellows that seemed to stretch off over the hills.

While they ate their lunch of cornbread and jerky, Yolanda told the children what she needed and how they could help her. Hiram and James spent the rest of the afternoon picking flowers and running back to lay them on the blankets so that Yolanda would be able to store them in her jars and bottles. The children had already enjoyed the syrups and teas that she had made in the past weeks and looked forward to seeing what she might make from the flowers they were gathering for her. Some of the teas were good for Elisa and she looked forward to seeing what new things Yolanda might come up with.

Yolanda spent some time searching out roots that might be of use to her and collected a respectable pile. Everything that they were gathering would be taken back to the wagon so that she could save the important bits. It would give her something to work on when they stopped for the night, Yolanda would be walking beside the wagons like every other able bodied adult.

The last thing she did before they returned to the wagons was to dig up a large pile of flowers, roots and all. It took Yolanda an hour after they returned to plant the flowers around the graves of April and her family. She knew that the crosses that had been posted as markers would only last a short time, but the wild flowers would be hardy enough to live for years and provide an enduring monument to the people she could not save.

When she finally stepped up into the medicine wagon, she saw the different bundles of roots and herbs that the medicine man had shown her. They must have been sent to her. She wondered how their delivery could have been done without anyone seeing. Then she saw the eagle feather talisman laid across the pile, so very similar to the one worn by the medicine man. Something told her that no one would know anything about how these bags got here.

* * * * *

Modern day New York

Mary Sue was just so frustrated that she felt like screaming and pulling her hair out. A successful doctoral thesis had to contribute to the general body of knowledge in some way, but she could not come up with a viable subject. Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to study history.

Every idea she had for her thesis was shot down by her advisor. He had shown himself to be a pompous jerk minutes into their first meeting. He had been a member of the faculty for decades and he seemed to have a very low opinion of students. Mary was sure that his attitude was mostly directed at her because of her gender. Never mind that her grades were the highest of any other grad student.

She had been hidden away in the reserved section of the library stacks for most of the day, poring over the notes she had compiled over the past few weeks. She pulled the notebook back over and flipped back to the start. Maybe an idea would come to her that had not occurred to her during the past three passes through the book.

One of her first ideas had involved frontier America, but she had not been able to come up with an original concept. A stray breeze fluttered the papers on the desk so that she was left looking at the pages that dealt with that very idea. She had already discounted it because of the number of papers that had been written already and she could not conceive of a way to write a thesis that approached that era in a new way.

A flowery scent hung in the area in the wake of the breeze. When she felt another draft, she turned her head in the direction it had come from to see what was going on. The building was climate controlled to protect the books so the windows were sealed shut and ceiling fans had never been installed in this part of the library, so it had to be someone walking by rather rapidly.

A movement in the stacks drew her attention and she turned to see who it was. About halfway up the aisle stood a young woman looking intently at Mary Sue. She was dark-complected, almost swarthy, but her features looked European instead of Middle Eastern. Her jet black hair was pulled back and braided so that the single plait wrapped around on her shoulder and hung down before her. Her dark eyes almost seemed to be dancing with happiness as their eyes met.

She was rather out of place here in the library because of how she was dressed. She looked like someone who should be at a Renaissance fair or a Wild West show. She was wearing a plain white blouse that covered her torso from her wrists up to the high collar. The skirt appeared to be some sort of denim, but it was not a familiar kind that Mary Sue had seen before. It extended from high on her waist down to almost brush the floor and cover the moccasins that she wore. She wore a vest that was made of the same material as her skirt, open at the front. Her vest allowed the necklace that she wore to be visible as she turned toward Mary Sue. It appeared to be a small leather pouch with three feathers woven in.

Smiling impishly at Mary Sue, she reached out to the shelf beside her to pick up a thin book. She held it up for a moment, almost as if she wanted to make sure that Mary Sue had seen it, and then she dropped it on the floor in front of her.

Mary Sue’s eyes widened. Books in this section of the library were restricted from the general collection because they were too fragile or too important to be allowed into circulation. To mistreat a book the way the girl had just done was just wrong.

“Hey!” Mary Sue called. She might be in a library where it was supposed to be quiet, but if someone was damaging books, she had to stop it.

When the girl turned and began to walk away without picking the book up, Mary Sue struggled to stand and hurry after her. The girl turned at a break in the shelves and stepped into the next row as Mary hurried down the aisle. She reached the book and picked it up in passing as she hurried after the girl, intent upon giving her a piece of her mind.

She was only about thirty seconds behind, but there was no one there when she reached the corner. She looked down the next several rows but saw no one. She stood still and listened for telltale footsteps. But she heard nothing. It was as if Mary Sue was the only person in the entire section of the library. She didn’t know what to think. She knew that someone had been here, she could smell the girl’s perfume and she held the book she had dropped. The scent that hung in the air was rather flowery, but pleasant.

She had heard all of the campus legends about this building being haunted. It had stood since 1831 but the idea of ghosts actually existing just went against everything she knew as an educated woman. It was all just a folklore.

Just standing there, she felt a deep chill that came from nowhere, it was just suddenly present. She shuddered, whether it was from the cold or something more sinister she wasn’t sure. Out of the corner of her eye she could have sworn there was movement. But there was no sound.

This is a story that is set in the Old West and in the present day. It starts out slowly, but it speaks to the fact that transgenderism is not something new but has existed for a long time.

- Marina Kelly and Monica Rose
Proof-read by Qmodo

Chapter 2 - The Saga is Set in Motion

Trying to figure out what was going on was going to give her a headache. She had not thought that she believed in ghosts, but that might be the only way to explain where the girl had gone. There was no way she could have run away without being seen.

Walking back to her work area, Mary Sue checked the book she carried for any damage. It looked like it had not suffered from being mistreated, so she decided that the best thing to do was to leave it on the table so that someone could put it back in its proper place. She would have tried to find its spot on the shelf, but it would also be easy to misplace it as well. Nothing was more annoying than to be unable to find a book when it was out of place on the shelves.

When she saw the subject of the book, Mary Sue froze. It dealt with memoirs of famous western figures and it triggered a new train of thought. Her eyes went to her notebook and back to the library book she held. What was so important about larger than life western idols? Most of what was ‘known’ was 10% fact and 90% fiction. She sat down and began making some new notes.

History was told so often from a narrative point of view that history books became dry texts. Historical events are witnessed by people. The experiences and impressions of those witnesses could be valuable. History used to be passed down through families in a verbal fashion but these oral accounts were often overlooked or discounted by today’s scholars because they were not considered to be completely accurate accounts of history. With the advent of the printed word and literacy, verbal histories became even less common. Perhaps her thesis could be an attempt to capture some of those verbal histories as they pertained to the settling of the West.

She worked to develop the concept of her thesis, trying to refine it. She had struggled with writer's block early on with her approach though. After using her roommate, Evelyn, as a sounding board, she decided to examine the 'who, where, when, and why, not just the what' of history. Evelyn's pursuit of her own doctorate in psychology helped Mary Sue with organizing her thoughts.

* * * * *

Mary Sue hunched over at her assigned work area in the history section. Her collection of old letters and journals covered the old mahogany table. For months now, she had been gathering them as part of her work toward her doctorate.

Time had begun to lose its meaning lately as she was spending more and more time here. Evelyn, her roommate, had learned that this was the first place to look during the week when she couldn't find Mary Sue. There were books of notes, but the central content of her thesis still needed to be put together, meaning that she had to convert those notes into a coherent document. She thought whimsically, 'If I could just smuggle a cot up here, I wouldn't need to take breaks.' Then she got a whiff of the aromatic cloud that surrounded her and realized that a shower break might be a good thing.

She tried to get her bleary eyes to focus as she looked through her papers again. She had been through the chicken scratch of old letters a hundred times, but was still having a hard time deciphering the handwriting and 19th century spellings and word usages. It was obvious that schooling was not a top priority in the 1890's. The dim light in the NYU library's rare book section and the faded words on the old parchment all combined to give her a major headache.

She gently massaged her temples with her finger tips as she reviewed the contents of her latest finds. Her research had shown that until about 1870, travelers encountered hundreds of thousands of bison migrating through Nebraska on both sides of the Platte River, and most travelers killed several for fresh meat. By 1900, a lack of understanding of the concept of conservation had eliminated the buffalo as a source of sustenance. The wagon train that Mary Sue was researching did not have the luxury of the buffalo. Their diet was as bland as the flat prairie, consisting mostly of beans and rice, dried meat and salted bacon. As they traveled, they hunted and fished for antelope, deer, elk, rabbit, birds, and trout.

She recalled the disdainful attitude her faculty advisor had taken when she described the abstract for her thesis. He really did not think that her paper would have any value to other historians and would be better suited as an adventure novel. Her subject had already been approved by the thesis committee, of which he was not a member. That might be more than anything what made him so negative about her focus. She wanted to keep history alive and relating the experiences and thoughts of those who came before seemed to energize her.

The subject matter of the letters and journals she had accumulated had drawn her along like cheese that baited a mouse. They described all the expected hardships that one had traditionally associated with crossing the continent in a wagon. The heat, the dust, insects, the fierce wind, rain, and lightning storms were common in the spring and summer across the Great Plains, as was having to deal with the ever rampant disease of cholera that took more than its share of victims.

But her in-depth research had found that the composition of a wagon train was as diverse as any small city of the time. Everything was there from drunkenness, gossip, torrid love affairs; child abuse in the name of discipline, theft, bullying of the weaker ones. The most disturbing theme was the senseless killing of Native Americans almost as a sport.

What surprised her most was that fornication seemed to be a favorite topic. Men, women, children, even livestock...no one seemed to be safe. As the pioneers forged their way west most every human emotion and vice were packed into their wagons and taken with them. This was the story Mary wanted to tell in her thesis, she just did not know how. The stereotype about brave and virtuous pioneers was old and over-used. Her goal was to tell the world that not all the pioneers wore white hats. At times, it seems the east had emptied their prisons and jail cells in an effort to fulfill Horace Greeley's quote "Go West, young man."

Her greatest find had been a detailed manifest by the wagon master, the illegitimate son of the legendary Jim Bridger. It had literally fallen off a shelf in the rare books section of the library in front of her and she had been hooked from the time she opened the cover. What was really confusing was that the head librarian had no record of the book being part of the collection and she had been told that it might be old, but it did not appear to have any value. She was allowed to take the narrow ledger with her when she left the building.

Bridger had been literate and the first of what would be known as anal retentive. He recorded every individual's name, occupation and an estimate of their livestock and belongings. Mary Sue's heart about leapt from her chest at the discovery of his journal in a long forgotten storage room in the museum. It listed every soul who had signed up for the arduous 2,000-mile journey that would take them from the Missouri River to valleys in Oregon. The settlers piled everything they owned into canvas-covered wagons, handcarts and any other vehicle that could move, and set out along a dim track called 'the Emigrant Road.'

By 1897, the transcontinental railroad had attracted most of the less adventuresome and the wagon train Mary Sue was researching would end up being the last wagon train to travel the Oregon Trail. Despite the lateness of the season, the fact that "Buffalo Bill Cody had signed on as the train's chief scout attracted a lot of attention and people vied for a spot in the wagon train. A train that would eventually reach 120 wagons in size by the time it departed Missouri.

Dime novels about Wild Bill were commonplace during that time period. The allure of his name attracted all kinds of ne'er-do-wells. As a result, the passenger list included a number of people intending to turn this trip into a literary gold mine for themselves, which explained the unusual number of journals kept by the participants. However, only the hardiest prospective authors survived the trip and remained with the train all the way to the Pacific Ocean. There were an inordinate number of documents that had been unearthed detailing the trial and tribulations of the last wagon train to follow the Oregon Trail.

Unlike most of her contemporaries, Mary Sue still preferred the old fashioned way. She wrote all her notes in longhand and later transcribed them onto her computer. At times, she realized she almost needed a Rosetta stone to decipher her own handwriting.

She picked up her trusty well-chewed-on pencil and added to the list of words she was using to translate the documents to readable modern English. She scanned the latest additions and underlined those that seemed the most useful: Oakum was used when referring to hemp fiber rope, Warm/warmly really meant difficult, quick-paced. Where Verdant was an adjective for lush or fertile, Discommode meant annoy. Viands were a frequently used word for food, usually reserved for choice dishes. Fag end was the equivalent for last years, final part. Obloquy was a substitute for false accusation, or malicious gossip. Quondam meant former, Pusillanimity was a synonym for cowardice. Then her latest addition Insipid, that stood for bland or tasteless.

Her eyes seemed to cross as she tried to read and Mary dropped her pencil back to the table. Intending to just rest her eyes for a few minutes, she laid her head down using her arms for a makeshift pillow. The smell of the old wood of the table filled her nostrils and was somehow soothing.

* * * * *

It was hours later that Mary felt a gentle push at her shoulder. Mary Sue opened her eyes just a crack and saw Evelyn standing at her side. The two of them were pretty much pretty each other's only friends on campus, pursing advanced degrees left little free time for socialization. It had been Evelyn’s observations about history that had caused Mary Sue to see history as more than just a recording of events. Mary Sue had embraced that philosophy with a passion and had come to believe that everyone’s experiences and reminisces were valuable.

"Mary, wake up!" The tone of her voice was a combination of desperation and exasperation. "Professor Friedman called the apartment looking for you. You missed your one o'clock with your thesis committee and he's not a happy man."

Glancing at the watch on her wrist, she went on, "He wants you standing in his office by three PM. We've got 20 minutes to get you presentable and across campus to his office. He expects you to explain your latest lapse in judgment. It seems you go out of your way to antagonize him."

Mary Sue made a face and said, "You’re right Eve. I really don't like him and regret the day he was made my advisor. The man’s a predator. Every time we’re alone, he hits on me. I had to threaten to report him for sexual harassment after he made it clear that my thesis would breeze through the committee if I agreed to certain favors. He may be a renowned history lecturer, but to me he is more of a lecher, period. Degree or no degree, the professor is one vulgar remark away from earning a broken nose!"

Evelyn frowned. "I’ve no doubt what you’re telling me is the truth, but you have invested three years in this degree, so you have to find some way to work around him. Now let’s get you cleaned up. Do you have a clean shirt?"

Mary Sue walked over to her filling cabinet and retrieved a neatly folded peach colored top and a small toiletry kit. Displaying the blouse to Evelyn she said, "This should do." They trooped down to the restroom where Mary Sue quickly brushed her teeth to get rid of the dragon breath. The mirror showed a somewhat cute brunette with blue eyes that seemed to glow. Her nose was not the typical button nose that all girls seemed to want, but was just an average one, not too long and too bulbous or narrow. The nose was just about right for her face.

Changing clothes, she pulled off the baggy university sweatshirt to reveal a statuesque figure. Her medium build meant that she probably would never qualify as a Victoria Secret girl. She was nowhere near being a stereotypical stick figure of a runway model.

Evelyn was surprised by her friend’s curvaceous figure. The two women hardly saw each other during the week anyway and Mary Sue was gone every weekend for her part time job. Their schedules had been such that neither girl was present in the apartment with the other that often. On the evenings when they were together, Mary Sue had gone out of her way to avoid being seen unclothed. Mary had always dressed in loose fitting bagging clothes. Evelyn had thought that Mary Sue was just body shy and had given the other woman her space. Yet, here she stood with a knockout body that Evelyn had to admit that she was jealous of. The fact that Mary hid her figure was rather confusing.

"Mary, I know that this is crude of me, but why hide a body like that?"

Mary blushed at the compliment, "Oh you mean these little old things." She gestured to her large, perfect breasts. "Well…they're the best money can buy. But I try and keep them under wraps."

Evelyn wrinkled her nose in confusion. "You mean you paid for a breast augmentation and now you're trying to hide them. What’s going on?" She was sure that Mary Sue's endowments were a fairly new change to her friend.

Mary Sue smiled wryly. She rolled on some deodorant and pulled on the blouse. She quickly ran a brush through her hair and pulled her hair into a severe bun so that she could secure it with bobby pins. Slipping on a pair of glasses, she hoisted her backpack to one shoulder and was ready to go. Even with bloodshot eyes, she was attractive enough to turn heads, though she didn't realize it.

"Come on, I’ll explain while we walk across campus, but you have to promise to keep this just between us. I need to give you a little background first.

"Growing up, I had a rather boyish appearance. Being around four older brothers, meant that I was a bit of a tomboy. My mother was never a real girly woman and I think she was just as happy that I liked doing the things my brothers did because those were the things she knew. Both my parents enjoyed sports and most athletic activities. So I played sports, climbed trees, and did all the things my brothers did. They trained me well. I was always one of the first chosen in baseball and basketball games. They also taught me to stand up for myself.

"I didn’t really have any problems until puberty hit and I discovered boys but they never really noticed me. Other girl’s figures filled out, but mine didn’t. I wanted to be like the other girls; but the fairy that hands out the breast allowances missed seeing me, probably because of all the testosterone at my house, so dressing and acting like my brothers was the easier way to go. At least until high school. I found friendship in sports and became a bit of a bookworm. Let me tell you, as a girl I went through a lot of Kleenex weeping over my lack of development and of lack attention from boys."

The day was clear for late April, but the girls knew that they wouldn't want to stay outside for too long in the cool air. Fortunately, it was warm while they were in the sun. The quad was fairly empty because of the coolness, so the girls were quickly away from any prying ears.

Mary Sue glanced around to make sure that they were alone and asked, "Eve, what is the current tuition for NYU?"

Evelyn paused for a moment as the question seemed to come out of the blue. "I’m not sure, somewhere around 25 grand a year."

"Where do you think a kid from a farm in Iowa gets that kind of money?"

"I don’t know. Scholarships?"

Mary Sue gave a quick chuckle, "What I get in scholarships and grants helps a lot, but it doesn't cover all of my expenses."

A confused Eve looked at her friend in bewilderment. "I give up. How do you afford this place?" Evelyn had been the beneficiary in her parents' insurance policies and she did not have the same kind of financial issues that Mary Sue did. The fact that both women were orphans was something that had bonded them as friends, Mary Sue had not had the benefit an insurance settlement or the inheritance of a large estate.

"Eve, think about it. How do women normally acquire large quantities of cash?" She was half-tempted to say, 'And I don't mean inheriting it,' but she was sensitive to Evelyn's feelings in that regard. Even though her own relationship with her parents had been strained, she did miss them.

"School loans or, better yet, marry for it."

"Sweetie, don’t be so naive. I have a part time job on the weekends. I earned it the old fashion way...through hard work."

Mary Sue’s statement hung in the air, Evelyn still confused, "What kind of part time job pays that kind of money?"

Mary heaved a heavy sigh. "Well it sure isn’t in waitressing. The first job I got was a real eye opener for me. Even when I tried to flirt with the guys the way the other girls did, I still didn’t get good tips. I didn't need Sherlock Holmes to tell me that the girls with the bigger tits got the bigger tips."

Evelyn already suspected that she knew the answer, but she asked her question anyway. "Mary, what did you do?"

"One of my friends suggested I look for a job as an exotic dancer in the Village. While the money sounded good, I just couldn't do that."

"Why not? You have a pretty face and gorgeous hair, and anyone can learn to dance." Of course, Evelyn was missing the fact that it would be a job as a stripper.

Mary Sue smiled. "Thanks for the compliment, but you are my friend so you're not totally objective. I may have a great body, but my face is pretty much ordinary."

She pushed her glasses back up on her nose and said, "I just couldn't bring myself to even contemplate being a stripper. So I did the only thing I could. I maximized on the feminine assets I did have. I went to work as a cocktail waitress in a casino at Atlantic City. By arranging my schedule so I don't have any Friday classes, I commute down Thursday nights and work double shifts all weekend.

"But I realized I needed a hook to draw in the high rollers. The double D’s were it; I call myself Dee Dee at work. I wiggle these at a guy, and once he gets hard, the money seems to fall out of his wallet. The best part was that they were a tax deduction as a business expense."

Shimmying her chest, she said in a light hearted manner, "These puppies have paid for themselves ten times over. Besides, when I'm dressed in provocative costumes with daring décolletage no man ever even notices my face." She didn't connect how her appearance and behavior as a cocktail waitress might be compared to an exotic dancer.

Evelyn really could not picture her friend working in a casino. "You’ve got to be kidding."

"No, I’m not. It pays well but it's a lot of hard work and long nights, especially when I have to wear heels. On top of that, I've been so paranoid that someone will recognize me. That’s why I try to downplay my figure during the time I'm on campus. Besides, baggy sweatshirts are comfortable and no one comes to this part of the library anyway."

"Do you think that the professor has seen through your cover up?" Evelyn asked.

Mary Sue looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don’t want to prejudge anyone; but that might explain his boorish behavior. Besides, he's the kind of guy who might go down to Atlantic City…if he could afford it."

At that, they arrived outside Doctor Friedman’s office. Squeezing Eve's hand, Mary said, "Thanks for listening to me, I feel better getting that off my chest - no pun intended." She squared her shoulders and knocked firmly on the door.

When she didn't get a response right away, Mary knocked more loudly a second time.

"Get in here and stop making that racket!"

Her glasses slipping again, she pushed them back in placed and cautiously pushed the door open with her foot and stuck just her head in. "Doctor Friedman, it's me, Mary Sue."

"Oh so you are alive Miss McLaughlin. I could only surmise you were dead or on your death bed. No other rational excuse would keep a doctoral candidate from a meeting with her advisor."

Mary pulled up on her thread worn old Levis and boldly went where no sane person would ever go voluntarily. Stepping in, she started her apology, "I'm sorry, but I can explain."

The professor dismissed her with a wave of his hand, "Don't bother; I don't have time for some tomfoolery of an excuse. Just get in here close the door and brief me on your progress. Your first chapter is due by the beginning of next semester. That doesn't leave you with a lot of time." His opinion of her thesis and its focus came through quite clearly.

Mary sat in the designated visitor chair, that she could see was intentionally made several inches lower than the professor's chair on its small platform, so everyone had to strain their neck to look up to the dean of the history department.

Mary opened her backpack and withdrew her handy note book. She excitedly started a recitation of her research. "Doctor, I am going to present a detailed account of the last wagon train on the Oregon Trail in 1897."

"Stop! Just stop!" He said with a bored tone as he held up a hand. "This is not some high school term paper. You are required to produce a scholarly manuscript that will add to the body of knowledge about American history. That is the only way you'll be given a doctorate from this university – well there is one other way, but that is better discussed over a glass of chardonnay at dinner. How is this topic going to meet that criteria?"

That got her ire up; her paper had been approved long ago, she just had to write it. Why did she have to justify herself every time she spoke to him? She stood up and put both hands on his desk and leaned forward, invading his personal space. Looking him directly in the eye, she said, "Sir, my topic meets all the requirements. First off, it is significant because this was the last wagon train to go over the Oregon Trail. Secondly, there are two historical figures directly involved that have never been researched in this vein. The chief scout was none other than Wild Bill Cody and I have proof that the wagon master was the illegitimate son of the legendary Jim Bridger."

The professor leaned back in his chair and said, "Go on Miss McLaughlin, there has to be more. This is not a script for some western movie."

"Yes sir. I have a complete list of everyone who started the trek from Missouri. I plan on following their progress and document how many eventually made it to Oregon and how their lives turned out. Another point I plan on hitting in my thesis will be gender roles. Almost everything the public knows about that time period has been popularized by television and movies. Everything about the west seems to focus solely upon men. Name another memorable woman from that time, other than Annie Oakley.

"Were tasks split up between men and women, husband and wife or were they done by whoever was available? The final aspect of my paper will be the oral histories that I collect from the descendants of the members of the wagon train."

The professor's eyes sparkled. He had not read the abstract of Mary Sue’s proposed thesis as thoroughly as he should have and she was actually proposing some interesting viewpoints. "You might be on to something there. That approach has never been done. How large was the train?"

"It contained almost 100 families. When you add in servants and drovers, the train contained over 700 men and women, the exact number of children is harder to pin down."

"How do you intend to determine how their lives turned out? It has been estimated that the overall mortality rate on the Oregon-California Trail was 4 to 6 percent of those starting west. You must remember that statistically, there is an average of ten graves for every mile. You must account for as many of the lost souls as you can."

Mary was ready for that challenge, thinking quickly on her feet she said, "I'll start with official 1900 census. Following that, I'll examine the federal tax rolls, the forms at that time required a person's address and occupation."

Feeling very sure of herself, she suspected she had come across a factoid the professor was unaware of so she continued, "The income tax was passed by Congress in 1862 in the Internal Revenue Act. The National Archives hold records of income taxes paid."

The old man leaned back in his chair and let her finish then sat up straight and lectured, "Very good Miss McLaughlin; but you do realize those taxes only applied to people who made over $600 a year. That was a lot of money back then. How many of your 'emigrants' would have qualified for the federal tax? Where else will you look Miss McLaughlin?"

"I don't know, maybe Ancestor.com." His questions touched upon areas that she had not yet considered and her uncertainty showed.

That got a belly laugh from the old doctor.

With a smug look on his face that Mary found disconcerting, the professor went on like he was teaching a history class. "As your advisor, let me suggest that you look to another source. By the end of the civil war, there were over 5,000 newspapers being published in the United States. A lot of them are readily available in digital form or on microfilm. They may turn out to be a most valuable source in filling in your personal backgrounds. Most were weeklies, usually printed on one sheet that folded in half to make four pages. So when searching, keep in mind that there may be a considerable time lag between an 1897 event and its appearance in a newspaper."

Friedman was not talking like a condescending jerk now; he was in full-blown teaching mode. "Miss McLaughlin, you have been locked up in libraries and museums for far too long. I think you need to do some real field work. Get out there and follow the train's trail, there will be records dispersed along its length. See what you can dig up, perhaps grave stones from the less fortunate, and I'm sure there were some that dropped off along the way. Find their stories as well."

The professor's observations actually made sense to her and she said, "Alright professor, I'll show you the best investigative thesis anyone has ever seen."

"You?" he gasped, "Why you're just a mere girl! This job calls for a man's touch. I'd be willing to accompany you and inject my expertise where needed."

Just when he had managed to show that he was a learned academician, he had to sink back to the gutter. He knew that his statement was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it as soon as the last breath left his mouth. She flushed with anger. "Don't 'girl' me, and you can keep the innuendos to yourself!" she said firmly.

She didn't wait for an answer she turned and went out the door. Her assertiveness was rather attractive and he decided to make a point of following her progress - besides she had a great body.

Mary Sue had the strongest urge to slam the door; but she just couldn't as she was raised to control her emotions. She had learned that with her brothers. If you showed them they had gotten to you they just kept digging at you. So she let door close itself quietly and headed back to the apartment.

"What happened?" Eve asked when Mary Sue plopped in the chair in front of the desk.

"He challenged my work and made more harassing comments, the old coot. Now I have to hit the trail literally and do field research. But he did offer some valuable suggestions."

"When are you leaving?"

"I need to do some planning, but I think that I could leave this coming Saturday and get to Independence, Missouri by Monday. Then my work really begins. I have some savings built up from the stipends I've gotten, but I really was not planning on using it in this way. I was planning on some field work anyway, the old goat just pushed me to do it sooner rather than later."

* * * *

It took a couple of days to arrange research access at some of the large universities along her path to the west coast. While she could try to find out what she wanted at newspaper offices, publishers had an annoying habit of going out of business when circulation dropped. Considering the time period she was working on, she would have to consider herself lucky to find any newspapers from that time still in business. Still, there were a handful still around and she noted them as places to approach.

The day before she was to set out was busy. She gathered the research materials she wanted with her, glad that it was in electronic form. The hard-copy versions of everything would remain here at home. Even though she had an assigned work space that the library staff would look after for her, the material she had gathered was too important to leave for however long she might be traveling. She wished that there was some place to store it all at the university, but her research material would be safer at the apartment.

It was early the next morning when she dragged her luggage out to her most prized possession: a 10-year-old Volkswagen Beetle convertible and wrestled everything into the back seat and trunk. She thought that she had everything she needed, the most important being traveler's checks and maps. Evelyn came down with her to see her off.

"I have a present for you," Eve said. She handed over a small rectangular box. "Every woman needs her own special scent, how else is she going to attract a man?"

Mary unwrapped the package to find a large bottle of 'White Diamonds' perfume. She wasn't a perfume type of girl but the sentiment of the gift brought tears to her eyes. She dropped the bottle in her purse and said with a smile, "You know that I'm on a research trip and not a husband hunting trip, right?"

"I know," Eve replied as she hugged Mary Sue goodbye. "But it can't hurt to have it along."

Mary Sue promised to call every day or two to make sure that Evelyn knew where she was and that she was okay. Sliding into the driver’s seat and putting on her sunglasses, she waved goodbye and yelled, "Wagons Ho."

With the sun at her back, she quickly realized the sun was not an adequate directional guide to getting out of the city. Mary Sue never made it to the Holland Tunnel before she pulled over and set her GPS for Independence, Missouri. In record time for New York, she was on the open road in only four hours.

* * * * *

She hadn't done a lot of cross country traveling growing up. The most her family had done was to make a couple of trips to Maine. Five kids in a car for too long just wasn’t fun for anyone. She had never gone for more than an hour drive on her own and that never really gotten her out of the New York area. She was able to contend with the heavy traffic on I-80, but Mary Sue found the silence hard to take.

The first time she couldn’t find a radio station she liked, she turned it off in frustration. She reviewed her research and how she was putting things together. She thought about her family, and she thought about what a creep Doctor Friedman was. The next time she turned off the radio, she found herself thinking about her job and how a lot of the men at the club were a lot like Dr. Friedman, but with the way she was dressed and the money they paid her seemed to make the way they acted okay. Wondering why her mind was going down this road drew her back to her high school years where she wanted the attention of the guys and couldn’t get it, she had the attention of the men at the club but none of that was serious and Dr. F’s attention was not welcomed at all.

So now what? She wasn’t very experienced but she knew she didn’t fit the tomboy life she had growing up and she sure didn’t want to be a cocktail waitress forever. Most of those guys didn’t care that she had a brain too. She would find herself revisiting this subject many times over the next weeks.

As much as she wanted to get her research done and get home again, she didn't want to push the car too hard. It had lots of miles on it, but it hadn't given her trouble in a long time. She resigned herself to the possibility that this trip might be the last long one that the car might make. She stayed close to the speed limit and took the recommended breaks. She had enough cash for this expedition, but she didn't want to pay out for traffic tickets or repairs because she was hot-rodding.

* * * * *

It was Sunday evening when she rolled into Independence, Missouri. She pulled into a Motel 6 parking lot and got out to stretch her cramped legs. Cars like hers were great on gas mileage but lacked basic amenities like legroom.

Mary was happy to get checked into a room. She quickly unpacked thinking that she might be around for a few days. Her few dresses she carefully hung in the closet, alongside her pantsuits. Her sweatshirts and jeans got stuffed into a drawer. She fell into bed and didn’t move until the morning light shone through her window. She made herself a cup of coffee, opened her computer to figure out where she would go first.

The city of Independence was known as the "Queen City of the Trails" because it was a point of departure for trains travelling the California, Oregon and Santa Fe Trails. It was great trivia but not much help for her paper. Mary Sue put on her normal outfit, Levi's and a sweatshirt. Wearing dresses and high heels to dig around in files and records was just silly. She put her hair up into a French braid, put on a minimum of makeup and grabbed her bag of notebooks.

After a barely filling breakfast at McDonalds, her first stop was the local tourist information center. She was directed to a display with a reproduction of several pages from a Lewis and Clark journal. It said that they stopped in what is now Independence in 1804 to pick plums, raspberries, and wild apples at a site that would later form the city center. Which, again, was interesting but of no use whatsoever to her research. She did pick up a handout that listed the location of all the historical markers in and around the city. She had not added that information to her collection as yet and she thought that it might of some value to her now.

She discovered the city was home to the largest stand-alone public genealogy research library in America. That sounded like a good place to start. She drove straight there, requiring only two laps around the parking lot to find an open space.

She wove her way between cars to reach the front entrance, a lovely gothic facade with almost 50 stone steps leading to the main entrance. The climb up the steps seemed to be designed to discourage everyone except the serious researcher. Her relaxed collegiate outfit should enable her to blend in to the crowd. Asking for help at the information desk was a test of her patience, a bored receptionist looked up at her NYU sweatshirt and merely handed her a photocopy of the research center's layout.

As she looked around for a place to work she noticed the amount of attention she was getting. She assumed that it had to be due to the logo on her sweatshirt. Folks tended to take school rivalries seriously, but it never occurred to her that it might be what was in the Levis and sweatshirt that the boys found so interesting.

Later in the day, she found a very nice young man who happily showed her how to work their antiquated microfiche system. He apologized that the older 19th Century records still hadn't been transferred over to the computer database system as if it were somehow his fault.

She worked until the library closed that evening and returned the following day for more than half a day. As a result, she was able to identify numerous names from her list of wagon train participants. She took copious notes and was satisfied with her progress. Bridger’s log book listed a dozen family names that were from the local area. Among the names was a young girl name Yolanda Petalengro, who was listed as a gypsy and a nanny for a pioneer family. Both the name and the fact that a nanny was on the trip were unique and stood out to Mary Sue.

Her cross-referencing identified one family living in the area by the last name of Petalengro. However, according to the 1896 census, tax and voting records the family only had a son, no daughter. Mary Sue made a note of the discrepancy, but she didn't find this surprising. Gypsies at that time were not known for voting or paying taxes and their vagabond lifestyle would make them hard to capture in a census. Actually, the fact that they were part of the census at all was unusual.

She stopped for a few hours at the National Frontier Trails Museum and Research Library, the largest public research library in the U.S. focused on the Overland Trails and the settlement of the American West. She had already consulted their archives remotely and retrieved a wealth of information. She did find brochures and leaflets that might be sources of inspiration though.

She learned that the average train went by way of a route that was a broad ribbon of threads, sometimes intertwining, sometimes splitting off into frayed diversions. It ran beside waterways, stretched across tall-grass and short-grass prairies, wound through mountain passes, and then spanned the Pacific Slope to the promised lands of Oregon and California.

The road to the Far West had become known as the Oregon Trail. For the most part, the members of the wagon trains were farmers and family men, with wives and children - who had a common goal of seeking a promised land of milk and honey in far-off Oregon, about which they knew as little as they did about how to get there. There were scallywags, drunkards, con-men and swindlers who managed to attach themselves to the trains, seeking their share of the pot of gold.

Mary Sue's planned route was to follow the trail as much as she could where it intersected with the road system that had sprung up along it. There were long stretches where the two routes either closely paralleled each other or the road had been built upon the trail itself. There were many small towns dotted along the old wagon train route.

Her next stop was the town's local newspaper. It was one of the few old publishers still in business and her list of historical sites showed had a lineage of ownership going back to the civil war. Driving across town and arriving just before lunch, she found a parking space just across the street. She grabbed her purse and backpack, locked her car and jogged across the busy street.

Mary Sue walked into the office expecting a receptionist. Instead, she found a young man about her age, slumping over a large oak counter that looked like a real antique. The walls were covered with framed front page articles. One in particular grabbed her attention, the headline read, "President Lincoln Shot by an Assassin. The Deed Done at Ford's Theatre Last Night. THE ACT OF A DESPERATE REBEL!"

She set her backpack down and browsed around the reception area. She picked up a business card from a holder on a table, seeing that it had the address, phone number and email of the paper. It even had a number for a hotline for anyone wanting to phone in a breaking news story. She dropped the card in her purse.

As she walked around the room, the young man studiously ignored her. About the time she reached the door to an empty office and stopped to look in, he finally reacted to her presence.

"How may I help you Miss? I'm Tim Greenleaf, the head reporter and junior editor. I'm in charge at the moment. My uncle is the owner and managing editor but he is out of town for the day."

She smiled at him for a moment before she finished looking into the office. The walls were covered in an assortment of hunting trophies, deer, elk and fox, the occupant was obviously a gun aficionado. She stepped into the office and boldly picked up a picture in a frame, examining it closely. It was obviously a wedding picture of an older gentleman and a striking redhead that appeared young enough to be the man's daughter. She wore an exquisite wedding dress, which made Mary Sue envious.

Tim came around the counter as she brazenly walked into the office, concern written on his face.

"Is this your uncle?"

"Yes, it is. Please put it down; he'll kill me if anything happens to that picture. Just what are you looking for? If you tell me maybe I can be of some help."

"I would like access to your papers for the spring and summer of 1897. Your on-line archives don't go back farther than World War 2."

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" His guarded reaction to her request piqued Mary's interest: There was something here to be found. "You've been on our web page that is all we have."

She frowned at Greenleaf. "I know every newspaper office has a morgue! What I'm looking for must be in there then!"

Her familiarity with that newspaper terminology surprised the young man. He looked at the woman with renewed interest.

"I'm looking for everything, from that period in particular, Obituaries, Birth and, Death Announcements." Then, as if it had just occurred to her she waved at all the front pages proudly displayed on the walls and added, "And of course your headline stories for that period."

At that, the young man suddenly became less than cordial. He stiffened and arched an eyebrow in a dismissive manner. "I'm sorry Miss, our files dating that far back are locked in the basement and are still in filing cabinets and storage boxes. We have never organized them for research purposes."

Not to be put off that easily, Mary responded, "No problem, I can just browse through the files."

"Oh Miss, a lady such as yourself, wouldn't feel comfortable in the musty old basement. Why I bet there are probably all kinds of yucky spiders and mice down there."

His dismissive attitude managed to rub Mary's last nerve the wrong way.

"Spiders, you say. That changes everything. Growing up, I had a tarantula I kept in my bedroom as a pet, I would feed it baby mice. I really like arachnids and view mice as a food source. Are you aware that the Romans considered mice to be a delicacy and fed them to their guests?"

The look the Mary Sue had on her face as she described her mythical mouse-eating spider would have unnerved anyone.

Flustered by her response, the man stumbled for a retort. Most people would have gotten the hint by now that they were not welcome. He tried another approach. "I'm still sorry but those files are private and off limits to all but company employees."

"Do you have access?"

"Why of course, as the number two man here I have the keys right here in my pocket."

He glanced anxiously at the clock and then out the window, "Miss, please leave. I have to lock up. I have a luncheon appointment."

"Alright, I'll come back later." She had no intention of being brushed off this easily. What kind of historian would she be if she could not get access to the information she needed?

He followed her to the door and locked it as he stepped outside after her. Crossing to her car, Mary Sue started up the engine and prepared to pull out. Movement caught her attention, as a large baby blue Mercedes-Benz pulled up in front of the newspaper. Tim dove into the front seat, where the woman driver pulled his head towards her and gave him a lip lock that must have sucked to air out of his lungs. She watched as Tim tried to sit up but the driver pushed his head to her lap and held it there, where he was hidden from view.

Mary Sue's eyes became round saucers of shock, as it took her only a moment to recognize the driver as the woman in the wedding picture. Things began to click for her and she decided to stick around for a while. Instead of driving away, she wandered the downtown area in search of some place to have lunch that would also allow her to monitor the newspaper office. Over a lunch of a mediocre hamburger and greasy fries, Mary Sue became lost in her mind trying to decide what to do proceed on her mission.

She fully intended to get a serious look at the newspaper's files. The question was how. She mentally listed and evaluated her options. She could go back and play the helpless woman and try pleading; while shedding a river of crocodile tears. That solution made her ill and was immediately rejected. Women had come too far to play the helpless damsel in distress. She could become the strong and demanding corporate type and threaten Tim with lawsuits under the Freedom of Information act. That would probably work but would require time and money she didn't have. Next she imagined herself in a Mission Impossible scenario where she would break-in after dark. A great fantasy but totally unworkable. She had no idea how to break into a locked room besides the only law she had ever knowingly broken was crossing Fifth Avenue against traffic and she would never do that again.

The alternatives were rapidly diminishing. The solution that best fit her character was to simply go back there and tell the truth, her whole academic future could depend on what she found in those files. She would simply ask for his help and understanding.

As she passed the time finishing a cup of coffee, she realized that the truth was a delusional plan as junior editor Tim had shown no tendencies toward understanding and did not appear ready to help anyone. Yet she had to get in there somehow. She was considering a second cup when the Mercedes-Benz reappeared. It barely slowed down as it passed the office and Tim came tumbling out. Watching the young man trying to compose himself as he fumbled with the keys to open the door, his shirt tails flapping in the breeze and hair all bedraggled. This was her 'Eureka!' moment.

Mary Sue gave Tim a few minutes to get settled and walked in the front door like she owned the place. She walked over to the desk, opened her purse, pulled out a tissue and her smart phone. Handing the tissue to Tim, she looked at him critically, saying, "You might want to wipe the lipstick off before anyone else notices."

The young man could only look back at her with a confused look on his face. Following up on her opening salvo, she took the tissue back and said, "Here, I'll get it." She rubbed at a spot on his cheek for a moment to remove the non-existent lipstick.

Then she hit Tim with the next round in her arsenal. She held up her phone, but was careful not to let him see that she had no pictures. "You know…these new phones have exceptionally good cameras in them, the clarity is remarkable. I wonder if your uncle would like to see just how friendly his nephew and wife have become."

Tim's eyes looked like saucers as he realized how much trouble he was in. "W...what do you want?"

Mary shrugged. "Nothing much. Just the key to the basement files. I'll spend the afternoon down there and then you will never see or hear from me again."

"That's blackmail!"

Mary smiled at him, enjoying his outrage. His previous behavior really did not inspire any sympathy for him on her part.

"I can understand how you would see it that way. I'd prefer to think of it as a life insurance payment."

Tim dug into his pocket, handed her the key, and pointed her to the basement door. His expression said that he hoped she would fall down the stairs and break her busybody neck.

Mary Sue found the light switch and cautiously made her way down the rickety old stairs. It looked like the basement had never been updated from the last century. She fervently hoped that the old lumber would hold up long enough to let her get the bottom, as well as let her get back out when she was done.

Reaching solid ground, she breathed a sigh of relief and started browsing along the cabinets and boxes. Happily, everything was well labeled and she found a section dealing with the summer of 1897. She carefully spread them out on an old table and proceeded to go through them page by page, taking notes. Occasionally a photograph caught her attention and she used her smartphone to copy it. She found one picture of her wagon train as it was pulling out of the city on the beginning of its journey, Buffalo Bill waving gaily. Mary noted that almost no one was riding in the wagons but walking instead. Some pictures had captions that identified their subjects, allowing her to put faces to names in her notes.

She also perused the birth and obituary sections. One front page stood out. There was a full page article that jumped out at her. It described how a local farmer, Timothy Greenleaf complained of losing a goat. He had demanded his neighbors join him in a posse to hunt down the culprit. It seemed they had come across a lone gypsy camped on the outskirts of town. The man was questioned at gunpoint and identified himself as Hugo Petalengro who claimed to know nothing of any lost goat. Searching his belongings, they found a fresh goat hide. That, combined with the fact he was a gypsy, was all the evidence they needed. Petalengro was hung from the nearest tree. It mentioned he was survived by his wife and 16-year-old son. On the next page was a brief editorial comment about rushing to judgment; as the lost goat found its way home later that night. Mr. Greenleaf apologized for the misunderstanding.

The next day, a member of the vigilante group was found stabbed to death. Suspicion immediately fell on Petalengro's son, despite the fact he was known as a studious, shy young lad; it was also common knowledge he was never without his dagger. A reward of $500 was offered by the Greenleaf family for the gypsy's son, dead or alive. Mary Sue scrutinized every paper for a month after that announcement. Nowhere did she find where anyone had even seen the missing young man.

* * * * *

Packing her bag the next morning, she looked through the handout she had picked that listed historical markers. She noted that there was one adjacent to a Potter's Field, which was in use after the Civil War up until the turn of the century. It was used to bury the poor or people with no known identity. It was located on the outskirts of town and on her way out of town. She made a point of stopping to examine headstones.

As she wandered the cemetery examining gravestones, she found no names that had any meaning to her. As she was about to give up, the sky turned an eerie black and thunder could be heard in the distance. Mary headed to her car before the rains came and she wasn't watching where she was stepping. She tripped over a stone sunken into the ground. There was no name just a date, one that corresponded with the time of the wagon train's departure. It was a simple but touching inscription, "Herein lies a poor nameless soul of a wandering gypsy. He had done me a kindness so I placed his mortal remains here in consecrated ground. May god have mercy on his soul."

Very pleased with the information she had gathered in Independence, Mary Sue headed farther west. The solitude of the drive allowed her to do some more soul searching. The memory of the look on Tim's face when he thought she had gotten a picture of him and his "aunt" made her laugh out loud. She wasn't impressed with herself for having resorted to extortion to get what she wanted. She needed to hold herself to a higher standard from now on.

Family entertainment on any car trip usually involved some kind of trivia game. Back then, she never would have thought that she would ever have a figure that men would be attracted to. Now, other than at work, she found she was often uncomfortable with the attention she got. It seemed the only way guys will look at you is if they see your chest first, without the boobs they're not going to give you the time of day. In the years she had been working at the casino, she should have figured this out.

She still longed to have that one special person in her life. Not that she hadn't had offers from high-rollers in the casino. But she wanted someone who would hold a conversation with her while looking her in the face, not talking to her chest. Why should the world be so superficial?

She listened to the tires hum across the concrete pavement, lost in her own thoughts. She was delighted at the material she had collected so far, but surprised how she acquired some of it. The whole business with Tim Greenleaf still played upon her mind. Relationships are complicated enough, why have an affair? She sat in comfortable silence, almost mesmerized watching the endless flat prairie passing by.

Her first major stop was Ft. Kearny, Nebraska. It was the first military post built to protect the Oregon Trail emigrants. It was the headquarters of military and civil government, an important stage station, a home station of the Pony Express, and an outfitting depot for many Indian campaigns.

Her drive from Independence was not a direct route though and she found herself following smaller roads to stay close to the original route of the trail. A true researcher would have stopped in each and every town along the way, but a true researcher would also have a much larger store of funds to draw upon. Instead, she stopped at only a couple of towns.

Driving along the country roads was quite different from racing along at breakneck speeds on the interstate system. The smell of freshly tilled soil and general feel of spring reminded her of what it was like growing up in the country. She really missed this.

She found that the best way to find people who might have a connection to the wagon train was to stop at a church and speak to the pastor or priest, if they were present. She got lucky in Hebron where she was able to talk to an elderly woman who was able to relate some stories that she claimed came from the wagon train Mary Sue was following. She filled almost half a notebook with the results of that one interview.

Once in Kearney, she was happy to get out and stretch her legs. She hunted through her bags in the back seat, looking for a specific diary. One belonging to emigrant William Kelly. Leafing through it, she refreshed her memory and read his comments again.

'Ft. Kearny was not the walled fortification that I expected. It was instead a collection of ramshackle buildings, most made of sod. The construction was so crude that snakes slithered through the walls. The enlisted men were not overly refined. A most unsoldierly looking lot they were: unshaven, unshorn, with patched uniforms and a slovenly attitude. The privates being more particular in their inquiries after whiskey, for which they offered one dollar for a half-pint; but we had none to sell them even at that tempting price.'

Mary had no real expectations about finding anything here but she had to try. She went to the visitor center and, after flashing a young Park Ranger her brightest smile, asked if there were any records kept of the various wagon trains that had passed through the area. He was a gentleman and looked directly at her face and sadly informed her due to the high traffic through the fort in the early days, there were no records of that period. He did tell her some of the officers stationed at the fort had kept diaries and, if she could locate them, they might be of assistance. He provided her a list of the names of the commanding officers. Mary Sue filed the list away for future reference.

She grabbed a hotdog from a vendor to make a quick lunch before she took advantage of the public rest rooms. Then it was time to head out on the road again. She fueled her trusty steed before putting the top down. Tuning the radio to a local country and western station, she set out again. It was a beautiful day and all was right in the world.

She drove until dusk, when she started to look for someplace to eat and a motel to spend the night. Passing up a number of options, she finally came to an off ramp that offered a motel that she was comfortable with. Once in the room, she put her feet up and flipped on the television. She watched a movie and ate her fast food dinner. It was good to just put her mind in neutral and enjoy the experience. A quick shower and she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

She awoke to a warm, sunny morning. The spring temperatures were warmer than average at the moment. To survive the day, she decided upon a bright yellow sundress rather than the baggy clothes she normally wore. Shoes were a bit of a problem and, rather than her customary tennis shoes, she went with a pair of hard sole flats with a one-inch heel. A dab of lip gloss and a quick swipe of mascara completed her transformation from tomboy to young woman. After a quick breakfast, she stopped only long enough to gas up and replenish her supply of travel snacks.

The day started fine; except there were no clear radio stations and she resorted to listening to her favorite CD of show tunes. She was roaring down the high way singing gaily to the tunes, if a bit off key. A trait that had been her life's most embarrassing moment. She had been singing during her high school choir rehearsal. It was a particularly challenging piece. The choir master had pulled Mary aside and politely asked her not to sing this particular number. He asked if she would just mouth the words, leave the singing to others.

Mary glanced at the car that had been passing her like she was standing still, her engine straining to make it up the rolling Nebraska hill. A teenage boy was in the backseat, looking directly at her. As their eyes met he smiled at her. Mary responded with a brief smile of her own. He must have read her smile as a positive gesture and he blew her a kiss. Impulsively, before Mary before she had time to think about it, she pursed her lips at the kid in impish reply. That kind of behavior was unheard of in NYC. All her life, she'd cultivated a talent for being overlooked, a comfortable invisibility. Single woman in the big city never made eye contact with strangers and certainly never flirted with young teenagers. Just a few days back in the Midwest had altered her perception of other people. Eye to eye contact was not only polite but expected. But to Mary Sue out here on the wide open prairies it was a bit liberating.

Driving with the top down must have distracted her enough to cause her to push the car too hard because a terrible racket started coming from the engine and the car began to jerk as if it were actually dying. Mary coasted off to the side of the road and turned off the motor. She sat and listened to the engine tick as it cooled. To her utter dismay, her cell phone informed her that she had no cell coverage at the moment. She got out and opened the engine compartment, acting like she knew what she was looking at. Mary bent over and prayed that whatever had made that terrible noise would be obvious, like maybe she had run over a 12-pound prairie dog. She wished that she had learned something about car engines from her brothers.

A crunch of gravel on the road behind the car alerted Mary to the approach of an old pickup truck that was sliding to a stop a few feet back. Brushing some stray strands of her hair out of her eyes, she watched a muscular young man in his late twenties climb out of the truck. He could have been the stereotypical cowboy in his Levis, work boots and cowboy hat. The grease-stained muscle shirt ruined the image though.

"Howdy ma'am, I'm Steve. I work at the garage a few miles back. May I be of some assistance?"

"Thanks, I'm Mary Sue." It hadn't escaped her notice that Steve had been talking to her breasts. Kicking the tire on her car, she said, "I could really use some help, the car just started making a noise like it was dying."

He was unashamed as he stared at her in a lascivious manner and gave her a million-dollar smile. It made Mary Sue's skin crawl.

"No problem missy, I got my thirty-aught-six in the truck so we can put it out of its misery, if'n I can't fix it. Now step aside. Once I get my tool box from my pick up, I'll show you how a man does things." Using his car keys, he opened a tool box in the bed of his truck. He clipped the keys onto a belt loop.

With her big city wariness of strangers, Mary had strong reservations about trusting this knight-errant, but left with no other option she put her immediate destiny into his hands. As Steve worked, the sun rose right along with the temperature. Mary Sue was glad she had dressed in cooler clothing. She found herself wishing she had put sunscreen on her shopping list. Steve had taken off his t-shirt to use to wipe his face, now his shoulders and back were starting to turn red. She could only imagine that her fairer skin would resemble that of a lobster.

Unfortunately, the heat had not impaired her sense of smell. The hotter and dirtier he got, the more the smell increased and, mixed with the fumes of the cars that had driven by, made Mary feel rather ill. While the scent of a man was something she actually liked, Steve's odor was of a man who should take a shower twice a day to keep from offending those around him.

He went between looking into the engine and then peering under the car enough times that his jeans were no longer blue on the thighs and back because of the grease from his hands and the dust of the ground. He probably would have climbed under the car, but the clearance was less than a foot. He was so invested in what he was doing that he did not say much. From the amount of work he was not doing, Mary Sue began to wonder if he actually knew how to repair the car.

She was a little startled when he slammed the hood closed and told her to give the engine a try. She turned the ignition and the engine caught right away, even though a dirty black cloud coughed out the exhaust. Steve stood and wiped his hands on his jeans one last time.

"Missy, that should get you to the next town. That metal tape I wrapped around those rusty pipes will hold for a little while. You need a mechanic to give it a thorough once over though," he said as he wiped his face and torso with the now ruined T-shirt.

Something about how he described the work he had done did not sound right, but she could not argue with the fact that the car was running again. As much as her instincts told her to not get back out the car, her manners required that she stand and thank him for his efforts. Despite her profuse thanks, he waved off her words as if his efforts were of no consequence.

"I must pay you for your trouble, it's the least I can do."

She opened the car door to get her purse intending to give this Good Samaritan what cash she had. As she stood to give him the money, she found him suddenly standing too close for comfort and his smile let her know that her instincts about strangers had been correct.

"Here missy, let me help you." He took her by the wrist and pulled her against his grimy body. His still greasy hands wrapped around her and landed on her ass.

For a big guy, he was surprisingly fast. She was so caught off guard that she was momentarily paralyzed. As he pulled her hips tighter to him, her surprise turned to fear. With just the two of them along side of a lonely road, he could have his way with her and there seemed very little Mary could do to stop him. Steve leaned forward to force his mouth to hers; he ground his groin up against Mary. The Horny S-O-B was dry-humping her.

Mary pulled herself back as much as she could, pushing against him with her free hand was useless because of his strength. Her other hand was still caught in her purse and she frantically fumbled for anything that might serve as a weapon.

Chapter 3 - Escape to Laramie
by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proof-read by Qmodo

Her fingers closed on the solid object at the bottom of the bag. She would have preferred something pointed, but we must utilize what God provides us in a time of crisis. Hope quickly waned when she realized it was her perfume bottle. Perhaps she could use that as a weapon and smash him over the head with it. Regrettably she realized it was too fragile to do any real damage; so Mary resorted to the next best thing. Grasping the perfume bottle and wishing that it was a can of pepper spray instead, she allowed her purse to drop away. With a sense of bravado that came from deep within her enraged soul she said, "Here Steve! This is your payment!" She gave Steve two quick squirts in the face.

His yell sounded like a banshee as the liquid hit his eyes. Reflexively, he released her and rubbed at his eyes. "Shit! I'll kill you, bitch!" He no longer sounded a knight in white armor. His outrage at the indignity of a girl fighting back when he was only taking what he was entitled to made him sound like a street thug thwarted in his plans. Mary Sue had heard that tone of voice several times at work...right before a bouncer took hold of his shirt collar.

Mary Sue remembered back to when her brothers would wrestle with her. Her ultimate weapon was always her strong legs. While he was distracted trying to clear his eyes she planted the hardest kick her adrenaline-filled body could manage…right between the legs. He went down with a thud and a groan that told her now was the time to get the hell away.

Moving in a way that would make any Hollywood stuntman proud, she lithely vaulted over the closed car door and she was behind the wheel like she had been practicing it. She roared off, leaving her would-be attacked rubbing at his face. A few miles down the road she looked down at the speedometer, 80mph, and she lifted her foot off the gas. That was close, she felt shaky all over. She didn’t feel that she could stop yet but she was starting to feel sick. Adrenaline is great in a crisis but it leaves as fast as it comes. She watched the road signs and took the first exit that offered public facilities and lots of people.

Getting out of her car was a test of strength both physically and mentally. As she stood beside the car, she took a deep breath to steady herself. Taking another breath gave her the ability to get into the restroom where she proceeded to retch what little was in her stomach. Feeling a little better, she went to the sink to splash water on her face. She was devastated at what she saw. Her hair was a mess, she had dirt and oil down the front of her sundress, and as she turned around there where two hand prints on her backside. Splashing water was not going to get her cleaned up. Composing herself, she walked back out to her car where she got the few things she needed. A change of clothes was in order. This time a pair of jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes were definitely the way she was going. She was feeling a little more normal when she got back on the road. She needed more miles between herself and where she left cowboy Steve holding his family jewels. She didn't want to run the risk of finding that Steve had friends hanging around here.

She drove until dark, checking her rearview mirror the entire time to ensure that Steve wasn't following her. Satisfied she had made good her escape, she pulled into a motel. She felt better after a good night's sleep and used her map and smartphone to plan out the day's route. The car seemed to be running okay again, but she made a mental note to have it checked when she could.

The next three days were uneventful compared to her recent roadside misadventure. Mary was humming merrily to a show tune and reflecting on her exploits so far. The unending sameness of the terrain was almost hypnotic. She was afraid to stress her car with the freeway high speeds; so she stayed off the interstate and took secondary roads whenever possible. She didn't want a repeat of her assault. She thought that she would be safer between small towns as they were closer together. A serendipitous decision as it turned out.

Mary Sue had traveled through several small towns and she thoroughly enjoyed the openness she encountered in people. Almost everyone was willing to talk to her and share stories that had been passed down to them from their parents and grandparents. Even churches opened their records for her inspection. She became acquainted with every town hall along her route; public records provided a windfall of information. She had already filled half a dozen notebooks with data. Each small community had its unique history. Being contiguous to the Oregon Trail most had a strong connection with the events of the trains and emigrants that passed their way.

A surprising number of people she met had tales to tell concerning passing wagons. Not surprisingly, families on the wagon trains frequently gave up when hardships broke their will. They would peel off from the trains and settle in and around the closest settlements. Their ordeals were passed down from generation to generation. She happily recorded the oral history of the locals. She had a suitcase full of tapes from her interviews. Obviously, not all were involved with her train, but there were quite a few. The summer of 1897 is still talked about among the residents of Nebraska for its frequent and violent storms. For example, on the morning of March 30, 1897, a ferocious tornado had swept through the area ... using the modern Fujita scale, it would have been rated an F5 as it spawned winds near 320 miles per hour. According to local meteorological records, it was the most powerful ever recorded.

Thunderstorms were almost a daily occurrence that summer. They often turned the prairie into a sea of mud. This frequently meant that settlers stopped for the night within sight of their previous day's campsite. Even with fair weather if the ground were rocky, or when there were rivers to be crossed, or hills to be climbed the emigrants might toil all day long to progress less than five miles. If a train managed ten miles in a day, it was considered a good day. As a result, it was not uncommon for a wagon train to find that they were unlikely to get through the mountain passes before the snows came. The hardships of the 1847 Donor Party still came to mind.

As the miles rolled by for her, Mary felt a warm glow at what she had accomplished so far. From town archives and family oral traditions, she had positively identified 30 deaths and 18 families that had dropped out and settled along the trail. Most went on to happy and successful lives.

Several general themes kept recurring. The incredible hardships experienced by that last train sapped everyone's strength. A hundred different myths evolved about what those poor souls went through. The hunting exploits of Buffalo Bill were the most common topic. In addition to the privations and suffering, Mary heard tales of great heroism. A young man, a hired teamster who couldn't swim, dove into a swollen stream, sacrificing his life to rescue a drowning woman, who went on to be the matriarch of a huge family.

She tried to focus her inquires around Wild Bill Cody and the wagon master. But at each stop, the conversations seemed to be drawn to stories of a young, exotic gypsy girl who had a mystical, almost medicine-man knowledge of herbs and plants. Whenever anyone was sick or injured she would disappear into the bush and return later with a handful of flowers and plants. She made poultices and teas that saved the lives of many desperate patients. Her reputation would precede the train as out-riders would pass through the towns ahead. Several times, the wagons would be met by folks who did not have access to a doctor.

Leaving the metropolis of Cheyenne in her rearview mirror, Mary Sue only had another 40 miles to go before her next major rest stop at Fort Laramie. Her journals and records were very specific, that is where the train was forced to winter over. She planned on spending several days there collecting data. Maybe she could discover
Information that would be important to her thesis.

She pulled off the road into a scenic overlook rest area just outside of town. Happy to be able to stop driving for a while. She walked to the railing and marveled at the beauty of the valley below her. It reminded her of eastern Pennsylvania where she grew up. Using her smart phone, she searched for a suitable motel to serve as her command post for her stay. According to the last census, there were approximately 30 thousand people in the area, but it was hard to believe from the appearance of the part of town she found herself in. The barrenness of the area meant that her choices of accommodations would probably be limited. There were a couple of really nice places, but way-out of her price range. She was forced to settle for her customary - Motel 6. It was either that or go back to Cheyenne.

After getting settled into the motel, Mary Sue took stock of her supplies and made a shopping list. She was going to need some things, pepper spray being one of them. She didn't want to run into one of cowboy Steve's knuckle-dragging cousins and have no way to escape them. Mary Sue had never been a shopaholic but an hour or two of retail therapy always helped. Because she had thrown the sundress away, she thought she should find a replacement.

She found a store, quaintly called The Mercantile, where she could get clothes, toiletries, maybe some fruit. She headed for the health and beauty area first, sun screen and after sun lotion because she could feel the stinging that comes from being in the sun too long. She was paying the price for driving with the top down for the past few days. She needed some shampoo and conditioner, the little bottles in hotels and motels were never enough.

Next came clothing, she didn’t have a lot of dress clothes on hand and she had a hard time finding “girly” clothes she liked amid the selection that was available. That sundress was one of three that she had liked. It really pissed her off that the creep had ruined it. Now if he had been a handsome prince on a white horse instead of a jack ass in a pickup truck and it had been an act of passion instead of a mauling she might not be so mad. Shaking herself out of the day-dream, she found a dress, a pair of shorts and a couple of tops. Now to the food, she was tired of junk food and thought apples and bananas would be good for a change.

She was scanning the shelves as she moved down the aisle and was more focused on what she wanted to buy than where she was going. As a result, she was startled when her cart came to a sharp halt with a crash that only comes from two grocery carts colliding. The other person must not have been paying attention either because he looked as surprised as Mary Sue was. She heard a few giggles from spectators as she looked at the other shopper and found herself looking into a pair of bright blue eyes that practically glowed.

The owner of the blue eyes had a nice deep voice as well that seemed to make her vibrate when he spoke. "I'm so sorry are you okay?"

Mary took in the good-looking guy surrounding those blue eyes. He was only an inch or two taller than she was, putting him just short of six feet. With a solid build and a light complexion, she thought that he could pass for a modern-day Viking. He was in pretty good shape, but he wasn't a body builder. Interestingly, he didn't have the light, blonde hair that one would expect to see with blue eyes. Instead, the neatly combed dark brown hair seemed to make his eyes and skin stand out even more. What made the picture complete was the mouthful of white teeth that appeared as he smiled at her.

"Yes, I'm fine. A little startled but okay." She replied feeling the color rise to her face. There was a flutter in the pit of her stomach when he smiled at her. He could have been snarky about the whole thing, but was completely gracious instead.

"I'm glad; I would hate to have someone as pretty as you hurt in this high speed crash." He chuckled.

"No, I think this is one that can be written down as survivable." Mary Sue was not sure how to take this friendly encounter. He was a nice looking guy, but after the last encounter with a stranger her guard still was up and she wanted to be careful.

"I'm glad there is no permanent damage. Have a good evening." Before Mary could walk away, he turned back to her and said, "Maybe we should exchange phone numbers in case there was an injury. You know, for insurance purposed." His eyes seemed to twinkle at his humorous suggestion.

All Mary Sue could do was nod and scribble her name and phone number down on a scrap of paper. She giggled a bit as she traded her piece of paper for the one the handsome stranger was holding out. He smiled at her again and thanked her before he moved off to the next aisle. She looked after him, strangely tempted to call out to him.

Once her legs stopped wobbling, Mary Sue finished her shopping and headed to the check-out. She glanced over the rag mag headlines. Looking around, she saw the man she had bumped into. He smiled at her and gave her a little nod as he took his bags and headed to the door. She had to stop for a few seconds. Why did a smile from a total stranger like him make her blush like that? Then…What had he meant by that smile? Was he going to be waiting to attack her in the parking lot? No, there were cameras out there so she should be safe. She would just be very careful going to her car. She didn't know why she had just handed over her phone number that way. She was just glad that it was a long-distance phone call because that would keep him from bothering her.

As Mary unloaded her cart at the register, the matronly cashier grinned at her. "I see you've met the town's most eligible bachelor. He's a real hunk isn't he?"

Mary was unsure how to respond so she replied rather noncommittally, "Yes, he did seem nice." She really did not want to admit that she wanted to spend more time with him.

As the clerk scanned the various items, she continued to make small talk. "I haven't seen you here before. Moving into town or just passing through?"

"I'm just here for a few days; I am on my way to Oregon and I'm having car trouble." Mary answered.

After giving her the total, the cashier smiled at her and said, "My name's Billy Jean. Welcome to town, will that be cash or credit card, we only take local checks."

Mary dug into her purse and fished out the last of her money. "Is there an ATM near here, this about does it for my hard cash."

"Sure honey. Right down Main Street there's a bank with an ATM out front. You can't miss it, sitting there across the street from that garage you wanted."

"Is the garage reliable?"

Billy Jean wrinkled her nose in a brief look of distaste. "The owner is the town's leading citizen, Tom Kaylock. He's that old fart in the poster in the window. He's running for congress. His family goes way back and he owns nearly everything that's worth owning in these parts. The mechanic that works there is capable and will treat you honestly. Just don't let him get you alone in his office."

Then with a wink she added, "He fancies himself a real ladies man, if you know what I mean?"

Mary thanked the helpful clerk and headed to her car, determined to find Main Street. It turned out to be a rather easy accomplishment as this part of town was mainly houses and the commercial section was only about two blocks long. She pulled up next to the garage and knocked on the door. A man in his thirties wearing grease-stained overalls and old John Deere cap pushed back on his head that failed to hide his developing widow's peak and oily hair, opened the door. With a charming smile, he wiped his brow with a grease stained rag, and said, "Is it hot in here or is it just me? Howdy Miss, how may I be of service to you?"

"I'd like you to take a look at my car." She could already see what Billy Jean had warned her about.

He looked over her shoulder and glared at her little car with contempt. "What exactly seems to be the problem?"

"It started to make a terrible noise and I was afraid things would fall off."

"Know a lot about cars Miss?"

"No, I don't." She hoped that didn't mean that he would try taking advantage of her.

He smiled at her in genuine friendship. "Well imagine that, a woman who admits knowing nothing about cars. Let's pull that thing into the bay and get her hoisted up and I'll see if I can find your noisy gremlin."

Mary Sue drove the car through the narrow doors so that it was positioned properly on the auto lift. She stepped out of the car, firmly gripping her purse. She slid into the narrow space between the car and the side wall of the shop with its assortment of tools and old spare parts. She immediately encountered a problem: the mechanic was blocking her only escape route and he was closing the space between them rapidly. He held out his hand, Mary was afraid he would try and grab her. He stopped a half a pace away, but close enough she could smell onions on his breath.

"I'll need your keys, if you want my expert opinion.” He smiled and continued "I'm Hiram Wilson, what is your name pretty lady?"

Handing him the keys, she introduced herself. "I'm Mary Sue McLaughlin."

Hiram tossed the keys into the air as if playing catch and said, "This might take a few days. I don't carry many spare parts for fancy foreign vehicles from New York City. My family's been here since the turn of the century, the 19th century that is. I know all there is to know about this here countryside. Where are you staying? Maybe I can stop by after work, show you a little western hospitality and take you out for a drink."

"I don't think so. I have some work to do while I'm here." His closeness made her jittery and her memories of Steve were contributing to her nervousness.

"Well, if you decide you want some real down home western fun, I'm your man. I never had a lady friend ask for her money back after a night with me." He backed out of the space to let her by.

She rolled her eyes and headed toward the front door, checking frequently to make sure that she wasn't being followed by the creepy grease monkey. Then it dawned on Mary Sue, that last name had a familiar ring to it so she asked, "Did your family arrive here by any chance on a wagon train?"

"Sure did, led by none other than Buffalo Bill himself. My great grandmother died of TB that first winter. So the family decided not to go on." He paused and then said, "The Wilson family has been here ever since. I'll give your car a quick diagnostic and I'll have a better idea of how long you'll be staying in our little town." He started the car up, opened the bonnet, scratched his head and stared dubiously at the engine."

"Can you fix it?" She inquired.

"To be honest with you, most of my profits come from selling spare parts, most people here about work on their own vehicles. But I'm a first rate mechanic, school trained in the Army. Trust me; if it's fixable I'm your man."

"Thanks, I'll be in the café getting something to eat. Let me know what you find." Mary nodded her appreciation as she turned away.

Chapter 4 - Making Friends in Town

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proof-reader: Qmodo

Mary Sue walked the short distance from the bank to the diner, keeping a wary eye out for unwanted surprises. She opened the door to the tinkle of a bell and was struck by the ambiance. It was as if she had stepped through a time warp portal and was back in the 50's. The theme from Happy Days played softly on the corner jukebox. The walls were covered with banners and pennants from what she assumed were the local high school. The restaurant was nearly empty, she was sharing the place with a small group of teenagers huddled in a back booth, and a couple of cowboys, 10 gallon hats and all. She wouldn't have been shocked to see a leather clad Fonzie holding court at one of the tables dotted across the linoleum floor. She stood blocking the doorway until a party of local men excused themselves to push past her and take seats in a booth.

A buxom and vivacious blonde bombshell dressed in a black peasant style top, beautiful pink poodle skirt with black poodle and silver leash detail, and adorable mesh scarf, waltzed over and handed Mary a menu and with a brilliant smile said, "Hi, I'm Liz just sit anywhere. I'll be right with you."

Mary took a table in the corner so she could study the diorama in front of her. It was like looking at a snapshot of history and she wondered if this was really what small town American was about. The waitress flittered from table to table taking orders and flirting with everyone. To Mary, the waitress had the looks of a homecoming queen, the body of a bathing suit model and the personality of a Labrador puppy.

Eventually, she made it to Mary's table, standing very close, looking down at her and fluttering her heavily massacred eyelashes at Mary she asked, "How may I help you?" Seeing the disbelief in Mary's expression, she smiled broadly and said, "Welcome to the Twilight Zone. The owner is a real eccentric and insists on the 50's Malt shop motif, including this ridiculous waitress uniform. Are you passing through or planning on staying for a while?"

"Yes and yes. I am following the route of the last wagon train to use the Oregon Trail, and my car broke down so I guess I will be here for a few days at least."

Liz sank onto a chair facing her new friend and prattled on about nothing in particular. She would get up occasionally to serve a customer but returned to her seat and then picked up right where she left off. Mary Sue took an instant liking to this flirtatious woman, despite their difference in age. Mary Sue was no elitist but it was obvious there was a disparity in their educational backgrounds. Mary Sue estimated Liz was at least ten years her senior and only a high school graduate, she conveyed street smarts that made Mary Sue feel somewhat inferior. She sensed that they could become friends and she hoped that it could happen. When she could get a word in edgewise, she described her adventures on the road trip. Liz seemed genuinely interested in her research. The first non-academician to show an interest in her project, so the attention was rather flattering.

Liz stared into Mary's eyes with a look of awe as she talked about living in New York City. Liz reached over the table and gently placed her hand on top of Mary's as she sighed. "You are so lucky. I was born in this town, and I will in all likelihood grow old and die here just like my parents. This place is so dull that watching tumbleweeds is a pastime."

At that moment, the tiny bell over the door chimed and in walked a twenty-something man, with a Cowboy hat and snake skin boots. The room grew silent as he walked to the counter with a swagger and took a seat. Liz quietly excused herself and went to take his order.

After turning the to-go order over to the cook, Liz returned this time pulling her chair up and sitting next to Mary. "That's Ronald Kaylock. His daddy pretty much owns this town."

"Yes, I've heard that name; the old man is running for office or something."

"That's right; he is in a tight race with the Democrat challenger for Congress. The Kaylock family is ruthless for getting what they want, so you don't want to cross them. I was almost a Kaylock. Way back when, my grandmother was engaged to Nathaniel Kaylock. The way I heard it, he left her standing at the altar. He then married the town's school teacher instead. From what you've described, she was part of the flotsam and jetsam left behind by your wagon train. She settled here and taught school until her death. She was a witch, if you believe the rumors about her. When she died, the parish minister wouldn't allow her to be buried in the consecrated church cemetery. They threw her body in an unmarked grave out in the prairie somewhere. To her dying day, granny cursed both of them. Kids still claim the old school house is haunted by her ghost."

Intrigued, Mary asked, "I hate to pry but do you know her name by any chance?"

"Why yes, it was Yolinda or something like that."

"What happened?"

Liz shrugged. "I really don't know. No one has ever actually heard the story, only vague bits and pieces. Granny was the daughter of the town's mayor. There has been a lot of bad blood between the Kaylocks and my family ever since. Every time I brought it up, I was sent to my room, so I stopped asking."

At that point, a man in a police uniform came in. Liz looked over her shoulder and ignored him as he stood waiting for a table. Tired of waiting, he walked over and stood behind Liz, looking imposing. He glared at Mary Sue with a predatory stare, "You must be that foreigner from New York City. What are you doing in my town?"

Mary stood up and balled her fist and fought to control her temper, "First off officer, New York is not a foreign country."

"Don't you sass me missy. I'm the Sheriff and this is my town. Now answer my question, what are you doing here?"

Liz touched Mary’s side and almost unnoticeably, shook her head no, trying to convey the message to not get into it with the sheriff.

Mary hated anyone who abused their authority, but realized that discretion was often a wiser course, so she took a deep breath and told the story of having car trouble on her way to Oregon.

The sheriff accepted that explanation and walked over to Ron Kaylock who was just getting his order. They had a brief discussion before Ron gave Mary Sue the visual once over and the two left together.

Liz slumped back into her chair, "Mary, whatever you do, stay away from our Barney Fife. He may come across as a caricature but; this isn't Mayberry. He has a real mean streak in him." She perked up again and said, "Come on, I'll go with you to check on your car. There's strength in numbers. It's best to limit alone time with Hiram, he actually believes he's the Hugh Heffner of Wyoming."

Mary Sue chuckled at the small joke and the two ladies walked across the deserted street and found Hiram bent over the engine compartment. Liz walked up and pounded on the fender, surprising the mechanic and causing him to jump so that he banged his head. He came out rubbing a small red spot on his forehead. He turned to the two women and said, "Ouch, why did you do that?"

Liz stood in front of Mary Sue. "We came to get an assessment on the car. When can my friend pick it up?"

Looking around Liz, Hiram spoke to Mary Sue, "For the right incentive I could work on it all night, and drop it by your motel in the morning."

Liz poked Hiram in the shoulder to get his attention and stared directly into his eyes, "Knock it off asshole. Mary Sue isn't interested in what you're selling. Just fix her car, and do it right!" It was obvious that Hiram rubbed Liz the wrong way and she wasn't afraid to let him know it.

She spun on her heel grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her out of the garage. "Come on Mary, I'll drive you to your motel and pick you up in the morning. Unless you would rather spend the night in my room. I have an apartment over the café with a sofa bed that is quite comfortable. It would give us the chance to really get to know each other."

The suggestive tone in Liz's voice made Mary a bit uncomfortable and she fidgeted a bit as she suddenly took great interest in her feet. She fought to maintain a blank expression as she answered, "Thanks Liz, but my things are all in my room. It would probably be best if I go back there and get a good night's rest. The motel's not that far I can walk and pick up my car in the morning. Is the restaurant open for breakfast?"

"Oh yes, we open at 6. I don't normally work the morning shift, but if you're coming, I'll be here and we can visit some more."

* * * * * *

Mary arose the next morning refreshed and ready for her day. She stretched the kinks in her back that she had acquired from her drive and headed to the bathroom. A shower helped her back relax some more and she returned to the bedroom, ready for the day. She selected her elegant Ann Taylor pants suit in the most gorgeous shade of cobalt blue, a dab of lip gloss and a quick swipe of mascara and she felt on top of the world. A quick glance in the mirror, displayed not the androgynous bookworm, but an attractive professional woman. She bypassed her standard backpack in lieu of a tote purse into which she deposited the very basics of makeup, a hair brush, her smart phone and several notebooks for recording her research. She slipped her glasses on and stepped out into the morning, took a deep breath, and marveled at how clear and fresh the air was.

It was a beautiful day, the sun playing peek-a-boo with white fluffy clouds. She only had about half a mile to travel, so she set off at a brisk pace to walk into town, her stomach grumbling. She knew her first stop would be for a light breakfast, she hoped they had bagels and cream cheese in this far outpost of civilization.

At the outskirts of town, she came to an old wooden building. She faintly heard what sounded like a school bell ringing coming from the building. Deciding to investigate, she walked over and up the three steps to the door. Sure enough there was a bell and clapper hanging above a commemorative plaque nailed to the wall. Not seeing anyone about, she assumed it must have been a breeze making the bell ring.

She read the plaque with some interest. It said, "On this site was the first recorded school in Wyoming. It was established for the children of army officers and traders at Fort Laramie. The building is not a replica but the original town school house, preserved and set up inside to duplicate the classroom as the one built in 1852."

Trying the door and finding it unlocked, Mary stepped in, the floorboards creaking under her weight. She was 'wowed by the interior. The teachers' desk appeared to be the original, it definitely was an antique, while the desks used by the students were a mixture of original and reproductions each with a slate and chalk neatly position. She wandered down the rows to the back of the small room, past the blackboard to a door. She opened it to discover a living area consisting of a small bedroom, with a single bed, a dresser and chamber pot. A sign said it was reserved as living quarters for the schoolteacher.

As Mary closed the door, she felt as if she wasn't alone, almost like she was being watched. A cold draft filled the room that raised goose bumps and sent a chill down her spine. Heading out of the classroom, Mary noticed for the first time a vase with fresh flowers sitting on the window sill, violets if she wasn't mistaken. Strange she hadn't noticed them coming in, but the aroma was as sweet as expensive perfume.

Mary Sue walked down the worn steps, uncertain about what she has just experienced. She left with a renewed dedication to finish her research. She made a mental note to ask if anything horrendous had ever happened in that spooky place. She thought back to the ghost comments made by Liz, but she was an educated woman and Mary didn't believe in the supernatural. Still as Shakespeare said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." As was her wont, she decided to keep an open mind.

It was actually a short walk to the center of town. With another rumble of hunger reminding her of where she was going, her first stop was the Coal Creek Café. Opening the door, Mary was not prepared for the onslaught of noise; the tiny bell ringing was muffled by the jumble of voices. The room was packed and it appeared to be standing room only. Mary had never seen so many cowboy hats in one place. Through the jumble of bodies, Mary saw Liz looking like a ship in stormy seas. She would appear and drop a plate off at one table and then be pouring coffee at another.

Liz finally spotted Mary Sue by the door and she pushed her way through the crowd. "Good morning! I've got a stool for you at the counter. Sorry about the mob scene, it's payday at the Kaylock ranch, the entire outfit seems to have shown up for breakfast." She was almost shouting to make herself heard over all of the chatter going on.

Like an icebreaker moving through the Arctic Sea, the crowd would part for the two woman and immediately close in behind them. Reaching the lone empty stool, being reserved by a dirty old Stetson Hat, Liz picked it up and handed it to a grizzled cowboy on the next stool. Leaning over she gave the guy a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks Tommy, you're a doll for saving the seat. This is my friend Mary Sue."

A perfect gentleman, Tom stood with his hat in his hand and nodded toward Mary, "Pleased to make your acquaintance ma'am."

Mary smiled warmly at the man as she slid onto the seat and picked up the menu. She had to raise her voice as she said to him, "From the looks of the crowd, the food must be great here."

"No, it's only fair. But if'n you're really hungry, the steak and eggs are good. All the guys come here because of Liz. I bet she gets a dozen propositions a week, some are even for marriage." He smiled at his attempt at humor. "Every cowhand in the county shows up here just to flirt with her. Look at her hanging all over Greg, like he is the most important man in her life. He will get his ten seconds and then she is off to the next guy."

Then from her left she heard, "Avoid the coffee, we send it out to the ranch as paint stripper."

Tommy looked over at the guy working behind the counter. "Now Fred, don't be scaring the pretty filly. The coffee's a little strong is all."

"Thanks anyway I’m not a coffee kind of girl." Waving Fred over she asked, "What kinds of bagels do you have?"

After a short laugh, he answered, "Lady, this ain't the Ritz Carlton. You got your choice between white toast and whole wheat toast. Now what'll it be?"

"Just a glass of orange juice please, I guess it's time to get serious about my diet." Fred turned away to fetch her juice. She was right, this was the edge of civilization.

Mary turned to Tom and casually asked, "What's with that old school house up the road?"

Tom was chewing on a large piece of ham at the time; the question caught him so off guard he nearly choked on it. Coughing a few times to clear his airway, he asked, "What do you mean?" He had a guarded look on his face, like he wanted to know what she had to say but he didn't want to say anything himself.

She just shrugged. "I was passing by and wandered through it this morning. I was just wondering about its history."

"That's impossible. It's locked and no one's allowed in unless Mr. Kaylock says so."

"The door was wide open this morning. Now I'm really curious, tell me about it and why it's so important to your boss?"

Tommy's eyes narrowed and he looked around without moving his head.

"Look Miss Mary, everyone has firm orders from the boss to keep quiet about the rumors. With Mr. Kaylock running for office, he told us to be on the lookout for strangers trying to dig up dirt on his family. If you knows what's good for you, you will just drop it."

Tom returned to his breakfast and ignored Mary. It felt to her like the temperature around her had dropped 20 degrees. She finished her juice and went to pay. Fred just told her to see Liz. Mary waded into the sea of humanity and found Liz sitting on a handsome young man's lap, wiping jam off his lips with a napkin. Seeing Mary, she patted him on the cheek and gracefully sprang to her feet. "What's up Mary?"

"I just wanted to pay and see if my car is ready."

She waved off Mary's money and said, "Put your money away, it's on me. If you have any problems with Hiram give me a holler, I'll give the pig a what-for upside his head."

Mary Sue smiled at her. "Thanks, that's very kind of you. Will I see you at dinner?"

The man whose lap Liz had been sitting on spoke up with a silly grin on his face. "No, not tonight she has a previous commitment. We have a standing date on Thursday evenings. I love to put Liz through her paces."

Liz gave the guy a playful punch in the arm and said, "Chief here is a real jerk, but I'm afraid he's right. I'm busy tonight; but I'll be here over lunch, this mob will have moved on by then. Stop by and we can chat."

Then in a totally outrageous flirtatious manner she said, "Or better still come up to my room and see me some time."

With a wave, Mary said, "Alright, I'll try. Bye."

Mary walked out and wondered, 'If everyone in town was sex starved. Didn't they play bingo around here or have square dances anymore?' With a shrug of her shoulders she concluded, 'The sexual revolution must have come to town and stayed.'

Out the door, she saw her VW parked on the street outside of Hiram's garage.

Leaning against the car was Hiram, casually scratching his balls. "Hey there Miss New York, I got your car fixed. Here's your bill, I'll tear it up and call it even if you'll have dinner with me."

"What was wrong with it?"

"Oh, it was a technical thing, a girl like you wouldn't understand."

Mary bit her tongue, turned to the ATM behind her, and withdrew what she was sure would be enough cash to pay the bill.

Handing him the cash, she again demanded an accounting on the car problem. "The timing belt pulley seized and I had to replace the tensioner thingamajigie."

Mary Sue shook her head in disgust and got into the car. Starting the engine, she was pleased to hear it hum smoothly. She was headed down to the town's newspaper office when a red light appeared in her rearview mirror.

Mary pulled over to the curb and waited. The town sheriff with his sunglasses and Smokey the Bear hat sauntered up to her window. "Where's the fire?"

A bewildered Mary asked, "What are you talking about? I wasn't speeding."

"Well now that's interesting, 'cause I clocked you doing 17 mph in a 15 mph zone. I don't know how you big city folks operate because we country hicks tend to follow the law. Now please get out of the car, bring your registration, and follow me. We're going to my office to have us a little heart to heart talk." He had obviously contrived this encounter as they only had to walk around the corner to his offices.

They walked into the stark office. The rooms were rather barren with a minimum of furniture, reflecting the relative prosperity of the area in general. The sheriff casually motioned to a metal folding chair placed in front of an old wooden desk. Mary took that as an invitation to sit. She sat with her back rigid and held her purse in her lap. He planted himself in the ratty desk chair and put his feet up.

"Well let's get right to it. I hear you're asking questions about the Kaylock family."

When the sheriff paused to catch his breath, Mary interrupted him. "I did no such thing, I asked about the old schoolhouse. But even if I did inquire about the Kaylocks, it's a free country. What law have I broken?"

At that the sheriff came to his feet and leaned forward towards Mary Sue with both hands on his desk. "I'll do the asking around here. You'll just answer questions. Am I making myself clear?"

Mary took a deep breath and pushed her anger down deep so it wouldn't show. Then to tweak the pig just a little she went on. "Yes, Sir. I understand. Now what was your question again?"

"Why are you interested in Mr. Kaylock? He's a good friend of mine and the town's leading citizen. I don't take kindly to strangers nosing into his business."

"Sheriff, until yesterday, I never heard of the man. I'm here doing research on a wagon train and its members that passed through here in 1897."

She handed the sheriff a card with NYU's history department's phone number. She went on to describe her research project in detail, while the sheriff listened skeptically. From the glazed look in his eyes when she was done, she doubted that he absorbed more than one word out of three.

Just as she had finished her little dissertation, the door behind the sheriff opened and in walked a slim young woman about Mary Sue's age wearing a worn yellow sundress and carrying a brown paper bag came in.

The sheriff grumbled at the woman, "Samantha, what the hell are you doing here, can't you see I'm interrogating a suspect? She's trying to dig up dirt on your cousin's family."

"I'm sorry Royce." She almost seemed to physically wilt at her husband's outburst. "You forgot your lunch and I was just dropping it off. I also needed to know what you wanted for dinner."

"I don't have time to talk to you now woman! Just make me something that I will like!"

The two women exchanged a sympathetic glance and Samantha backed out the door.

Turning her attention to the sheriff, Mary Sue said, "Since when did I become a suspect sheriff?"

"Sorry it's just a turn of phrase, no offense meant. You're free to go. I'm a letter of the law kind of guy." He might have been letting her go, but she could tell that he wasn't the least bit sorry.

With that Mary returned to her car and drove to the town newspaper office. A brief conversation revealed the paper had no original documents from before 1970. Due to concerns about fire, they had been turned over to the town's historical society to be converted to microfilm. The documents had then been donated to the town's library.

Mary Sue was given access to the microfilm records and she tried to work with the photographic images. She was frustrated to find that the images on film were too vague for her to use. It was obvious that the newspapers had been to faded in the first place. She would have to resort to interpreting the originals herself. She packed up her notebooks and left for the library, hoping that she could read the newspapers better than the microfilm copies.

Chapter 5 - Just Research

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proof-reader: Qmodo

The library was not hard to find as it occupied a good-sized building just down the road from the central area. It had obviously been a church at one time, probably the largest in the area, and it must have been recommissioned as the library when a newer building had been built closer to Laramie proper.

The parking lot was hard-packed gravel, but it was a pretty good size. Mary Sue gathered her things and headed up the stairs to the front doors, finding the entrance located under a beautiful stained glass window. A plaque set into one wall declared that the building was a historical landmark. The musty smell of old books hit her when she opened the doors, which left no doubt as to its current purpose. Feeling herself on familiar grounds, she stepped onto the marble portico in the main vestibule.

The place gave off a comfortable vibe, the condition of the beautiful wood work and stained glass windows made it obvious that the building had been well cared for. Engrossed as she was in taking in the architecture, Mary Sue was not paying attention to her surroundings. That was why she was so surprised by her reception.

"Hi, may I help you?" said a deep, friendly voice.

Mary Sue jumped in surprise and turned to, once again, see the same deep blue eyes she had seen the day before. "Y-you!" She stammered.

There was a twinkle in his eyes and the smile grew on his face. "Funny running into you again, maybe this time I should introduce myself."

As she took a step back to restore her personal space, there was a strange feeling in her stomach. There was something about his voice that seemed to make parts of her vibrate inside. "That would be a good idea. Once I get my heart to slow back down again." She smiled shyly. Not understanding this odd feeling that she was having. "I'm Mary Sue McLaughlin."

"It's nice to formally meet you Miss McLaughlin. I'm Patrick Summerfield, the librarian here in Ft. Laramie."

She felt like a teenager right now, but she was just happy that she didn't giggle. "I'm working on my doctoral thesis in history on the last wagon train on the Oregon Trail. My research says that the train was forced to winter over here in Laramie. I was hoping to find some information about the people who were part of the wagon train. I was just at the newspaper office and I was told that the records are housed here."

He was six feet tall with broad shoulders. His smile fit right in with those eyes, warm and friendly. Patrick’s eyes were the facial feature that stood out the most to Mary Sue. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen, they were set on a face that was strong but not sharply featured. He had dark wavy brown hair that looked like he might need a haircut. The waves rested on his collar and there was a stray lock of hair that fell just above one of those intense eyes.

"Yes, they are. The microfilm is with the historical society in Cheyenne, but the originals are down stairs. You might not want to dig around down there in that lovely suit though, it is a bit dusty." He chuckled lightly, "Okay, it's a lot dusty down there. We don't get much need to go down there and therefore I don't clean it a lot. Let me get the key and I'll show you around."

Pat left Mary with a smile to retrieve the key from a small office hidden behind the receptionist's desk. Mary's eyes followed him as he moved with the grace of an athlete. His jeans and a short sleeved shirt fit him well. He had well defined arms…up close a girl couldn't help but notice. Obviously he was not a couch potato. She unconsciously reached up to smooth her hair.

As he confidently strode back to her, she turned her head pretending to be looking around the library some more. As he neared she turned her head sending her hair back over her shoulders, unintentionally she licked her lips.

He never broke eye contact and he caught her gazing into his eyes. Her skin tone became redder as she blushed, and subconsciously bit her lip. Pat noticed she had a special sparkle in her eyes, which was hard to define. This woman had a gentle smile that warmed his heart. He could picture it in a Da Vinci painting.

Mary Sue could smell his aftershave; a manly scent that increased her pulse rate. He reached out with the key, displaying big, strong hands. He laid the key in her palm and then slowly, lightly withdrew his hand sliding his calloused fingers along the length of her hand until finally just their fingertips touched. They both felt a wave of energy flow between them.

Neither of them were naïve, they knew that they were flirting with each other. The mating ritual was low-key, but Mary knew from her waitress experience that it had begun. She was sure that Pat was aware of it as well; but he was a guy. They were always looking. Mary smiled back; he was so very suave she had no choice. He was looking her right in the eye, and said, "Mary, I have been giving this some thought, the basement really is grungy. Why don't you let me bring up whatever materials you need?"

"Thank you, but I'll go back to the hotel and change into something more dust resistant." She headed out to her car. "I'll be back in about an hour," she called back over her shoulder. Now it was Pat's turn to stand and stare. Mary wasn't one of those anorexic skinny girls. Rather she had a more rubenesque build which Pat found quite appealing, he liked a lady with some meat on her bones.

* * * * *

As promised, Mary Sue returned dressed in jeans, a polo shirt and tennis shoes which her feet would be very happy with by the end of the day. Patrick had been watching for her out his office window and met her at the door this time.

Having him standing at the door as she came in was nice. Had he been waiting for her? She hoped he was not another creep. She patted her bag superstitiously, reassuring herself that the pepper spray was in easy reach. Still she stopped rather close to Pat.

"I'm back and ready to get started. I understand the wagon train had to stay here for the winter before moving on. I'm hoping to find more detailed records of people and events related to their time here."

Pat stood for a moment, taking in her casual dress that looked as good as her formal appearance had just a little while ago.

He finally broke out of his daze and said, "I haven't spent much time looking around down there, but feel free to dig to your heart's content."

He led her over to the basement door, a staircase disappeared down in a lighted space. “You’re lucky that you stopped here instead of continuing on to Laramie itself because they would have sent you back here in the end. The wagon train actually wintered over in this general area. The fort itself is further on, but the wagons and people were here.” He paused before adding, “I believe that several of the families who left the train actually still have descendants living around here.”

As they descended the stairs she got to check out this librarian's other side. She liked what she saw and Mary Sue got that funny feeling in her stomach again. Patrick switched on lights as they moved through the basement. He turned into a large room with shelves around the room and a lot of file cabinets. He took a rag from his pocket and wiped off a table.

He pointed over to the side of the room. "The newspaper records start over in that corner. I am not sure what all is down here so feel free to look around. If you need anything I'll be in the office, unless you're afraid to be down here by yourself? I'd be glad to stay and keep you company." His tone said that he would be happy to stay with her.

He glanced down at his feet, shifting from bold to bashful in the wink of an eye. Mary found this to be a bit amusing, but attractive at the same time.

In a rather brazen display, Mary licked her lips and with an angelic smile said, "No, I think I'll be fine. I wouldn't want to keep you from your duties."

"Helping lovely visitors such as yourself is what I am here for." He grinned.

"I think I can manage on my own." She said with a little more force in her voice.

He took the hint gracefully and headed for the door. "Okay then I'll leave you to it. Have fun. Call me if you need me." He backed out of the room.

"I will. Thank you," she called. She hadn't meant to be rude, but she wanted to at least start this part of the project on her own. Taking out her notebooks, pens and recorder and placing them on the old wooden table, she meticulously went through the room to get her bearings.

Patrick hummed to himself as he climbed the stairs. His job was not that exciting but he thought that with a little effort on his part and a little cooperation from the lovely Mary Sue, he could find it more interesting. He had thought her attractive at the store when he had run into her the first time. He thought she was even more so now that he had gotten to see her again. She conducted herself as a poised, confident woman, obviously intelligent. Something his mother had told him once came back to him. ‘Looks fade, but a girl with brains will make life interesting forever.’ He wondered if she was The One or if she would want to be.

This was a small town and he knew most of the single women and had not found one that had caught his attention like this lady had. She was attractive and he really wanted to get to know her better. There was chemistry between them that he hadn't felt with any other woman. It was something he planned to investigate further or regret for the rest of his life. He didn't have a lot to offer any woman as far as money went; he wasn't the richest man in town. He prided himself on being honest and kind though.

He went to his office to do his paperwork. The window in his office looked out onto the parking lot. He smiled as he thought about watching for Mary Sue walking up to the front door when she came back. Patrick wasn't sure why he had sat and watched for her return. He chuckled out loud as he thought about the way she had jumped almost into his arms when he had first startled her. He had so wanted to take her into his arms then.

The phone rang. In a smooth tone, he answered, "Fort Laramie Library, how may I help you?"

"There's a woman snooping around town. Don't let her into the records." said a man's very authoritative voice.
He recognized the man's voice; everyone in town knew who Tom Kaylock was.

"Well that is not going to be easy as she's doing research for her doctorate and she's here now." Patrick replied.

"If you know what's good for you, you will go stop her now. Tell her that only town council members have access and that she will have to leave." The voice stipulated.

"And just who are you to threaten me or make demands?" Asked Patrick. Obviously the voice had expected that he should be easily cowed. Pat didn't feel like being run over roughshod by the Kaylock family today.

"This is Tom Kaylock!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Kaylock, but the research she is doing is in the public record and there are no restricted areas here. This is a public library."

"I have it on good authority that she was asking questions about me and my family, she is lying about the doctorate. She's here to sabotage my run for congress. I want her stopped. Now!"

"I'll look into it Mr. Kaylock. Have a good day." Patrick hung up on the man. He was not a fan of the Kaylock family; they pushed everyone around because they had money.

Well...now he had a reason to go back downstairs. Trying to be a good host he took a bottle of water from his office refrigerator and headed downstairs. "Ms. McLaughlin," he called from the hallway to avoid startling her again.

Not hearing a reply, he moved into the room where he found her lost in total concentration sorting through the newspapers that had been filed away. He knocked on the door to announce his presence. He thought that it might be a bad idea to keep scaring her.

When she looked up he said, "I just got a phone call from one of our prominent citizens. Miss McLaughlin what have you done to upset the Kaylocks?"

She grimaced at the mention of the Kaylock name. "Mary or Mary Sue please. I really have no idea what you are talking about. I asked a couple of people at the diner about the school house and the sheriff questioned me about what I was doing in town. But I've never met Mr. Kaylock and I don't think I want to."

Pat nodded. Mary Sue's opinion matched up with most of the folks he knew. "He's under the impression that you are lying about doing research on the wagon train and that you are here to get dirt on him and his family for the purpose of destroying his run for Congress."

"That's outrageous! Here is all the research that I've done and it is all on the wagon train." She pulled out several notebooks and handed them to him. He glanced at them before passing the books back to her. He really did not care about checking her story. He had found that first impressions were usually pretty accurate and he hadn't gotten the impression that Mary Sue was making up a story about why she was here. Actually, his impression of her was of a rather attractive and intelligent woman who would be well worth getting to know better.

He leaned against the table she was using as a work table and folded his arms.

"Well my lady, I'm afraid you have ruffled the feathers of a very powerful peacock. I hope you can take a little scratch or two." He smiled at her. "I'll do what I can to keep the congressman wanna-be from interfering in your research. Tom Kaylock and his son Ron are not the nicest people around here, and somehow you have become a target for their displeasure."

Mary flopped down into a folding chair she had found. "Great and I thought this field work would be a piece of cake. I was looking forward to digging around for information on the wagon train and then moving down the trail. What could possibly be in these records that would cause so much trouble?"

"I'll help you where I can. The two of us working together we might find what you need for your thesis and maybe find out what is so important to Mr. K."

"You don't have to do that I can manage on my own." Even as she said it, she was reconsidering her words. She kinda wanted him around now.

"Hey...I don't like the attitude the Kaylocks have most of the time and I am not fond of being threatened. I don't have a lot to do here right now and I don't like the idea that you could be stirring up a hornet's nest just by doing your research. The faster we find what you need the faster you can be safely down the road." Not that he wanted to rush her out of town.

Mary sighed. He had a point and if the interview with the sheriff had been any indication of what this Tom Kaylock was like, maybe she should let Patrick help. Consenting, she split the mountain of newspapers into equal piles, "Alright I'm looking for anything concerning members of the wagon train. I've been through the headlines of dozens of papers and haven't seen anything yet."

Mary opened her worn notebook that contained the list of names she had accumulated. "Since we've decided you're now officially my assistant, let me show you what we're up against. Here are all the names of the people who started on the 'Journey West'. So far, I have identified that only about three-quarters of those individuals who made it this far. Between deaths and those that gave up, the numbers are dwindling fast. If you can read my hand writing, I'll explain my index for what happened to those missing individuals: Dropped out, settled down or turned around, died in childbirth, died in a wagon accident, drowning, accidently shot, murdered, hung, and died of Cholera, Typhoid, Mountain fever, the flu, measles, and smallpox. There are even cases of drug overdose."

"Come on, there were drug addicts? I find that hard to believe."

"Look it up. By some estimates the civil war created as many as 200,000 morphine addicts. It's quite probable that some of those were in the wagon train. It was so common it was called 'the army disease'. In the late 1800's, opiates were readily available to the common person. The pioneers were prone to dose themselves with great quantities of medicine at the first sign of illness - the theory being that the larger the dose, the quicker the recovery. Many died of overdoses, especially of laudanum.

"Look this list of names over. If you find any mention of names on this list, let me know. Let me caution you though. Headlines help tell you the contents of an article. But what you are looking for will more often be hidden in long columns of 'Local News', and letters to the editor. Also don't overlook the 'Ads', people would advertise opening a store or trying to sell property or offer rewards for lost property, that kind of thing."

The two worked nonstop for hours. They managed to work through weeks of newspapers. At first, there were no hits, but they started finding the occasional mention of one of the names they were looking for.

Upon hearing Mary's stomach grumble, Pat realized that it was time for lunch he raced upstairs to his office and brought down his bag lunch to share it with her. Other than the argument over who got the last mini snickers bar, that was settled with a quick game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, it was a lovely picnic. A professional and personal friendship that had started at the beginning of the day was solidified over lunch.

When they were done eating, Mary Sue looked back over all the newspapers they had been through and was amazed at how much the two of them had accomplished. They had found several more families mentioned on the list from the wagon train.

The obituaries had been a good source of information as well. The winter had been hard on the members of the train. She and Patrick had worked hard sorting through all the papers, but she had also learned a lot about her helpmate. Patrick had been born here in Ft. Laramie. He never knew his father, his mother was his only family and she had died a few years back. Patrick lived in the house he grew up in. Because his mother had instilled in him a love of reading, he majored in Library Science at the nearby University of Wyoming. Patrick might be the town's leading bookworm but he enjoyed hiking and biking. Unlike his contemporaries, he was not interested in hunting animals purely for the sport of it.

Mary found herself sharing stories of her childhood and what living with older brothers was like. She found the he was easy to talk to. He was the first guy that had seemed interested in her as a person not just a set of boobs to get hold of. They talked about books and music they liked and didn't like. Surprisingly, they had similar tastes. His favorite genres of films were horror movies, something she did not care for; but you can't have everything.

"Thank you for all your help today Patrick," she said with a warm smile. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. We made a big dent in the papers. Do you think the books on the shelves would hold anything of importance?"

He shrugged, "I don't even know what most of these books are. I would relish some time standing. Why don't you start over there and I'll work through these over here. When we meet in the middle we can call it a day. Would you like to go to dinner when we're done?" He asked with a smile.

"Let's see how things go first. Are you sure you can spend all this time down here? I mean how do you know there isn't someone upstairs needing your help?"

"Well ma'am, you see out here in the wild west, we do have a little thing called technology." He said in an exaggerated western drawl. "There's a little old sensor on the door that triggers a chime in the hallway. This place is very quiet most of the time. I blame those damn laptop computers, Kindles and smart phones; no one needs an antiquated concept like a library. Need to do research, use the Internet. Want to read a book, use your phone. I believe that in my life time we'll see the end of printed books. I'm doing what I am supposed to do by helping you find what you need from the hallowed shelves of the library."

Mary hit a treasure trove when she found an entire issue of the paper that was devoted to the wagon train. One article in particular caught her attention, it...was an editorial. 'There was only one building at Ft. Laramie that warranted a visit by the Oregon-bound pioneers -- the post trader's store. It was the only reliable post office within 300 miles. Supplies could be purchased here too, although the article pointed out the prices were outrageously high. Tobacco, for instance, that could be had for a nickel in St. Louis cost a dollar here. Groceries and Liquors were exorbitantly high. For instance, Sugar $1.50 per pint or cupful. Flour $1 per pint. The author commented, ‘In one bargain, concluded in my presence, I calculated the profits that accrued to the Kaylock family that owned the store - and found that at the lowest estimate they exceeded eighteen hundred percent.'

Mary read the editorial aloud, "Luckily, only a few of the pioneers needed to purchase supplies at Ft. Laramie; most wanted to sell their excess. Their overloaded wagons had become a greater and greater burden, but most held on until Ft. Laramie--in hopes they could earn some money for their extra supplies. But the fort trader wasn't buying. So here the pioneers underwent wholesale dumping. The Trail near Ft. Laramie was littered with heirloom furniture, stoves and china. Despite the temptation, the pioneers did not pick up this valuable litter because weight was the great enemy of their wagons. 'The Trail' was strewn with abandoned property, the skeletons of horses and oxen, and with freshly made mounds and headboards that told a pitiful tale."

The two of them sat side by side; somehow almost magically their chairs had inched closer together. When one or the other would find something of interest they would lean in to read it.

Contact was inevitable, Mary Sue fought to keep her concentration. It wasn't all hard work; they frequently chuckled over some of the old ads. Mary found a large ad for Coca-Cola, she had no idea they had advertised in 1897.

It had been a rough winter, people died of Typhoid, Mountain fever, the flu, measles, and smallpox. There was also a cholera outbreak that devastated the population of Fort Laramie. Of all the diseases, cholera was the most feared. It caused massive diarrhea, leading to dehydration and death. In those days, its cause and treatment were unknown, and it was most often fatal.

Mary was satisfied with what they had accomplished in a single day. She stood and stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her neck. "Pat, this is remarkable. Of the over 700 souls that had started the trek, I've positively determined that 23 had perished on the trek to Fort Laramie and an additional 16 had died here in their winter encampment. 8 families, 33 people, had stopped en route, and three more wagons with 7 souls on board had turned around and headed back to Missouri. Let me see the percentage is 733, minus 23, minus 16, minus 33, minus 7 divided into 733 is...

Mary Sue fished into her purse for a calculator, before she could find it Pat announced, "9%, or 9.2% to be exact.

A surprised Mary gawked at Pat. He smiled back at her and said casually, "What? I have always had a head for numbers. I'm more than just a pretty face."

Mary dove back into her pile of papers with great gusto, rejuvenated by her success. One death notice in particular caught her attention for its novelty. 'A Mrs. Elisa Wilson passed from the consumption on December 11th and was survived by her husband Harland, their two children Lorraine, 4, and Hiram, 7, and their nanny Yolanda.'

Mary tapped the article with her finger to get Pat's attention and said, "Look here Patrick; have you ever seen a servant being listed as a next of kin? She must have been a very special person."

Pat leaned over her shoulder to read the article, his breath whispering past Mary's ear.

"December 11th you say. That name Yolanda rings a bell."

Pat dug into his discarded pile, "Yes, here it is a month later. There is an announcement from the town Mayor about the hiring of a Yolanda Wilson as the town's new school teacher. That can't be a coincidence; it must be the same person."

Both dug through their respective piles like wood into a chipper scanning for the name Yolanda.

A few months later, there was a front page story about the marriage of Nathaniel Kaylock to Miss Yolanda Wilson.

Mary Sue studied the accompanying grainy picture and mumbled, "It seems the Kaylock's have their hands into everything."

Pat looked at it and commented, "That girl can't be more than 16. God help her getting mixed up with that family."

Throughout the afternoon, Mary Sue found his sense of humor to be in line with her own and was drawn into his smiling eyes once again. He was smart and thoughtful yet didn't take things so seriously that he couldn't have fun.

Like when Pat pointed out a story about the town's 4th of July party that featured a buffalo chip throwing contest. When Mary scoffed at him, he challenged her to one that very evening. When she declined the invitation, Pat merely mumbled 'Chicken' under his breath.

As the afternoon wore on, both were tired and blurry eyed. Then they found a headline that set their pulses racing. It was a full page story on the murder of Nathaniel and Yolanda Kaylock. Other than describing the finding of the bodies and the fact the military at the fort claimed it was a local matter. It stated that the murders would be investigated by the local sheriff's office.

Further searching turned up nothing more about the murders, only the announcement of Nathaniel's funeral. No mention was made of when or where Yolanda was laid to rest.

Jumping up from the table, Mary grabbed Pat's hand and said, "Take me to the church cemetery; I have a bad feeling about this."

"Okay, but let me lock up the library first. We can call it a day here. We can leave everything right where it is and continue tomorrow."

Mary gathered her notebooks while Pat locked up. They met at the front door. "Are you all set?" he asked.

"Yes, I wonder if Yolanda is the reason Mr. Kaylock is worried?" Mary asked as they headed to the parking lot.

Pat shrugged and said, "I've lived here my entire life. The name rings a bell, I just can't place it."

They drove to the outskirts of town and found the church and its accompanying graveyard. The Kaylock's had a private section so it took no time to find Nathaniel's grave. A detailed search of the rest of the weathered headstones did not reveal one that might indicate Yolanda.

A stop by the nearby rectory found the elderly curator in his office. After introductions and a brief explanation of the work she was doing, Mary Sue inquired why Yolanda's grave wasn't marked. The curator closed the door and spoke in hushed tones, "I shouldn't be telling you this, but as a long time curator I have had lots of time to gather information about the families in this cemetery. As a man of God, it has always bothered me. The Kaylock's and the parish priest refused her a Christian burial. Her body was taken out onto the prairie and buried in an unmarked grave. That's all I can say."

"What can you tell us about her murder?"

"I've already said too much. Sorry I need to ask you to leave now." The old man paused as he walked them to the door, he obviously wanted to tell them more but not at the risk to his job. "You might be able to find more information at the sheriff's office. I know that there are records that go back to that time."

Mary thanked him warmly and promised that anything he had told them would be kept confidential. On the short walk to her car Mary confided, "I can't say that was the most helpful conversation I've had doing this research. I now have more questions and the person I need to talk to doesn't like me."

Pat leaned in close like he was afraid someone would hear and said, "We can visit the sheriff's office tomorrow. He has a bit of an image problem and there are a fair number of people who don't get along with him. Now, how about that dinner you promised to have with me?" Pat gave her a sideways glance.

"I didn't promise I would have dinner with you. I said we would see. Besides, I should be buying you dinner because of the help you've given me." She chided him then smiled back. Not wanting her time with him to end, she agreed on the condition it be Dutch treat. Pat agreed but had no intention of letting her pay.

"I assume you have eaten at Coal Creek Café as it is close to the hotel you're staying at. How would you feel about having dinner at my house?"

"I don't think that would be the best thing to do since I am new to town and I don't know you all that well." The experience of the assault she had escaped from still played on her mind.

Pat smiled roguishly and said, "You're right, being a beautiful woman, alone with me in my house might tarnish my reputation." She chuckled again she had a sense that he was teasing her but the thought of having dinner with Pat at his place was intriguing.

"I guess that leaves only The Cast Iron Grill, it's a short drive but they have the best food in the county."

The drive to the restaurant took maybe a quarter of an hour. The hostess greeted Pat with an oversized grin and fluttering eyelashes. She gave Mary Sue a quick nod when Pat made the introductions. She showed them to their table and told Pat about the daily specials, not giving Mary even one glance. Mary remembered the woman at the store saying that Pat was 'The town's most eligible bachelor'. If this girl's reaction was typical, then she could understand the woman's comment. It also meant that she might get a cold reception around town if she continued to see Pat.

The restaurant was moderately crowded and decorated in a western motif. The menu was what you would expect; steak, potatoes, salad. Pat had given her strict instructions to order anything she wanted. During the day they had talked about her trip across country and he knew she had lived mostly on fast food and hotel continental breakfasts. He told her she needed at least one good meal now and then to maintain good health. She didn’t want to take advantage of her date…was it a date? Pat was certainly acting that way, much to Mary Sue’s delight. She was burning through her own resources to finance this trip and letting him pay for the meal would help with her cash reserves. She just hoped that he would not expect anything for his generosity.

They were enjoying dinner when two men approached the table. "Interesting finding you here Patrick" said the older of the two. "I don't think you understood our conversation earlier today."

Pat stood as they approached, "I understood just fine Mr. Kaylock. I just don't like being threatened!"

Ronald took two steps toward Pat and said, "My father doesn't make threats. That was no threat, just a friendly warning Summerfield."

Mary fingered a lock of hair behind her ear and then fidgeted a little in discomfort as she watched the unpleasant scene unfolding before her. She noticed that the two men were about the same size and build, although Ron had a lot more flab around his middle compared to Pat’s sleeker muscles. She watched the veins in Pat's temples bulge as he dropped his napkin and his hands closed into two fists. With one large step, Pat closed the distance between the two potential antagonists and the restaurant had gone quiet as everyone watched and waited.

Mr. Kaylock intervened, "Boys, knock it off. This isn't a schoolyard."

Pat returned to his chair, but remained standing. He was embarrassed at his behavior and remembered his manners, "Mary Sue, this is Mr. Tom Kaylock and his son Ronald. Gentlemen, I assure you that Ms. McLaughlin is doing research on the wagon train and has no interest in you or your campaign as you were wrongly informed. I have personally investigated her work. I found no mention of the Kaylock family in any of her notebooks. Now, if you would excuse use, our dinner is getting cold."

During this exchange, Mary Sue sat not knowing what to think. She wanted to stand too, just to not feel quite so small. As Pat and Tom exchanged words, Mary studied all three of them. When her eyes slid to Ronald, she was surprised to find him staring at her. His eyes were very blue and cold as ice. Mary shivered. There was no kindness in his face or mannerisms. He looked at her face and then to her chest, he grinned, this was the typical creeper reaction. What struck Mary was the similarity between Pat's eyes and hair and Ron's.

"The two of you enjoy the rest of your dinner then. Ms. McLaughlin." Tom said as he nodded in her direction. He held her gaze for a brief moment. Just long enough for her to see that his eyes hidden behind bushy eyebrows were as blue as Ronald's but not as menacing. "Miss, I strongly recommend your stay be short." With that the men left.

"Now you have met two of the biggest asses in town." Pat said as he sat down again. "If we could collect all the bullshit that those two produce; there would be no fuel shortage. Ronald is the town bully, between his size and family money, most people are afraid of him. His father is an overbearing jerk."

They finished their dinner with a more subdued mood. "I get the feeling that being with me might not be such a good idea, it could cause you trouble," she said.

"Don't let them get to you; I can take care of myself, I'm not afraid of them. They have always bullied folks around here. They have the biggest cattle ranch in the area and don't care about anyone but themselves."

Mary could not remember when she had last eaten so well, not only was the food good, but the portions were Texas sized. They visited for a little while after they had finished eating. When their conversation was punctuated with yawns, Pat suggested they call it a night.

Pat snatched up the check as it appeared and wouldn't even discuss the issue of Mary Sue paying. Pat drove them back to the library for Mary's car. He pointed out his house as they passed, a lovely old place with a large porch surrounded by shrubs along a quiet tree lined street. There was an awkward moment when both wanted to exchange a goodnight kiss, but the moment passed and they said their goodbyes with a handshake and made arrangements to meet at the Library at nine.

Mary Sue drove back to her motel, pleased with the work she had gotten done with Pat's help. She couldn’t help feeling that there was a lot going on in this little town. Pat had been terrific about everything but Mary was sure that they had not heard the last from Tom and Ronald.

Despite the late hour, she took a shower and prepared for bed. After washing off the day’s dust, she felt a little revived and sat down to organize her notes. It had been a long and productive day and she was thrilled at the amount of data she had gathered.

She had to force herself to relax in order to get some rest, she had a feeling that tomorrow would be another long day. She was tired but sleep eluded her. She lay in bed thinking about Pat. He was tall, handsome and kind. Mary Sue was surprised at how easily they had fallen into an easy working relationship. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so comfortable with a guy. She fell asleep thinking about his wonderful blue eyes.

Eyes that were blue like the ocean.

Mary found herself walking barefoot along the beach, the waves lapping at her toes. The sun was warm on her face. In the distance she could see a man walking toward her. As he got closer, she recognized him. It was Pat. She started running and he reached out his arms to her, like they had been apart for a long time. As he took her into his arms, she looked into his eyes and was swallowed up. His mouth met hers. His kiss was warm and tender she closed her eyes and was lost in the feel of his strong embrace. His grip tightened and the kiss became demanding. She tried to pull away but he was much too strong. His hands grabbed at her clothing, his mouth moved down her cheek to her neck. She pushed at his chest. Mary thrashed and pushed until she was able to get a little distance between them. She opened her eyes and was looking not into the depth of Pat’s eyes but the cold and menacing eyes of Ronald. She screamed.

Mary found herself sitting up in bed with the bedsheets twisted every which way. She was breathing hard. She had been dreaming. She untangled herself from the blankets, walked to the sink and splashed some water on her face. Mary was not someone who put a lot of stock into the meaning of dreams but that one had shaken her up. Was it a warning about Pat, Ronald or something else? How could something so pleasant turn so ugly? How could two men have eyes the same color yet one pair be so kind and the other so cold. She straightened the sheets and got back into bed. A chill went down her spine. Pulling the covers over her she tried to erase the images from her thoughts. Taking deep breathes; she calmed herself and was able to get some more sleep.

* * * * *

Her alarm went off at 6:30am. Mary was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep but the dream of the night before came into her mind. She decided that she needed to get some exercise back into her routine. She put on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and her running shoes. Pat had told her about a couple of trails he used for biking so she headed for the closest one. Even if she just got in thirty to forty minutes, she would feel better. After her run she came back to the hotel. Cleaned up and got ready to face the day. She packed her bag and headed to the café.

When she walked in she was warmly greeted by Elizabeth who found her a table in the corner by gently pushing a couple of cowboys on their way. “You two better get going or you’re going to be late and Ron Kaylock won’t be happy, but you come back and see me real soon, ya hear.”

One grumbled back. “We come here every morning and you know it.”

Liz turned to Mary “So...I heard you met the Kaylocks last night.” Mary’s mouth opened but Elizabeth kept going. “You can’t take a piss in this town without everyone knowing, hun. You better learn that right now. You had dinner with that hunky librarian Pat over at Cast Iron. You could have at least come here so I could keep an eye on you. Being new in town you can’t be too careful. And I could sure use a break from these cow pokes.” She laughed as she handed a plate full of bacon and eggs to a man at the next table. She patted him on the back and said, “ain’t that right George?” He gave her a laugh and a grin in response.

“Yes, I did have dinner with Patrick and met the Kaylocks," Mary answered. "I don’t think they like me much.”

“They don’t like anybody but themselves. Not like me, I like everyone.” She batted her overly made up eyes. “What can I get for you this morning?”

“I’d like one egg over easy and toast with a glass of orange juice please.”

Elizabeth left to turn in the order. Mary noticed several people looking at her. She smiled and nodded at them. Only a couple sitting in a booth by the window smiled back. Mary did not like the attention she was getting. She wanted to eat her breakfast and get out of here as fast as she could.

Elizabeth came back and sat in the chair across the table. She leaned forward, “Tell me all about your date. What did you do to get that man to take you out? I know a few women who would pay big bucks to attract his attention.” She kissed her fingers in an Italian style, “He's yummy.”

“I didn’t do anything. He helped me look for names of people on the wagon train, it got late so we went to dinner.”

“What was the argument with Tom and Ronald about?" Liz asked with a frown. "It's not good to have them gunning for you."

Mary shrugged. “Tom is under the impression that I am looking for things to hurt his campaign. He had asked Pat to stop me from looking around in the town’s old records. Pat checked out my notes and saw that I was really doing research and let me stay at the library. Mr. Kaylock didn’t like it.”

Liz shook her head. “I guess not. He hasn’t heard the word no since his wife passed away. She was the only one that could ever get away with it.” She got up when the cook called that Mary’s order was ready, putting the plate down in front of Mary, she continued, “Rachel was a real looker and a special lady. She could handle life at the ranch and worked it alongside Tom. She didn’t have to put up with any shit from the men because they knew she could handle herself, and she had Tom at her side. Even though she could and did work the ranch she was always a lady. She never came into town that she wasn’t dressed up. Tom bought her the finest things, clothes; make up, perfume, horses and cars.”

“Liz, if you don’t stop gabbing and get to work, you’re going to get fired.” That was from the cook.

“Got to go” Liz said as she jumped up and started flirting with everyone. Soon the place was filled with laughter as she bantered with them and the cook.

LGBT existed a long time before the labels came into being. Bigotry and discrimination were there at the same time. This is a story how those attitudes can affect our descendants.

Chapter 6 - The Plot Thickens

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Editor: Qmodo

Once she had finished breakfast, Mary headed back over to the library. As she pulled into the parking lot, she saw Patrick standing outside the building, arms folded and looking upset. Getting out of her car she rushed to his side, "Pat, why are you pacing around out here?"

"I just got here and found the front door to the library open." He kept looking up at the building as if he were expecting someone to come out.

"Have you gone inside?" She was a bit confused as to why Pat was standing out here. It could be a simple reason after all.

"No, not yet. I just got here. I'm not the only one with a key to the doors, but I usually know when someone will be here and it is rather early in the morning for one of the town council to be here. I'm smart enough to not go in without some backup and I was waiting for you to be my backup."

Mary Sue was shocked. She was a lot of things but not a trained SWAT team operative.

He stopped for a moment and said, "If I'm not back in five minutes call the cops."

Mary Sue breathed a sigh of relief and dug her phone out of her purse.

"Be careful Pat, they may still be in there." Then Mary Sue watched him disappear behind the large door.

Despite Pat's warnings, she moved up to the double doors so that she could see inside. She was kneeling just outside the door, examining the lock, when Pat came running back to the front.

Breathlessly he related, "I've been through the building, but whoever was here is gone. My office and the main floor appear to be undisturbed. It looks whoever they were focused their efforts on the basement. I didn't do an inventory, but all the newspapers we were working on yesterday are gone."

As Mary continued to kneel and examine the lock, Pat had to ask, "What are you doing?"

"I was just looking to see if the lock had been forced."

He frowned at her. "This may sound patronizing, but you appear to know what you are doing. I thought you were a college student."

She smiled at him. He was right, it did sound patronizing, but not really insulting. "I'm a history research specialist. Since we deal mostly with dead people and past events, we are trained to look for explanations to puzzles. Also, my uncle is a locksmith. I spent a couple of summers working with him and I was the only one with patience enough to get some of the really stubborn locks open." She looked up at Pat and said, "This lock was not forced."

A flustered Patrick tried to use humor as a way to apologize for underestimating this fascinating woman. "Sherlock, are you sure about that?"

Mary bantered back, "It's elementary, my dear Watson, there is nothing to indicate forced entry and I can't see any signs of it being picked; in fact, this lock is pristine."

"That makes sense; they're only a month old. All the locks were replaced."

Mary inquired, "Who has a key?"

Pat scratched his chin, "Well let me think. I have one of course, the town council has a key to all public buildings, the police and fire departments each have one for emergencies, that's all I know of."

Mary took Pat by the hand and led him down to the basement, "Let's do a detailed inventory of the files. What's missing might give us a clue as to what the vandals were after."

After an exhaustive search, the two found that the piles of newspapers they had gathered from 1897 and 1898. A disappointed Mary Sue brushed the dust from her hands, "That's too bad, keeping source documents are important, but not critical. I took plenty of notes yesterday and I got pictures with my phone of the most of the pages. The quality isn’t the best, but it’s readable. I think we got most of the information that was available already. I can see if the historical society can fill in any blanks that I might see. I'm not sure if the microfilm copies will be very useful though."

"Are your notes safe?" Patrick asked, concerned that her work might be in jeopardy.

Mary Sue held up her backpack, she grinned, "Oh, yes. My notebooks are with me all of the time. We still need to report this to the authorities."

"You're right; we need to talk to the sheriff about Yolanda anyway. I'll make the report then."

Pat led Mary up the stairs to the main lobby. At the top, he turned to her and said, "I have a confession to make. I couldn't sleep last night."

Mary beamed and wondered if his dreams were a reflection of hers.

"That name Yolanda - there was just something familiar about it. While I was shaving this morning, it hit me. I found something while I was cleaning the library loft last summer."

"Really? About Yolanda?"

He shrugged and explained, "I'm a one man show around here, librarian, janitor, grounds keeper and maintenance man all rolled into one. I found a large steamer trunk that had been gathering dust for eons. I found a bunch of antique woman's clothes; I mean bustles and high button shoes old, they were all museum quality and well preserved. I searched the trunk trying to find out who they might belong to and I came across a notebook with flowers drawn on the cover.

"The flyleaf inside had a very unusual name penned on it: It had a very strange name I think it was ‘Yandilo.’ It had been neatly scratched out and replaced in the same fancy script with the name ‘Yolanda.’"

Mary Sue's eyes lit up. "Are you sure?”

"Words are how I make my living, something that unusual makes an impression. So yes I am sure."

"Please can we go look now before we go to the police station?"

"Of course," Pat said with a smile. He led her to the foot of a narrow stairway on the south wall that led up to a trap door in the ceiling 18 feet above. "It's up there, wait here. Last time I was up there the light bulb was burnt out. I have a spare in the utility closet, I'll be right back."

Mary was antsy with anticipation and didn't want to wait. Halfway up she was glad that she had decided on pants today, she had thought about putting on a dress. Climbing ladders or stairways and flashing her underwear just wasn't her style.

Pat was in the rear of the library looking for a replacement lightbulb when he heard Mary scream. He took off at a dead run figuring he must have missed the intruders and they had surprised her. He slid to a stop on the polished wood floors, inches from a shaken Mary Sue.

"What is it, did you see someone?"

"I was attacked!"

Confused, Pat asked, “Who attacked you? Where are they?"

"Not who but, what! I opened the trap door and it charged me, it was gruesome with gigantic teeth. I almost fell all the way down the stairs."

More bewildered than ever, Pat said, "Wait here, I'll go get a flashlight. Hold this and don't move. I mean it this time." He handed her the lightbulb.

Pat returned with a flashlight in hand. As he reached the top, he flicked on the flashlight and carefully opened the door a crack to shine the light in. Thirty seconds later, he flipped the door all the way open and disappeared from view. If he hadn’t been a gentleman and didn’t need her help, he would have been laughing hysterically.

He looked back out the door and called down to her “I see the problem but I need you to go behind the front desk and get the box that is on the floor. Then I need you, the box and the light bulb up here.”

“What's the problem?” she asked

“One, I need the light bulb to free up my hand. Two, I need to put something in the box. Three, you’re going to help me get it in the box.”

“What’s going in the box?”

“Come on city girl don’t tell me you’re scared.” He chided with a chuckle.

“I’m not scared I just want to be prepared,” she muttered to herself as she went for the box. “Besides, I grew up on a farm.”

When Mary came back, with the bulb and the box, she tapped on the attic door. Pat reached out to take the box from her and she edged into the loft. There were far too many shadows in the room to be able to see whatever was lurking.

Pat replaced the burnt-out bulb and the loft was immediately filled with light. Pat smiled, “Now for the fun part. We have to catch our friend over there.” He aimed the flashlight beam into the corner. Two little red eyes gleamed at the pair. Mary was embarrassed to see that the creature she had been so scared of was a scrawny possum.

Pat handed Mary the box, “You follow me holding this open so I can put him in it. When I get him in you close the box as quick as you can. They have a nasty bite, so we don’t want to him the opportunity for a New York City taste test.”

“And just how do you plan on catching that wild animal?” The varmint was a typical possum, incredibly ugly.

“Well…the way I have done it in the past seems to work well,” Pat turned off the flash light causing the opossum to blink. He slowly walked toward the animal. As he got closer, it did the strangest thing, it fell over.” Pat reached out quickly to grab the possum by the scuff of the neck. Just as fast, he turned and put the opossum into the box. He helped Mary Sue to close the box as the critter started clawing to get out.

"This is what attacked you, right?"

An embarrassed Mary meekly said, "It looked a lot different in the dark. Besides it snarled at me. I never liked these things while I was growing up either."

They took the boxed animal outside where they released it in the yard outside. As they watched it waddle off to the woods, Mary Sue asked, “Do you wrangle opossums a lot?”

“No, just enough to know that if you move slowly they play dead, you move fast they freak out, just like some women.”

@ @ @ @

Mary Sue allowed Pat to lead the way back up the stairs. Once in the loft, it was relatively easy to find the trunk he was looking for. As he pulled it across the floor, Mary Sue bit her lower lip in anticipation. She could see that the trunk was very old, she was surprised by how well preserved it appeared to be. As Pat opened it, Mary Sue was surprised to smell the pleasant aroma of violets. On top of the clothing inside, she could see a spray of dried violets that must have still retained their scent after all these years.

Pat fished around among the old clothing inside for the notebook he was talking about, taking pains to avoid damaging the flowers. He drew out the book and reverently held it out to Mary Sue and, bowing from the waist, said in his best English accent, "My lady, your treasure."

Mary Sue took the leather bound book and held it as if it were a fragile newborn bird. She ran her fingers over the flowers etched into the cover. The edges were worn from use. As she opened the cover to look inside, she held her breath for fear that the pages would crumbled in her fingers. She was thrilled to find that the pages were not pulp paper that seldom lasted longer than a few years. Instead, each page seemed to be made of parchment, which added a lot to the book’s longevity.

As Pat had said, she saw that the name Yolanda had been written in above Yandilo’s. The handwriting certainly appeared to be the same, she hoped that the reason the owner changed their name was somewhere inside. She scanned one page and then another and another. Just the beginning of the diary told her that she was holding a true window into the past. With eyes wide, she looked up.

"Listen to this," she said excitedly and she read some passages from the beginning of the book.

May 1896 –
My name is Yandilo Petalengro. Mama has given me this this journal for my 15th birthday. She says now that I have almost finished school, she is going to teach me all she knows about herbs and flowers. This journal is for me to write in as I learn from her. I will be able to help gather things she needs without her by my side.

With this training I could make an honest living as a healer. I don’t think she is happy with how father supports us. She says it isn’t good to go through life taking things from others. I think that she wants father to get a job instead of gambling and stealing. My teacher says I am a good enough student that I could get a teacher certificate as well. I like both ideas. I will help Mother for now.

June 1896
I helped Mama today with the birth of Samuel Anderson. Mrs. Anderson sent her daughter Susan to get Mama because she needed help delivering her baby. Mama said that she might need me. I didn’t know what I could do to help but went with her. When we got to the house, I could hear Mrs. Anderson. I have never heard a noise like that before. I stayed by the door while mama went to check. Susan just stared at me with her big green eyes. I don’t think she’d heard anything like that either.

Samuel Anderson was born four hours later. I got to hold him for a little while. He was so small and helpless. Mama has helped with a lot of births but this was my first. Mama said that this was a breach birth and she had to do something special to help the baby. I will have to ask her later what she did.

Mary Sue scanned through the book, stopping every few pages and looked up with tears of joy in her eyes. She held the book out toward Pat. "Do you have any idea what this is? It’s Yolanda's personal journal, it looks like she chronicled the entire trek here. This is absolutely priceless; I could kiss you." She noted to herself that Yandilo appeared to be educated and literate, she wished that she could have known him. She looked at the remainder of the diary briefly, seeing that every page was filled with neat, readable script.

Pat stood by, watching Mary Sue look through her treasure. He realized she was just caught up in the moment, but didn't care. It would be unconscionably ill-mannered to simply let it pass and not take advantage of her offer. He stepped around the trunk that stood between them and slid his arms around her.

She jumped in surprise at his touch, but she didn’t feel threatened like she had when the cowboy had tried to grab her. She peered up at him, her breath catching briefly as she took in the expression on his face and the hunger in his deep blue eyes. The excitement she felt over the journal melded with some of her dreams from the night before. She smiled at him as he bent toward her. Her eyes closed as his lips touched hers. Her mouth was soft and warm. Just as he knew they would be. He moved slowly and he felt her relax into him. His hand slid up her back to the back of her head. His fingers filled with her hair. His kiss deepened as he cradled her head. Much sooner then he would have liked he gently pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open and he smiled down at her.

He inhaled the rose scent in her hair, loving the feel of holding her in his arms.

"Now I know what they mean about moving slowly with women. I need to ask. Do you have a boyfriend back in New York?"

Mary was unsure where this conversation was headed. She knew how she wanted to interpret his question, but how did he mean it? Did he want this to be something serious or was he only interested in a fling? After all, she didn’t live here. So she hedged her bets, "I am seeing someone."

Seeing the devastation on his face she went on, "It's not serious, we are just acquaintances at this point."

"You don't love him?"

Her eyes widened as she replied emphatically, Oh, heavens no!" As if Friedman would ever be anything more than a colleague and her advisor. Even thinking of the man in a romantic context made her feel ill. She had just realized that she had totally misrepresented her relationship with her professor in an attempt to keep this relationship from moving too fast.

They stood their faces only a breath apart.

He merely spoke her name, "Mary." It was a mere groan on his lips as he took her in his arms and kissed her again. It went from sweet, warm embers as their lips first met, to the roar of a full-blown blaze as his tongue pushed past her soft unresisting lips. Their hearts beat as one.

Mary remembered her dream and knew that it paled in comparison to the real thing. She could even smell the violets from her dream. Fire seemed to creep down her body like a fuse with sparks shooting off in all directions. Soon the heat would be more then she could take.

He pulled her against his chest, his hand sliding to the base of her spine and he applied gentle pressure, their bodies fitting perfectly together. Pat felt an excitement unlike anything he had ever experienced before, it was pure unadulterated pleasure. His heart leapt, she stole his very strength. His legs were shaking. Mary's body melted in his arms like chocolate over a warm fire. Her arms slid up around his neck, her hands gripping his hair, her lips opening hungrily beneath his inquisitive tongue. It seemed to him it had just begun when she gently pushed him away.

Pat eased his hold on her but, not letting go. He wasn’t sure of his own balance and he could feel her trembling as well. They stood looking into each other’s eye. Both breathless struggling with feelings neither knew what to do with.

Softly he said, "I’ve wanted to do that since I first met you. Mary, you are a beautiful lady."

Mary swallowed as a shiver swept over her. Feeling out of her depth she cast her eyes about looking for something to distract her. She was hard pressed to explain her weak-kneed, response to the kiss. She had been kissed before but this was different.

She managed to create a little distance between them. Pat looked at her flushed face and inquired, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine,” She answered, the blush in her face making it obvious that she was lying. “It’s just a bit warm up here. Perhaps we better go. You still need to report the break-in to the police." She carefully put the journal in her bag as they made their way back to the main floor.

As they walked, Pat inhaled deeply. “I thought that I smelled roses in your hair,” he commented. “But all I can smell right now is lavender.”

Mary Sue stopped for a moment and sniffed. “I thought that I was imagining things, but I think that it is actually violets.” She was not ready to tell Pat that she had been dreaming about him. “I don’t know where it came from though. My conditioner is rose scented, it must be the sachet from the trunk.”

Pat looked thoughtful and then replied, “That trunk is almost a 100 years old. How could flowers retain their scent that long?”

Mary Sue shrugged and said, “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”

They continued out the door where Pat relocked it. It was a dazzling sunlit day and the police station was only a few blocks away. Pat reached down and took Mary Sue's hand. As they walked hand-in-hand, they could see the rear of the diner Liz worked at. The door opened and two women came out. Pat and Mary Sue watched as they
stopped to talk in the shade of a large oak tree.

Mary Sue asked, "Isn't that Liz? Who's she with?"

Pat squinted in the bright sunshine to see and replied, "Yeah, that's Liz and Samantha, the sheriff's wife."

Mary waved a friendly hello and Liz returned it with equal sociability. Samantha, on the other hand, retreated behind Liz, as if she was trying to be invisible.

Mary concerned inquired. "The sheriff's wife, I don't want to get you in trouble, or subject you to possible scandal. Do you think she'll tell her husband she saw us together?"

Pat laughed heartedly, "Mary, I can tell you don't know how small towns work. You blow your nose and everyone within cell phone coverage knows the color of your handkerchief. Gossip is a fact of life, besides I'm proud to be seen with a beautiful woman. Let the wags say what they want."

Mary turned to him and took a step into Pat's personal space so that they were almost nose-to-nose. "In that case, do you want to give them something to gossip about?"

If he was shocked by the question, he didn't show it. Mary shifted uncomfortably embarrassed by her forward behavior. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I --."

Her words died in her throat as Pat pulled her into an embrace. Mary gasped in surprise; Pat took full advantage of that, his tongue sweeping in to enjoy her sweetness.

Then a horrified voice from a gray haired woman walking her dog spoke out, "Patrick, what are you doing right there on the sidewalk in front of God and everyone, you should be ashamed." The look on the lady’s face really did not seem too outraged though.

Pat smiled broadly, not embarrassed at all; he wanted this woman.

“Good morning Harriet. This is Mary Sue from New York. We’re working together on some library research.” Then he grinned impishly, “I was going to ask her if she wanted to do some research this evening for dinner. What do you think?”

Harriet returned Pat’s easy smile and said, “I think that would be a nice thing. You make a good looking couple.” Harriet winked at them and allowed her spaniel to pull her down the street.

In his entire life, Pat had never contemplated marriage. But after two days, Mary Sue was all he could think about. Pat had never felt this way to this extent about a woman before. His experience with many of the women here in town had them throwing themselves at him many times. Mary was different. She was smart, independent, and irresistible. His body was ready for her now, but he knew that like that opossum, he needed to move slowly. He wanted to have her with him at every meal, and much, much, more. He wanted to make her feel safe and loved.

For her part, Mary wasn't paying attention to their route; she was just enjoying her time with Pat. She looked up and saw that they were passing the town's only fire station. Mary had hold of Pat's hand and pulled him toward the open bay door. Pat led her past the gleaming red fire engine. Mary stopped to stare when suddenly a gravelly voice spoke from behind startled her. "She's a beauty ain't she? Diesel engine, with seats for five, a brand new Navstar system, and it has a 1,000 gallon self-contained water tank."

Mary turned and realized she had seen this guy before at the café while eating breakfast. Pat made the introductions, "Miss McLaughlin, let me introduce you to our fire chief. Dave, this here is Mary Sue."

"Yes, I've heard all about you. How is your research going? Productive I hope."

"I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name." She was just antsy enough to want to be cagy about what she was doing here in town.

The fire chief was an older gentleman, with the dark leathery skin that seemed to defy you to guess at an age. She could see that he had a lot of Native American in him. A friendly smile split his face as he held out a big meaty paw and said, "I'm Dave Wilson. I've been the fire chief her since you were knee high to a grass hopper, everyone just calls me Chief. I'm the only full time fireman, the rest of my crew are volunteers, 6 men and 2 women."

Mary took charge, Pat as Watson stood back and listened, "Chief, the library was broken into last night. But thieves used a key to gain entry. I understand you have a copy."

"Why sure, the keys to all public building are hanging on the rack in my office. I didn't notice any missing but I can look if you would like."

After a quick count, the Chief announced, "They're all accounted for. Course this place is never locked; anyone could have borrowed it for a spell."

After a quick thank you, the couple resumed their walk.

As they got to the Sheriff's office, Pat told Mary, "Let me do the talking."

"That's fine with me, that guy gives me the creeps."

LGBT existed a long time before the labels came into being. Bigotry and discrimination were there at the same time. This is a story how those attitudes can affect our descendants.

Chapter 7 - The Game's Afoot

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Editor: Qmodo

They could see that the sheriff was seated at his desk at the back of the office as they passed by the front of the building. As a gentleman should, Pat held the door open and gestured for Mary to go first. She raised an eyebrow in question, held her head high and marched into Sheriff Jackson's office. Pat came to a stop next to Mary Sue. Both remained silent as the sheriff seemed focused on the computer screen in front of him. Finally without preamble, Pat announced, "We're here to report that the library's been broken into."

The lawman closed the laptop and with a condescending smile said, "Is that right? When exactly did this dastardly deed take place?"

"Last night, I found the doors unlocked this morning."

"Are you sure you didn't just forget to lock up last night?" Looking Mary over from head to toe and back up to her chest, he said, "A woman who looks like her can be very distracting."

"Listen Royce, this is serious. They stole city property, everything Miss McLaughlin was using for her research."

"How'd they get in?" Jackson challenged. His whole manner said that anything Pat cared about did not matter to him.

"They used a key to gain entry. Other than mine, there are only three other copies. Would you mind showing me yours?"

The sheriff jumped to his feet. "Summerfield, we have known each other since we were boys. I don't like what you are insinuating. My daddy was sheriff before me and his daddy before him. When I'm in uniform in this office, I demand respect."

Pat said, "You're right Sheriff. However, I wasn't accusing you. I'm just trying to account for the keys. The fire station key is in play too."

The lawman unclipped a large ring with keys on it from his pistol belt. It took several seconds before he found the one he was looking for.

"Here's the key to your building!” he snapped. “It never leaves my belt. Unless you are accusing me of the break-in?"

Taking forms from his desk, he handed them to Pat. "Fill these out. Be sure and list any items missing or damaged."

Shifting his attention to Mary he went on, "Since your research materials are missing I guess you'll be moving along now."

As much as she wanted to smile and throw some of the lawman's smugness back at him, she kept the look on her face neutral and said, "No, luckily I made copies of everything so my research will go on. I'll be fine, besides, I like a good mystery."

The sheriff ground his teeth as he watched Mary use her notebooks and cell phone to provide information to help Pat complete the forms. Pat took the forms and handed them to his old school mate. Without looking at them, the sheriff threw them into his inbox. "If that's all, I have work to do."

Mary stood and said, "Actually, that's not all. One article we uncovered was of particular interest...the murder of Nathaniel and Yolanda Kaylock. It was a front page story back then. According to the newspaper, this office was responsible for investigating. Yolanda was on the wagon train and it would be most helpful for my research if I knew the outcome of the investigation. May we look at those files?"

The Sheriff walked a few paces to an old filing cabinet, opened the bottom drawer and thumbed through a few folders. "That was a long time ago; it appears the files are missing."

Pat was becoming irritated by the sheriff’s attitude. "Isn't your wife kin to the Kaylocks?"

"Yeah, she's a cousin or something, what of it?"

"Come on Royce, we both know that any time the Kaylock name is mentioned around here most people stick their heads in the ground. You either don't want Kaylock to know you helped Mary with her research or you know something that would hurt his campaign. You wouldn't be trying to hide something to protect them would you, Sheriff? I suggest you conduct a more thorough search for the file. I know the law, unless it's still an active investigation; they are a matter of public record and we have every right to see them."

Unaccustomed to people questioning his authority, the Sheriff grimaced and said with an angry snarl, "I've been accused of a lot of things; but I run my office by the letter of the law. "Write out your request in triplicate and I'll search the files when I get the time. Now get out!"

As they headed out the door, Pat stopped and looked back at Royce, "Just remember that if your head is in the sand your ass is still sticking out."

Stepping into the bright sunlight Mary Sue turned to Pat and said sarcastically, "That went well don't you think?"

"Yes, but it was about the way I expected to be," he answered. He turned to her and said, "Well Sherlock, where to now?"

"That depends on which puzzle you want to work on. Mine or yours?” she questioned back.

"What do you mean? Mine or yours?"

"You said there are four keys: yours, the fire station, the Sheriff's; so that leaves the town council key. Who would have that one? That would be your puzzle...Who went into the library? Mine is who killed Yolanda and why is she not buried in the family plot?"

"As to the last key, I would guess that would be Mrs. McGill. She is the city council chair and if she doesn't have it herself she will know who does. She might even be able to shed some light on your puzzle too. She could very well be the oldest person in town. Let's go over to her house. It's just down the street from mine." He took her hand again and they headed down the side walk.

They walked in comfortable silence, neither one really not knowing what to say. So many things were going through her mind at the same time: her research, the break-in, Pat. Pat was the most confusing puzzle of them all. She had never felt this way about anyone. She just didn't have much confidence in the romance department. She had handled drunks, creeps and even a couple of smooth talkers as a waitress. Pat just did not fit into any of those categories.

Pat on the other hand was enjoying this walk. He had never been with someone who made him feel this way. He enjoyed being with Mary for more reasons than he could count. She was beautiful but didn’t seem to know it. He was pretty sure that she was not overly experienced. Her kisses were tentative to start with but there was this promise of so much more. Granted that he had only kissed her three times but she threw herself into it with enthusiasm. If he had a chance, he fully intended to continue his assessment of her in that area.

Pat waved to a couple sitting on their front porch. "That’s Mr. and Mrs. Jamison over there. I used to go to their house after school. She makes the best chocolate chip cookies." He pointed to the two story house they were approaching. “This is my house.”

Mary Sue looked at the house appreciatively. It was a brick hulk of a structure. The windows that faced the porch were of a normal size that would be expected on a house, but the rest of the windows she could see were not much more than slots.

"It looks different in the daylight.”

Pat stood back to look at his home. "It’s one of the older buildings in town. It was actually used as a redoubt when there were problems with Indians. The slot windows were used by the defenders to shoot from and not expose themselves to being shot.” He gestured to the windows that flanked the door. “These windows were cut into the brick before I was born. I wouldn’t be allowed to do that now."

Mary Sue nodded in acknowledgement. This house represented a connection to Yolanda’s past, but she doubted that there was anything inside that would further her research. Her eyes were drawn to the spring flowers growing beside the house.

“What are those glorious flowering plants?” Bending over she examined one of the flowers. Laughing she said, "Excuse me for saying so, but pink flowers don't seem very manly."

Pat smiled at her comment, "My mother left me the house when she died. Actually they're called Azalea. They were my mother's favorite so I planted them in her memory."

Pat broke off a blossom and slipped it behind Mary's left ear.

Mary reached up and patted the flower securely into place. She remembered reading that in Tahiti tucking a flower behind ones left ear sends a signal: the wearer is taken. She wondered if he was aware of that custom.

"We can come back for lunch after talking to Mrs. McGill." He gave her a sheepish grin, "Unless you're afraid to be alone with me."

"I'm not afraid," she giggled. She sobered as she said, “I had a bit of a scare on my drive out here, but I’m pretty much over it. Besides, I grew up with four brothers and they taught me well my friend, they taught me very well." She loved the way they teased each other. She couldn't help but think how nice it would be to in his arms, again.

Pat could see that she had a story to tell at some point, but he was not going to push her. He poked out an elbow to Mary Sue, allowing her to slide her arm through. They walked down the sidewalk to the house next door.

An elderly woman sat on the porch in a wicker rocking chair, enjoying the fading sun. "Hello, Mrs. McGill. How are you today?" Pat asked.

"Patrick, nice to see you, boy. Miss McLaughlin it is nice to meet you.” At Mary Sue’s raised brows, she said, “Oh, don't look so surprised that I know who you are. This is a small town. News travels fast and I know everyone, some people say I'm an old busybody. I prefer to think I'm just well informed." She waved a hand toward the bench swing at the end of the porch, "Have a seat you two. Is this a social call Patrick?" It was apparent that Mrs. McGill did feel old.

"I wish I could say yes ma'am, but I can't. The library was broken into and I was wondering if you had the council's key?"

"No, I don't. I had it a couple of days ago but Tom Kaylock came by and said there was some maintenance that he needed to take care of." She replied.

"Thank you. Now we know that all four keys are accounted for. Whoever went into the library used a key. I'll ask Tom if he was there last night. Maybe he just didn't get it locked back up. Would you mind if we asked you a couple of questions that have something to do with Mary's research?"

"Well now that sounds more social. Patrick, go get the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and some glasses. Go on boy it's not like she's going to disappear. We'll just sit and get to know each other, woman to woman, so to speak.” She smiled as she waved Pat to the front door.

"Miss McLaughlin, I hate being formal except at council meetings may I call you Mary Sue or Mary?" she said bluntly.

"Yes Ma'am," Mary replied.

"Good...then you call me Dotty. Before you ask any questions may I ask one of my own?"

"Sure." Mary said beginning to like this woman for no other reason than her frankness.

"This might seem a bit out of place but what are your feelings toward our Patrick?"

Mary was caught off guard by the question. She thought that it was just the father who asked the boyfriend and what his intentions were toward his daughter. She took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to her, "I like him a lot. He isn't like anyone I know."

"Good! Patrick is a fine young man. He needs to find a good woman and settle down. There are several people on this block that think of him as their own child. We have seen him grow up and only want the best for him. He's as good as they come!"

Mary was blushing when Pat came out of the house with a tray of refreshments. "What have the two of you been talking about?" He gave Dotty a suspicious look.

"You, of course." She chuckled.

"I hope you haven’t given all my secrets away." He teased.

"There just was not enough time to tell all of them. Now how may I help with your research young lady?" Turning to Mary, "You know I am as old as dirt I might have some useful information rolling around in this head of mine."

Mary, trying to remain diplomatic, said, "Dotty you aren't old just rich in experience." Reaching into her bag and pulling out the notebook with the list of pioneers. "This is a list of names that were on the last wagon train following the Oregon Trail. Would you mind looking at it and telling me about any name that might be familiar?"

The older woman took the notebook and sent Patrick off for her reading glasses. She carefully read the list. She paused a moment to sip her lemonade. "The Andersons on this list would be my father’s family. They chose to stay and not go on because my grandma was expecting their third child, my daddy."

Mary was taking notes as Dotty talked about her family and how they had started a homestead and some of the stories that had been passed down and Pat listened patiently. When he saw she was winding down he asked, "Do you remember any stories about a Yolanda?

"There was a schoolteacher by that name. She was well thought of. In fact, the little schoolhouse is still standing. You might go look at it sometime. Get the key from Tom when you ask him about the library. I recall my mother telling me about Yolanda being involved with the Kaylocks somehow, but she didn’t talk about that. I know that Yolanda was killed at some point."

"We will." said Pat.

Mary Sue stood and took Dotty’s hand. "Thank you for your time and stories Dotty. You have given me some valuable information for my paper."

The elderly woman smiled up at her and said, "You are welcome dear. Come back any time. I love having company. Don't let Patrick here get away he's a keeper you know."

"Dot, will you stop that. You're making Mary blush again."

He sure liked how Mary Sue’s cheeks turned another degree darker. "We should get going. I promised Mary lunch."

They said good bye and stopped at the sidewalk to wave.

@@@

Pat's home was as well-kept inside as out. He invited her to sit down in the living room while he prepared lunch. Mary looked around the room. On the walls there were pictures of Pat growing up. Even in his awkward stages, Pat was cute. She wondered what he would think of her school pictures. She was reaching into her bag for Yolanda's journal when Pat announced that lunch was served.

Mary laughed. On the kitchen table were two lit candles, two glasses of milk and two paper plates with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. "Really? Candles?"

"Only the best for my lady", he said gallantly pulling out a chair for her.

She sat and he went to the counter and to tear two paper towels off a roll for napkins. As they ate their lunch, they discussed their schedule for the remainder of the day. Pat needed to get back to the library at least for a little while. She would go back with him and work on writing the request for the files from the Sheriff. Send copies of her work back to the university. And start reading through Yolanda's journal.

Chapter 8 - Cheap Whisky and Expensive Cigars

By Marina Kelly and Monica Rose
Editor: Qmodo

Their walk back to the library was spent talking about what growing up in Laramie was like for Pat. He pointed out the tree he had fallen out of and broken his arm. She was treated to a detailed explanation of how he and his friends played baseball in the empty lot they passed. When they passed the fire station, the truck had been pulled out of its bay and was blocking the sidewalk. As they approached, Mary could see a pair of tight britches; the owner's head lost under the engine hood. Pat let go of her hand and walked up to this person and smacked its owner playfully across the bottom. Which resulted in a thud as the recipient banged their head in reaction to the swat. Out from under the hood came an amount of swearing that would make a sailor blush.

Mary Sue stood to one side with a shocked look on her face, unable to believe that Pat had done something like that. The mechanic pulled their head out from under the hood to reveal Liz in a cap that trapped most of her hair.

Her expression was cross until she recognized her assailant, Liz immediately calmed down. She smiled in a flirtatious way, and waved at the two with a hand covered in grease. "Patrick, I might have known that was you. It’s a good thing that my head was cushioned or I would be giving you lumps on your head too. Mary, you need to watch out for this guy, he'll break your heart like he did mine."

Pat returned her smile and said, "Come on Liz, that's nonsense. We were in junior high when we dated. It was you who dumped me as I remember it."

Liz laughed and agreed, "True enough, my tastes evolved after I caught you kissing the school slut under the bleachers. Wasn't her name Rose?"

Now Mary was interested, "Tell me more Liz, I'd like to hear about Romeo's past."

Pat, not liking where this conversation was headed, grabbed Mary by the arm, "Come on Mary, we have to get back to the library." He knew to never let an old girlfriend share stories with your current girlfriend. He looked back at Liz and said, “Sorry about your head. I’m glad you’re okay.”

With a grin on her face, Liz said, "I'll have Big Red here back in the barn in a few minutes. Mary, ditch that loser and stop by the café. It'll be just us girls. I'll give you the abridged version of Pat 101. Now...I need to finish this tune up, you never know when she might be needed."

Once they were out of hearing range, Mary asked, "Why is Liz doing a tune up on the fire engine?"

"First off, she is the best shade tree mechanic in town. Secondly, as a member of the volunteer fire department, maintenance is one of her responsibilities. Now can we please not talk about Liz anymore?" He didn’t want to field any more questions about his past, even though there was nothing unusual to talk about.

They reached the library without further incident. Pat retreated to his office to catch up on some paperwork while Mary headed to the basement. She quickly wrote up the request for the Sheriff. She looked over all the notes she had taken, made a few additions and decided she could not stand the suspense any longer. Reaching into the bag she carefully opened the journal.

Each page seemed to be filled edge-to-edge with smooth, elegant handwriting. It wasn't hard to read, except where the script was smudged or maybe a bit too small. She skimmed through the handwritten text, stopping to study passages that caught her eye.

September 1896
School is in session again. My teacher is very happy with my work. I am studying hard so I can become
a teacher someday.

Father is drinking and gambling more and more. Mama has been hiding some of the money she gets from
helping people with their ailments.

One of the farmers cut his hand badly and Mama showed me how to clean the cut and stitch it closed. I am
going to check on him in two days to change the dressing and to ensure the wound is healing properly.

October 1896
At dinner time we had a surprise visit from the local sheriff. Father hid in the closet behind the false back.
Mama doesn’t like that he has it and makes her lie to Sheriff Johnson. “No sir, I don’t know where he is” she
says every time.

Mom and I went to the Greenleaf place today. Mrs. Greenleaf was very sick. Mr. Greenleaf must have been
very worried to fetch 'That gypsy woman' as he calls Mama. Mama and I took very good care of her. We
made fever reducing tea. I held cold towels to her head. Once she woke up, she took my hand and told me
what a good young man I was. I like helping people get better.

December 1896
We went to the Vaile Mansion to take care of a couple of the servants have come down with something.

The stable hands both had bad cases of bronchitis. We treated both men with strong tea and mustard
plasters. I stayed with them through the nights.

Mama made me a bag like hers with pouches filled with dried herbs for Christmas. Father gave me a knife.
He said every man should have his own knife.

March 1897
Father is going to take me on a camping trip this week. He had to argue with Mama to get his way, but she
gave in when he pointed out that we couldn't gather any herbs for a few more weeks anyway.

I think that he wants to get me toughened up and to be more like him. I know that he is not happy that I am
shorter and thin like mother, not big and tough like he is. I want to be like father, but I just don't seem to be
growing any more.

The next entry appeared to be written by the same hand and pencil, but the handwriting appeared shaky and hurried. The penmanship was nothing like the neat precise script that preceded it.

I think that something bad has happened to father, but I don't know where he is. I am here at home again.
I am writing this while Mother is making me some of her tea. Last night was our final night for our hunting trip
and we were camped just south of town. It was still cold at night, so we were huddled by the fire I had set
up. Father showed me how to do it on our first night and he had me set up the fire each evening so that I
could practice.

We were roasting some rabbits that I had trapped on my own when a group of men attacked father. I was
gathering some more firewood or they would have taken me as well.

Some of them were shouting about a goat and they became very upset when they found the goat hide that
we were working on. Father killed the goat on our first night out when we were out west of town. He
showed me how to scrape the fat off the skin and then work it back in to the hide to soften it. I was going to
use the hide to make moccasins for both Mama and father.

I ran out of the trees and I tried to make them leave father alone and I even tried to use my knife to help
father. But someone hit me from behind and knocked me out. When I woke up, everyone was gone and I
could not find my knife. They must have only wanted father because none of our gear was missing and they
had even thrown the goat hide they were upset about down beside me.

All I could do was pick everything up and make my way home. Mama and I held each other while we cried
for father, but she didn't cry for very long. She put everything away and hid the goat hide. She told me that I
should probably have left it behind.

The next entry was written in the more elegant hand again and looked like it had been added some hours or a day later.

Mama tells me that I must leave her. She has left me here to pack while she has gone out to make
some arrangements. I don't know when I will be able to write in my journal again.

Because I felt ill from the blow to my head, Mama kept me inside the house this morning. Right before dark,
the sheriff and a couple of other men came to the door. Mama had seen them around earlier and knew that
trouble was coming. She made me hide in the bolt-hole father built into the closet in their bedroom. Mother
always hated having to lie to the sheriff when he came looking to arrest father for something that he had
taken. But it saved me today.

I was able to listen from inside the closet while they searched the house. It seems that someone involved in
lynching my father was killed. I wanted to cry again when I heard that father was truly dead, but I had to stay
quiet. I was glad that one of that mob was dead, but someone had used my hunting knife to do it. That is
why they were looking for me.

It seemed like forever before mother let me out again and she looked very worried.

@ @ @ @

It was about an hour later, when Pat finished his work and came down to the basement to check on her. He handed her a bottle of cold water as Mary looked up from the journal. She couldn't contain her excitement as she said, "This journal tells the story of how Yolanda came to be on the wagon train and how a 16-year-old boy left Missouri and reached Wyoming as a respected young woman. I could probably write my thesis on the substance of this journal alone. I would just need a bit more documentation to supplement it."

Pat smiled at how Mary seemed to be practically vibrating, "Tell me what I can do to help."

"Well, we still haven't examined the books and they weren't touched by your burglar. We could look to see if there is anything there that might be of interest."

Pat quickly had a pile of books on the table and they were reviewing the subject content. They had been working for an hour or so when Mary looked at Pat and said, "Do you smell that? I could swear its smoke."

Pat sniffed the air and said, "It couldn't be, the smoke alarms would have gone off."

Several minutes later though, there was definitely smoke filtering its way into the room.

Pat told Mary to stay put and ran up the stairs. He returned only a few moments later, out of breath.

"It’s a fire alright; I think that it's in the storage room. Let's get out of here."

Pat stood and started for the stairs, Mary paused, "I'm not leaving here without my research, it's three years of my life."

Pat wasn't about to argue with her and helped Mary Sue stuff everything back into her bag as the density of the smoke in the area grew.

"Give me your water bottle!" he demanded. He took a handkerchief and poured the water on it. “Here put this over your mouth and nose.” He grabbed her bag and took her hand, "Come on its time to go. Follow me and stay low."

He led them up the stairs and found the main library full of smoke. Visibility was non-existent and it was difficult to breathe even through their makeshift masks. Mary couldn't tell where the fire was, but she couldn't feel any heat as yet. Pat pulled her to the floor and led the way across the room toward the main door. They eventually got to the door, which was none too soon as the cloths across their faces had dried out.

Pat stood to open the door, the latch worked but the door would only open an inch. Mary was becoming truly scared now, but Pat seemed calm and dropped back to his knees, "Follow me, I'll get us out."

Again they crawled into the thick cloud of noxious smoke and Mary was quickly disorientated. After what seemed an eternity, Pat stopped and opened a door.

“This is my office,” he rasped. “The window will let us step out to the ground.” He closed the door once they were both in and they were able to stand.

The air was less smoky in the room, but the difference was slight because of the smoke that had come in with them.

Pat quickly threw open the window and helped Mary Sue climb out and her backpack quickly followed. She took several steps away from the building and waited for Pat, when he didn't come out she went back to the window. There on the other side was Pat with his arms full of books and folders. He started handing them to Mary and she had a respectable pile in the yard when they heard the sounds of the emergency vehicles. Pat climbed out of the window and walked Mary Sue over to where she had stacked his books and records.

They both asked the other, "Are you alright?"

She answered by stepping into his arms to hug him tightly. Assured she was unhurt, Pat pulled her close. “If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself.”

“I feel the same way.” She pulled his face close to hers and kissed him tenderly. “But Pat, all those books!” They clung to each other and both shed a few silent tears.

The fire department did quick work of putting out the flames. The chief sought out Pat to get a report of what happened.

Pat told the chief what happened from his perspective, including not being able to exit through the front door.

The chief dropped a lock and length of chain at Pat's feet. "I wondered why these were attached to the door handles. It is only a preliminary cause but it looks like someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window in your storage room. The door to the room was closed though and most of the damage was in the store room. There was quite a bit of smoke though.

"Which brings up two questions, why would someone want to do that to the library, and why would you not have batteries in your smoke detectors?"

A bewildered Pat answered, “I don't know who or why and I just changed the batteries last month. Someone must have removed them." He related that there had been a burglary of some sort previously and that it had already been reported.

"That's good enough for me. I'll turn this over to the sheriff. I'm sure he'll want to talk to you both."

Pat pushed Mary to arm's length and studied her closely, "Mary Sue, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."

Not feeling beautiful all covered with soot and smoke, she chuckled, "Mr. Summerfield, you need your eyes checked, I'm a mess."

The sheriff arrived and told Pat to accompany him to his office for questioning.

Taking her written request out of the rescued papers, Mary handed it to the officer. “Sheriff, here is that written request you needed.”

Pat and Mary exchanged another hug before agreeing to meet at Molly's Irish Pub in an hour. Then Mary left to return to her room to get cleaned up.

@ @ @ @

It was just a couple of hours later when Mary pulled up in front of the pub; Pat was waiting for her on the curb.

Mary wasn't a drinker but agreed that today was different; a glass of wine or even a beer might be just what she needed.

Pat held the door for her; stepping inside it was what you would expect from a small town. It had an almost 'Cheers' like quality to it. The place was crowded, people clustered about in small groups talking amicably and just relaxing, most waved a friendly hello to Pat. Pat found a table and had Mary sit as he went for their drinks. She had a surprisingly good glass of California Chardonnay, Pat on the other hand had a glass of Irish whiskey. They sat and were enjoying the friendly ambiance of the pub, several people stopped by to introduce themselves to Pat's conquest.

The comfortable quiet was broken as the front door burst open and four men stumbled in, led by Ron Kaylock, the other three had to be his henchmen.

Ron elbowed his way to the bar and loudly ordered beers for the four. It didn't take long, before Ron spotted Pat and Mary Sue. He stumbled his way to their table fueled by liquid courage, and assumed an Arnold Schwarzenegger-like pose as he glared at them. He cocked his head to the side and cracked his knuckles, thinking it made him look tougher.

The bar went silent, all eyes turned to Pat and Ron.

Mary Sue thought that the man was a complete boor; he reeked of cheap whisky and cigars. She took a brief moment to seek out all the exits, a survival instinct she had developed from working as a casino waitress.

Ron focused upon Mary Sue, his eyes cold and his lip curled.

"You’re slow to take a hint,” he slurred. “I don't want her here, in my bar or my town. Clear?"

Pat looked up at the younger Kaylock and said calmly, "Listen Ron, we have every right to be here, our presence doesn't seem to bother anyone else."

"I don't care 'bout everybody else. Either leave on your own or I'll throw you and your nosy bitch out."

Ron's belligerence must have touched Pat's last nerve but, to Mary's utter astonishment, Pat started to hum the movie sound track from Rocky. He pulled his feet under him and slowly rose to his feet, keeping his hands down. He stood nose to nose with the drunken bully and said, "I don't know what your problem is Ronnie. But I have had a very full day and would like to finish it in peace.”

“You can have all the peace you want but have it someplace else,” Ron answered.

“If you got a beef with me let's take this outside to the alley and settle it like men, unless you're afraid." Pat nodded toward the side door and Pat extended his arm for Ron to lead the way. As Ron stepped through the door, Pat gave him a firm shove, stepped back inside, and locked the door behind him. Mary applauded, the rest of the bar responded in boisterous laughter.

Pat berated himself for his apparent cowardice, looked at Mary and with an apologetic expression and said, "Some people might call me a coward for not fighting him. As a kid, I was involved with a lot of fights. But I stopped when we reached the age where a fight could cause more damage than a black eye or bloody nose. The truth is that I just happened to like my facial features where they were. The last thing I want to do was get into a brawl with you here."

"Won't he be back?" asked Mary. "He just has to walk around the building."

"Possibly, but not likely with everyone laughing at him. The humiliation should keep him away."

Then, from out of the crowd came, one of the cowhands that had come in with Ron said, "I'm going to kick your ass Summerfield."

Mary Sue stepped in front of him and said to Pat, "Let me handle this one."

Pat's eyes widened and his jaw fell slack as he watched her. The behemoth stood nose to nose with Mary. Of course, he towered over her and she had to lean back to look him in the eye.

He said loudly, "I don't hit girls, step aside."

Mary calmly replied, "Know what? I’m not a girl, I’m a woman."

Any normal person would have run for their life while Mary stood there challenging his very existence. “You and your friends need to go sit down.”

“You need to get out of my way!” he growled as he went to push her out of his way.

Taking hold of his offending hand, she pulled him off balance, causing him to fall flat on his face. He struggled to back on his feet and said, “I’ll hit you now!”

He reached for her again but this time she moved into his grasp grabbed his shirt said, “I don’t think so,“ and brought her knee into his groin. His legs buckled and he crumpled into a heap on the floor, a pained look frozen on his face

Mary turned towards his buddies and calmly said, "Whose next?"

His companions quickly melted into the crowd, wanting nothing to do with this hellcat of a woman.

Pat brought his hands up to cover his open mouth as he looked at her. Mary Sue turned and faced Pat giving him a brilliant smile. “I did tell you that I had four brothers right? My oldest brother Mike taught me that when I was having trouble with the youngest, Jeff, before Mike went off to college. But, if you don't mind, I think I have had enough excitement and surprises for one day.”

Pat smiled at her as he wrapped an arm around her and they walked out into the fresh air. After a minute of uneasy silence, she looked up at Pat and said, "Did you hear the one about the guy who walks into a bar…"

His heart raced in his chest as he tried to look away from this beautiful woman that he’d known for such a short time. How his life had changed. His life had gone from quiet to exciting in more ways than he could count. His everyday routine had been turned sidewise and he did not want it to ever go back.

Pat felt sweat beading on his brow as his throat clenched and his mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with cotton. The world seemed to spin and his legs turned to rubber. He did the only thing he could he closed his eyes and took this goddess in his arms. Then her lips touched his, and everything stopped.

The panic, fear, and confusion of the day all disappeared in an instant when he took her into his arms. The kiss was slow and passionate. The mixture of wine and whiskey on their breath was a testament to how they blended together. Every kiss with this woman kept getting better and fueled his feeling of lust for her.

A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Breaking the kiss, Pat became aware there was a police car with it bubble lights' flashing, a few feet away.

With a smug expression on his face the sheriff said, "Well, why am I not surprised to see two of my favorite people? Summerfield, I heard there was a fight in the bar and I’ve had a complaint. Your breath reeks of booze. I'm going to have to take you in until you sober up."

Without further discussion, Pat was handcuffed and forced into the rear of the squad car. He called out to her, "Go home, I'll be alright. I'll see you in the morning."

Mary watched the car until it has turned the corner further down the street before she got into her car and drove back to her motel, glad that the sheriff had decided not to cause trouble for her as well.

She prepared for bed relatively quickly, but sleep eluded her; she couldn't get the image of Pat being taken away out of her head. As she grew drowsier, her thoughts moved to what happened today and what was to happen the next day. She confessed to a slight feeling of anticipation mixed with a little dread. She didn’t like surprises; they always made her feel off balance, and she certainly wasn't prepared for what was to come.

@ @ @ @

Chapter 9 - Panties and Hose

By Marina Kelly and Monica Rose
Editor: Qmodo

Mary woke slowly, the night's sleep feeling more like a short nap. She grabbed the first thing in her closet that fit her mood, it just happened to be one of her favorites. No tomboy look today, she wanted Pat to see her at her most appealing. It was a light blue cotton sundress with a sweetheart neck and banded empire waist, with ruffles and pleats that added the perfect feminine texture. It had an airy feel to it that complimented the bright sunlight shining through her window. A quick stop at the vanity to put on the barest of makeup and she was ready to tackle the day.

She stepped outside, the cloudless sky was a brilliant azure and made her squint, the air was crisp and fresh she shivered in her light dress. She hoped that the sheriff had let Pat go already this morning; she really did not want to deal with the man's arrogance. But her previous contacts with the man told her that he didn't do anything as a favor to anyone. The sheriff struck her as someone who was angry at the rest of the world and lashed out any way he could.

So...as much as she dreaded it, her first stop was the sheriff's office. She was surprised to find that there was a deputy on duty instead of the sheriff himself. She had thought that there was just the single lawman in town. The deputy was as polite as the sheriff was arrogant. He told her that Pat had been released a couple of hours after he had been brought in. He confided that he thought the sheriff didn't want to have to be in early to sign the paperwork.

Mary thanked him with a smile and headed back out. On the way to Pat's house, she passed the pub and saw his truck where it had been parked last night. The bar was still closed so she drove on. As she pulled to a stop in front of the house, she could see the front door was partly open.

She stepped up onto the porch and she could see that the house beyond was unlit. The darkness of the house and the quietness of the morning combined to promote an eerie sensation of foreboding. If this were a movie, this would be where the theatergoers would be shouting that she shouldn't go in. But this wasn't a thriller movie, only Pat's house. He had either neglected to close the door securely or he might be in need of help.

Even though her better judgment said that she should call for help, she knew she would be thoroughly embarrassed if this was just an innocent mistake. Besides, the likelihood of this being the result of foul play was remote. Regardless, Mary carefully pushed the door open with her toe; the squeak of the hinges sent chills down her spin. Without entering the house, she stood rooted in place. There was no answer when she called Pat's name loudly.

Stepping into the entryway, the floorboards squeaked announcing her every step, she could tell that it was an older home. Not nearly old enough to be a landmark, but it had probably been built by the grandchildren or great grandchildren of the original settlers. As a result, some of the rooms she looked into were fairly large while others were smaller than she would have expected.

The curtained windows let in the growing morning light and Mary could see that everything appeared to be neat and tidy. The fact that there did not appear to be a burglar present comforted her and she relaxed. The floors had a tendency to squeak when she walked. Because she had not heard any telltale signs of movement elsewhere in the house, she felt certain that she must be alone in the house. But where was Pat? Was he still locked up and someone had broken in here? If so, to what end and why hadn't they closed the door when they left?

The only room she had not checked as yet was the master bedroom at the back of the house. Standing in the living room and looking down the hallway, Mary could see that the door was closed properly. Trusting to her feeling that there was no danger, she walked quietly down the hallway. Surprisingly, the hardwood floor made no noise.

She opened the door slowly and saw that the room was shrouded in darkness. The heavy drapes at the windows shut out much of the light, she stood at the door peering into the room. The light was dim, the air around her was chilled by the nighttime temperature drop, despite that fact she was sweating from fear and anxiety. She tried to take hold of her emotions.

She could only make out shapes at first. The room was obviously a bedroom dominated by an old four poster bed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could tell that someone was on the bed. She softly called Pat's name and received no response. She could only assume that Pat had gotten home at some point and had crashed on the bed.

Not wanting to go pawing at a sleeping man in the dark, she summoned all her courage and opted to turn the light on first to announce her presence. She flipped on the light switch she had found and the room was immediately brightly lit. Surprisingly, the room had a feminine flare to it, walls painted in light pastels. One wall had a picture of a mother and a baby in a stroller. Not the masculine bastion she envisioned Pat living in. Then she remembered Pat saying he had taken the house over from his mother, so she assumed he had never gotten around to redecorating.

She could hardly believe her eyes, the person on the bed was Pat. She was horrified to see that he had been stripped to the skin and was tied spread-eagle to the four corners of the bed. She saw the clothes he had been wearing last night beside the bed, casually thrown in a pile. She could see that the shirt had been ripped and bloodied. She stood frozen in shock for a moment or two before she moved forward.

Before she attempted to free him, she looked into his face. He appeared to be unconscious, but she could see that his chest was moving. He had been gagged with a wad of cloth, so he could not have answered her calls if he had been awake. It was apparent that he was starting to wake up because his eyes clenched at the bright light and his head shook. When he started to pull at his bonds, she shook herself back into action and began trying to release him.

As she worked, she couldn't help but look at Pat's naked body. It had occupied some of her dreams last night, but the reality was somehow much better. She knew that she should respect his privacy and modesty, but found the temptation to be too strong. It never occurred to her how she would feel if their situations were reversed. She did have the good grace to blush deeply as she sneaked one quick voyeuristic glance at his flaccid manhood, positioned below rock hard abs.

Finally scolding herself mentally, she did look away to find something to cover Pat up with. She knew that these images would come back to consume her later though. Seeing a blanket on the floor next to the bed, she carefully draped it over him. She consoled herself with the knowledge that he would probably never realize that she had seen him in all his glory. When he moaned, she saw that the pillow where his head lay was smudged with dried blood. His face was bruised, swollen and covered with blood too. She reached for one corner of the blanket thinking it was her duty to closely examine his body to check for more injuries. She stopped herself when she realized her motivation was not being completely altruistic. She very briefly wrestled with her conscience, wanting to take one more peek, but she stopped herself.

@ @ @ @ @

The painful throbbing in his head woke him up. After a moment or two with it, he wished that he could escape back into sleep. As the pounding settled down, memory started to come back to him.

He'd walked home from the jail. Thankfully the sheriff had let him out about 3 rather than keep him over night as was the normal procedure for drunk and disorderly. Pat could only speculate on his reason; he assumed it was because the man did not want to be there first thing in the morning to release him. As he exited the steps of the jail, he found the night air to be peaceful and slight wind blew in from the west, the moon was in its waning phase but in the pollution free air still provided sufficient light to see. That was one of the things that he loved about Laramie, there was none of the noise and chaos that was always around in larger towns and cities.

He hadn't bothered to ask for a ride back to the pub for his truck. He knew what kind of response that request would get, so he decided to pick it up in the morning when he could get a ride from Mary. Thinking about Mary made him smile. She was easy-going and smart. She wasn't like the typical girls from the cities you expect to meet. He thought that she would fit right in here in Laramie.

Between his dreams of Mary and fumbling for his house keys, he never even heard whoever glided up behind him. As he turned into his yard, his head had exploded into a flash of pain before the lights went out.

With consciousness came the realization that he was tied down with something stuffed in his mouth. While the gag seemed to be just a rag, something held it in place so that he couldn't force it out and yell for help. The pain in the stretched muscles of his arms and legs was growing and would probably rival his headache before long.

He vaguely recalled briefly waking up sometime during the night. The room was pitch-black but he could sense that he was in his own bedroom. The one he had been living in for years, once he had been able to come to terms with the fact that it had been his mother's bedroom. He could sense a sweet, flowery odor, but he didn't know what it was. It made him think about how his mother used to smell.

Pulling at the restraints that held him tight proved to be a mistake. Between the pain that was communicated back to his head and the throbbing that was already present, Pat was unable to deal with it and he had passed out again.

When he woke up again, bright light made him unwilling to open his eyes. Even with them tightly closed, the light hurt and his headache seemed to intensify. He could feel a blanket on his body which also called attention to the fact that he was nude.

There was the sound of movement in the room that told him that he wasn't alone. Tied down as he was, the realization hit him of just how helpless he was. The image of yesterday's fire jumped into his mind. Pat's heart raced, he inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself. He needed a plan and he needed it fast. He searched his mind for a way out of this mess, but could not come up with any brilliant notions.

He jerked with surprise when someone touched his face. With the light in his eyes, he couldn't look to see who it was without being dazzled into blindness again.

"It's me Pat," Mary voice came. She moved the strap holding the gag in his mouth and pulled out the wad of cloth. "Are you all right?"

The first thing that Pat did was to take a deep breath. "Thank you," he rasped. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the light. "I think that I'm okay, but I have a headache like you wouldn't believe." He closed his eyes again as another pulse went through his head.

Mary was already working on freeing his arms and legs. It took her a few moments to loosen the knots, the ropes were not actually rope, but turned out to be ladies' hosiery. While she worked, Pat realized his state of undress and he stayed still to avoid uncovering himself. Once his hands were free, he pulled the blanket up to his chin. His actions were not lost to Mary as she worked. Seeing his attempt at modesty, Mary couldn't help but try to lighten the mood by teasing him.

"Uh…It's a bit late for that, I'm afraid. I'm the one who covered you with that blanket." She didn't try to meet his eyes as she finished with his leg. Her blush lit up the top of her ears as if they were on fire.

Movement caused other parts of Pat's body to remind him of their presence at that moment. With a mumbled 'Thank You', Pat levered himself to his feet and he staggered to the bathroom. While she waited, Mary examined the gag she had removed from Pat's mouth and the stockings that had been used to restrain him. She was studying them intently when Pat made his way back to the bed. He had the blanket wrapped securely around his waist.

"Mary, did you see what's written on my chest?"

"I saw something, but I'm not sure what it said. I was working to get you free. Let me get a better look." She stood in front of him while he remained seated on the bed. "It says 'drop it, or else' and appears to be written in lipstick. It's an interesting shade too."

Pat frustratedly remarked, "Panties, nylons and lipstick, I'm starting to detect a pattern."

"That's very astute of you Sherlock," Mary said playfully. She held up the gag from his mouth. "This is a pair of really good silk panties. And these," she held up the hosiery that had held him tied to the bed, "these are real silk stockings, not the cheap mass-produced nylon that you see today. They’re so good that you would have to work hard to put a run in them. It’s a good thing I came along."

Mary dropped to the floor and began looking under the bed.

"What are you looking for?"

"Panties, stockings, and lipstick," Mary answered with a playful smile. "I'm detecting a theme here and I was just looking for your garter belt, it has to be here somewhere." She rocked back onto her knees and looked up at him with grin.

"You don't strike me as the type to wear high-end lingerie. Is there something you want to tell me?"

Pat could see that she was teasing and tried to return the smile as he shook his head. "I don't know where they came from. They aren't my style. I wear boxers, not briefs."

When he winced from the pain of moving his head, Mary immediately lost interest in teasing him. His reaction reminded her of the blood she had seen on the pillow. Turning back to Pat, she saw a large area of matted blood and hair on the back of this head.

"Sit still," she commanded. She took a seat next to him and probed the back of his head. Beneath the blood and hair, she could feel a large lump in the center of the mess. When she touched it, Pat reacted to the stabbing pain with a hiss.

Out of nowhere, he asked, "Do you smell perfume?"

She nodded. "I thought that I did, but it is rather faint."

"It's all I could smell for a while," Pat said. "It's kind of a sweet smell."

Mary sniffed at the silk stockings and looked thoughtful. "You're right. It's a delicate scent; but I'm not much of an expert on perfumes. It's either from a scented sachet in a lady's lingerie drawer or it has been sprayed on at some point.

"I'll bet that someone here in town could help. But, that doesn't matter right now. You've had a serious blow to the head. Let me get something to clean away some of this blood and then I'm going to call for help."

Mary went to the bathroom and returned with some wet towels. She tried to carefully clean the blood away from Pat's scalp, but didn't make much progress. She did succeed in cleaning away some of the less dried material over the lump and could see the raised area on his scalp. As she parted his hair in the area of the bump, she took notice of a strange looking bruise. She took her phone out of her purse and took a photograph of the contusion.

As she returned the phone to her purse, a flash of yellow in a fold of the sheets caught her eye. She carefully lifted out a pearl earring in a gold setting. It looked vaguely familiar to her, but it appeared to be a cheap piece of jewelry that could be found at any discount jewelry counter.

"I'm assuming that this is not yours," Mary said with a smile.

Pat squinted at the yellow piece of metal and shook his head. "I can't say that it looks familiar at all."

"It would seem your attacker wants to point the finger at a woman as the culprit. Are there any angry ex-girlfriends in your past?"

Pat grudgingly answered, "Yeah a few, but none capable of this. I was attacked at my front steps. My lord, whoever did this had to be strong enough to drag me up the steps and get me into bed. I don't know any female bodybuilders. Why do you say that they are trying to frame someone?"

Mary smiled slightly. "Because this is for a pierced ear. A woman would know if it had been pulled out, mainly because it would hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Also, the shape of the hoop makes it virtually impossible for it to slip out of her ear." She shook her head. "No. This was planted to either make it look like a woman did this or that a different woman is responsible.

"Let’s look at this seriously. I’m not a bodybuilder but I can kick butt if I have too or wanted too bad enough. Now think, this is ranch country and most women around here aren’t wimps. Even Liz is a firefighter and that takes strength and she has training in moving an unconscious person. How many women are firefighters?”

"Four.” He replied.

"And how many have you dated?"

"All of them...but this is a small town and only once or twice, nothing serious.” He rushed to explain. "Look I have gone out with most of the women around here. It’s a small town.”

"No judgments from me. I'd like to figure out who might have done this to you, but I think that we need to report it. Besides, that lump on your head could be bad."

Pat left her to step into the bathroom while she called 911. She was pleased when it was answered immediately, not sure if Laramie was large enough for its own dispatch center. It turned out that the local hospital was also the dispatch center.

"Patrick got hurt?" The woman who answered the phone obviously knew who Pat was and was concerned about his well-being also. Did every woman in this town know who Pat was? Mary explained that it looked as if Pat had been attacked and that she thought that he needed medical attention.

"Darlin', the ambulance and Doctor Smith is already on its way. I'm paging the sheriff's office too."

She ended the call and closed her eyes in annoyance to hear that the officious jerk would probably be showing up. But this was a serious enough crime that he had to be willing to do his job...Especially with medical personnel arriving as part of the whole situation.

She called through the closed bathroom door and said, "They have an ambulance on the way. If you're going to take a shower, you had better hurry."

The door opened just enough for Pat to put his head out and he said, "You could help me in the shower to make sure that I don't fall." He had a devilish grin on his face as he made the invitation.

Blushing, she answered, "I'll stand by out here, but leave the door open a bit." Upping the ante somewhat she added, "We only have a few minutes before the ambulance gets here. Can you imagine the gossip around this town if the paramedics were to find us in the shower together?"

Pat grinned at her again and pulled his head back out of sight. She heard the shower come on and all she could think of at that moment was that she wanted more than a few minutes alone with this guy.

While he was cleaning up, Mary went out to the front of the house to look around. The house and trees kept the yard covered in shadows. Pat had said he was attacked on the walk so she started her search there. Looking around by the fence, she spied a softball-sized rock that had a dark stain on it. This would put him out whether it was wielded by a man or a woman, but it did not have any kind of mark or design like she had seen on the back of his head. She mentally marked its location but did not pick it up. The last thing she needed was to have the sheriff put the blame on her because she could have been the one holding the 'blunt instrument'.

She could see the parallel lines across the grass where Pat had been dragged. His body appeared to have obscured any footprints that his assailant must have left. By the time she went back into the house, Pat had settled on the sofa in the living room.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Not bad, my arms and legs are loosening up. I took a couple of Advil. The back of my head didn't care for the shampoo, but I got all the blood out. I don’t think it’s too bad and there isn’t any more bleeding. Only my head and chin really hurt now.”

She looked at the wound on his head and agreed that it wasn’t bleeding any more. The bruise was easier to see now and there was a very dark and distinctive circle.

It was only a few more minutes before they heard the siren of the ambulance. Mary met the doctor and his med tech at the door and pointed them to where Pat was seated. They immediately set to work looking him over. Mary stepped out on the deck-like porch to give them some privacy as they worked.

The doctor had been on the scene for almost ten minutes before the sheriff rolled up. Mary was glad that she wasn't depending upon this guy to save her life and she made a mental note to try to avoid those situations if she could help it. He levered himself out of the car and strolled over to the fence. He paused, scanning the sidewalk, yard, and the house. When he let his eyes rest on Mary he smiled.

"Well little lady," he said, his smile seeming to morph into a leer that made her feel somehow unclean. "Life has certainly become interesting since you rolled into town. What are you up to now?"

"I'm not involved in anything sheriff," she answered. "I was looking for Pat after last night and someone attacked him after you let him go this morning."

Royce raised his eyebrows at the veiled accusation and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. He proceeded to take Mary's entire story, giving an amused snort when she described how she had found Pat. She was embarrassed to have to describe Pat's situation, but it was important, so she had to tell it. At no time did he go into the house to look at where Pat had been tied or ask to see the restraints that had been used. He barely even gave the yard a second glance.

His indifferent attitude made Mary want to scream. She couldn't help but wonder where the man had gotten his training in law enforcement. Even a mall cop was more thorough than Sheriff Jackson. A crime had been committed right here in town and the man expected to investigate and enforce the law did not seem to care.

Before Mary could begin questioning Albert about his investigation techniques and how he planned to proceed, which would probably have gotten her into more trouble, the paramedic accompanying the doctor interrupted.

"We're going to take him in for observation, we need to be on the lookout for signs of a concussion." he said. He was speaking mainly to Mary, with just a glance at the sheriff. It was obvious the disdain the sheriff inspired in some people. It was a rather sharp contrast to how everyone seemed to like Pat.

The doctor and his assistant helped Pat out to the ambulance where he was forced to ride on the gurney. They pointed out that there was only room for one person to ride seated in the back of the vehicle. Mary watched with a barely concealed smile as Pat had to agree to ride in a reclining position on the rolling bed.

Once the ambulance was gone, the sheriff made his exit very quickly. It was obvious that he had only made an appearance to ensure that Pat was physically okay and to watch his departure for the hospital. The man made no effort to examine the house, yard, or surrounding area for any kinds of clues. He also exhibited no concern for securing Pat's home before he left, apparently expecting Mary to address that task.

Mary was happy that Pat had given her his keys so that she could get his car moved home from the pub so that she would be able to lock up the house as well. Before she left, she looked around the yard again.

The sun had risen above the trees and the yard was now bathed in dazzling sunlight. As she stepped carefully along the tracks where Pat had been dragged, something caught the sunlight. She bent to find the source and a round stone came into view. It was small enough that it could easily be lost, so she carefully pulled it from the grass. She held it up to the light and saw that it looked like a diamond...at least it glinted and sparkled like one. It was impossible in her mind that this stone was here by coincidence.

She already gone back into the house to gather the tissues that had been used to remove the lipstick from Pat's chest and the nylons that had been used to tie him up. Those pieces of evidence occupied plastic bags that she had in her purse. The diamond obviously did not belong here and it joined the other bags of evidence.

Everything that she had gathered had turned her purse into a rather unwieldy bundle, but she was lost as to what she was going to do with these all of the clues and evidence. The sheriff did not appear to be interested in doing anything to find out what really happened and she had no idea who could help her. All she knew was that everything needed to be protected until she could turn it over to someone responsible.

She sat behind the wheel lost in thought. It came to her that the message that had been scrawled across Pat's chest had been meant for her as much as it had been for him. Someone was becoming serious about not wanting them to learn more about the wagon train she was researching. Was her thesis worth the possibility of having Pat or herself hurt? She really did not know what to do.

Hoping that she would be able to discuss the whole situation with Pat at the hospital, she started the car up and headed out. She patted the lumpy purse in the seat beside her to reassure herself that Yolanda's journal was still with her. It had occurred to her that morning that it might be safer to keep it with her from now. Considering what was going on around them, she was glad that she had. It might even be safer to leave it with Pat at the hospital.

She was about ten minutes past her motel when she began having difficulty controlling the car. Steering seemed to be a chancy thing as the car movements were exaggerated as she moved the wheel. It almost felt like she was driving a clown car as it wove back and forth in her attempt to maintain control. Finally, the front wheels stopped responding to the steering wheel at all and the car aimed for side of the road.

She found herself holding the wheel in a death grip, her knuckles white with the strain and she was breathing in gasps. Wisely, she had let up on the gas as soon as she realized that there was a problem, but she was still moving pretty good when she tried to stop. Her foot was pressing down on the brake pedal so hard, it seemed like it could have bent under the force. Even with that, it took all her strength to pull the handbrake, which finally brought the car to full stop. Once she was finally stopped, she slipped the car into park before she was almost overcome with uncontrollable shaking.

Looking ahead, the roadside seemed to almost drop away as if she was sitting at the edge of a cliff.

By the time another vehicle happened to roll up to the car, Mary's heart had stopped pounding quite so hard and her breathing was approaching normal. She squeaked with surprise and would have stood straight up in fright when Liz knocked on the driver's window. She was probably going to have bruises across her thighs anyway from the way her legs had hit the steering wheel.

"Mary Sue! Are you okay?" Liz asked through the glass. Mary was shaking when she finally managed to get out of the car. She threw arms around Liz once she was standing. Mary Sue could feel that Liz was encased in a rigid frame of some sort, but it barely registered.

Liz could see Mary was in shock and that keeping her talking was best. "Are you all right? Come on! You need to sit down again!"

She led Mary back to her car and sat her down in the passenger seat. From that position, Mary could see that her beloved car had turned perpendicular to the road and was just feet from the ten-foot drop into the ditch beside the road. At the moment, it was just off the road and it spanned the shoulder.

Liz crouched in front of her and looked into her face intently. For once, the non-stop chatter that was so characteristic of her was gone. In its place was Liz, the fire fighter and rescue worker.

"It's okay, " Liz said in a calm voice, “Just breathe.” Getting a victim to relax was an important way to reduce any other injuries that they might have as well as help them to act as better witnesses or sources of important info during an emergency.

Mary's shockiness was becoming less pronounced and she was able to get a semblance of control in just a few minutes. It helped to have Liz talking to her. Any other time, Mary would have been amused at how Liz could talk about the restaurant, people in town, the sheriff, even about a new dress at Proctor's in town. Now, Liz's unruffled chatter helped her to calm down as Liz moved from one subject to another. Finally, Mary let out a long sigh and straightened up.

Looking into Liz's eyes, she smiled and said, "I'm back. I should be okay now. It was just a little scary there."

Liz stood up and looked over to Mary's car. "Scared of what? The fact that you almost drove your car into a drainage canal or that I surprised you while you were admiring the view?"

Mary's smile trembled a bit as she said, "Both, I guess."

"What happened here? I'm sure that you weren't planning to do this." Liz was watching Mary closely in case she needed to do something to help the girl or to keep her from hurting herself.

"Of course not!" Mary looked at Liz in surprise. How could she even think such a thing? "I was on my way over to the hospital when the steering just went out. It was lucky that I stomped on the brakes."

Liz nodded. "Yeah, I heard about Pat over my fire department monitor. I was on my way out there to the hospital too." She stopped for a minute and said, "Damn girl!" Things have been happening since you came to town! I don't think that I can ever go back to tumbleweed watching."

"I know. The sheriff said the same thing when he was at Pat's house this morning."

Liz grabbed Mary into a tight hug for a few moments. "Well I'm glad that you weren't hurt."

The feel of another person felt good to Mary right then and the tension of the morning drained away. As a result, she had to sit back down in the car before she collapsed into a boneless heap in front of Liz. As a firefighter, Mary's situation was not new to Liz. Once she was sure that Mary was dealing with nothing more serious than tension release, she got on her radio to call for a tow.

"Hiram! I know you're at the garage already! It's nine o'clock."

Hiram's lazy drawl came back to them, "Yeah Liz. What the hell do you want?"

"I got a car off the road out toward the hospital. Get your lazy ass out here and get it back to the garage!"

"I'll get to it in a little while Liz." Hiram's tone of voice made it clear that he really did not want to be bothered with another tow.

"Listen you!" Liz was almost stuttering with frustration as she struggled to come up with an appropriate insult. "Mary Sue's car almost went nose first into one the new canals the county dug us. She can't drive it and I don't want to leave it."

Hiram's voice had a new quality to it when he answered back, like a combination of renewed attention and interest. "Mary Sue? I'll be there in ten minutes!"

Liz hung up the radio and looked over at Mary. The color had returned to her face once she was relaxed, so Liz knew that she would be okay.

"Hiram will be here in a few minutes to take your car back to town. When he's done, we go check on Pat. Okay?"

Mary looked at Liz for a couple of seconds as things registered with her. It was obvious that Mary wasn't as far along dealing with her shock as Liz had thought but Mary looked okay. She nodded slowly to show that she understood.

Liz shook her shoulder slightly and said, "Come on kid! You're okay! Hiram will find out what happened with your car. He may be a jerk at times, but he is good at what he does."

They were interrupted as Hiram's truck pulled up behind Mary's car. He must have rushed to get here so quickly after Liz's call. Liz retrieved Mary's purse as Hiram made quick work of hitching up to the car. When Mary handed him the keys, he smiled back at her. She was sure that he meant it to be friendly, but it only looked creepy to her.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll get to work on it right away and see what is wrong with it." The ladies waited while Hiram hopped into his truck and went back toward town, Mary's car trailing behind like a giant pull-toy. She felt a little lost watching her car rolling away without her.

Liz pulled her back into the car and made sure that she was belted in safely and they headed off to the hospital.

* * * * *

By the time they navigated their way from the parking lot and through the hospital bureaucracy, Pat had been installed in a room. The charge nurse had finally told them that he was being kept at least overnight for observation for a suspected concussion.

Mary had pretty much regained control of herself and could see that Pat was already a favorite with the staff. What was it about him that made him so damned likeable? And it wasn't just the nurses, even the doctor who had been in the ambulance with him acted like Pat was his best friend. Standing at the door, Mary watched a pair of nurses fussing over him and making sure that he was comfortable. She knew that it was silly to feel jealous, but she wanted to yell at them that this guy was hers. She might not have felt quite so territorial if the girls hadn't been identical twins and looked like the westernized version of the Doublemint twins.

Once the nurses had left, Pat smiled at the two of them. "Good morning again! Mary, I'm afraid that I can't buy that breakfast, unless you want to eat hospital food. But I'll treat tomorrow. Okay?"

Mary couldn't help but say, "Are you sure you will have time for me? It looked like you were really enjoying the attention you were getting from those two." Even though she tried, she couldn't keep the annoyed tone out of her voice.

"You mean Mandi and Randi? I went to school with them. I dated them both back then.”

Mary Sue asked, “Both at once?”

“I really only wanted to date Mandi, but I couldn't tell the difference between them so it made more sense to take them out on dates as a pair." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

It was impossible to maintain her stiffness towards him in the face of his teasing and Mary smiled to see that he was still in good spirits. She and Liz settled into seats to keep him company. They started out chatting about the doctor's assessment of the damage that had been done to Pat. When Mary told him about what had happened to her car, he was shocked and outraged. He was even angrier when Mary told him about the sheriff's lack of interest in looking into the assault on Pat.

Mary and Liz worked to get him to relax because the pressure couldn't be good for him. Mary explained that she had preserved all of the evidence that she has found in and around the house. Hopefully, she would be able to find some way to get the law to investigate.

An orderly came to take Pat away for x-rays. Mary said, "It looks like you're going to be busy for the rest of the day, so I'll come back tomorrow to either visit or get you home. Okay?"

Pat nodded and winced as he put his head down. It was obvious that he was dealing with some pain.

"I doubt if I'm going to get much sleep for a while," he said. "They're going to want to make sure that I don't go slipping into a coma."

A sudden thought struck Mary and she pulled Yolanda's journal from her purse. "Why don't I leave this with you? It will give you something to keep you from being bored too much and it will probably be safer here than if I'm carrying it around."

"Thank you," he answered. "I'll be careful with it." He solemnly took the book from her and put it on the table beside his bed. Seeing how the staff felt about Pat, Mary knew that there was very little chance of the book being stolen while he was here.

Mary waited until Liz had left the room and she leaned over Pat to give him a hug. She might not be able to stake her claim in front of the staff, but she could at least let Pat know how she felt. The surprised smile on his face that morphed into a happy one was a pleasure to see.

Chapter 10 - Wagons Ho

By Marina Kelly and Monica Rose
Editor: Qmodo

The book was still on the table bedside the bed when they wheeled him back to his room. While he wasn't restricted to his room, considering that he was only an observation patient, Pat didn't feel like wandering around the hospital wearing only a drafty gown.

It would be an hour or two before the doctor would have time to review the scans that had been taken of his head and neck. To kill the time, Pat decided to learn a bit more about Yolanda Petalengro. He opened the book with great care as the parchment seemed rather fragile. The conformist that he was he started reading from the beginning.

April 1897
The wagon train has stopped for the night and this is the first time I have had a chance to write my thoughts down since the wagon train left home two weeks ago.

I guess that I should start by saying that I am no longer Yandilo, but Yolanda, a girl's name. In our language it means violet. At first I objected to having a girl's name but Mama assured me that, over time I will become as pretty as a wild flower.

When Mama came back after the house was searched, she made me gather up my bedroll and journal. We left the house and made our way to the west side of town where a wagon train was camped out.

Before she took me out of the woods and over to the wagons, she sat down in the woods with me. She said that I must leave and not come back, maybe forever. The sheriff thinks that I used my knife to murder one of the men who killed father, because they found my knife sticking out of the back of one of the vigilantes that hunted down father and hung him from a tree. Father was found outside of town, hanging from a tree. The sheriff says that father was hung because they thought he had stolen a goat, and he was just a gypsy.

Father was not the best man in the world, but the thought that he is gone still makes me cry. How could a goat be worth a man's life? I know that father was innocent of that crime; I was with him the entire day, so I know that he did not steal it, even though he had taken other things before. But nothing is worth killing him for.

Mama was sure they would hang me too. Father's only real crime was being a gypsy so she is sending me away with the wagon train. Mama must have given it a lot of thought and heard all wagons leaving town were being searched. The only way I can escape safely is to pretend to be a young woman and indenture myself as a nanny and helper for a family already on the train. If I hired on as a single man, I would be identified and turned over to the sheriff.

She had me wear one of her old dresses and introduced me to Mrs. Wilson and her children as Yolanda. Mr. Wilson was at a meeting with other wagon owners and the wagon master. Mrs. Wilson is very weak and she needs help with Hiram and Lorraine. I think that Mrs. Wilson has consumption and her husband thinks that the weather out west would be better for her. I don't think that Mr. Wilson knows how hard the wagon train could be on her. I'm not sure that I do. These past two weeks have been hard on her, but the medicines that I learned from Mama have helped.

Before she left me, Mama gave me a bundle of herbs that she had stored up over the winter and told me that I could use them to help Mrs. Wilson. She also gave me a pouch of special herbs, just for me. Because I must appear to be a girl, she told me that I must take some of the herbs as a tea every day. She explained that when my supply runs out I must find more as I will have to continue to take it the rest of my life. She said that because I looked a bit girlie already, the herbs would work quickly to help me appear as a girl, she did warn me that my behavior must also match my physical appearance. I will need to be on guard at all times. Mama told me to watch how the other young women behaved and to mimic them. She warned me that I must never let anyone know that I am a boy. It could get me thrown off the wagon train or killed. She hugged me tightly and told me that she loved me. We were both crying when she hurried off into the dark.

Pat looked up from the page that he had been reading. He was surprised to see that the exceptional young woman Yolanda that he and Mary had been researching wasn't what they thought at first. Some folks would have been turned off by the fact that Yolanda appeared to have been either a cross-dressing boy or a transgendered boy. But in reality he was disguised as a woman merely as a way to save his life. This fact made his/her accomplishments all the more memorable. Then he paused to realize that there was no reason why there could not have been transgendered individuals before the present day. Pat had some idea of how hard it was in current society to have a gender identity disorder; he couldn't even begin to understand how difficult it would have been on a young man in the 1800's when such things were never spoken of. Yolanda appeared to have been a good person and the tales that had been told about Yolanda bore that impression out.

Mama was right about the herbs. The most important one is called field violets and I have been using them since we left Independence. I think that I am changing a little because I seem to want to cry whenever Mr. Wilson scolds me for something and my voice does not sound quite right. I can't believe that the herbs are working this quickly though, I wonder if mother knew something and she was already feeding the herb to me.

Mrs. Wilson spends most of her time in the wagon resting. The train boss, Mr. Bridger, was angry when he found out that she wasn't as strong as he thought she was and he yelled at Mr. Wilson. Because I am here as a helper, he decided not to make Mr. Wilson leave the train. I sleep in a blanket under the wagon. I get up early to prepare the family's meal, help pack everything up and walk behind the wagon.

Pat laid back in his bed and thought about what he had read, ‘There were some passages that described how the land changed as they journeyed, and even a day's worth of travel seemed to present them with a different landscape. It sounded like Yolanda's life was very pretty tiring. It was interesting that the life of a pioneer wasn't all glamour or exciting like Hollywood would have us believe.’ He picked up the journal and continued to read.

Hiram and Lorraine are good children. They ride at the back of the wagon while I walk behind with the cow. Even though I am walking, I am able to help them with learning their letters and how to do their numbers. When the children are resting, I fall back and practice talking like a woman. At first it was hard, but after a few weeks my normal voice now sounds just like some of the other girls here.

At night, I help Hiram learn to read from the Bible and he reads to his mother. Before bed time, I have started gathering with some of the other girls my age and I have made a few friends despite the fact all they want to talk about are the boys in the train. My best friend Nina has fallen in love with one of the drovers. She is funny to listen to.

Pat smiled when he read that teenage love was not something invented in the 20th century. Yolanda sounded like someone he would have liked to have met and made a friend of.

The water stored in a barrel on the back side of the wagon is almost gone. I don't know how many days it has been with no rain, maybe a couple of weeks. The water holes have been dry. It it's been hot and dusty, and we have not come across anybody, no farms, no towns, for days!

I've worn out the shoes I had when we left Kansas. I went barefoot until Mr. Wilson was able to scrounge up some rawhide and then I made myself some makeshift moccasins. Sometimes Mr. Wilson was able to shoot some wild game for a meal. Sometimes he wasn't. We share what we got with those left because they shared with us.

May 1897
We have been on the trail for almost 2 months now. Last week, there was a powerful thunderstorm that passed over us. I was glad that I had been invited to sleep inside the wagon; I am now treated more like an older daughter than a servant. The wind and hail damaged some of the wagons and people got hurt when a couple of wagons turned over in the wind. I helped Mr. Wilson and some of the men tend to some of the people who were hurt.

By the time the work crews reached our part of the train, I had made some poultices for their cuts and managed to set their broken bones. I guess Mr. Bridger heard about it and came to see what I had done.

He was so impressed and happy that he had someone who could do medicine that he is no longer angry with Mr. Wilson. They went off and talked for a while. When they came back, I found out that Mr. Bridger is going to move our wagon into the middle of the train so that we will be just behind one of the supply wagons. He wants me to be able to help take care of people who get hurt or sick. That is, when I am not taking care of Mrs. Wilson or the children.

The best thing is that I don't have to walk anymore. I get to ride most of the time, just like Mrs. Wilson. I still walk whenever the wagon must go up a hill. They even gave us another horse to help pull the wagon. Mr. Wilson is really happy with me.

Pat smiled as he put down the journal. Here was a young man who had run away from a murder charge masquerading as a young girl on a wagon train. He had gone from being a nanny, to a daughter, to a self-taught doctor of sorts. This was a real-life success story.

The thunderstorm must have caused a flood somewhere up river because it took us 3 days to cross the river we came to. Mr. Bridger was unhappy about that, but we all worked as hard as we could to get across the river. We lost one wagon and the horses got drowned. Because I could not help with the wagons, I tried to keep the younger children out of the way of the teams moving wagons across the river by gathering them together and I worked to teach them their letters. Some of them already knew how to read a little, so I had a reading class with the little ones that I was helping.

The river water we passed used must have been bad. There are a lot of people of all ages who are ill. I believe there is something here in my journal about how to treat it, but I cannot find it.

I met a band of Indians today in the woods near where we are camped. The medicine man seemed to have been waiting for me because he had a lot of roots and herbs that he wanted to show me. He was able to speak some English so he was able to make me understand what they were for. When he showed me that simple charcoal could have some affect upon the sickness, I couldn’t get back to the wagons fast enough.

Mr. Bridger came to scold me about leaving the wagons, but he stopped when I told him that I might have something that would help my patients. When he asked what I needed, I told him that I needed charcoal from the oak and ash trees in the woods and he had men gathering the dried wood that I needed. We had bonfires burning for hours.

Once I mixed up a sweet mash and got some of my patients to eat some of it, they appeared to be more comfortable. I now have almost 50 people in the wagons that I am watching over. I hope I can save them all. I am now treated with respect by everyone, not something a gypsy is accustomed too. Mama would be proud of me.

The only time I felt they were unhappy with me was when one of our nightly sentries shot an Indian brave. I rushed out to see how badly he was hurt and to bandage his wound. The Indian paranoia said I should have left him to die because of the problems we had with the water they had guided us to. I couldn't leave him though. I had been given a pony for my services by one family; I got the injured man on the horse and sent him on his way. I don't think people were happy about that, but Mr. Bridger announced that it might help us get through without any problems from the Indians around us. I felt better after that.

So many people were sick that the train could not start again for several days. Mr. Bridger was not happy with the time we are losing, but he knows that we cannot go on if people are too weak. I heard him call me a miracle worker because of how many people recovered.

I was able to save all but 3 of them. We just got done burying Constance Dahlman and her little girl. I couldn't stop crying during their funeral services. Mr. Bridger thanked me for what I did for the train and said that I was like an angel. I wish that I felt like one. An angel would have saved everyone.

The emotions just this little passage seemed to convey made Pat pause to blink back some tears. Whether Yolanda was a boy or a girl, she cared deeply for everyone around her. She would have been a great friend. He was getting sleepy but couldn't put the book down. He kept reading about how Yolanda continued to change during the journey and how she was coming to think and act more and more like a young woman.

When the train reached Fort Laramie, everyone realized that the wagon train could not continue on to Oregon and that they would be forced to winter over in Laramie. A yellowed newspaper clipping was stuck between the pages that spoke about how the mother in the family Yolanda was caring for died and that Yolanda was listed as a member of the family. That wasn't something that had been common back then. What he found interesting was that the family decided to remain in Laramie and that the last name was familiar. He wondered if this was Hiram the mechanic's family.

He read on to the end of the journal to discover that Yolanda had become the school teacher.

So Yolanda had been the school teacher and she had a thing for violets. It was interesting that violets often seemed to be found in the school house. That was one of the reasons the place had been locked up. It would have been demolished, but it was a landmark. There had been at least two incidents in the recent past involving arson at the school house. The reason anyone knew about them was that both firebugs had experienced burns that required hospitalization. No one believed their fantastic stories about a ghost. They told stories of the place being haunted and the ghost and burned them instead of allowing the flames to hurt the building. After their medical treatment, both had been taken to jail in Casper. Neither had returned after their incarceration.

Pat thought it interesting that Tom Kaylock was adamant about keeping the building locked and everyone out. There was no reason for it really. The place was a state landmark and the town would have no liability issues. Tom must have some personal reason to keep the public out.

* * * * *

Liz dropped Mary off at Pat's house so that she could get the truck and they met up again at the diner. Liz had jumped to help with the end of breakfast rush and hurried over to Mary when she came in.

"Come sit back here," she said and led Mary to a booth at the back of the dining room. There were a few looks from the men still finishing their meal. Mary didn't know if they were admiring her figure or if there was a darker reason. It was a bit ironic that she would be happier if they were undressing her in their imaginations instead of planning some kind of assault like what happened to Pat.

When they reached the back, Mary realized that being unable to see her transportation made her uncomfortable. She tried to explain the problem to Liz, but the woman just patted her on the shoulder and led her back to the front and put her at a table where she could easily keep an eye on the truck.

"I completely understand honey," Liz said as she put the glass of water she carried down in front of Mary. "You just need a chance to completely relax. If you like you could come upstairs...for a nap." Mary smiled her thanks at the invitation but shook her head no.

"I need to get out to the hospital to check on Pat." Liz asked her several times if Mary had heard anything about who the chief suspect was for the Pat’s assault. Mary told her she had no idea, and was sure the local cops would never solve the case.

Even though she was hungry, she could only make a half-hearted attempt to do any damage to the omelet and hash browns Liz had slid in front of her. When Liz saw that Mary really had not eaten anything, she scolded the younger girl. "You need to eat. You can't live on black coffee! Going all day without food isn't good for you."

"I know. I'm just not hungry," Mary answered. Considering what has been going on over the past few days, she thought that she was entitled to feel a little down. Liz came up behind her and began a neck/shoulder massage that Mary thought was wonderful, but a little intimate. After a few minutes, Liz patted her on the shoulder and told her to try to eat a bit more before she had to check on someone sitting at the counter.

As badly as she wanted her degree, Mary was seriously wondering if the subject she had chosen to write on was worth the aggravation and obvious danger she was dealing with.

First, there was a law officer who decided on his own what crimes were worth his attention and appeared to regard the county as his personal fiefdom. Then there was the Kaylock family that could have been lifted from a soap opera.

Then there had been the fire at the library. The fact that they had been locked in said that their deaths were acceptable fallout. But the arsonist had to have known that they could escape. It was possible that locking them in had been intended to keep them from putting the fire out before it did any damage.

The attack on Pat had been a warning, but it could still have resulted in serious damage. But the problem with her car was really too convenient to be a coincidence. Luckily, Mary wasn’t a speeder, if she had been, heaven only knows how things would have turned out. She really wanted it be nothing other than a simple malfunction. The alternative was that someone had tampered with the car and they were just as willing to kill her as they were to only scare her.

As moody as the whole situation made her feel, Mary couldn't help but review everything that she already knew.

First, no one wanted her to research the town's history and they were willing to destroy a historical landmark to do it. The fact that they were willing to risk killing the two of them meant that the arsonist did not even want it know what Mary might already have found.

Second was Ron Kaylock's attempted assault in the pub last night. She thought it telling that Pat had been arrested for disturbing the peace and not Ron. She was willing to bet that no one inside the bar had called the sheriff. All that followed by the fact that Pat was mugged at his very doorstep. She speculated that Pat’s assault could have been payback for the bar skirmish. If she had to point fingers, she would pick Ron Kaylock as Pat's attacker.

Third, was the problem with her car. Even though there was no evidence, she was sure that they were all related. It was the proverbial riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

The more she thought about it, the more the decision to back away from what was happening here made sense. If things kept on the way they were, someone was going to be seriously hurt and she did not want to put anyone else in danger.

Once she had made her decision, she knew that she had to tell Pat. He had been willing to help her and it was only right to tell him before she left. Then once her car was fixed she would just leave town, maybe under the cover of darkness. She wasn't going to give the assholes the pleasure of laughing at her as she retreated.

* * * * *

She thanked Liz for all of her help and found that Liz wouldn't let her pay for breakfast.

"Honey, you've had a couple of bad days. You needed some comfort food and I couldn't think of anything better than that. Don't worry about paying for it. I'll tell Mel that it fell on the floor." Liz gave her a wink. Mary knew enough to graciously accept Liz's generosity and thanked her with a hug. Then she was out the door to return to the hospital, still driving Pat’s truck.

She could see the back of her car on the left in Hiram's garage. She had gotten the impression that he was a pretty good mechanic, but a little creepy. Even so, she was glad that her little Volkswagen was an older model so that there wasn't much in the way of electronics to go wrong. She hoped he would have the car ready for her so that she would be able to head home fairly soon.

On the way out of town, she passed the sheriff's office. She saw a pair of state police cruisers parked in front. She could only assume that they were touching base with the local constabulary. It stood to reason that the different levels of law enforcement would communicate with each other. Mary idly wondered what the staties thought of the job the sheriff did around here. She wished she could stop in to tell them what had been going on around here. With the way her luck has been going though, the state police would support him and she might find herself in even deeper trouble.

Once at the hospital, she found her way back to Pat's room without any difficulty. She paused in the hall and just looked into the room. She saw him reclining on his bed one end raised so that he could read. She watched as he studied the journal.

The thought that she would have to say goodbye to Pat made her feel bad enough to cry. Being here now made it all the more real to her. She had only been in town for a few days, but she and Pat had bonded far more quickly than she would have believed possible. She didn't know how Pat felt about her, but she had wanted to see if things could have gone further. Now, she wouldn't have that chance.

She couldn't bring herself to sneak away. The journal Pat was reading was important to her dissertation. She had enough to complete her research here and continue on the path of the wagon train. Solving the secrets that were here in this town really meant nothing to her degree, at most it was worthy of only a footnote.

She knocked on the door to announce her presence and stepped into the room. She looked at how he was positioned on the bed and said, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the armchair?"

He smiled up at her and answered, "Yes, but I didn't want to flash my privates to everyone while I was sitting. He closed the journal and sat a bit straighter. "Did you know that they don't provide patients with undergarments?"

She just blinked at the statement for a moment and said, "No. I never wondered about that. Does that mean that you will be walking around with nothing on under that gown all day?" She smiled broadly at the thought.

"Well, yes. Unless I can get someone to bring me some more clothes." He looked at her expectantly. "You know...There's that old saying that when you save someone's life, you're responsible for them forever."

"Yes...I remember that one. Does that mean that you're my pet? I could get you a basket so that you could curl up and sleep at the foot of my bed." She waggled her eyebrows at him and smiled.

"On the floor at the end of your bed?" Pat managed to make it sound forlorn.

"We could work something out," she said with a smile. "Anyway, I can bring you some more clothes. As long as you don't mind having me rummaging through your drawers.”

“Come on, let me help you get into the chair. Remember I have seen the whole package, so I promise I won’t be scandalized.”

They shared a long look and a smile. For the moment, Mary Sue forgot about the fact that she intended to leave here. She snapped back to reality when she remembered.

Her attention was drawn to a potted plant of violets on the table beside Pat's bed.

"Those flowers are pretty. Who sent them?"

Pat looked at them for a moment and said, "I don't know. They were just there when I woke up."

"That's interesting. I saw a potted plant like that when I was looking around the schoolhouse. All I could smell for a minute was violets."

"They're pretty common around here. You wouldn't think that they would grow very well with how cold we get in the winter. But that reminds me, the journal talks about violets several times."

Mary was looking at the plant and pulled a small card out from under the edge of the pot.

"Look. I think this card came with the flowers." She held it out so that Pat could take it and read it.

He looked at it for a minute or two and held it out to Mary, his hand shaking slightly.

"What is it?" She took the card from him and looked. She saw a handwritten message: GET WELL SOON.

Frowning, she looked up and said, "This writing looks familiar, but I'm not sure where I've seen it."

Pat said, "I'm sure. I just got done reading it." He tapped the journal sitting on the table beside him. Mary blinked for a moment and Pat continued, "Yes. I'm sure that it's the same handwriting, or an excellent facsimile. Why would anyone go to all that trouble? "

Mary felt a chill run down her back. Someone had to be pulling a prank here. She shook her head and asked, "Have they said when you can go home?"

”The doctor was in about half an hour ago." he said. "I took a pretty good shot to the head and that is what gave me the bruise." He gestured to the side of his head. "I only have a mild concussion, it just looked worse than it was. If I'd been hit any harder, I would have been more likely to have a skull fracture instead. I guess my mother was right when she used to say that I was hardheaded."

Mary winced as the described his inquiry. "I'm glad that it wasn't worse than that."

"The doc said that I might have to deal with some dizziness for a few days and still have some headaches, but I can manage them with aspirin or Tylenol."

"I'm really glad that it wasn't worse." She didn't even notice that she was repeating herself. She was trying to get the courage to break her news that she was leaving.

Before she could start though, Pat started speaking again. "I finished reading through this journal." He held the book up. "Yolanda was really an interesting person."

"Does the journal give any idea of what happened to her?"

"Not really," Pat said. "But, at the same time, it might. At the end of the entries, it appears that the doctor from the fort discovered Yolanda's secret. The doctor apparently wasn’t familiar with the concept of patient confidentiality. He didn’t keep her secret. "According to the journal, she was happily married at that point, and her husband went off to confront the doctor.

"You mean that everyone found out that Yolanda was not actually a woman?

Pat nodded and he continued with a smile. "That isn't the best part of her story though. Her husband was a Kaylock. From what I can tell, he was gay and very much in love with Yolanda. A love that was reciprocated by our heroine. Same sex marriages were certainly not well received in the 19th century. It must have created a tremendous scandal for the Kaylock family."

Mary Sue's eyes widened and her mouth made an O. Suddenly things were making sense. Someone already knew Yolanda's secret and didn't want it known.

"I didn't realize the issue of gay marriage went back that far. Her husband obviously knew she was a man, that means the Kaylock's have a skeleton in their closet that they are ashamed of. That would explain a lot of what's been happening."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Turning, Mary saw a woman in a police uniform, holding her hat in one hand. What really drew their attention was her other hand. The one resting on the butt of her service revolver.

Chapter 11 - Help Arrives

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Editor: Qmodo

The smile on her face seemed to be at odds with the ominous nature of her question. She used little makeup and she really did not need it. Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face into a bun or pony tail. Probably because of some dress code regulation. Her nose was a bit wide, but it seemed to fit her face properly. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. All-in-all, she looked like a girl you would be happy to take home to mother, not someone who could draw the revolver under her hand and use it.

She looked to be just short of six feet tall with wiry muscles on a lean frame. It occurred to Pat that this lady looked quite capable of running down an escaping suspect and then hog tying him once she had him.

Both Mary and Pat had the looks of a deer caught in an oncoming car's headlights.

"Yes?" Mary ventured in a tentative voice. It was obvious that the officer already knew who she was looking for and was asking purely out of politeness.

Mary's confirmation was enough to break the ice. When she realized where their eyes were focused, she moved her hand to join her left on the brim of the hat she held before her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she said as she stepped into the room. "I'm Lieutenant Leslie Caldwell with the State Police. I'd like to ask you some questions if I could."

Once they realized that they were not looking at some sort of confrontation, Mary and Pat both let out sighs of relief and relaxed.

"Yes, ma'am," Pat said. "How can we help you?"

Leslie put her Smokey the Bear hat down on the tray table and took out a notepad that she set beside it. She looked up at them and said, "We were sent over to investigate your fire and I'm told that the two of you were present when the fires started."

"Yes, I guess that we were," Pat said, "at least technically present. You see, Mary and I were working in the basement storage area and we smelled smoke. I'm not sure where the fire was started and how."

Leslie nodded. "That is what was in both the fire chief's report and the report filed by the sheriff. However, the fire chief indicated that there might be more to your story than you stated."

Her brows went up as Pat described how they had gone out a window because of the chain on the door.

"The sheriff neglected to include that in his report, but there was mention of a lock and chain on the door in the fire chief's report," she said. "That is one of the reasons I want to speak with the two of you."

Mary raised her hand to get Leslie's attention and said, "Could I ask why the state police are investigating this?"

Leslie smiled slightly and nodded.

"One of our responsibilities as the State Patrol is to safeguard and investigate problems with state and federal landmarks. The library is in one of the oldest buildings in town and it was designated a landmark. That makes it our business." She paused and then continued, "Sheriff Jackson is not happy to have us here."

"He thinks of this county as his own little empire," Pat said.

"He does seem to have a problem with you Mr. Summerfield."

Pat nodded. "I'm afraid that he... and I go way back. He has never gotten over high school." At Leslie's questioning look, Pat added, "Ron Kaylock, Sheriff Jackson, and I were in school together. Even though we were all on the football team, the girls preferred to be around me. We had a few fights about the fact that they couldn't get dates when I could.

"They got thrown off the team in their senior year for bullying. The only reason they weren't in jail is because Royce's father was the sheriff and the money in the Kaylock family."

Leslie shook her head sadly. It was apparent that her opinion of the sheriff was not necessarily favorable.

"It sounds like there are a fair number of problems going around here."

Mary spoke up again. "I believe that we might be able to shed some light on that." She proceeded to tell about why she had come to town, the behavior of the sheriff and the Kaylocks whenever she tried to get information about a wagon train over 100 years in the past, and ending with their theory that the Kaylock family did not want Yolanda's past to be made public.

Leslie's expression was a quizzical smile that made it obvious that she thought that trying to suppress a century-old incident to save a reputation as silly.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll keep what you've told me in mind, but I have to say that it's difficult to believe that the Kaylock's would be doing this just to save their reputation. The risk is just too great." It was obvious that she just did not believe that the Kaylock's could be responsible for the crime she was investigating. "I have some other leads that I will be looking into though. Along with everything else, I heard that you had problems with your car."

At Mary Sue's acknowledging nod, she continued, "I was at the garage Ms. McHenry's call came in about the accident. When I heard that a witness in the case I was investigating was involved, I waited until Hiram had brought the car in."

"I lost control of the car and almost went off the road and into a ditch on the way here. I don't know what happened. The steering must have gone out," Mary Sue said.

Leslie looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "I asked Hiram to look the car over before I came out here and he says that it looked like your steering system had been tampered with because he had worked on your car just a couple of days ago. Is that correct?"

"Yes. I had some problems with overheating on my way out from New York and Hiram took care of it."

Leslie nodded again. "Hiram told me that he would have your car ready in about an hour. It didn't appear to be a big problem for him to fix."

Pat laughed briefly. "Hiram may come across as a bit strange, but he is a good mechanic. If he says that the car was tampered with, he is probably right." He looked at Mary and said, "You need to be careful. I don't like the fact that someone tried to hurt you."

Mary swallowed at the thought that someone might have been trying to hurt her or even kill her. Was her car sabotaged in conjunction with the attack on Pat? The fact that the doors to library had been chained meant that they were both targets and it had to be because of her research. That fire had to have been intended to kill them and not just destroy documents.

Leslie picked up her hat and moved to the door. Before she left, she looked at Mary Sue and said, "I'm going to be here in town for the next few days while we look into things. Please do not plan on leaving town until you hear from me."

Mary Sue was disappointed that the officer wasn't more concerned about what appeared to be going on in this town. It seemed obvious that the town's most prominent family was in control and that they were trying to stop her. But the law had to look into all of the facts before making any kind of judgment. Leslie asked a few more questions to round out the backgrounds of them both before she thanked them for the left to do some more interviews. She had a thoughtful expression as she took her leave.

Pat shook his head slowly. "You can tell that she really doesn't believe that Ron or his father is involved."

"We'll just have to wait until she catches up with where we are," Mary answered. "We can't expect her to take our word for things or to just accept our theories. She strikes me as being sharp, so she'll have as many questions as we do by the end."

"What makes you think that?"

Mary smiled. "I've discovered over the years that my first impressions aren't too far off and that I just have to wait for everyone else to arrive at the same conclusion I have."

"Woman's intuition?" Pat teased.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I guess I just make snap judgments and decisions. Sometimes I'm wrong though, I've hurt some feelings in the past. In this case, all we were doing is telling her the facts and then our suspicions. She isn't going to take any action until she has some kind of proof though."

Pat agreed with a nod. They were interrupted by Pat's doctor knocking on the door and coming into the room.

"I have good news," he said as he came up to the bed. "Your x-rays and scans show that you don't have a fracture or even a concussion. You're going to have some headaches for the next couple of days, but you can manage those with Tylenol or aspirin. I think that I can let you go home."

Mary sighed with relief and Pat just smiled. Her worry about Pat and its removal left her feeling limp as she sat in the chair. She hadn't realized how worried she had been, but her relief was replaced by the sadness she had pushed to the back at the fact that she planned to leave town. She kept the smile on her face for the moment.

Pat looked over to her, missing the shadow that crossed her face. "Could I ask you to retrieve some clothes for me? I don't think that I can wear the clothes that they brought me in with."

She just nodded jerkily. "I still have your keys. I'll run back to your house and get you a change of clothes. Then we can get you home."

"We can release you as soon as you're ready to go."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll stop and get my car," Mary said. She hurried out of the hospital room and out to the parking lot. On one hand, she wanted to see Pat get out of the hospital and back home and on the other, that meant that she would be leaving. She couldn't stay though. The state police wouldn't be in town forever and things could go bad again once they were gone. She paused at the door of the pickup truck to put her head on her arm for a moment. Why did the Kaylocks have to be so defensive and why couldn't they believe her when she said that she had no interest in exposing their family history?

She pulled herself together and drove back into town. The trip itself only took 20 minutes and she parked the truck inside Pat's garage. She reasoned that it would be easier to leave the truck here at the house, walk down to Hiram's, and drive her own car. She could drop Pat off at home and then just leave town, regardless of what the officer had told her. It would be less painful that way.

She took care of the truck first and then went into the house. She stood inside the front door and just soaked up the atmosphere. An empty old house never feels empty. All of the generations of families, the children, parents, and grandparents radiated their love and well-being and those emotions just seemed to go into the floors and walls to give the home a warm feeling. A sterile apartment or a newly constructed house never felt like this.

This felt like the farm house she grew up in and the few times that she had been home alone. It seemed that she could feel the house talking to her. At one time, she had thought that she was somehow sensitive to paranormal things, but her parents and brothers had laughed at her. After her experience in the library where she had seen the girl who had not been there, she had come to believe in things like ghosts and spirits.

She closed her eyes and tried to reach out. She felt safe here; it was just too bad that she couldn't hide here from the world. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks from her sense of upcoming loss. She had finally found someone she wanted to know much better and she was going to run away to keep him from being hurt more. He might have lost his job and even killed. All because of her.

She shook herself out of her pity party and went down the hall to Pat's room. The place was still a shambles from the chaos of his assault. For some reason, she felt the need to strip the bed and remake it. A brief search turned up clean sheets. The blankets and spread had been thrown into a corner at some point and were still clean. She made short work of turning the bed into a useable place again so that it would be ready for Pat when he came home.

A quick search of the bureau against the wall revealed underclothes and socks. She pulled a pair of jeans from a shelf in the closet, along with a shirt. It all went into a gym bag that she found on the floor of the closet. (In the gym bag she discovered a deodorant Stick that seemed out of place.

She looked around the house a little before she left to walk down to Hiram's. Even though she didn't go upstairs, she felt like she knew the house intimately. It just seemed to radiate that a warm, welcoming feeling. It was hard for her to pull the door shut behind her and lock it up.

It was a bit cool, even for mid-day, but the walk in the sun would be enough to keep her warm. She would be in the car and on road soon enough, so she could warm up then.

At the gate, she turned to look back at the house. She frowned for a minute when she saw the violets growing among the other flowers beside the house. She didn't remember them when she had been here earlier, but then things had become rather hectic pretty quickly.

Hiram's garage was about a quarter of a mile away, which she considered to be a short walk. If you spent any time in New York City itself, you learned to take a taxi or walk to your destination. Walking was cheaper.

The only part of the trip she was unhappy about was that she would pass the sheriff's office. Considering that there was a large window that faced the street, she knew that the jerk of a law man would take the opportunity to harass her. She could only hope that he was out when she went by.

The road had a bit of a curve to it and she was able to see one of the state police patrol cars in front of the sheriff's office as she rounded the bend. She also could see two troopers come out of the building and get into the car. From the way the doors were slammed, she could tell that they were not happy. She was able to hear the sound from a hundred yards away.

They were long gone by the time she got there and she took a deep breath as she reached the building. Her prayer that she could get by without being bothered went unanswered as the door opened behind as she was hurrying past.

"Hold it missy!" drawled the sheriff. "Where are you going?"

Mary Sue turned back to face the sheriff and saw Ron Kaylock standing next to him. Why did this hick lawman think he could intimidate her? She knew that giving him any kind of an attitude would be foolish though. The basic rule of primates was to never show any weakness and the sheriff would not want to do that in front the younger Kaylock. If nothing else, Ron would just egg the sheriff on to do something she would be unhappy about.

She pause to marshal her thoughts and to get a handle on her temper before she said, "I'm walking down to the garage to get my car. Hiram gave a message to the state trooper who talked to us at the hospital. Then I am going to go back to the hospital to pick up Pat." She tried to throw in a bit of dig when she continued, "I'm going to talk to that state trooper some more."

For some reason, the sheriff smiled while Ron gave out a short laugh. "The troopers were called home again."

"Yes," Ron said. "It appears that someone in the capitol didn't think that they needed to be here bothering the folks in town." The snide look on his face let her know who was responsible for getting the state police recalled. "It's good to have friends you can rely upon."

Before she could turn to leave, the sheriff pointed to the bag in her hand. "What do you have there?"

"Some clothes for Pat Summerfield. They're releasing him and he needs something clean."

"I'm not so sure. I'll need to make sure that you aren't stealing from Mr. Summerfield. Please come into my office."

Ron turned to him and said, "Ralph??? I need to get going. I'll talk to you later." He got into his sparkling new pickup and headed out of town.

Mary watched Ron leave, almost as if she wanted to make sure that he was gone and the he wouldn't be behind her.

The sheriff coughed to get her attention and said, "In here missy."

She was getting tired of hearing that word and really wished that he would use her name instead. But was he even capable of remembering her name?

The sheriff held the door open for her so that she preceded him into the building. His desk was in the back of the office area, but it still had a clear view of everything as well as the large display window. It appeared that this building could have been a retail store at some point. Doors in the back probably lead to interview rooms and holding cells. All-in-all, a rather cut-rate county sheriff's office. Like Pat's house, Mary Sue got a vibe from the place. But this feeling was dark and sharp-edged. There had been a lot of nasty emotions in this place.

He directed her to the same chair in front of his desk that she had occupied the first time he had her in here. She knew that this had to be more harassment intended to make her go away. But she refused to just tell this guy that he had won and that she was leaving.

Instead of search the bag like he had stated, he just looked at her for a minute or two. Mary refused to lose the stare-down contest and looked right back at him, but made sure that she kept any kind of angry expression off her face.

He gave up first and said, "Hiram says that your car is ready. It was apparently loose linkage of some sort."

"Yes, that is what I was told by Leslie."

"You should be more careful about your vehicle maintenance missy. I don't like it when people drive in my town with broken-down cars. Somebody could get hurt and we wouldn't want that would we?" The look the sheriff gave her said that he did not care if she got hurt. She had the feeling that he would have been quite happy if she had been hurt when her car malfunctioned.

She finally reached her boiling point and exploded at him. "My name is Mary Sue McLaughlin. Sir. There was nothing wrong with the steering linkage before yesterday. I'm familiar enough with cars to know that the steering doesn't behave in the way. If anything, the hydraulic system will fail first."

She had remained sitting during her outburst to avoid appearing to be threatening. He leaned forward across his desk to sneer into her face. "I will call you anything I please. Missy. You don't have any rights or authority in my town that I don't give you."

As much as she wished she could take the man down a peg, Mary knew that it was a battle she could not win. She took the wisest option, which was to try to remain non-confrontational.

Her tone was calm and even. "Sheriff, I'm only working on my thesis and the last wagon train. I'm not trying to cause problems. Since I've come to town, someone has tried to burn down a historical landmark, attacked Pat Summerfield, and apparently tried to kill me."

The sheriff sat back in his chair and studied her. "I don't know who has done these things and I really don't want to find out. I can tell you that your research has people concerned about what it might mean to them. If you were smart, you would just leave."

The last thing she wanted to admit was that she was folding her tents and running away. All she could say was, "I'm honestly not trying to cause trouble. I only want to gather my material and move on."

"Look. I answer to people who will be here long after you are gone. I don't like treating people this way."

Based upon his past behavior, his words didn't have the ring of truth to her, but she kept her mouth shut.

The sheriff continued, "You need to finish whatever you are doing and get out of town. I don't like all of the hassle this is causing me."

He allowed her to leave after that and it took her another 10 minutes to reach the garage. Her car was parked out front and looked okay. It didn't look like she had done any damage during her incident. Inside the garage, she found Hiram up to his elbows of an engine block of an old pickup truck.

"Hi Mary. Give me a few minutes to get this done and I'll be right with you."

Mary Sue stayed along the side of the garage. It looked like Hiram wasn't the best housekeeper in his garage; there were a fair number of car parts lying around, covered with grease and oil. Everyone seemed to think that he was a wiz mechanic, so there was no accounting for how he managed things.

Hiram was working away and glancing up every minute or so. Mary was sure that he was harmless, but his behavior was still kind of creepy. She moved to where he couldn't see her, but there was no clean place to sit or lean while she waited and it wasn't comfortable just standing around. The day was warming up and it looked fairly cloudless. She walked out to look over her car and hoped that nothing else would go wrong before she got to the end of the trail.

She looked up at the sound of Hiram closing the hood of the truck he was working on. She turned to go back to the garage. As she walked up to the door, something hit her in the shoulder and spun her around. She heard Hiram yelling at her as she fell against the wall of the building and collapsed, the pain overpowering her ability to stay conscious.

Chapter 12 - The Plot Thickens

She squinted at the bright light in her eyes. It was like the sun was shining directly into her face. Her head felt like it had been packed with cotton and she was having trouble making sense of anything. Realization grew on her that she had been looking at the same spot on the curtain wall beside the bed for minutes before she even knew that it was there.

A dull ache in her shoulder got her attention and served to help her cut through some of the fogginess. The last thing she remembered was a sharp pain in her shoulder outside Hiram's garage. As more sensation returned to her body, she was confused when she didn't feel the gravel and concrete of the garage under her. Instead, it felt like she was lying on some kind of a cushion.

Her eyes flashed open as she took stock of where she was. The lights above her were the standard fluorescent fixtures in a drop ceiling. Turning her head, she saw a curtain that surrounded her bed. It looked to her that she might be in the hospital or a medical facility, but she couldn't tell.

A nurse seated in a chair beside the bed looked up at Mary Sue's movement and stepped to her side.

"Miss McLaughlin? How are you feeling?"

Mary Sue blinked and just looked at her. She felt like she was waking up, but the ability to put words together eluded her. The nurse could see that she was not quite coherent and smiled patiently.

"You're going to be okay," she said. "You are in the hospital and I'm just keeping an eye on you until you're all the way awake."

Mary was getting her wits and strength back quickly. She nodded her understanding and tried to speak. She managed to get out, "What happened?"

"Well, you were shot in the shoulder. I assisted Doctor Morton with your surgery and he removed what looked like a musket ball."

At Mary's surprised look, she continued, "Doctor Morton would be here to talk to you about your surgery, but he had to go into surgery on another emergency. I'm a Physician's Assistant, so I'm able to discuss everything with you when you're ready."

"Could I have something to drink?"

"Sure," the doctor picked up a cup from the table beside the bed and held a straw for her.

Once her throat wasn't quite so dry, she asked, "How long have I been here?"

"You were brought in a little less than six hours ago and we operated as quickly as we could wheel you into an operating room. You were actually very lucky. It looks like the slug missed your collar bone and the artery in your shoulder. It basically hit soft tissue and only penetrated part way. I've actually seen cowboys with worse damage." She smiled encouragingly.

"How long do you think I will need to be here?" Events seemed to be conspiring to keep her from leaving, even though certain people wanted her to go and she was willing to do so.

"Doctor Morton wants to keep you here for a while longer, but I would think could go home tomorrow. There are a couple of people who have been waiting to see you. Are you up to it?"

Mary Sue nodded with a smile. She was pretty sure that one of the people waiting to talk to her was Pat and she wanted to see him more than ever now.

She stepped through the curtain and was gone for a few minutes before she returned leading Pat and Leslie.

Mary Sue looked at them and said, "Hi. I'm glad to see you guys."

Leslie just smiled while Pat said, "The doctor told us that you were going to be okay. How do you feel?"

"My shoulder hurts some, but I don't think that the pain killer they used has worn off yet."

The Physician's Assistant hadn't left the enclosed space; she had just stepped to one side to allow Pat and Leslie to come in. She spoke up. "Doctor Morton prescribed a pain killer for you; he thought that you might need it for the next couple of days. You'll probably want to use a sling to manage the pain."

"I guess I won't be driving my car for a few days then."

"That's okay," Pat said. "I'm able to get around, so I'll be your chauffeur. Besides, I don’t plan on leaving your side." He smiled at the thought that they might be spending even more time together.

"You don't understand," Mary said, looking at him sadly. "I was going to leave town and continue following the wagon train. There have been too many things happening around me and I didn't want you to get hurt again."

Pat's expression went through several changes in a matter of moments. First his eyebrows rose in surprise and then he frowned and then he smiled.

"Well I have a few more days to show you that you don't need to run away."

"I'm afraid that you need to remain in town while I look into this anyway, Miss McLaughlin," Leslie said.

Pat didn't look too surprised by the trooper's statement, but Mary was. Leslie continued, "I've had a chance to look at the bullet that they took out of your shoulder. It's the kind of bullet that was used by antique rifles, which is why I think you are alive."

"I thought that you had been told to leave," Mary said. "I saw the other troopers leaving town."

Leslie smiled grimly and nodded. "I was out of contact with my office until after I heard that you were shot. I reported in after I was able to look at the bullet they removed from your shoulder and found that we had been recalled." She paused and glanced at the P. A. for a moment who mimed that her lips were sealed and then continued, "When I explained that I thought that there might be more going on here in town than the sheriff might be able to handle, my captain gave me clearance to stay. But I'm on my own."

Both Pat and Mary looked at her when she broke that news. "Do you think that you can handle it on your own?" Pat asked.

Leslie's smile promised many things. Its greatest message was that she wasn't concerned. "I can handle myself, I was an armorer in the Marine Corps during Desert Storm and I've been a state trooper for several years." She proceeded to ask Mary questions to find out what had happened to her from the time she had left the hospital to get clothes for Pat. She took notes of everything that Mary told her, but her face gave nothing away about anything that she heard.

When Mary described how she had planned to leave town after dropping off Pat's clothes, his shocked expression made her stop. "There were too many things happening around me," she said. Her eyes filled with tears when she said, "I didn't want to have you get hurt again because I was here."

He knelt beside the bed to bring himself down level with her and smiled at her. "It's just as well that you didn't leave. If you had, I would have had a hell of a time chasing you to bring you back." He stood and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Just the feathery touch of his lips on hers thrilled her to her toes and woke up parts of her body that ached for more attention. She leaned into him and pressed her lips against his to return his kiss with more intensity. Leslie politely coughed to remind them they weren’t alone.

Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled back to look at her. "I think we have more to discuss later." She looked into his eyes and nodded, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

Leslie was watching their exchange with an indulgent smile on her face. "Mr. Summerfield? I need to report to my captain and I'm not sure where I might need to go after that. I trust that you and Miss McLaughlin will be able to get back into town?"

Pat looked up and said, "Yes. I have a friend that will be coming out in an hour or two to get us. Will you meet us later for dinner?"

Leslie thought for a minute and shook her head. "I don't think being seen with you in public would be a good idea. I want to get you both somewhere safe and keep you out of harm's way."

"You mean like protective custody?" Pat asked.

"Yes. I wish I could keep you here in the hospital because it would provide restricted access. But it's too expensive to do that."

"That won't be a problem ma'am," Pat said. "My house was built back when there were Indian raids and it's pretty much a small fortress. I'm going to need to restock the kitchen first though."

"That sounds good. I need you to stay there until I've brought this situation to a close. There is more going on here than a mugging and a botched murder attempt. If it's possible, I would like to keep the two of you in the same location." She waved at the medical assistant and they moved away across the room.

Pat looked down at Mary Sue and twirled a non-existent handlebar moustache.

"Well now. It seems like just a little while ago that I was in bed and you were visiting me. I'll take you home with me."
He smiled when he saw Mary Sue's narrowed eyes. "Don’t give me that look. I have a guest bedroom."

Pat went on, “I asked Liz to go by the motel and get your clothes and books. When Liz gets here, you’ll be able to change into clean clothes, I'm afraid they had to cut off the clothes that you were wearing. They were a bit of a bloody mess. Then I'll take you home with me. Think of me as your personal bodyguard, you will be safe with me from now on."

Mary Sue looked up at him and smiled. She was just a bit starry-eyed at the moment.

Their mutual admiration was interrupted as the curtain around the bed was thrown open and the sheriff appeared. "Well now missy. I see that you are doing just fine, you really should have taken my advice." He stepped to the foot of the bed. "You must be made of steel to be able to be hit in the shoulder and not be on life support."

Before he could continue with his standard bombast, he himself was interrupted by Leslie's return, the physician assistant right behind her.

"There is nothing mysterious about that, Sheriff," she said, making him swing about in surprise. "I had a look at the bullet that was removed from Miss McLaughlin's shoulder and I have a pretty good idea of the type of gun that was used.

"I believe that from the caliber of the bullet, the rifle was an antique. That means that it was not very efficient and the muzzle velocity was fairly low."

"How can you know that?" the sheriff asked. He obviously did not like having anyone tell him his business or intrude upon his territory. Before he could get his feathers ruffled any further, Leslie continued.

"During the time that Miss McLaughlin was in surgery, I canvassed the downtown area and discovered the location where the shooter was standing. I found paper and a percussion cap that were ejected from the rifle. The size of the bullet that was used tells me that we are probably looking for a Civil War Colt Revolver rifle. Those particular rifles were notorious for a great deal of blowback when they were fired and they had a tendency to burn the shooter if they weren't careful."

Sheriff Thompson looked at her in surprise. He obviously was surprised that anyone would be so familiar with firearms and ballistics, especially antique weapons.

"I don't need any help investigating crimes in my county, Missy," he blustered.

Leslie smiled thinly upset by the 'missy' statement so she calmly replied, "I don't mind helping at all Sheriff. Please don’t take it personally, I can’t speak for everyone, but no one, in my office, is directly accusing you of incompetence."

Because the crimes that have been taking place in the past week, my captain agreed that a raised law enforcement presence might be called for. As I am still investigating the arson of a historical landmark and I believe that the attack on Miss McLaughlin is related to that crime, I am within my purview to investigate it as well." She took a step closer to the sheriff, which brought her into his personal space and her knee in perfect striking position. Because of her height, she was able to look him in the eye.

"My name is Leslie Caldwell." Leslie's tone was icily firm. "You may call me Trooper Caldwell. I earned the right be called by my name and rank, not by Missy. I expect you to understand that and respect it." The look in her eye said that she would have that respect from the man or she intended to do bodily harm to certain parts of his anatomy.

While the Sheriff was not out of shape, he was not in peak condition and it was apparent that he knew it. He also was not accustomed to having people stand up to him. He exercised a great deal of wisdom of nodding quickly while Leslie kept her eyes locked on his and restraint because he did not move to cover himself.

“I’m sorry Sheriff, I didn’t hear your response.”

Totally browbeaten by this woman, he meekly answered, “Yes, Trooper Caldwell.”

Before he could turn to see who had witnessed his humiliation at the hands of a woman, the Physician's Assistant had stepped out of her corner and up to Mary's side. She made a production of taking her temperature and pulse, while she kept her face turned away from the sheriff. Her smile would not have been appreciated.

Mary Sue didn't even try to hide her smile at seeing the sheriff put in his place. She could see that Pat was enjoying himself as well. The fact that the sheriff could do nothing about it made it all the more delicious.

In an attempt to salvage some kind of control, he kept his eyes on Leslie and said, "I need to pick up the bullet that was removed from Miss McLaughlin and begin my investigation."

Leslie took much of the wind out of his sails when she said, "I quite understand Sheriff. I have already gotten pictures, its weight, and size. I have contacts with the Forensics team in Cheyenne and they are already doing some work. I'll have them send you a copy of their results when they are done."

She waited a moment for the implication that there was already official knowledge of the bullet that had gone beyond his control. She drove home the final nail when she said, "I didn't want to overstep my bounds by sending them the bullet though. I knew that you needed to see the evidence that had been collected before you sent it on for analysis." Her statement put the man on notice that any suspected corruption had been made virtually impossible.

The sheriff had a rather sour look on his face he brushed past Leslie and left the room. Walking past her was the closest he came to any kind of a display of machismo.

Once he was gone, Leslie looked back to Pat and Mary Sue. She turned to the doctor ??, "Could I speak with these two for a few minutes?"

"I'll get Miss McLaughlin's discharge papers and medication ready." She parted the curtain behind her and left them alone.

Satisfied that they had no witnesses present, Leslie stepped closer to them. "The two of you are in a bit of an interesting and dangerous position. You are both witnesses and victims. I need to tell you that my captain has concerns about an impartial investigation into all of this. He also doesn't like being told what to investigate and when, especially by politicians. It would seem you two have stepped on some very big toes around here. How about sitting down with me and giving me the full lowdown."

"Leslie, I am taking Mary home with me, I am one hell of a cook you are welcome to join us for diner where we can talk in private.”

"It's important that you exercise caution for the next day or two. Once I have enough evidence, we'll have justification to bring in a team and no amount of political pressure will force us to leave."

Pat and Mary were speechless at her revelation and exchanged glances. "Are we safe being in public?" Pat asked.

"Yes, you should be as long as you keep your public appearances to a minimum and only during daylight don’t establish any patterns. But I would prefer that you stay indoors and away from windows. The sheriff knows that I'm looking around in an official capacity and I suspect that whoever is responsible for these crimes will keep a low profile as a result."

With that, Leslie bid them goodbye so that she could take care of making her reports and continue her investigation. The physician assistant came back in with the discharge orders the doctor had left. While she and Mary went over her medication and instructions, Pat went to call Liz for a ride.

They had already agreed that Mary Sue would probably be safest borrowing a room in Pat's house, even though it might not look quite proper. Mary was sure that everyone in town would know that she was Pat's roommate within an hour after her luggage was carried into the house. She resigned herself to accepting the narrowed glances from those who might disapprove and just explain that she was staying in Pat's house for safety.

They made a brief stop on the way through town to allow Pat to pick up Mary's Volkswagen at Hiram's. Pat had to pull Hiram back from going over to Liz's car to check on Mary Sue. He had been panicked when he had actually witnessed the shot impacting her shoulder as he came out of the garage. Pat had to explain that she needed some time to settle down, just like he was sure Hiram did. Pat assured him that Mary appreciated everything that he had done to help her.

Once they reached the house, Liz helped Pat get Mary Sue's luggage moved into the house. Mary Sue wasn't allowed to move anything other than herself and found herself installed in an armchair. The rest of the work was done in a matter of minutes and Liz was off to get Pat's groceries.

When Liz arrived, she brought in Mary's suitcase to allow her to change clothes. Mary resigned herself to doing without a bra for a day or two, she might have to resort to Band-Aids though. Strangely Liz remained behind closing the curtain. She offered to help but it still made Mary a bit uncomfortable. Liz did button up the blouse she had brought, even if her hands did seem to linger on her breasts more than seemed necessary. The skirt was a little more of a challenge but she zipped it in front before she pulled it around to look presentable.

She was fortunate to have Liz helping her finish up. It was a bit embarrassing to need help to even pull up her socks and Liz seemed to enjoy running her hands up her calves. It felt nice, but she didn't think that she should be enjoying a woman's hands on her legs quite as much. Even with the dull pain in her shoulder, the feathery touches that Liz was torturing her with were waking her breasts and crotch. She was glad that Pat wasn't present for this.

She looked down at where Liz was kneeling and said with a mock scowl, "You are so evil." She was rewarded with a teasing smile in return, but Liz didn't seem to have her heart in it. She finally took mercy upon Mary Sue after helping her with her shoes and sat down on the bed beside her.

"Sorry. I just couldn't resist teasing. Do you think that you'll be okay?"

"I think so. The damage to my shoulder was like being stabbed more than anything. I just have to be careful of the stitches they put in and I'll be fine. I just won't be lifting anything for a while. Or even drive a car."

Pat came in at that point. He'd heard her last statement and said, "That's okay. My head is okay, so I'll be your taxi driver." Mary Sue gave him a warm smile.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, please. I guess that I have to stick with water though. These discharge orders say that I'm not allowed to have alcohol while I'm taking the pain killers. Never mind that the booze would be a painkiller too." She smiled as she waved the sheaf of papers she had been given.

"I'm afraid that it would have to be water anyway. Liz will be back in an hour, but the kitchen is pretty bare right now."

Mary smiled a bit lop-sided as Pat took a seat across from her.

"We're a fine pair. You have a dent in your head and I've got a hole in my shoulder."

"I don't know about that," Pat replied. "We could be so much worse. I could be in the hospital with a skull fracture and that bullet could have hit you somewhere much worse."

Mary nodded slowly. "I guess the pain meds haven't worn off completely yet. You would think that I would be freaking out about being shot."

Pat shook his head. "No. The hospital wouldn't let you go out of their clutches if you were still loopy." He smiled warmly at her. "I think that you must have gone through the panic phase while you were still at the hospital. You don't give yourself enough credit for what you can handle."

Inside, Pat's stomach felt hollow and fluttery. The fact that Mary Sue could have been killed hadn't really struck him until he had actually voiced the possibility. The thought made him feel a bit ill.

For her part, Pat's reminder of the attack on himself brought back her original thoughts about why all of this was happening to them.''

"I'm sorry all of this has happened," she said quietly. "If I hadn't been researching the wagon train and then refused to stop, you wouldn't have been hurt and I wouldn't have been shot." Tears were beading up and preparing to start streaming down her face.

Pat was beside her in an instant, pulling her to him as best he could. "It isn't your fault. That journal was like a time bomb. It would have been found at some point and the truth would have come out. We're going to be okay and Leslie is looking into things.

"This house is over a hundred years old and walls were made to be a foot thick to insulate against the winters. The windows are our only weak point because it would take a rocket launcher to damage the walls. I don't think that anyone is going to try a firebomb through a window.

"Considering what was in that journal, I think that it's a pretty safe bet that the Kaylocks are somehow behind everything and Leslie is going to find that out."

When Mary Sue turned to look up at Pat, she found herself inches from his face. Their eyes met and neither looked away.

Pat's first kiss was a chaste kiss that just brushed against her lips. It was an invitation and a request for more. He pulled back only a little, leaving Mary hungry for more. She crossed the distance to press her lips firmly against Pat's. Tongues brushed against parted lips and danced around each other in exploration.

It was a couple of minutes before they pulled back to actually look at each other. Mary felt flushed and a bit light-headed. The smile on her face was a reflection of Pat's. The need to protect Mary's shoulder from harm meant that they couldn't do anything more than hold each other...carefully and neck.

They moved over to the sofa where there was more room. Not that they needed it though. Now that they knew that the other was safe and soon-to-be healthy again, they weren't afraid to give in some to the hormones that had been bothering them both. They were so lost in each other that they didn't notice the passage of time until the doorbell sounded.

Pat carefully disconnected himself from Mary Sue while he let Liz in with a load of groceries. He made a trip of his own to bring in the rest and started storing things away. Liz took time to sit down next to Mary to give her a hug and to check on how she was doing.

"I'm feeling okay, but the painkillers might be wearing off. My shoulder is pounding a little."

"I've some of the folks that I have rescued as part of being with the fire department. I know how much something like this could start hurting. You should think about taking something and getting some rest. That will be the best thing for you."

She patted Mary's knee and said, "I have to get down to the diner. Lieutenant Caldwell told me that she wanted to interview me yet this evening." At Liz's statement that Leslie wanted to talk to her, Mary saw the same kind of withdrawal she had observed at the hospital. She wondered if Liz was somehow concerned about talking to Leslie about something.

Pat poke his head around the corner from the kitchen as Liz started for the door. "Would you like something to eat or go in to take a nap? I just have to fix up the bed for you."

Mary Sue smiled up at him and said, "I already made the bed for you. I took care of it when I was here to get your clothes. Back when I had two good arms."

He returned her smile. "Okay. Let me get you a painkiller and I'll get you settled on the bed."

After she popped a pill, he kept an arm around her as they walked down the hall to his bedroom. The room was warm because of the afternoon sun. Pat helped her get situated on the bed without putting any stress on her arm or shoulder. Once she was comfortable, he got up to leave and Mary Sue said, "Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone right now. Besides you did promise not to leave my side until I’m well." He smiled gently at her before going around the bed to lay down beside her. They both knew that nothing could happen, at least until Mary's shoulder was in better shape.

Her damaged shoulder was between the two of them, so Pat carefully slid up to her side and stretched his arm above her head. The last thing Mary did before she fell asleep was to snuggle closer to her man and give out a contented sigh.

Chapter 13 - The Fog Begins to Clear

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Editor: Qmodo

It was still early afternoon when Leslie left the hospital. Mary Sue had been incredibly lucky. As a trained law enforcement officer, Leslie couldn't say for sure the gunman had intended to kill her. If the intention was to just wound her, the shooter had to be an expert marksman. In a state full of hunters, such a person would not be hard to find. A few inches one way or the other would have been fatal. Leslie had to assume that the attack had been intended to kill Mary Sue. Failure to think otherwise could result in her own death. Leslie had to also wonder about the selection of an antique weapon, was that intentional or simply a matter of availability.

She had taken the time to interview Hiram about everything he'd seen from the moment Mary Sue had walked into the garage. The man had been pretty shaken after seeing Mary Sue shot right in front of him, for an experienced hunter this surprised her. She had interrogated many a suspect and was good at it. All her instincts told her that he was not involved in the attack.

She considered herself an excellent judge of character and, by the time she was done, she had a pretty good picture of who and what Hiram Wilson was. He was a nice enough guy, but a bit odd. He was able to thrive and even be successful here in a small town, but a large city would eat him up and spit him out. While he had the knowledge and the equipment to damage Mary Sue's car, she just couldn't believe that the rejection of his romantic advances was sufficient motive to do something that might kill someone.

From what Hiram told her, Mary Sue had been polite to him and had not given him any reason to think that she was interested in him. Leslie reflected that Hiram might be a bit strange and dealing with some low self-esteem issues. He seemed to have an abnormal need for approval. But, at the same time, he was a realist and he saw things for the way they were. Like most men, in the case of an attractive unattached girl that didn't keep him from hoping.

The one piece of information Hiram had been able to give her was that any gearhead could have tampered with the car so that it would ultimately crash. That wasn't very helpful since there seemed to be a home mechanic under every shade tree. Every farmer and rancher had learned to work on their equipment from an early age.

In the briefcase beside her were the pieces of evidence Mary Sue had collected at Pat's house. Leslie was impressed with how carefully each item had been preserved for use by someone in law enforcement. She had even taken the time to write down where she had found each piece, the only thing missing were pictures. When she asked Mary Sue about it, she explained that her expertise had been acquired from watching cops shows on television. The girl would make a good investigator if she decided to go into that line of work. It was annoying that Sheriff Jackson had exhibited no interest in looking over the crime scene. She could only assume that he was aware of what was going on in the county, if he wasn't somehow involved.

Leslie could see that the hosiery and panties that had been used on Pat were of high quality and that they were not items that you would find on the shelf at Walmart or Target. Considering the location, speaking to someone at the mercantile in town might at least give her some information she could use. So that would be her first stop.

The store was fairly large, considering the size of the town. But Laramie appeared to be a central location for the folks that lived in the area. The store filled the entire block and there were at least two stories. There were departments for men and women, as well as sections for electronics, home improvement and snack food. A sign indicated that riding tack was on the second floor. There was no attempt to stock food items and she assumed that was to avoid competition with the grocery store that was located out on the highway.

It took her a few minutes to find the area she wanted. Woman's delicates were hidden out of view in a back corner. She spent a few minutes browsing through the ladies' merchandise and could see offerings for women and girls that were good enough for daily wear or to church, but nothing upscale. It looked like you either ordered what you wanted or drove up to the city to shop at the larger stores.

She waited at the counter for only a couple of minutes before a matron-appearing woman came over. Her brown hair was just showing the start of gray and she had it twisted around the back of her head into some form of a bun. It made her look older than she really was and a bit severe, but that might have been the intent. Her name tag said 'Ruth'.

Her smile was friendly enough and Leslie's uniform did not seem to affect her bearing when she said, "Hi. May I help you?"

"Is this all of your lady's wear? I was looking for something fancy."

"Yes. This is everything that we carry in our inventory. Were you looking for something special?"

Leslie could put her head down and say softly "I'm going to be in town for a few days and I wanted to treat myself with something really classy not trashy? I'm not really worried about the price really is not a concern."

"We don't get very many requests for that kind of thing here. Usually folks make the trip down to Cheyenne to shop at some of the larger stores."

"I see. I suppose that wouldn't be a problem for me because I live closer to Cheyenne. I'll just have to settle for something less flashy. What about the people who can't get down to the city to do their shopping?"

"A lot of people use the Internet to special order things like that, but we have a lot of customers that aren't comfortable with that, so we do offer a service that will handle placing the order and take delivery for them. We occasionally place lingerie orders for some of the men in town that don’t want them delivered to their homes. Surprises for their wives they tell us. "

Smirking she added, "There are a lot of large sized woman around these parts so I guess they could be telling the truth." Then with an impish grin added, "Some of the single men have asked for our help too."

Leslie's radar immediately perked up that piece of news. She was sure that there were not too many people in the area who would purchase this quality of lingerie and be willing to treat it as nothing more than rags. Most folks in the area were lucky to survive in today's economy.

"So I could order anything that I need?" She knew that delivery would be long after she left town, so she wasn't intending upon actually ordering anything.

"Oh yes. Is there something in particular you were looking for?"

"Actually there is." Leslie opened her briefcase and took out the plastic bags holding her evidence. "This is what I'm interested in." She lay the bags down on the counter between them.

Ruth's smile faded when she saw Leslie's evidence. It was apparent that Ruth had seen this kind of merchandise in the past and Leslie's pulse quickened at the possibility that her job had just gotten easier.

"This lingerie looks rather high quality. I know that we don't carry anything like this." Ruth said.

"Can you tell me if this was something that was ordered through the store?"

"I can't say that I have seen anything like this ordered recently. Maybe one of the other girls did though."

Leslie was sure that any other employee that she spoke with would say the same thing. The difference was that they would all be telling her the truth when they said that they had no knowledge about this lingerie. Ruth had information that she needed, but getting it would be problematic.

Ruth's behavior was akin to being afraid to talk about this as well as some sadness. Maybe she could take some pressure off from her.

"You do keep records of special orders, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. I don't have access to that information though. You would need to talk to Emily Stone, our manager."

This was exactly what Leslie wanted. It went without saying that the store kept records and speaking with the manager would take the pressure away from Ruth.

"Is Emily here? I'd like to ask her some questions if I could. It would really help me."

Ruth nodded and her smile returned. "I'll go get her. It will be a few minutes." She hurried off and disappeared into the back of the store.

While she was gone, Leslie browsed through the shelves and racks for a change of clothing. She had a bag in the trunk of her car as she found herself roving around the state and could be hours away from home at the end of the day. But it was never quite enough for what she needed. Such was the life of a state trooper.

She had a change of clothes for a couple of days selected and on the counter by the time Ruth came out of the back with an attractive middle aged woman, wearing a long white flowing skirt and a long sleeved button up lavender blouse. This had to be Emily as she led the way back over to where Leslie waited.

"Hi. I'm Emily Stone. Ruth said that you needed to speak to me?" She appeared to be a few years younger than Ruth. Her smile was just as easy as Ruth's and she kept her hair completely natural instead of tying it up like Ruth had done. Leslie eyes were somehow drawn to the glossiness of Emily's black hair and how her understated makeup made her blue eyes seem to stand out.

Leslie returned her smile and their eyes met. She felt a warm flush in her face that seemed to spread down her front. Emily was a kindred spirit of some sort and Leslie knew that she would be able to accomplish a lot by just asking politely. She could see that Emily was similarly affected.

"Well hello there Ms. Stone, I'm looking into the arson at the library and some of the other things that took place yesterday. I'm hoping that you can answer a few questions for me." The truth was always the best approach to things...except when lying would advance an investigation.

Emily's face clouded for a moment. She took a step closer, stopping just outside Leslie's private space. She was close enough Leslie could detect the delicate floral scent she was wearing. Extending her well-manicured hand she warmly said, "Please. Call me Em, officer. I'll try to help you if I can."

Leslie liked the informal atmosphere that Em was trying to establish. She liked things that way herself.

"My name is Leslie, Em." The two women smiled again, comfortable with each other. "I'm trying to determine where this lingerie could have come from." She indicated her evidence bags that she had replaced in her open briefcase. "They were used in the assault upon Pat Summerfield."

Emily joked, "Assaulted with lingerie? That must be a first."

Leslie smiled while she absentmindedly played with her hair and bite her lower lip." It's a long story, I can't go into now."

There was no harm in sharing information about this particular case. News and gossip seemed to travel faster than the phone lines could possibly carry it, so any knowledge of this evidence was either public knowledge or was on its way already.

Using Pat Summerfield's name and saying that this was related to his assault were the magic words that opened up the Aladdin's Cave of information. Both Emily and Ruth lost their reticence and were totally focused upon what Leslie wanted to know.

"This clothing does look vaguely familiar," Emily said. "It's way beyond the quality of lingerie that I could afford though. We don't have much call to order this kind of thing around here. But it would have been a few years ago that we would have handled that order."

"Really? Can you tell me anything about it?"

Emily looked around and said, "This is something that should really be discussed in my office." She looked to Ruth and asked her to take care of the merchandise that Leslie had gathered and led Leslie into the back of the store.

Emily stopped at her office door and ushered Leslie in. Once they were behind a closed door in Emily's office, she motioned to an overstuffed leather chair positioned in front of her desk. As Leslie sat Emily slid into her office chair and faced the state trooper, "I like how you have your hair pulled back. That color really suits you."

Leslie blushed again. Working with mostly guys all of the time in today’s climate of political correctness meant that she didn't get many compliments. "Thank you. Not being able to let my hair down is the one thing about this job that I don't like. I've always thought that black hair like yours was what I would love to have. It is really lovely, but with my complexion I wouldn't be able to pull it off."

Emily smiled at the compliment and then asked, "We haven't heard how Pat is doing? He is really a nice guy; I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt him. I understand that the girl he was helping got hurt too. Can you tell me what happened to them? Are they okay? I only heard that they got hurt, but not how."

"Yes, they're both fine. Pat will have a lump on his head and Mary Sue is going to be okay too. I'm surprised that you don't know about it already. I know how fast news travels in small towns."

Emily giggled at her comment, undid the top button on her blouse and bent forward exposing just a hint of lace from her bra. With an absolutely straight face, she looked Leslie directly in the eyes and fanned herself with her hand and said, "Is it just me or is it hot in here." Emily immediately smiled and apologized to say, “Sorry, I didn't mean to act silly, but I've always wanted to be able to say that.”

Leslie squirmed in her seat and sat up straight. Flirting with an attractive woman had not been on her to do list this morning and she was a little off her stride, but she was having fun. She uncrossed her legs and wished that the desk wasn't between them.

Emily arched her back pointing her feminine endowments directly at her quest while she was obviously batting her eyelashes at Leslie. She toned it down again with a grin.

"Ruth wasn't around back when this lingerie was purchased. If I remember correctly, I was the assistant manager at the time and I remember when Mr. Kaylock would place orders for things like this at least once a week. I know that his wife really liked to wear things of this quality. She knew that he wanted to surprise her, so she would come into the store the day after he placed an order and make sure that they were the ones that she wanted. I learned to hold the order back until she had looked it over and approved or changed it.

Emily was sad as she recalled her boss' wife. "Mrs. Kaylock was a nice woman. Mr. Kaylock was nothing the way he is now and I think that she made him a better man. When she died, he lost the only thing that kept him being a decent person. Since then, he has been focused upon enlarging his ranch and taking control of more and more of the county. I guess he's decided that getting into Congress is an even better idea. He's become harder and harder to work for."

"How did his wife die?"

"It came out of nowhere, one day she was fine and the next she was dead from a stroke. There was an autopsy done and the results were not supposed to be known, but this town is small enough that nothing stays secret for very long. Especially when she was so well liked."

Leslie smiled again. "I guess that explains why there isn't a town newspaper. All you have to do is stop by the gas station or the diner to get the day's news."

Emily laughed. "Work has been keeping me pretty close to my desk this past week. Mr. Kaylock wants the books looking good in case anyone starts looking into his business records. I only hear snippets of gossip and I haven't even been able to get to the diner for lunch."

"I can sympathize. I'm on the road almost half of every month. I probably won't get back to my apartment for a few more days."

Leslie couldn't miss how Em's eyes seemed to light up a bit at that. Emily moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and inquired, "Will you be staying here in town

Leslie hesitated for a moment. Did she want to share where she would be in town? She relaxed when she realized that it would be impossible to keep secret anyway.

"Thanks for the offer but I expect to be staying with Pat Summerfield and Mary McLaughlin."

"Well if it gets too crowded with the three of you living together, after all two is company and three is a crowd. I have a vacant room no one is using at the moment and you could make use of it. I am always willing to support my local lawman, especial when he is an attractive woman."

Emily was suddenly nervous as she said, "If you're staying in town, do you think that you might like to come down to the diner? We could share a meal sometime. I hate eating alone and it gets lonely around here without good companionship."

"Yes, I will be. I need to talk to a few people yet and I'm hoping to do that tonight. Then I can relax for the rest of the night." Leslie was hoping that Em's questions meant something.

Emily was suddenly playing with a pen as she said shyly, "Maybe I'll see you there?"

"I think that I would like that. We could get something to eat and just talk."

Em's smile shone like a spotlight. "The diner is the social hub here in town. They might not have a good wine cellar, but they have a great selection of cold beer. If someone sees us having dinner together, the entire county will know by breakfast."

Leslie acknowledged her with a nod. "I'm not really concerned about what people think or say about me." She looked Emily in the eye and said, "If you think that gossip would be interesting, imagine what it would be if we also had breakfast together.’

Emily laughed, "It’s not my reputation I was thinking about. I was just concerned about what people talking could do to your job."

Leslie waved her hand dismissively. "My personal life is no one's business but my own. If I'm not breaking the law, my boss is only concerned about whether I'm stopping crime."

"I hope I see you there," Em said warmly. Both women stood for a moment looking into each other's eyes. Emily attempted to step around Leslie to lead her out. But accidently tripped and fell, Leslie caught her to prevent her from falling. Emily stood up, apologized and before Leslie could react gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank you.

Leslie really did not want to head over to the fire house, she would have been happy to talk with Emily for much longer. Maybe over a drink later.

Emily opened the door for her and Leslie stepped back into the store itself. She felt Emily watching her as she walked back to where Ruth stood with the clothes she had folded neatly for Leslie. At the counter, she looked back at Emily and the two women exchanged small hand waves and smiles.

* * * * *

She put her new clothes into the section of the trunk she had cleared out for herself. Using the same car to cover her region of the state meant that her trunk seemed to be filled with equipment and she had to work to maintain some space. The distance to the fire house was short, but she wanted the car near her. It probably took longer to move the car than it would have taken her to walk there.

She could see the hulking fire engine sitting halfway out on the approach apron. She saw a couple of men loading equipment into the lockers on the side of the truck. She left her car well out of the way of big doors of the building and walked up to the main fire truck. The two men she had seen looked up as she came up to them and one, apparently in charge, turned to her.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Can I help you?"

Leslie smiled disarmingly. "I hope so. Are you the chief?"

"No, I'm the good looking one this other mutt is the chief." He hooked his thumb at the larger man at the back of the truck.

The chief stuck out his meaty paw to shack hands and said "Do you need something officer?"

Leslie had read the report that the man had filed regarding the library fire and she knew that he had told an entirely objective review of what had happened and made no attempt to slant the facts in some way. Because the report submitted by the sheriff had been the opposite, she knew that the fire chief would be ally she could depend upon.

"I'm looking into the fire at the library because it's a historic landmark and the violence that has been going on. I'm trying to find out if it is all related."

The fire chief nodded. "Yes. I heard about Pat and we were the first responders when Miss McLaughlin was shot."

Leslie returned his nod. She already knew that they had been there for Mary Sue. What she needed to determine was if any of his men might have been involved with the assault on Pat. She was sure that he would not be as friendly if she came right and asked him if any of his people might be responsible.

"Was anyone here in the station yesterday morning? Would anyone have seen anything out of the ordinary?" Even though it had been very early, she wanted to rule people out. The gemstone that Mary Sue had found outside of Pat's house indicated the possible involvement of a woman or a man with a diamond in his ring. Either one narrowed her suspect pool.

"I'm afraid not. I was the only one here and I was sound asleep until about 6. There weren't any calls, so I didn't have any reason to call in the rest of the guys – we are a volunteer Fire Department."

"That's what I figured. He was attacked when everything would have been deserted. Just traffic alone would have been something. So you didn't open up around here until after 6?"

"I'm afraid not. Tom didn't get here until about 6:30. We're the only two full-timers here."

She asked a few more questions like how many volunteers he had in the department and what kind of training they had. The chief provided her a by name roster and a copy of everyone's training records. She came away knowing that there were only ten total team members and they all took part in training that would make them all capable of moving an unconscious body into Pat's house. She spent the rest of the afternoon determining any possible alibis for the people on the list the chief provided her. She left Liz for last because she would be in the diner later on.

* * * * *

The insistent ringing of the doorbell finally got through to Pat. The light in the room had faded as the sun had gone down, but he could see enough to know that Mary was still sleeping soundly. He carefully slid away from her, avoiding any jostling, and headed for the front door, pulling the bedroom door partway closed.

But the time he got to the door, the doorbell had been replaced with loud knocking. The front door was made of heavy oak, so he looked through the peephole for safety. Seeing that it was Leslie, he quickly opened up and let her in. He signaled for her silence and led her back to the kitchen. They took seats around the table with a pitcher of water.

"I'm glad you heard me," Leslie said. "I doubt that forcing a door like that would have been easy."

Pat smiled. "This house was built to withstand Indian attacks. It would be a chore to chop through that door and to even burn it. The weakest part about it are the hinges that hold it in the frame."

Leslie nodded her satisfaction. "That's good. I can see that your first floor windows are even designed for security, with heavy wood shutters. I recommend you keep them closed. It would seem this really is the safest place for you to stay. How is Mary doing?"

"She's still asleep, but I think that she is handling things all right."

"I'm pretty sure that whoever attacked you and sabotaged Mary Sue's car is the same person. The same person probably shot her as well. I'm trying to determine if that person had any accomplices. The fire at the library seems to be different to me though. That appears to have been an attempt to destroy evidence and it was not necessarily aimed at you, except for the fact that the doors were chained shut.

"I'm ruling out people right now rather than trying to point to suspects. The last person I want to talk to is Liz at the diner. I thought that it would work to escort the two of you to dinner and interview her at the same time."

"That sounds good to me. We've been sleeping all day and it would be easier for us to eat there instead of trying to fix a meal right now. I'll go get Mary up and moving. I'll be back in a few minutes."

While Pat went back to roust Mary Sue out of bed, Leslie reviewed her notes. All incidents coincided with Mary Sue's arrival in town. It wasn't until she visited the library to look at the old records and newspapers that were stored there that the violence had started. The arson almost seemed to be an act of desperation, which begged the question of whether the chained door had been intended to keep occupants in the building or to keep out those who intended to put the fire out.

When it became known that not only had everything been salvaged from the building, the violence had escalated. While the attack on Pat had been a simple assault, Mary Sue could have been killed. Was Pat spared because he was a resident of the town? It didn't seem that her attacker was squeamish, which meant that there could be more than a single bad actor involved.

Leslie sat back and tapped her pen against her teeth in thought. It meant that she needed to shake things up around here. She wished that she was a detective like Sherlock Holmes or Columbo. They at least had a good idea who the bad guy was when they started work. But maybe the person or people she was looking for wouldn't be that hard to find.

She looked up as Mary Sue made her way into the kitchen. The girl didn't look too bad for having been shot only the day before. Of course, she wouldn't be winning beauty contests for a while.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" Leslie asked. Asking how Mary felt was just asinine. It was obvious that she wasn't feeling the best. She looked tired and Leslie could tell that she was in some pain.

"I took one of the pain killers they gave me. I'm okay to go out on the town, but don't ask me to drive or play tennis. What is really annoying is that I can't even brush my hair without help."

Pat spoke up, "That's no problem I will be happy to be your personal maid for a few days. I am more than a pretty face. I can cook, clean, do laundry, keep house and if need be I can also be your nurse."

Mary Sue joked, "Just what every girl dreams of, a six foot - two hundred pound handmaiden."

Pat frowned sucked in his stomach and said, "Are you calling me fat? I'm not even at 200 pounds!"

Mary Sue and Leslie looked at each other and laughed, "No it's just a figure of speech. I can at least wipe my butt." She smiled wryly. "I think that Pat and I will be keeping the Tylenol folks in business this week."

Leslie nodded and smiled a bit sympathetically. "I've been shot once myself," she said. "I was out of work for 2 weeks and I drove a desk for another 4 after that." She slapped the table and stood to break the mood. "Let's go over to the diner. The fresh air will be good for you both and I don't think that you're in any danger."

"Showing the public that we're okay can't hurt either," Pat said as he came in behind Mary Sue.

Leslie nodded and grinned. "That's true. I know that you will be fine tonight with me and I don't plan on letting you go anywhere alone. I have a few more people to talk to before I file my report and recommend what action my superiors should take."

The three of them drove down to the diner in Leslie's state-issued car. The drive was all of a mile, Pat complained about the lack of leg room because he rode in the back. Leslie agreed with him and apologized. He should just be happy that he wasn't stuck back there.

The diner was about half full with a couple of tables holding a large group of men in some kind of a meeting. They were keeping the noise down so that they did not overpower conversations in the rest of the place. There were only a few times when laughs or a word might be said a bit loudly.

On the other side of the dining room were seated half a dozen couples sprinkled around so that they had a semblance of privacy. Of note was a table where Sheriff Jackson was seated with his wife Samantha. Liz was moving among the tables with water and coffee. It took Leslie only a moment to scan the occupied tables to see that Emily was not present and she felt a little disappointed.

The three of them took a table near the back because Leslie was playing it safe. She faced the door and kept her back to the wall. Just because she thought that Pat and Mary Sue were safe being out in public was no reason to tempt fate by putting them on display in the front of the restaurant. Liz was over quickly to drop off glasses of water and menus before she flitted away again. While Liz was seeing to the large group up front, Leslie left the two of them at the table while she went up to talk to Fred, her boss, for a few minutes. When she finished, she took a seat at a table further into the back of the dining room. When Liz swung back through, she waved Liz over and asked her to take a seat.

"I can't right now. I have tables that need to be taken care of."

Fred chimed in at that point. "It's okay, Liz. I'll watch the dining room while you talk to the Lieutenant."

None of this had been missed by the sheriff who was apparently concentrating intently upon his meal. Leslie knew that he was listening, his presence was immaterial. Just as she knew that Pat and Mary Sue could hear from where they sat, she knew that the sheriff would hear as well. This fit in with her intention to stir the waters as see what came to the surface. The town grapevine already knew what she was doing anyway.

Liz shrugged and slid into the chair across from Leslie.

Leslie gave her a friendly smile to put her at ease. "Thank you. I just have a few questions to round out my report." She opened her notebook and said, "You were the first one to find Miss McLaughlin after her car went out of control, correct?"

"Yes. It was almost off the road and pointed toward the drainage ditch. Another ten feet and she would have been in the ditch."

"Hiram says that her car could only have been driven a few miles before the steering failed, so the damage had to have been done the night before. That would have been sometime before or after Mr. Summerfield was attacked."

"Yes, that makes sense."

"Now, the reason I'm interviewing you and your fellow firefighters is because it took a man strong enough and trained to move a 200 pound unconscious person." Pat bit his tongue, damn it he was only 180 pounds!

Surprisingly it was Liz took offense, "I'm not a feminist! But any woman who is properly trained can move a dead weight of that size."

Leslie smiled to herself, realizing that Liz had been hoist with her own petard. "You're right Liz. I hadn't thought of that. Now that I think about it, according to your records you have had that type of training, right?"

Liz suddenly realized that there was a good possibility she could be accused of the two crimes and became cautious and quiet.

"Liz, I have to ask you where you were that night. You have the automotive knowledge to know what to do to a car and you have the firefighter training to move a person. I need to be able to rule you out as a possible suspect."

Liz was suddenly nervous and managed to get out, "I was at the firehouse, checking over the engine. It's been acting up and it was a good time to take care of it."

Leslie leaned forward and looked intently at Liz. "Miss McHenry, I’ve talked to the fire chief first thing today. He says that the station was closed up and he didn't have anyone around until at least half past six in the morning."

"That's right. I was here, doing some deep cleaning. We don't have much of a chance to do that usually."

Fred was checking the tables around them and spoke up. "That's not true Liz. I was here early."

Caught in another lie, Liz froze. Leslie could see her mind racing, trying to come up with something to say that would sound likely. She put her notebook and pen down on the table and sat back in her chair. She studied Liz's face and could see that Liz was frightened. She could also see that she was not the person she was looking for, but she knew something or had something that she did not want to reveal.

Liz finally broke down and said, "Alright! I’ll tell you the absolute truth, I was home in bed all night." Leslie had heard that alibi too many times to take it seriously and it showed on her face.

"Liz, my gut tells me that you are probably not involved in these incidents. But I can only go by the facts. Your inability to explain your whereabouts when these crimes were committed is a problem. I will have to take you into custody, I am sure Sheriff Jackson can find room for you in his jail. I wouldn’t be doing my job otherwise. I'm going to have to include this in my report and I can only advise you to engage an attorney."

Liz looked like she wanted to say something, but her expression changed as she overrode that desire.

"I know that it looks bad, but I could not have gotten under Mary Sue's car to do anything to it. I pulled a muscle in my back and I was wearing a corset as a back brace. I couldn't have bent over to save my life." Her expression was entirely sincere and she really hoped the Leslie accepted this alibi.

From where she sat, it occurred to Mary Sue that this might account for the brace she had felt when she had hugged Liz right after the accident. Mary Sue and Pat were not the only ones to have overheard the conversation between Leslie and Liz. Before she could speak up to backup Liz's statement, a defense came from a different quarter.

Samantha had not said a word during Leslie's interview, but she had almost hung on every word. It was difficult for her to listen in on what was being said without letting her husband see her interest. When she heard that Liz might now be a suspect, and possibly incarcerated under her husband's care, she couldn't remain still. Leslie was taken by surprise when Samantha came to the table and stood beside Liz, her hands resting on Liz’s shoulders looking down at Leslie.

"Officer..." She hesitated in her approach, almost as if she were realizing what she was doing. "Liz wasn't involved with what happened to Pat or Miss McLaughlin." She hesitated again before she rushed to get what she needed to say out. "She was with me...all night."

Pat couldn’t keep quite. "Wait a minute Samantha, Liz just told us she was home in bed?"

Samantha looked at Pat and said, "I can verify that."

The noise from the tables on the other side of the diner suddenly seemed deafening. The tables around Liz and Leslie were deathly quiet.

Liz looked up at her with a mix of love, admiration, and sorrow. Samantha had revealed a secret that probably meant damage to her marriage, if not the end of it. Liz had obviously been prepared to deal with the possible legal problems rather than cause her lover problems. The lover who had just come to her defense and rescue.

Leslie was seated so that she could see the entire restaurant, while Liz had her back to it. Samantha's attention was focused solely upon Liz, so neither woman saw the sheriff push himself away from the table and leave the building with a cold look on his face. Leslie did see his reaction however. Likewise, Pat and Mary Sue had seen his reaction and had kept their reaction to themselves. Even though there was no love lost between Pat and the sheriff, it was disrespectful to kick the man when he was down. A man can understand losing his wife to another man, but the shame to lose her to a woman had to be unbearable.

Leslie looked up at Samantha and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. I appreciate having you tell me that. It's what I needed to know and it really helps. I am sorry that you had to speak out now though. If I had known that this would be the situation, I would not have spoken to Liz here." She looked sympathetically at both Liz and Samantha. "I know how hard it was admit that."

Samantha spoke up. There was anger in her eyes. " I don’t think you have any idea how hard it was to raise the veil over something you have been forced to keep hidden your entire life."

Leslie shook her head, "Mrs. Jackson, I beg to differ, I was in the military during a time when, if my own sexual orientation had become known, I would have been treated like a criminal solely because of my sexual orientation. The times are changing, from what I have learned, both you and Liz are well respected in town. I doubt anyone is going to demand you wear a Scarlet letter on your chest."

That was when Samantha looked up and realized that her husband was no longer at their table. She looked around and could not see him anywhere. "He left when you spoke up for Liz," Leslie told her. "I am sorry, obviously not everyone is going to understand."

Leslie knew that she had mishandled this interview and was responsible for damaging Samantha's marriage and probably destroying it. She needed to include this in her report. It was entirely possible that a lawsuit could be filed against her for this action and she was not going to make the state share the responsibility.

Samantha stood looking at the front door of the diner for a minute, lost in thought. She looked back to Leslie and her face creased in a seldom-seen smile, even though there were tears in her eyes. "It's okay officer," she said. "This was a long time coming. It's a surprise that we were able to keep it secret as long as we did. I'll have to see what Royce is going to do."

She looked to Liz who had been frozen at the table in sorrow for the death of her lover's marriage. The look on Liz's face was a mixture of love and fear. Her face was wet with her tears as she contemplated losing Samantha back to her husband.

"Do you have a place for me tonight?"

That plaintive question and Samantha's timid tone had Liz up and hugging Samantha in a heartbeat.

"Of course I do. You can stay as long as you want. But I get first choice of closet space, I know what a clothes horse you are." Samantha just seemed to melt into Liz's arms. The men's group in front had looked over when Jackson had stormed out, but had gone back to their conversations, so Leslie, Pat, and Mary Sue were the only ones watching now. The three of them smiled at the happiness before them.

The restaurant door opened and Leslie up to see Emily standing just inside, looking around. They both smiled when they saw each other and Emily walked back to where they were all situated. Liz and Samantha were still lost in their lovers' embrace. Leslie stood to greet her new friend and smiled as Emily stopped in front of her.

"Hi." A thrill seemed to go up Leslie's spine and tickle her belly at the same time. She felt like she was a teenager again.

"Hi." Emily's eyes were locked on Leslie's, a smile flashing on and off as she wondered how things were going to go.

Emily looked away from Leslie to glance at Liz and Samantha and smiled. "I see they have finally made it public. I wondered how long that would take." She looked back to Leslie to ask, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No," Leslie replied. "I was finishing a conversation with Liz and I lost control of things. I think that everything is going to be okay. Is that correct, Mrs. Jackson?"

Samantha broke her embrace long enough to answer and looked Leslie in the eye. The dullness that had been there earlier had been replaced with a spark. "Yes, I think that everything will be great. Are we free to go? There is so much we have to discuss."

"Of course," Leslie said. She looked at Liz. "Thank you for talking to me and I'm sorry for what seemed like an accusation."

"It's okay," Liz said. "I think that is exactly what we needed." Her smile could not get much wider. She looked back at Samantha and said, "I have to finish up here. Go on up to my place and I'll be up in about an hour." She leaned in and gave her lover a deep kiss.

"Okay. I'll get my stuff out of the house tomorrow when Royce is at work." They hugged each other and Samantha headed into the back of the diner.

Leslie inquired, "You knew about them?"

Em smiled as she watched them leave. "Of course, after all as you pointed out it's a small town and we have an élite woman's club. We may not know everyone eligible to join, but trust me when I say that we are familiar with most who are qualified." The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled suggestively at Leslie.

Pat and Mary Sue had been watching the impromptu floor show that had started with a police interview and ended with a love scene. They both had smiles on their faces as things wound down to a happy ending. Their water glasses had been emptied long ago, but they hadn't noticed. They had been sitting as quiet as they could to avoid interrupting what was going on. It was as if they were afraid to make noise and call attention to themselves or bring everything back to reality.

Leslie came over to their table and said, "I'm going to eat with Emily and I'll escort the two of you home again when you're ready to go."

Pat nodded in response. "Not a problem. We'll be over in the corner. You two play nice now." He said this last to Emily, still smiling.

Leslie proceeded to blush bright red and blinked at Pat, apparently at a loss for words. Emily saw her reaction and touched Leslie's shoulder to get her attention. "He's just teasing. We practically grew up together here in town. He's like a brother to me." Leslie gave Pat a scowl that turned into a grin before she turned away to walk with Emily to another table. One that provided more privacy than what had been available before.

Liz had gone back to checking on her tables once Samantha was gone and was just cycling through this side of the dining room. She saw Leslie and Emily seated together, talking quietly with each other and smiled fondly. She quickly took care of refilling glasses and taking orders. Everyone seemed to have a smile on their face.

Mary Sue's shoulder had stiffened over the past few hours and it hurt to move so she found herself opting for a salad and the meatloaf. She looked longingly at Pat's steak but hadn't considered the fact that he might cut it up for her.

"I haven't had Fred's meatloaf in a while. How do you like it?"

"It's pretty good. But it isn't as good as that steak looks."

"Why didn't you get one then?"

"Because I didn't like the idea of someone cutting it up for me like I used to do for my younger brother," she replied with a grin. She looked around for Liz and leaned forward. "The sheriff looked pretty pissed when he went out of here."

"I'm afraid so," Pat answered. "He's always been a macho jerk and finding out that Samantha prefers to be with Liz had to be a real hit to his ego."

"Pat, he doesn't abuse her does he?" She asked.

"Not that I know of, but I don't see her that often. Why?"

"I had a friend back in New York whose husband was hitting her. Her attitude and behavior was a lot like what I noticed with Samantha. On top of that, I saw her in the sheriff's office on the first day I was here and I saw some bruises on her arm. Like someone had held it and squeezed it...hard."

Pat looked thoughtful. "I don't have a lot of knowledge in that area. I'm sure that Liz must know something, but I don't know why she hasn't gotten Samantha to do something about it."

"It's something that you can't force. I think that it's great that Samantha has someone else in her life though. It will help her a lot."

Pat nodded thoughtfully. "You know. I think that I must have dated all of the single girls in town at one time or another, Liz included. Now that I think about it though, all we did was talk that night and we never went out again. I never gave it any thought. We have always just been friends."

"What about Emily she's an attractive woman?" Mary asked.

He shrugged. "I never dated her. She was always a loner, she just never seemed to be available."

"Well, I think that she has someone now." Mary nodded slightly to the back where Leslie and Emily were seated. The two women were having an obviously good time chatting. They were holding hands across the table.

Pat stared deeply into Mary Sue's eye as he added, "Everyone needs someone to love."

"That's good too," Pat said. "I haven't known her long, but I think that Lieutenant Caldwell is a decent person. From what I remember of Emily, she's pretty good too."

They moved on to other topics, like who was in more pain and what their course of action should be now. Mary won the pain contest because Pat's headache was pretty much gone and her shoulder hurt to move. They agreed that things were pretty much at a standstill and were in the hands of the law. The wisest thing that they could do was stay in the house and not go roaming around.

Mary had been mulling things over during dinner and she managed to keep up her side of the conversation. Finishing her salad, she looked up at Pat and said, "I don't know that there is much left here for me to research. I think that I'll have to go home once Leslie has finished her investigation and released us." She looked down again, blinking. There was something in her eye that she tried to blink away. "Considering the fact that my shoulder makes it impossible for me to drive, I'll have to take a plane out of Cheyenne."

Pat looked at her sadly, knowing that she was right. Her life was in New York and there was nothing here for her. Except him. He saw a tear drop from her downturned face and knew that she felt as badly as he did. He was too much of a guy to cry himself, but the steak he had for dinner seemed to be sitting in a black pit as the sadness he forced inside made his belly hurt.

"She hasn't finished yet and you aren't gone either. Do you want to go back to the house?"

Mary didn't lift her head as she nodded her agreement. She had always maintained a barrier around her heart and emotions, but these past few days had seen her feelings for Pat erode that armor. She knew what lust was because of her experiences at the casino that had helped pay for her degree. This didn't feel like that though, but she hadn't felt like this before, at least not since high school.

She realized that she was falling into deep like with Pat. She couldn't call it love, at least not yet. She hadn't known him that long. Something in Pat's tone when he invited her back to the house told her that he didn't want her to leave any more that she wanted to. Maybe talking was what they needed.

Pat looked at the woman across from him. She was a wonderful mix of self-assured modern woman and a shy teenager. While there had been a few girls like that with him in school, they had moved in different social circles or they lived too far away to make any kind of relationship work. While he knew all of the young women in town, and there weren't that many, he just never seemed to click with them. They felt the same way about him and they were all on friendly terms. He and Mary Sue had seemed to mesh from the moment they met each other and he wished that there was some way to explore the relationship further.

He looked over to where Leslie and Emily where talking quietly. It looked like the two women had discovered kindred spirits in each other, just like it felt for himself and Mary Sue. He realized that with Leslie’s job, they were going to have similar issues. Leslie spent her time traveling all over the state. Considering the things that had gone on in last few days, there was no way he was going to suggest to Mary Sue that they walk the few hundred yards back to his house, even if she didn't have her arm in a sling.

He really hated to interrupt them, but he went over to their table. "Excuse me. Leslie, Mary Sue is feeling a bit down and I think that she needs to get back to the house. Could you run us back there?"

Leslie looked up, but her hand did not leave Emily's. "Yes, I can take the two of you home. You should be okay there tonight."

Pat shrugged. "The house is pretty solid stonework. It would take an earthquake to knock it down."

Emily leaned forward toward Leslie, who leaned in to let Emily whisper in her ear. She looked up at Pat again and said, "Emily will follow us over."

The four of them trooped up to the cash register and paid for their meals. Outside, Emily turned to Leslie and said, "My truck is over there." She pointed at an older Ford pickup.

Pat helped Mary Sue into the backseat and then climbed in as shotgun. Leslie turned away from Emily who headed over to her truck. Leslie came over to the car and and got behind the wheel. They caravanned back to Pat's house. When they reached the house, Pat helped Mary Sue out of the car and they went into the house. Leslie watched them go inside before she took a suitcase from the car's trunk and got into Emily's truck to go back to her place.

Alone for the night, Pat and Mary Sue spent the rest of the evening talking about themselves and each other. They fell asleep on the couch, Mary Sue's head cushioned on Pat's thigh.

* * * * *

Leslie really had not intended to cause trouble for Liz and Samantha Jackson. She only wanted to stir the water so to speak so that other information might be forthcoming. She was sure that the sheriff had some knowledge about who had attacked Pat and even might know who had shot at Mary Sue. Her line of questioning with Liz had been intended to be heard by the sheriff and get back to the person she was hunting. Samantha's revelation that she had spent the night with Liz had been a shock and Leslie knew that she could never apologize enough.

It was interesting that Pat had been released so early in the morning that it was still dark when he had walked home. Almost as if it had been planned to make an attack possible. She had been unable to find anyone in town that had any reason to attack either of her friends.

Both Kaylock Senior and his son were likely suspects for all three of the crimes she was looking into. She expected that the sheriff would be more confrontational tomorrow when she went out to the Kaylock ranch. Because she was on her own and she could not rely upon the impartiality of the sheriff, it might be a good idea to take Pat and Mary Sue along, as long as she made sure to ensure their safety while they were with her.

Not only would it be frowned upon to let her witnesses be hurt in the process of investigating the attacks upon them, but she had come to regard them as likeable people that she would not mind having as friends in this part of the state. You could never have too many friends.

She put all of the thoughts about her investigation and her friends out of her mind as she looked over at Emily. She was rather cute and Leslie looked forward to getting to know her better. This could be the start of an even more rewarding friendship. Something that had been missing from her life for quite some time. Leslie intended to get better acquainted with this lovely creature.

Chapter 14 - The Sighting of a Clue

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Editor: Qmodo

Emily, living in a small rural community, was just as starved for the friendship of a kindred spirit and they found themselves meshing quickly. Her experiences had not been nearly as bad as Leslie's, but being different in cowboy country was still difficult. She had grown up here in Laramie and there had never been problems, but it was still lonely. As long as she did not flaunt the fact that she was a lesbian, folks pretended that she was like the rest of them. Still...things were getting to the point where she felt some tenseness with people. While she seriously contemplated moving away, the economy made it hard to relocate.

After they had left Patrick and Mary Sue, they had come back to Emily's house. They had spent hours talking and laughing, she couldn't remember when she had enjoyed herself so much. When Emily and Leslie discovered each other it had been like a blast of sunshine and a chill that ran up and down both their spines. They had laughed and talked nonstop, not even pausing when they had gotten snacks from the kitchen. Leslie had fallen asleep in the middle of the conversation and it appeared that Emily had steered her to bed and covered her with an afghan, then crawled into bed and spooned against her new friend.

Leslie watched Emily sleeping beside her for several minutes, being careful not to move and wake the other woman.

Most of her two tours of duty had been spent in stealth mode, keeping her true sexuality under wraps, afraid to open herself to anyone and knowing that it would have been the end of her military career to let herself be exposed by falling in love. The stress had finally reached a breaking point for her and she had left the Marines on friendly terms. Her training and the decorations she had earned were a fast track to her posting in the state police here in her home state. With an area of over a quarter of a million square miles to be patrolled by three hundred troopers, her ability to work alone and show initiative was a valuable asset.

There were a few homophobes among her police co-workers, so she did not advertise the fact that she preferred the company of woman. That didn't mean that she didn't socialize with everyone. In fact she had turned down several invitations from men over the past couple of years, though it would have reinforced her cover as a heterosexual woman. The excuse she gave was that she had not been treated very well by guys while she had been in the Middle East and she was pretty gun shy.

That didn't keep rumors from starting, but no one was foolish enough to voice any kind of slur within her hearing. While she never did any permanent damage, her reputation as being an expert in multiple disciplines of martial arts had become legend. Some of her co-workers had been fool hardy enough to insist upon sparring with her and found themselves flat on their back with Leslie looking down on them. She apologized after the third time for not telling anyone that she had earned the coveted sixth degree Black Belt.

For all of her iron exterior, she was still very much a girly girl at heart and she loved to let her soft feminine side out to play. She hated labels; but if she was forced to choose, ‘lipstick lesbian’ would probably be the most appropriate. She had discovered that Emily was a kindred spirit and just as much a girly girl as she was, but that had been obvious from their first encounter in Emily's office.

A couple of miles away, Pat and Mary had both been exhausted when they returned from dinner and had fallen asleep in the living room. The sound of the clanking radiator was enough to wake him with a start. Everything that had happened lately made him a bit jumpy, but he knew that the house was locked up tight and he forced himself to relax. The clock over the fireplace showed that they had only been asleep for maybe an hour.

Seeing that Mary Sue looked like she was going to sleep through the night, and he knew that she needed the rest, he moved her into the bedroom by the simple expedient of getting her on her feet and walking her to bed. She barely woke up and she snuggled into the blanket that he spread over her.

He hadn't had the energy to set himself up on the couch in the living room, so he crawled onto the bed beside her with another blanket. It felt good to have her next to him. There was something about her that really attracted him and he just liked looking at her.

@ @ @ @

A sixth sense must have told Emily that Leslie was looking at her or maybe she could feel her looking because her eyes fluttered open to meet Leslie's. A sleepy smile spread across her face, "Morning."

"Good morning," Leslie answered. It felt good to just be here with Emily. She was in no hurry to move. If she did, she was afraid that everything would fall apart and she would be alone again. As a result, the two women spent several minutes trying to discover what the other was thinking.

They had barely touched each other after dinner and had spent the evening drinking hot cocoa. Calories be damned! It appeared that neither of them had much use for alcohol, so they had clear heads this morning. Leslie finally broke the staring contest by going up on one elbow, leaning over and giving Emily a chaste kiss on the lips. Emily indicated that she was ready for it to go further as her tongue darted out to tease Leslie.

Leslie was smiling happily as she pulled back. "I have things that must be done today. Are you doing anything tonight?"

Emily returned her smile and said, "No. It's Sunday and almost everything on this side of town is closed up except for Danny's diner. I have the entire day free."

"I need to check on my two witnesses to see if they need anything and I need to talk to a few more people before I'm done here in town. I just need to track them down. I have no idea how long that will take."

Emily nodded with a smile. "This town is the closest thing to the bible belt you will find north of the Mason-Dixon Line, everyone in town will be at church. If you waited until after services you could talk to whomever you wanted."

Leslie thought for a moment. "I wouldn't mind going to services myself, but I don't have any dress clothes along with me."

Emily was tickled pink to have Leslie come along to church with her. She was sure that the two of them walking in together would set some tongues wagging. She didn't really care about the gossips though, Leslie was the best thing to come into her life in a long time. She needed to get some chores done at some point though, she wanted the place looking nice.

"That isn't a problem. We're pretty laid back here. We have a lot of ranch hands who will come straight from their work shift." She smiled as she said, "I'm just glad that they change their boots." Leslie returned her smile as she caught on to her attempt at humor. “The church is a just a couple of blocks away. I usually walk over when the weather is good. You're more than welcome to come along with me."

As a good host, Emily gave Leslie first shot at the hot water and made sure that there were clean towels when she finished. She felt a little funny about going into the bathroom with the towels while Leslie was just on the other side of the shower curtain. They had only known each other for a few hours, but she found her to be an interesting person to talk to, with her tales of exotic places that Emily had only read about. Never mind the fact that she was sexy too. They found themselves going out of their way to respect the other's modesty. They may have been the same gender, but seeing someone who got you hot and bothered in the buff wasn't right if you weren't in a committed relationship.

Over the noise of running water, Emily called, “Leslie I have been hurt in the past. So can I ask you something really personal?”

Leslie turned off the water and stuck her head out of the shower curtain. “Sure ask away. I’ll answer if I can.”

Emily looked down at the floor and inquired, “Do you believe in monogamy?”

Leslie wiped the soap out of her eyes and replied, “Hell, I can’t even spell monogamy. But then again I have never been in love before.”

Emily couldn’t but help perking up to the word ‘before’.

Showers completed, Emily stepped out of her bedroom wearing a simple cotton blouse and a skirt that ended just below her knees. The dark blue of the skirt seemed to make her white blouse all that more eye catching. Her shoes could have qualified as flats with their chunky one-inch heels.

"This is one of the few skirts I have that I like," Emily said. "The mornings are just cool enough for the skirt and hose to keep me warm without it being too warm later on."

Leslie looked her up and down. In contrast, she wore a cotton shirt and denim jeans. Being on the road meant that she had to be prepared to be away from home at the spur of the moment. She couldn't keep much of a wardrobe handy, so denims were the easiest to pack and wash. They also had the benefit of not needing to be washed at the end of the day. While her jeans were the standard light blue for denim jeans, it went well with the yellow in her shirt.

"I think that you look very nice," she told Emily. "Compared to you, I look like one of those ranch hands who just came in from the barn."

Emily gave her a hug. "I think that you look great. I wish that I was smaller so I could lend you something, but my stuff is probably a size too big for you."

Leslie eyeballed Emily’s ample bosom and sighed, "No, you're perfect the way you are.”

The two women clung to each other for a few moments. It was amazing how nice it was to hold someone and to be held in return. Leslie finally rubbed her hands up and down Emily's back and said that they needed to check on Pat and Mary Sue.

* * * * *

At about the same time, Pat and Mary Sue were finally up and moving themselves.

Sometime in the night, the two of them had ended up spooning against each other and Pat's arm ended up trapped under her head. He woke up with his arm completely numb. He pulled his arm free and Mary Sue rolled onto her back. Her damaged arm was held close to her body and the movement of her shoulder made her whimper.

Pat propped himself up on his dead arm to look down at her. She was completely relaxed, none of the pain or frustration that she had seen over the past few days showed on her face. Even when she was asleep, her red hair seemed to curl around and frame her face. He remembered the first time they had met each other in the grocery store and her nervousness had been so attractive.

When he had heard that she had been shot, he hadn't been told that she had only been hurt. The thought that she could have been killed still caused his gut to tighten. For someone that he had known for all of a week, he found her to be someone well worth being around and to keep getting to know better. To be honest with himself, he had been worried about being without her.

He could see that she was going to be waking up in a little while, so he padded out to the living room to retrieve Mary Sue's luggage. He set it down along one wall in the bedroom and quietly retrieved a change of clothes for himself. It felt like he had been in these clothes for a week and he really wanted a shower.

He hurried through his shave and shower because Murphy's Law said that Mary Sue would be getting up and wanting to use the bathroom at the most inconvenient time. Sure enough, his planning had him out of the shower and almost dressed when there was a tentative knock at the door.

Mary woke with a start, looking around she realized she was in Pat’s bed. She felt an urgent call of nature, and headed for the bathroom. Where she knocked lightly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Could I get in there? I didn't know if you had another bathroom upstairs."

"It's okay," he replied. "I tried to hurry so that I would be out of your way." He grabbed his shirt and toothbrush. "I can finish up in the kitchen. I put out some towels for you."

He found himself talking to the door as it closed in his face. She shouted, "Thank you," through the door.

He went out to the kitchen with a big smile on his face, feeling a little giddy. He had seen that kind of behavior while he had been away at college, but it was the first time it had happened to him. So this is what growing up with a sister would have been like.

He started organizing breakfast when he heard Mary Sue go back into the bathroom and start the shower. By the time Mary Sue was finished and dressed, Pat had plates of eggs, bacon, juice, and coffee ready to be served.

"How do you feel?" He asked as she came into the kitchen.

She smiled. "My shoulder is pretty sore, but I'm a lot better now that I've had a shower. Were you next to me last night?"

Pat froze and an icy jolt went through his gut. He wasn't sure how she might feel about having been held all night.

"Yes, I was," he replied carefully. "I hope you don't mind, but it just felt like the right thing to do." He kept his eyes focused on the table between them.

She reached across the table and put her hand over his beside his plate and said, "Thank you. It was good to know that someone was there. I think it helped me feel safe with some of dreams that I had. It kept them from being as bad as they could have been." He looked up to meet Mary's eyes and her smile. "I remember that you walked me to bed, but nothing until I woke up this morning. I think that I knew that you were there and it did help me. Thank you for letting me stay here."

Pat smiled in relief. The last thing he wanted was to offend her and drive her away. "I liked holding you too." He suddenly felt a little shy.

"What are we going to do today?" she asked.

"I don't know. We need to find out if it's safe to leave the house. I'd like to get back into the library and see what I can do about cleaning the place up and what I can salvage."

"I'll be glad to help," she offered. "My research is finished here, but I can't leave until Leslie tells me I can go."

He smiled warmly. "I don't mind having you here at all. You are more than welcome to stay. I'll sleep on one of the beds upstairs tonight though."

"Thank you for the invitation. I was just feeling kind of awkward and that I was imposing on you. I'll move to the bedroom upstairs though, I shouldn't put you out of your own bed."

"It's not an imposition at all. Ever since I met you, I've found myself enjoying your company. I'm just sorry that you had to get shot to keep you around town a little longer.” Privately, he thought to himself, ‘If I had known that is what it took to keep you here I might have shot you myself.’

His comment earned him a punch in the arm. Mary Sue could feel herself blushing as her cheeks seemed to tingle. What can you say to someone when they tell you that they want to spend time with you and you don't mind? All she could say was, "Thank you."

To relax the tension that he had unintentionally created, Pat said, "Considering what I've been through this week and how things have worked out, I really think that I want to go to church this morning. Would you care to join me? It's a non-denominational service and pretty much casual dress.

“We even allow slings," he said with a grin.

Mary Sue nodded and returned his smile. "I don't usually get to church, but I do give thanks and pray throughout the week. But I think that a worship service would be a nice way to start the day, as long as you think it’s safe."

* * * * *

They were preparing to leave the house and walk down to the church when Emily's truck pulled up outside. Even though they knew the vehicle, the two were gun-shy enough to take a step back into the house until Leslie stepped out.

She could see that they were preparing to do just what she and Emily were doing, but Leslie's playful side showed itself for a moment as she said, "I thought I told you that you should stay home to be safe!" The grin that followed her question took the sting out. "Emily and I plan on going to church. Pat, seeing as how you are wearing your dress boots, I can only assume that you were going to do the same thing. Why don't we use my car?"

They were fairly comfortable on the ride over to the church. The car was obviously not a standard-issue police vechile because there was leg room in the back.

It wasn't a large church, maybe able to seat a couple of hundred people at one time, but it was beautiful. The building appeared to be one of the oldest buildings in town, but it had been lovingly maintained. The colorful stained glass windows lit the sanctuary with brilliant hues.

Pat and Emily were warmly greeted at the door as regulars and the four of them were shown to a pew. They seated themselves on the outside so that Mary Sue could satisfy the historian in her by getting a better view of the windows. They hadn’t been there for more than a few minutes when Mary felt the familiar chill along her spine. She carefully took stock of what was around her and there was nothing out of the ordinary, only additional worshippers taking their seats. The cold feeling she felt seemed to fade away as quickly as it had struck her.

The service was only about an hour long and the pastor's sermon was moving. During the time for silent reflection, Mary Sue gave thanks for everything that had happened in just the past week. She had reached Laramie safely after escaping from a possibly dangerous situation, survived two attempts upon her life, and met friends that she hadn't known were missing from her life. After only a week, she had hopes that one of those friends might become so much more to her.

Mary Sue shivered as the cold sensation hit her again, this time it was almost an arctic blast. She slowly turned her head, scanning the congregation. Her companions sat beside her with their heads bowed. As she looked across the sanctuary, she saw Tom and Ron Kaylock sitting on the other side of the room.

The two men wore suits and ties, causing them to stand out among everyone else who was dressed more casually. They were seated in almost the exact center of the sanctuary where they held themselves almost like royalty among commoners, the two of them were conversing quietly instead of praying.

Their behavior was not unusual and she would not have looked at them again except for the woman who was standing with them. Mary looked closer at the girl and realized that the surroundings of the three of them was visible through the girl’s body. She did not appear to be much older than Mary Sue herself and she was dressed in a white gown that appeared to be an antiquated wedding gown.

Mary Sue glanced around herself to see that no one had noticed that she was looking across the sanctuary instead of praying herself, so she continued to study the Kaylocks. The girl with them did not appear to actually be part of their group as she was not part of their conversation. There was something familiar about the young girl. Mary just attributed it to the fact she must have seen her around town. The girl stood scowling at the two men, with coal black eyes and an expression of complete anger and frustration.

She moved around in front of them so that she was facing both men. They continued their quiet conversation, looking up at the pastor every few moments to see if the service was about to continue. Something about the scene didn’t look quite right to Mary Sue and it took her a moment to see that the girl stood directly between Tom and Ron’s line of sight to the pulpit. But neither man seemed to be concerned with having their view obstructed. That finally clued Mary Sue into the fact that there was no room between the Kaylocks and the pew in front of them. The girl was not kneeling in front of them, but she was actually standing upright. The wooden bench meant nothing to the girl because she was standing in the middle of it.

A feeling of horripilation traced up her spine and down her arms, literally making the hairs on her arm stand up as the skin crinkled with goosebumps. Her eyes widened in a combination of shock and fear as she realized that she was seeing something that her 20th century education told her could not exist. Still, the apparition seemed to sense Mary was looking at her because she broke off her one-sided staring contest and turned toward Mary Sue. Her angry expression softened as she smiled warmly at Mary and nodded in acknowledgement. All Mary Sue could do was stare as the chill around her turned to a summery warmth.

Pat noticed that Mary Sue appeared to be distracted and touched her elbow. She looked up at Pat, wide-eyed. Pat's expression was a question that became concerned at the look of shock and fear on Mary's face. When she looked back toward the Kaylocks to explain what the problem was, only the father and son were sitting there, oblivious to the scene taking place on the other side of the church. Pat figured his companion was frightened by the close proximity of the Kaylocks. He knew that not even they would try something in church. So he patted Mary’s hand to reassure her.

As she took in the fact that she had witnessed an apparition of some sort, her rational mind was trying to convince her it must have been a hallucination, a side effect from the painkillers she had been given. As the warmth she had felt faded, it was replaced with the almost overpowering sweet scent of flowers enveloping her. The smell was almost so strong that she had to fight to stifle a sneeze. Interestingly enough, no one else was reacting to the scent. She leaned over to Pat and asked, "Do you smell that?"

Pat looked down at her with a frown. "Smell what?"

"The flowers," she whispered. "You really can't smell that? It's so strong."

Pat sniffed the air again and looked at Mary. "I can smell something. It's sweet and a little flowery."

Mary shook her head in confusion. "Never mind." If he couldn't smell the aroma when it was thick enough to cut with a knife, there was no point in trying to convince him that it was there. The service was almost over anyway.

The foursome filed out of the church several minutes behind the Kaylocks, Mary Sue kept looking over her shoulder searching for the woman in white but saw nothing. She refocused her attention searching for the Kaylocks but they were long gone by the time they got out of the front door. The party stopped at the foot of the steps, Emily would identify the people and introduce Leslie to them. Leslie pulled an occasional suspect off to the side and had a whispered conversation.

As their party moved toward the parking lot they were surprised to see the ground covered in a carpet of blue blossoms. Additional petals sifted through the air like manna from heaven and were blown by a light breeze. Their source was a complete mystery. Each gentle curved petal fluttered through the air as if Mother Nature herself was shedding tears. An occasional swirling wind would blast through the lot creating mini tornados that raised the blossoms back into the air to head height then would gently float back to earth. There was the scent of lilac and violets in the air. Mary Sue knelt to scoop up a handful of flower petals and was unsurprised to see that the flowers were wild violets.

Violets seemed to have become part of her life so many times in the past several days. She had found the potted plant in the school house where she was sure it had not been moments before, they were growing all around Pat's house, and they had been in her hospital room for the time that she had been there. Now she was seeing ghosts and smelling the flowers when no one else did. She wouldn't have been surprised if she had pointed out the girl she had seen to Pat and he wouldn't have seen her.

She kept her mouth shut about things while Leslie bid goodbye to Emily and gave her a hug. Emily refused to go and insisted that she wanted to spend the day with Leslie, arguing she could be of help as a tour guide. Leslie smiled at her offer, they both knew that she really did not need a guide. There would be no violence to be concerned about, so she agreed to Emily’s offer. After Pat promised to make them all breakfast the four of them returned to Pat's house to discuss the day's plans

* * * * *

Mary had been quiet during the ride home from church and she took a seat on one end of the couch. She didn’t disbelieve in ghosts. No one was hungry at the moment,so Pat went off to make coffee.

Emily smiled at Leslie and said, “Someday he is going to make someone a wonderful wife.”

Everyone smiled except Mary who plopped down on the couch and starred off into space. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she had seen in church. There had to be some rational explanation. What it was eluded her. The more she tried to solve the problem, the more confused she became. She couldn’t get the girl's face out of her mind’s eye. There was something familiar about this manifestation. It took her a while before it hit her. The girl in the library back in New York. It was difficult to admit to herself that ghosts were real and that it had actually acknowledged her. Her behavior did not go unnoticed by either Pat, Emily, or Leslie though.

"Are you okay Mary?" Pat said. He was concerned that the trauma to her shoulder was causing some additional problems for her.

"I’m fine. I’m just a little shaky, I guess," she replied.

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No. It’s nothing like that, "she answered. "I just saw something at church that scared me a little."

Leslie leaned forward, her lawman’s instincts telling her that Mary might have seen something important. "What did you see?"

"At this point, I’m not sure. I think that I saw a ghost." At their skeptical looks, she proceeded to tell them about everything that had been going on since she had started out from New York. How she felt like she had been guided along her trip and actually warned about danger. It was when she started telling them about how violets had appeared in a schoolhouse she should not have been able to enter and how violets seemed be growing around Pat’s house that she appeared to win Pat over.

"You’re right, Mary," he said. "I noticed them a few days ago, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The flowerbeds all around the house have violets growing in with the flowers that my mother planted over the years. I know that she didn’t plant the violets though. At least not all around the house."

"Remember when I asked you if could smell something at church?" she asked. "That was right after I saw a girl standing in front of Tom and Ron Kaylock. But they acted like she wasn’t there and it looked like she was standing right in the middle of the pew. Do you remember all of the flower blossoms that were blowing around outside of the church? Those were violets too."

Mary had started speaking faster as she told about her experience at the church and was practically panting by the time she was finished.

"What did the girl look like?” Leslie asked. It didn’t matter if she believed everything that Mary said. What was important was that she had seen something and the truth was in there somewhere.

"She was about my height, a petite, small bosomed woman with brown hair that came down to her shoulders. I couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, but they looked dark, so I’m pretty sure that they weren’t blue. It looked like she was wearing an old-style wedding dress."

"It makes sense that a ghost would be wearing old style clothes." Pat said trying to liven things up.

Pat suddenly jumped up and ran from the room saying, "You’re describing someone who sounds familiar. Wait right here."

He left the room for a moment to go back to his bedroom. He returned holding Yolanda’s journal, thumbing through the pages so that an old faded photograph fell onto the table. .Mary Sue gasped, "That’s the girl who was in church!"

Pat passed the photo around for everyone to get a good look. "Are you sure that is what you saw in church? According to the inscription on the back that is a reproduction of a photograph of Yolanda on her wedding day.” He was scanning the pages of the journal as he said, “I thought that I recalled a few lines that described her appearance when she realized the effect of the herbs her mother had given her."

"I don’t think you need to look too hard Pat," Mary said. "This is a picture of Yolanda and we can assume the man standing next to her is husband Nathaniel Kaylock." She pushed the picture across the table and the other three leaned over to see it more closely. Leslie, the consummate cynic, attributed what Mary described as being a subconscious recollection from what Mary had seen previously in the journal.

They all exchanged doubtful looks, brows raised. "I’m not sure that I believe in ghosts either,” Pat said. "If you actually saw this girl today, then you had to have seen her spirit."

Leslie said, “Or more likely one of her descendants that still lives in these parts.”

“Not very likely” Mary pointed out. “Since Yolanda was a man, and married to another man they certainly didn’t sire any children.”

Leslie put in. "I guess that the best thing to do is to keep an open mind about it. I’m far more concerned about what is going on in the here and now though. I need to find out who is committing arson, assault, and attempted murder. And I am sure it isn’t some century year old phantom!"

Her statement brought them back to the present and they nodded. A poltergeist might not be able to do anything to them or maybe it could. But they were sure that it was a flesh and blood person who had committed the attacks.

"Everything seems to center around my research," Mary said. "Nothing unusual had happened here until I showed up. It seems like someone wants to keep information about Yolanda from becoming public." She looked a Pat and said, “Do you think this has anything to do with the fact that Yolanda was actually a man?"

"It might. It can’t be a coincidence that she married Nathaniel and that everything has centered on the two of them."

Mary sat down on the couch again and said sadly, "I guess we’re seeing typical bigoted thinking about people like Yolanda. From what I’ve seen in her journal, prejudice was just as common back then too."

"It’s probably a good bet that Yolanda was killed because she was transgendered," Leslie said. "My family was faced with that thinking too. My brother was beaten and killed for wearing a skirt and makeup. I was stationed in Okinawa and I came back for his funeral. What happened to him is one of the things that made me decide to leave the Marines and come back here."

"I’m sorry to hear about your brother, it would seem that anyone who is different has a target on their back." Mary said quietly.

"Thank you," was all Leslie could say. "The Neanderthals who beat him up talked about doing it the next night when they were out drinking. That bragging got them twenty to life in prison. They killed him because they thought he was gay. Which he wasn’t, he just enjoyed wearing woman’s clothes. It would be the ultimate irony if they both are someone’s bitch in prison. I might stop by next visitor’s day and bring each of them a care package of woman’s cosmetics."

Everyone laughed at that.

"I don’t think that Yolanda saw that kind of justice,” Mary said quietly. "We didn’t find anything in the papers we went through that said anything about who shot her or her husband." She paused as she thought about it. "She saved a lot of people on that wagon train, she was probably responsible for it reaching Laramie. After she was here, she even had an impact on the local population. She deserves to be celebrated, not just another pioneer lost in the pages of time."

Emily added, “If the two of them were married, doesn't that mean that Nathaniel was gay?”

Pat chimed in, “Not necessarily. Loving someone and committing to them does not have to translate into a sexual relationship.” Looking at Mary he went on to say, “There are people that you are just happy being together. Sex is not necessarily a requirement for love.”

Pat smiled as he thought about it. "I can see it now. Yolanda Days. Every man in town parading down Main Street in a dress, with violets in this hair and carrying a parasol. That’s something I would pay to see."

He held his hands up in apology at the dark looks that the ladies gave him.

Emily grinned and said "Don’t go getting all sassy with us. I remember a Halloween when a certain someone spent the day as Wonder Woman. Any idea who that might have been Pat?"

Pat blushed cherry red as he remembered that particular event. "Give me a break, it was the only costume left. Everyone had to come to school in costume."

Emily had no intention of letting him off the hook that easily. "That may be true but; that doesn’t explain how well you handled walking in the knee length high heeled boots."

Pat blushed so hard his face was crimson. "Alright. I admit that I used to walk around the house in my mother’s heels. A lot of my friends did the same kind of thing. It was no big deal.”

Attempting to change the subject he said, "I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I’ve read her journal and Yolanda did more than anyone knows. I just don’t know how we could honor her accomplishments. I wish we could find more hard evidence of her accomplishments."

"My thesis will tell a lot of her story," Mary said. “I have most of what I need already. I don’t think that I will even need to go any further west along the path the train took. I think that I may change the focus of my thesis to center around Yolanda."

Leslie broke in to say, "I need to talk to the Kaylocks today. Once I have the information from them, you won’t need to stay here. I’m afraid that your car will have to stay as evidence though. Sorry. You’ll be free to go unless I find information that might require that you testify or provide a deposition."

"I guess that would be okay," a disappointed Mary said. Leaving was the last thing Mary wanted to do now, why would she want to go back to New York and leave something that she had just discovered? "If I were to go back to New York now, I would have to fly, I can’t imagine spending a week on a bus."

"We’ll work all of that out when we have to," Pat put in. The look on Mary’s face told him that she felt the same way he did. He just had to get an opportunity to be able to talk to her and figure things out. He didn’t know what he was going to say though, he didn’t have enough experience to know how to tell someone that he really liked her and wanted to get to know her even more. Of course there was his grandmother’s ring sitting in his safe-deposit box.

Yolanda’s presence at church and her association with violets had been forgotten for the moment, but the subject would have occasion to be recalled later.

Chapter 15 - The Visit

by Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Editor: Qmodo

They dropped Emily off at her place before heading out of town. Leslie and Emily had spent a few minutes talking quietly before Emily turned away with a smile. Leslie watched her walk inside before getting into the car with a smile of her own.

“I take it that you have plans for this evening?” Mary Sue asked, looking at Leslie with a grin.

Leslie turned her smile on Mary Sue and replied, “Yes, I think so. I hope that our visit to the Kaylock ranch won’t take all afternoon.”

The drive to the Kaylock ranch took almost forty-five minutes. Pat had elected not to accompany them on Leslie’s interview of the Kaylock’s and had agreed to remain at home for safety. Leslie had convinced him that he might not be safe to return to work until she had spoken with the Kaylocks and informed them that Mary Sue would be leaving town. The last thing that Leslie would do before returning to her regular duties would be to make sure that Mary Sue was safely on a flight back to New York.

The two women talked about Mary Sue’s research and the direction her thesis seemed to be taking. When that ran down, Leslie regaled Mary Sue with some of her milder experiences from the military. Talk finally turned to the Kaylocks. While Leslie was loath to reveal much in the way of information, she did admit that nothing seemed to implicate the Kaylocks in any of the events other than the fact that Tom Kaylock had been in possession of the library key at the time the fire had been set. The other interesting item was that the lock that had been used to chain the door of the building was a special lock that was mostly used by military and law enforcement. It was possible for them to be used by civilians, but not common.

An interesting fact that Leslie shared was that Tom Kaylock really was positioning himself as a Congressional candidate. That meant that he would be very interested in keeping any sort of controversy out of the media. Leslie was non-committal when she agreed with Mary Sue’s statement that Tom actually had a good reason for wanting to suppress any news about Yolanda. Never mind that Yolanda had not been a member of the Kaylock family until she married into it. Apparently, just having Yolanda marry into the family was bad enough.

The passing landscape was mainly low, rolling hills and Mary Sue could see the beginnings of the mountains lying low on the horizon to the west. The ground was covered with dense scrub grass, but it was early enough in the spring that the grass seemed to be more gray than green. She wondered how anyone could manage to raise cattle with only this kind of vegetation being available. But there was a kind of beauty in the countryside.

Not too long after they left the outskirts of Laramie, they started seeing signs of land development and construction. It appeared that new retail and residential construction stood poised to add substantially to the choices already available in this section of the county. She could see that her friends might not be concerned about this development as there did not appear to be any competition that would affect them. The mercantile might be the only retail establishment that would notice any impact when the chain stores realized that there might be a market to be exploited.

The last fifteen minutes of their drive was within the Kaylock ranch. The road was marked at several points by signs warning that the road they were travelling was private and the fences that lined the road also informed the reader that they were trespassing.

As they got further into the ranch, the vegetation appeared to look healthier. When Mary Sue commented on it, Leslie nodded and said, “Yes. It’s because the Kaylock ranch controls several natural water springs. I learned about the springs in high school. It seems like I’ve lived a couple of lifetimes since then.”

The road they were travelling had obviously been designed for aesthetics, which became obvious as they rounded a low hill and the complex of buildings of the Kaylock ranch came into view. The main house was immediately apparent because of the number of trees that had been planted and cultivated over the years. There was nowhere else around Laramie that had trees growing like a small forest. It probably helped that there was a constant water supply available.

Outbuildings were scattered around it, most bordering on corrals and feed lots. Pasture land seemed to spread out away from the ranch house itself in all directions. A small river appeared to begin in a field behind the house and meander out of sight around a hillock in the back. The ground was green around the house and river, the remained was sere, dry scrub. Mary Sue glimpse a park-like area between the house and river before it was hidden from sight as they approached.

The driveway wound past the housed in a circle. As they drove up, Mary Sue saw Ron’s truck under a tree beside the house with the hood up. It was strange that Ron would be working under a tree instead of in one of the buildings. Surely they had a fully equipped garage to work in.

The sound of their approach got the attention of the man working on the engine and Ron Kaylock stood back to find out who had arrived. When he saw that the car held Leslie and Mary Sue, his calm expression morphed into a sneer.

He was standing between the car and the house when Leslie opened her door and stepped out.

"What are you doing here, bitch?" On his home ground, Ron made no attempt to exhibit even the little bit of civility that he had shown in town.

"I'm here to speak to your father as part of my investigation," Leslie replied. She had verified that Ron had used his influence to get her co-workers recalled and she had as much respect for the man as he had for her. She knew that anything that might inflame the situation could be used against her at some point. That was the main reason why she had brought Mary Sue along. She might not be the most impartial witness, but Pat already had a bad relationship with Ron and it would have been a bad idea to have him accompany her. Mary Sue's presence as an eyewitness should be enough to make Ron back off.

"This is private property! Get back in your car and leave."

"I'm here on official business Mr. Kaylock. As such, I am authorized to go anywhere I deem necessary. I'm here to speak to your father and finish my report."

"I can call some of my ranch hands over and make you leave," Ron threatened.

Leslie dropped her voice to a deadly calm level and said, "I am authorized to defend myself. I promise you that I will not be shooting at the men you send at me." Her hand dropped to the top of the holster on her hip.

Her threat brought him up short and his mouth snapped shut. While he wanted her gone, risking his life for it was not something that he was willing to do.

"Fine!" he spat out. "Go talk to the old fool!"

As he turned to leave, Leslie said sweetly, "Just a moment Mr. Kaylock."

She hadn't been born yesterday. Letting Ron out of her sight meant that the danger level would jump for her and Mary Sue.

When he turned back to her, she continued, "I think that it would be wiser if you joined us Mr. Kaylock and I know that I would rather have you in front of me than behind me. Let's all go up to the house. When I'm done speaking to your father, you can go back to what I interrupted when we got here." Leslie's rather blatant insult did not go unnoticed and Ron's lip curled in an angry sneer, but he knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

Without taking her eyes from Ron, Leslie motioned to a wide-eyed Mary Sue to get out of the car. Mary had watched the entire confrontation with rising fear and was shaking a bit as she joined Leslie. Leslie gestured to the man to lead the way up to the house and the three of them tramped up to the door. Leslie had Ron stand back while she knocked and waited for an answer.

The door was opened by a servant who acknowledged Leslie's request to speak to Tom before leaving the door. After a few minutes, the elder Kaylock came to the door.

Ron's father stood in the door, studying the tableau on the porch. His arm rested on the door frame so that he appeared to be lounging, symbolically barring their entry. He favored Leslie with an expression of annoyed disinterest, but the look he gave Mary Sue was positively venomous before looking back at Leslie. Mary Sue shrank back in the face of his hostility.

He focused back on Leslie and said, "Well? This must be important for you to have my son escorting you around."

"Mr. Kaylock, I'm…" Leslie began.

"I know who you are Deputy," Kaylock said, cutting her off. "What do you want?"

"I have some additional questions that need to be answered to follow-up on the questions that Sheriff Jackson asked you regarding the fire at the library," Leslie said, unperturbed.

Her ace-in-the-hole was that Tom was working hard to be a congressional candidate. If he refused to co-operate in her investigation, she would make sure that it was public knowledge that he was being obstructive. Tom seemed to know his vulnerability in this situation though, because he said nothing further as she continued.

"I just need to know a few things so that I can file my report." Leslie's tone was light, almost friendly. "Could we come in to talk about this?"

As much as Tom obviously did not want to have them in his house, he had no excuse to keep them out and any refusal to co-operate could affect his chances to become the next Congressional candidate. He fell back before Leslie so that she could step in, followed by Ron and then Mary Sue.

The entry from the porch opened into a large lounge area with a walk-around hearth in the center of the room. Tom walked to a well-worn armchair and turned to face these intruders.

"Very well. I can't make you leave, so ask your questions and go." He sat down, ignoring the fact that Leslie and Mary Sue remained standing. When he saw that Leslie made no move to take a seat, he levered himself back to his feet and, with ill grace, gestured to a place on a couch. Leslie took a seat at the end of the couch he had indicated while Mary Sue sat down in the armchair on the other side of Tom. Ron moved behind his father and stood with his arms crossed.

Once she was down, Tom went to the mantle above the fireplace and took down a humidor. Like the perfect host, he walked back to the couch and held the open box out to Leslie with the invitation, "Cigar?"

The insulting gesture was not lost on her and she knew that he did not expect her to accept a cigar. Instead, she reached in and took out one of the proffered cigars. She looked at it critically, rolled it between her fingers, and inhaled its aroma.

"Coronas?" she asked. "These are pretty good quality. I prefer a Robusto myself. But Cubans are hard to come by these days."

From the look on his face, Kaylock hadn't expected Leslie to actually accept one of his imported cigars and her appreciation of the quality surprised him as well. It either put him off his games or he did not intend to offer Mary Sue a cigar anyway because he returned the box to the mantle. As he put the box on the mantle, Mary Sue spoke up. His behavior toward Leslie has been quite apparent and she couldn't let it go by so. Just to piss him off, she asked, “Don’t I get one?” The expression on his face said that he wanted to tell her to go to hell, but he politely took the box over to her and allowed her to select a cigar herself saying, "I’ll save it for later," as she dropped it into her purse.

Leslie examined her cigar again and looked back at Tom to say, "I gave up smoking cigars some time ago. The smoke seems to get into my clothes too much and smoking one is a bit too phallic for me. I'm not into that kind of thing anymore." She glanced at Mary Sue who blushed as she understood Leslie's reference. Tom's expression said that her double entendre was lost on him, but the smirk on Ron's face was just the opposite.

Leslie was the center of attention for both men and Mary Sue was staying very still and quiet so that they were not paying attention to her. From her vantage point, she studied Tom Kaylock as he took his seat in the worn armchair that made up part of the rectangle of furniture. She had only seen him in town on her first day and had only gotten a passing impression of him, but it was of an older man who acted as if he owned everything and everyone answered to him. He looked to be in his late fifties, but his gray hair was the only giveaway that he was probably older. He looked like he was still vital and able to give most men a run for their money in a fight. All of the exposed skin that Mary Sue could see was heavily tanned, but relatively unlined. The image of a hard-working rancher was ruined by his arrogant behavior and look on his face. It was easy to see where Ron had learned how to treat others.

One thing of note was the rather large ring on Tom's hand. When he rested his hand on the arm of the chair, she was able to make out that it was a signet ring with a stylized capital letter K with gemstones inset around it. The stones at the cardinal points of the compass on the ring matched the stone she had discovered outside of Pat's house. The interesting thing was that she could see that Tom's ring was completely intact though.

"Look deputy. Just ask your questions and go," Tom said. He knew that he had missed something in the conversation and he didn't like feeling like he was the butt of a joke. So he just wanted these intruders to finish their business and go. He didn't really care what the other woman with the deputy was there for.

"Very well sir," she replied. She opened a notebook and began looking through her information. While Leslie started questioning Tom, Mary Sue continued to act small and unnoticed. It looked like it was working because both Tom and Ron were focused on Leslie. Ron had relaxed somewhat and his hand was laid over the back of his father's chair, making his ring finger completely visible. The white band of skin where a ring would have been stood out starkly. Mary Sue made a note to pass that piece of information on to Leslie.

Leslie's conversation with the Tom only took about ten minutes before she had reached the end of her list of questions. She closed her book and slid it back into a pocket, thanking him politely for his co-operation. As she stood, Mary Sue took the hint and rose as well and they headed for the door.

Just outside of the door, Leslie stopped and turned back, "Oh one last question Mr. Kaylock. I understand that you had possession of one of the keys to the library building doors. Do you still have those keys?"

This was the first time that anyone had touched upon access to the library's keys, but it was no surprise that the sheriff would have omitted following up on that lead. The look on Tom's face said that he hadn't expected to be confronted about this particular subject.

His response was, “Why? Is that important?”

Her second question was an apparent bombshell, judging from Tom's reaction. Leslie's expression was completely bland as she looked at Tom and said, "I believe the fire in the library was an attempt to suppress information related to the doctoral research that Ms. McLaughlin is engaged in.”

Tom responded, “How does that involve me?” Even though he tried to remain unmoved, the narrowing of his eyes communicated that she might have touched a nerve.

Leslie said, “It might have something to do with a relative of yours that was a member of a wagon train that came through Fort Laramie and. who settled here. What do you know about that?"

Tom's face froze. He seemed to go white with shock, his eyes narrowed again and his face flushed in anger.

He sputtered like a motorboat and spit out, "I think that you have overstayed your welcome deputy and I want you to leave now. If you have any further questions, talk to my lawyer!" Tom took a step back and slammed the heavy door in her face. Fortunately, Leslie was standing far enough away from the doorway that she did not need to be worry about being hit by the door and she only flinched. Her only response was to nod solemnly at the blank surface in front of her.

"Thank you. I'll make a note of that in my report," she said, with a bit of a smile.

She took Mary Sue's elbow in her hand and almost hustled her to the car. Her other hand remained close to her weapon until they had reached the vehicle and they were back inside. Then Leslie made quick work of leaving the ranch house compound and heading down the long entrance road.

For her own part, Mary Sue had been as quiet as Ron had been, almost as if she thought that silence would make her less noticeable. Leslie glanced over at her and asked, "Are you okay?"

It was Mary Sue's turn to nod jerkily in response to her question. "I think so. Just a little shaky."

Leslie smiled as she scanned the road and field around them. "You'll be okay then. I'm sorry that you had to be along for that, but I needed a witness for what went on that wouldn't fan any emotional flames. I understand that Pat's presence could have upset Ron Kaylock and Ron really was not my target."

"I think that he could have been though," Mary Sue replied. She proceeded to relate her observations of Ron's hand and the obvious absence of a ring and the fact that Tom Kaylock wore a completely intact ring.

Leslie was intrigued by this information and resolved to include it all in her report under the heading of Possibly Related Info. If Ron wasn’t a suspect he certainly was a person of interest,

"Were you that concerned that Ron was going to attack you? Mary Sue asked.

"There is a very real chance of that," Leslie answered. "From what I know, Ron has made contacts with some dangerous people. If I had let him out of my sight, there is a very real chance that we would not have gotten back into the car. I've seen his kind of attitude and behavior before. The Wild West may have been two hundred years ago, but some of these cowboys like to think that they can get away with things as if it were still the good ole days. Then you have to show them that you are ready to fight back with as much muscle as they are ready to throw at you. Most of the time they back down when you call their bluff."

"What do you do when they don't?"

"Then I have to defend myself. Most times, I’m more man than most of them. Bullies have a tendency to underestimate a woman," Leslie replied with a smile. "So far, I haven't had to shoot anyone, but I did put one guy into the hospital when I broke his leg. They wheeled him from the E.R. right to his trial hearing."

That broke the tension between the two of them again and they chatted about things for a few moments before silence reigned again. The remainder of the drive was spent with Leslie began to mentally compose her report to her boss while Mary Sue reviewed her project. She had gathered notebooks full of historical information about the wagon train's journey from Missouri and how it had affected the communities along the way. With the discovery of Yolanda's journal and all of her notes, Mary Sue was mulling changing the focus of her thesis from the wagon train itself to the role women on the wagon train played. Yolanda would be a prominent figure in it.

She saw no reason to continue following the path of the train to Oregon, but she really wished she could come up with a reason for not going back to the university yet.

The drive back into town seemed to take longer than the trip out to the Kaylock ranch had taken. Understandably, both women relaxed once they were on public roads and away from anything connected to the ranch. Mary Sue did not ask if they had been in any danger once they left the ranch house itself, she was too afraid to know the answer.

"I need to pick up some things at the mercantile before I sit down to write my report," Leslie said as they got close to their respective home bases. "Emily told me that they are open until about 6. Do you mind if I stop before I drop you off at Pat's? I can drop you off first otherwise."

"No, that's fine," Mary Sue answered. "I need to pick up some jeans to replace the pair I was wearing when I was shot. I'll need them before I fly out of here." Truthfully, she didn't need them. But you need to wash them a couple of times to make them wearable first and she wasn't due back in New York for a couple of weeks yet.

"That's fine. We can both get what we need and I'll drop you off."

The store was fairly empty considering that it was only a little over an hour before closing time. While Leslie was picking up what she wanted in the toiletries area, Mary Sue searched through the racks holding ladies jeans and pulled out a couple that were in her size. She made sure that they both fit and headed directly from the fitting rooms to the cashier.

The cashier was an older woman, probably because teenagers wanted to enjoy their weekends and she was stuck being here, smiled at her. "Hi. Did you find everything you were looking for?"

"Yes, I think so," Mary Sue answered quietly. "I don't need much. I'll be going home pretty soon." The idea of having to leave brought back the depressed mood she had gotten rid of up till now.

"You're staying with Pat Summerfield aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. But it's only because the police felt that it was safer for us both to be close together instead of having me alone in the motel." It was important to try to explain that nothing immoral was going on. More for Pat's sake than her own.

The sales lady looked around theatrically as if to see if anyone could overhear her. Of course, they were alone in this section of the store. The only ones on this side of the store at all was a family of tourists who were looking at souvenirs. She leaned toward Mary Sue and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "Is it true that Pat was wearing lady's lingerie?"

Mary Sue just looked at her for a moment and smiled slightly. It had been a long time since she had been home and she had forgotten how rumors in a small town tended to grow more sensational with each telling. She imitated the woman's silliness of looking around for possible eavesdroppers before she replied, "Well he wasn’t actually wearing it, somebody had tied him up with it. I was the one who found him."

She wasn't surprised that the story was public knowledge. It was a close-knit part of town and the sheriff probably leaked the information to embarrass Pat. "From what I can tell, it was high-end stuff." She left out the fact that he had had a message written lipstick on his chest or that everything smelled of perfume. If it hadn't been blabbed about, she certainly wasn't going to. It wasn't until later that she realized that she had probably added another couple of paragraphs to the whole rumor.

"Pat did say that his mother never owned anything that good. I assume that whoever attacked him brought it with them just to use on him."

The older woman nodded. "I remember Pat Summerfield's mum. She was a good woman and I know that she never bought hoity-toity underwear. She kept every cent she had to help that boy get through college. All she had was that house and some money that came from somewhere. I never intruded upon her privacy to ask where the money came from."

Mary Sue's interest was piqued. She had not learned much about Pat's family from talking to him. Maybe she should try harder to find out.

"Did she work around here?" Mary Sue asked.

"She took care of the library for years. That's why her son decided to go to college to get a degree in how to be a librarian. He got the job a few years before she died of cancer."

"What happened to Mr. Summerfield?"

"I understand that he left his wife before Pat was born. I never heard what happened to him. Actually, I never even saw him."

"I wish I could have met her. She sounds like a wonderful person to have done what she did for Pat," Mary Sue said. "So if she never bought that kind of clothing, I wonder where it came from."

The lady shrugged. "The only woman who ever bought that kind of clothing was Mrs. Kaylock. That family is the only one with big money around here."

That kind of information was rather interesting to Mary Sue and she was sure that Leslie would want to hear it, even though she was not investigating Pat's assault. The two of them exchanged thank you’s and good-bye's and Mary Sue went to track down Leslie. She found the officer finishing up her own purchase so the two of them went back out to the car.

Leslie assured Mary Sue that they had nothing to be concerned about regarding another sniper attack. Whoever was orchestrating the crimes would know that it would draw a major investigation. As it was, Leslie considered that limit had already been reached and that there should be more than just herself present in town.

The drive from the store to Pat's house took less than ten minutes all told. Leslie expressed no surprise at the information that Mary Sue had for her, but she was very happy to get independent confirmation that the Kaylock's had purchased the kind of lingerie they had found in Pat's house. It reinforced her theory that the senior Kaylock was somehow involved in the assault on Pat.

As they stepped on to the porch, Pat opened the front door. "Hi. How did your interview go?" His half-smile said that he was sure of what kind of reception Leslie had received.

"I believe that I got the information that I need," Leslie said. "I need to finish my report and send it off to my supervisor." She turned to Mary Sue and shook her hand. "Thank you for staying here in Laramie while I looked into what was going on around here. And thank you for coming with me today. I know that it had to be a little hairy today."

Mary Sue smiled back. Leslie had become a friend quickly and she really did not want to say goodbye. "I can't say that the Kaylocks were folks that I would ever invite to a party, but it was an education."

"Now that I have all of the information I need, you don't have to stay here any longer than you want to," Leslie told her.

Mary Sue acknowledged her with a nod. She knew Leslie's statement was coming, but she still felt a twist in the pit of her stomach when she heard it. She had originally planned on using most of the summer for her research excursion, but the damage done to her poor car pretty much told her that driving it across country would be a bad idea. She had already arrived at the decision that Laramie was the end of the line for her research. Her smile was forced as she thanked Leslie as the state trooper took her leave.

Leslie stuck her hand out to shake hands with Pat. Mary Sue's smile was forced as she stuck her hand out to bid Leslie farewell. The other woman wasn't having any of that as she brushed her hand aside and hugged Mary Sue which brought the two woman face to face. The sensation of her breasts rubbing against Leslie sent a warm feeling through her body. She wasn't accustomed to a great deal of physical contact. But then who is? As they moved apart, Mary Sue thought briefly about Leslie and Emily. What was it like for them when they were together? Was it really any different from what she imagined she could have with Pat?

Mary Sue didn't want to leave. It had been less than two weeks, but she had found Pat to be interesting and she wanted to get to know him better. Working as a waitress in a casino exposed her to a lot of men, but none of them had ever affected her like this guy did. She would burn through her money only slightly slower if she stayed in one place than if she were traveling. Her biggest problem was that she had no excuse for staying here. She had more than one text on her phone from her department head demanding an update on the progress of her paper. She hadn't bothered to reply.

Once Leslie had driven off, Pat took Mary Sue's hand and drew her into the house. He hesitated for a moment before he drew her to him and hugged her close. It was pretty much what he had done while she slept the night before, but they were both fully awake now.

She wasn't much of a prude, but she wasn't a girl who slept around either. Being close to him both thrilled her and scared her. She wanted to give herself to him, that is why she let him hold her, but surrendering herself was a scary thought at the same time. She didn't pull back though and she rested her cheek on his chest, smelling the deodorant he had used that morning mixed with his sweat.

"She said that you can leave whenever you want," Pat said into her hair. "You can stay as long as you want though."

"I know," Mary Sue said as she turned her face into his shoulder. She shouldn't be feeling this away about someone she had met just a short time ago, but she didn't want to stop holding him. She had to go home to finish her thesis and earn her doctorate. She wished that she could stay here too, but she had no way to support herself. She didn't think she could get a job at the diner or the mercantile. Even if she did, it wouldn't support her.

She mashed her face harder against Pat's shoulder as her tears started to run freely. She needed and wanted to go home, but she needed and wanted to stay here too. She really wished that she didn't have to make a choice and she cursed the fates that forced one upon her.

"I have to go back," she said quietly as she turned her face to one side. Pat's response was to hold her tighter, as if she was about to vanish. Mary Sue snuggled closer to him, sliding her arms around him. If she had to leave, the best course of action was to accept the fact and enjoy the moment. It was a wonderful feeling to be held and to hold someone close. She didn't want it to ever end.

When she pulled back to look up at Pat, he threw his inhibitions away and kissed her. Mary Sue pressed herself into Pat's lips, being wrapped in Pat's arms making her feel safe.

"I wish that I didn't have to go back," she said when they came up for air.

"You don't have to go back right away do you?" Their eyes met just a few moments before their lips did. It was a short walk down the hall to Pat's bedroom, which they made arm-in-arm. Standing beside the bed, they kissed each other again, tongues slipping exploring each other's mouth. This closeness is what they both had been dreaming of for days and they had each had been so afraid of rejection.

She was wrapped tightly against Pat and it felt like she couldn't get close enough. She felt Pat's hands rub her back and sides, the sensation warming her wherever they passed. The feeling was just wonderful. When his hands moved to her shoulders and neck, she almost wanted to melt.

She squirmed a little and let her hands begin to wander too. She could feel the hard muscle running across his back and shoulders, it made her think of what her brothers looked like when they were baling hay. But she had never felt like this about her brothers. Pat certainly was not a typical bookish librarian. She was no weakling, but Pat would be like a Titan beside her.

After they exchanged another deep kiss, their hands began to wander to other areas. Just feeling Pat's hands rubbing and squeezing her bottom got her entire being tingling. She wanted more. Any thought of leaving Laramie was completely gone from her mind for the moment.

It wasn't long before they were helping each other out of their clothes and kissing other parts of each other. Her nipples were almost painful with their stiffness and her panties were passing the point of just being damp. She was more than ready when Pat's hands brushed her groin and pressed into her folds. She pressed her hand against Pat and could feel how much he wanted her too.

May Sue wasn't a little girl in any sense of the word, but she felt positively petite when Pat easily lifted her and lay her down in the middle of the bed. The feeling of being small next to him aroused her even more. She was definitely ready when Pat got into bed between her legs and slid her panties down her legs.

She had prepared herself for a heated session of intense sex and she would have welcomed any intensity, if it came from Pat. She had spent more than one night fantasizing about being with him. Instead of roughness, the two lovers engaged in a give-and-take where each was more concerned about showing the other that they cared. The actual act of sex lasted for less than 15 minutes, but the foreplay and afterplay took far longer as they traded kisses and caresses.

Of course, Mary Sue outlasted Pat and she fell asleep several minutes after he had dropped off into soft snores. Before she wriggled deeper into the arms that seemed to fold around her automatically and drifted off herself, Mary Sue wished that there was some way for her to stay here. She didn't want this feeling to ever go away.

Chapter 16 - A Rattlesnake on the Trail

By Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proofread by: Qmodo

The sun was bright outside the bedroom windows but the muted glare really did not bother her. It registered somewhat, but the events of the previous day had taken a bit out of her. Their bedroom gymnastics contributed to that as well. As a result, Mary Sue snuggled back into the warmth of Pat's arms.

Sadly, she did not have the ability to slip back into sleep once she had started to wake up. It had to be something about how her mind worked. Her brain insisted on working once it had been turned on and just insisted that she pay attention.

Regardless of whether she was awake or not, Mary Sue refused to climb out of the cozy nest she was in. There was something about Patrick. The guy produced heat like a mini-furnace and it felt good against her bare skin. She bet that he would be nice to cuddle with on a winter's night.

She stayed still for several minutes, enjoying the sensual feeling of a man's body wrapped around her. She could sense Pat's cock against her backside, but there was no erotic sensation at the moment, just a feeling of comfort and rightness.

She was hit with a wave of sadness when she thought of having to arrange for a flight back to New York. She was going to miss the love that she had just found, but she didn't know how she could stay. She really wanted Pat to feel the same way she did, but they were going in separate ways. Did she want him to feel as bad about her leaving as she did? She fought back against the melancholy even as tears started to form. She didn't see how a relationship was possible for them. She had to finish her thesis and he wasn't going to just pick up and go with her to New York. Maybe it was better to be the only one in love.

About that time, Pat shifted his weight and his arms tightened around her. His hand folded over her breast and squeezed gently, both an invitation and a request. Her breast tingled and she felt the nipple stiffen into his palm.

It was nice to be wanted. Either because he wanted her around longer or because he was looking for a morning quickie. She was okay with either one though.

She shifted herself against him and felt little Patrick harden against her. She wriggled her backside against him playfully. She had never done anal and really did not want to now. She just hoped that her lover wanted what she wanted.

He rubbed himself along her butt a few times. Even though it was not an erotic spot for her, Mary Sue felt herself becoming furiously turned on. Her nether regions felt like they were soaking wet and Patrick's hand had not yet left her breast. She wanted him so much. The combination of squeezes, strokes across her nipple, and the kisses on the back of her neck were enough to almost drive her wild.

She was more than ready when Pat rolled her gently onto her back and leaned over her to kiss her. Instead of climbing on top of her, he cradled her in his arms and kissed her again. Their tongues darted between each other's mouth and hands stroked across bodies.

Mary Sue was nowhere close to being inexperienced with sex, but Pat was doing things to her now, that were creating feelings she had never experience before Every point on her body seemed to be super-sensitive and she jumped a little as his hand trailed across her body. She didn't think that she could be any more aroused as she was right now. She couldn't help but moan with want.

She was more than ready when Pat finally entered her. She was so wet that he slid in easily enough, but she could feel herself stretching to accommodate him. She wondered how it must feel to him, but she spared only a passing thought for it. She let herself get lost in the feeling as they settled into a smooth rhythm of pull back and push together. When her first orgasm struck, she went completely rigid and her head and back arched back. It felt absolutely glorious. Pat only slowed a little in middle of her ecstasy, probably because Mary Sue was so tense that he must feel like she would cut him in two.

By the time they were both spent, they were both soaked in sweat. Pat collapsed on top of her for a moment before he slid over to one side, still cradling her.

"Isn't this where we share a cigarette?" Mary Sue asked, rolling up on her side once she didn't feel so much like a wet towel.

"Probably," he answered. "But neither of us smoke." He returned her smile. "At least I won't roll over and go back to sleep."

She was basking in the afterglow of the best session of making love she had ever had or even read about. Even knowing that she would have to leave this experience behind did nothing to dampen the euphoria she felt. She felt too good to become depressed. There would be time enough to cry on the plane.

She gave Pat a cute look and said, "So…Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

He smiled back. "I thought I was supposed to ask that."

She leaned in for a light kiss. "I've never had so much fun before."

"I'd love to help you feel that good again, but I think I'm going to need some time," he said wryly. That was understandable. She needed some time to recharge herself. "Could I offer you some breakfast instead?"

"That would be nice, but I need to take a shower."

"I'll tell you what. You go ahead and use the bathroom while I get breakfast organized. Then I'll get cleaned up and I'll fix you an authentic western omelet."

"Okay," she said. But it was obvious that neither of them wanted to get out of bed just yet. She was happy to just be held. It wasn't too long though before their bladders forced them to get out of bed and to start their day.

As much as Mary Sue would have loved to stay in the shower and let the warm water run across her still-sensitive skin, she wanted to leave some hot water for Pat. It still took her the better part of an hour to feel presentable. When she finished, she went out to the kitchen to give Pat his chance in the shower.

Pat had used the time to organize everything for omelets. Once she heard the water in the shower shut off, Mary Sue started the process of preparing breakfast. She knew that Pat had said he would fix breakfast, but she had grown up learning how to cook and bake. That was one of the things her mother had insisted upon and Mary Sue had not fought about.

She slid Pat's breakfast on to a plate just as he entered the kitchen. She set it down at his place on the table and spun back to the stove to begin her own meal.

"I assumed that you would want a little everything because you had it set out," she said apologetically. She had just realized that he might have laid out things especially for her. "Was that okay?"

"That's fine Mary," he replied. "But I should be fixing breakfast for you."

"I don't mind at all. I haven't had a chance to cook for someone else since I left home."

Before long, her omelet was ready and the two of them were enjoying their meal together. She finally had to bring up the unhappy subject and pointed out that she needed to arrange for a plane ticket back to New York.

"I know," Pat said. "I wish that there was some way for you to stay."

"I do too," she answered sadly. "I need to organize all of my material and complete my thesis. It's going to take me weeks, if not months. But, based upon what has happened this past week, I believe that my subject will change from being about the wagon train to focus upon Yolanda and the part she played."

"What will you do when you finish your doctorate?"

"I don't know now. My area of study was the latter 1800's and early 1900's in the West, but I believe that I might narrow it even further to just the 1800's and the Pioneer West."

Pat's eyes brightened and he smiled at her. "If I can help, all you need to do is ask.”

"Thank you." Even after last night and this morning, she still blushed.

While Pat worked on cleaning up from breakfast, Mary Sue began the process of calling the airlines that flew out of Cheyenne and booked a flight for the next evening.

Pat came of the kitchen saying, "I should see if I can get back into the library."

"I can help," she said. "I have a flight back tomorrow night."

She went back to the bedroom to get her bag. As she was returning, there was a loud, insistent banging on the front door. Pat checked the peephole before he opened up to find Liz there. Her expression was frantic and she was on the verge of tears, some were already breaking free to run down her face.

"Liz? What's the matter?" Pat asked. He looked beyond her to see what was causing her to be so upset. Liz was always upbeat and flirty, so to see her like this meant that here was something seriously wrong.

She was obviously not in a disposition for pleasantries. "Do you know how to find that state police friend of yours?"

"I think that I can find her," he replied. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find Sam and no one answers her phone or the door! I don't know where Jackson is and his deputy can't get him on the radio!"

"Come in," Pat said, he was pulling her into the house as he said it. "I'll make a call and see if I can find Leslie."

Mary Sue was behind Pat at the door and drew Liz over to the loveseat. While Pat made his call, Mary sat down with her. Once she was off her feet, Liz sagged back into the cushions and began to cry. All Mary Sue could think to do was wrap her arms around Liz and to just hold her.

"I tried to check on her," Liz said through her tears, gasping because she was short on air. There was none of the saucy teasing she always had on display. "I saw how mad Jackson was when he found out about Samantha and me" She looked up at Mary Sue and asked plaintively, "Do you think she's okay?"

Mary Sue could see how much the woman wanted to hear her say yes. Anything other than encouragement right now would only send Liz into a bout of hysterical crying. Mary Sue gathered her into her harms again and stroked her back. "Samantha will be fine Liz. Pat is tracking Leslie down right now." She held Liz and let her cry.

Across the room, Pat spoke quietly into the phone before hanging up. He sat down in the armchair with them and said, "Leslie is still at Emily's. She'll be here in a few minutes." He leaned forward and asked, "When did you see Samantha last?"

Liz looked up and said, "I saw her the night before last when you and Mary Sue were at the diner with the police officer. I talked with her on the phone yesterday afternoon and she was going to stop by the diner after Jackson went on his county patrol. But she never showed up or called." She dissolved into tears again, obviously assuming the worst.

Mary Sue just held her until there was a knock at the door. She and Liz looked up as Pat opened the door and allowed both Emily and Leslie to come in.

Pat had already explained why Leslie was needed and she went directly to where Liz sat. Pulling up an ottoman, she sat down in front of Liz and held her hands.

"When was the last time you heard from your friend?"

"Yesterday," Liz said. "She called me when Jackson was busy. She was afraid of how he was acting and she was going to come over to my place when Jackson left and we were going to leave town together." She was crying now.

"She never showed up like she was supposed to and I don't know where she is. No one answers the phone and I've knocked on the doors but no one answers. I watched Jackson leave this morning on patrol before I went over there."

Leslie stayed still for a minute or two, thinking, before she came to her feet. Her gaze swept the group in front of her and she said, "I'll go check it out myself. I don't want to put you ladies in harm's way, so I want you to stay here. Mr. Summerfield, could I ask you to come along and remain in the car while I look around?"

Involving a civilian was definitely against regulations, but her superiors had put her into a bad situation by withdrawing everyone in response to Ron Kaylock's political maneuvers. All she would do would be to look around the sheriff's house and keep Pat out of trouble. She knew that Mary Sue would never forgive her if something happened to her boyfriend.

"Of course, let's go," he replied. He was up in one smooth motion.

Leslie stopped at the door and turned back to the ladies being left behind. "I'll look around and see if there is a problem. We'll be back in a little while."

It was only a half mile drive from Pat's house to the sheriff's. The lawman owned a fairly good-sized, single story structure that backed up against a green belt so that there were no neighbors behind. There was a good space between each house which provided a good bit of privacy.

Leslie drove past the house slowly before turning and parking on the street in front of the house. There were no vehicles in the driveway and all the windows that they could see were all covered by shades or drapes.

Leslie turned to Pat and said, "I want you to stay here. I'm going to go up and look around. If I'm not back in five minutes, I want you to get on the radio to yell for help. Okay?" She checked her pistol in its holster. "I don't expect any trouble, but I can't put you in any more danger than I am right now. You'll be safe here in the car. The windows in these cars are bullet-resistant. You can either stay here or drive away if you have to."

All Pat could do was nod in acknowledgement, she really was not giving him a chance to answer back. He watched her walk up the driveway and knock on the front door. When she got no response she disappeared behind the house.

As Leslie walked up to the back of the house, everything was quiet. It even seemed like the birds were still, but she could hear them off in the distance. Every window had a shade pulled down or drapery closed tight. Of course, she could see nothing through the windows.

At the back of the house, she looked through the screen door into the porch. Nothing unusual was visible and the house door was closed as well. Liz had said that there was no answer when she had been here; but protocol required her to knock anyway and announced herself as a policeman. She was in so much trouble now from violating policies that entering the house was a minor infraction. She tried the porch door to find that the door was unlocked.

Stepping quietly on to the porch, she moved to the door into the house proper. She carefully tried the door and found it locked. She heard nothing when she listened at the door, so she hammered loudly on the door.

"Hello! This is the police! Samantha are you in there?" She heard no answer, but there was a faint thud against the door. She called out again and was rewarded by a pair of weak thuds near the bottom of the door, almost as if someone were bumping or kicking at the door.

Everything that had been happening since she had arrived in town had been unusual. It took her only a moment to decide to add breaking and entering to the list of infractions she had committed so far. Being wrong was worth the risk. Besides, she didn't much care for the sheriff anyway.

She stepped back for a moment to look at the door and the frame it was in. Fortunately, the security door was set into the original door frame. That meant the weakest part of the door was actually the frame itself and not the door. She used the balance and control she had developed through years of martial arts training to deliver a pair of kicks beside the deadbolt on the door. The door itself was strong enough to withstand the force she expended upon it, but the wooden frame was not and door stood slightly ajar after the steel bolt tore through the cheap lumber.

She pushed at the door, but there was little give. It appeared that someone had piled an obstruction against the door to keep it closed. When she heard groans from the other side of the door, Leslie pressed firmly against the door to move whatever it was out of the way. Once the door was open far enough, she looked carefully around the door to see that a body lay there. Leslie could see that the huddled body was breathing, but the amount of blood that stained the clothing made her question just how long that might be.

"Samantha?" she called loudly. "Can you move?" It was obviously Samantha as the sheriff had driven off that morning. Leslie was rewarded by a whimper of pain. It didn't look like the wounded woman even had the power to cry from the pain she must be in. A trail of blood across the kitchen from the closed door at the other side showed the heroic effort she must have made to reach the door, only to find that it was locked.

Leslie slipped through the gap she had made and knelt beside Samantha. Her face was a badly bruised from several different blows and her right arm was draped across her body, looking just wrong. Leslie had seen her share of wounds and injuries during her time in the military and on the highways. The damage she was looking at was no different, but it still made her want to cry because of the anger and outright menace it represented. No one should be able to inflict this kind of pain upon another person, just because they could.

"Samantha! Can you hear me?" Leslie was practically shouting to make sure that Samantha responded. She couldn't tell how badly the woman was hurt or if she was even conscious. Happily, Leslie saw her eyelids flutter and Samantha tried to groan.

"Don't try to talk," Leslie said more quietly. "I have to pull you away from the door so that I can get it open. I'll have an ambulance here in just a few minutes." She was sure that it would be safe to pull Samantha back away from the door by her feet, regardless of how much pain it might cause her. After all, she had crawled across the kitchen already.

Leslie took care to keep Samantha's arm from more damage first and then gently took hold of her legs and pulled her back into the kitchen. Her lower body was undamaged, which meant that Jackson had been raining blows down upon his wife and she had been cowering and trying to protect herself with her arms. Eventually, the man had overpowered her and given his anger free reign.

It looked like the movement had been enough to make Samantha pass out, but she also looked to be breathing a bit easier. Before she ran out the back door, Leslie turned Samantha's face a bit to make sure that her patient / victim could continue to breath. Then she was out the door and back to the car. The total distance was only about thirty feet and it seemed like it took forever to cover it and no time at all at the same time. Pat saw her coming and he had the car unlocked for her. From the way she was running, it must have seemed like the hounds of Hell were chasing her and he braced himself and assumed trouble was coming. It was when she grabbed at the microphone and made the call for an ambulance and then for support from her own office that he understood that something else was going on.

Leslie gave Pat instructions to sound the car horn if the sheriff were to return and send the ambulance up the driveway and to the back of the house while she went to watch over Samantha. While Pat stood by the car, watching for the ambulance, he pulled out his phone and called his own house. He quickly sketched out what he knew and instructed his friends to meet them at the hospital. Coming to the sheriff's house was out of the question because they would only be in the way.

Inside, Leslie cleared away what she could so that the paramedics would have an easier passage in and out of the house. Samantha remained on the floor, but she had moved slightly. Leslie took that as a good sign that she had not done any damage by moving her.

Good thing about being located in town was that the ambulance was less than ten minutes away. It seemed like she had no sooner knelt back beside Samantha when she could hear the siren in the distance and she gave a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to deal with was watching someone suffer and possibly die before help could arrive. In no time, the ambulance had backed up the driveway to the rear of the house and the paramedics were looking Samantha over. Leslie found herself shouldered out of the way, which was fine with her. Once they had performed their triage, the medical team carefully moved her onto the litter and got Samantha out to the ambulance and then they were gone.

She secured the porch door entry for the house and walked back out to the car. It never failed to affect her when she witnessed a horrific scene like Samantha's and Leslie found herself shaking once the adrenalin in her system was no longer necessary. Pat could see how Leslie was feeling, so he helped her into the passenger side of the car and got behind the wheel.

"I called Emily and Liz to tell them to meet us at the hospital. Is that where you want to go?" He was watching her carefully, but Leslie was quickly gaining control of herself.

"Yes," she answered. "I need to find out if she can tell us anything. If her husband attacked her, I will need to find out how we need to proceed from here. I may find myself having to take charge, it would be a waste of time involving the sheriff’s useless deputy but I'll try anyway.

She left Pat in the car again when they arrived at the sheriff's office. Inside, she found just the single deputy who had no information about where (or where?) Royce Jackson was. The man reflected much of the sheriff's personality and Leslie managed to keep from showing just how angry he made her.

If this was the general attitude and behavior of the face of law enforcement in this county, there would be some changes in order. It was no wonder that so many citizens were unhappy with the sheriff.

She had Pat drive them to the hospital with sirens blaring. She spent the time talking to her commander and explaining the situation that existed here. Wisely, Pat kept his mouth shut during the conversations. He listened as it was decided that a support team would be dispatched and would remain in the area until the local situation has been assessed and deemed under control. Leslie would be in charge of them all.

They had been sitting in the hospital parking lot for almost twenty minutes before everything had been determined and Leslie was able to sign off with headquarters.

She looked at him and said, "I don't think that I need to tell you that was all confidential."

All Pat could think was: 'Of course it was.' He just smiled and nodded. "I figured that was the case. Besides, who would I tell that even cared?" Leslie returned his smile and an appreciative nod of her own.

They headed into the emergency department and found that there was no waiting to speak to the receptionist. The nurse recognized Leslie and was willing to say that Samantha was in surgery. There wasn't much more information available, but the doctor had reported that she was out of danger. It would be a few hours before Leslie would be able to talk to her.

While they were at the desk, Emily, Liz, and Mary Sue hurried in. They all moved into the waiting room and Leslie leaned forward to Liz. She quickly recapped how she had found Samantha, but skipped over the bloody condition she was in at the time.

"She's in surgery right now. The doctor reported that she was going to be okay, but that it would be a few hours before she will be able to see anyone." The look on Liz's face said that she did not want to be stuck waiting around the hospital when her loved one was in trouble. It hurt doubly so because it was also obvious that there was nothing she could do about it.

"Liz, why don't you and I wait together? I need to see if Samantha can make a statement and I'm waiting for a team from Cheyenne to show up." Leslie looked at Pat and the other ladies and continued, "You three should probably head back. There really isn't anything you can do here and I would like to talk with Liz for a while."

Pat nodded in agreement and everyone gave Liz a hug before heading back to town. They dropped Emily off at her place. Then Pat decided that he wanted to check on the library. The yellow police tape and crime scene notice had been removed from the entrance to the library, so Pat tried his keys in the locks. He was happy to find that there were no surprises, like new locks, and they went on in.

The first thing that struck them was the overpowering odor of smoke. The air conditioning system had done a good job of keeping the air cool, fortunately the electricity was on again. They must have turned everything on again when they had finished their investigation.

Even though the light was dimmed by smoke that had settled on the windows, they could see that everything was still in order. The fire itself had been confined to the store room where it had been set and it had not had a chance to spread to the floor or walls. Considering the age of the building, the place would probably had gone up like a torch. A single case of arson had become attempted murder and could have been murder if Pat had not reacted fast enough.

"Everything will need to be cleaned and aired out. I hope that we can get rid of most of the smoke smell. Most of the books are pretty contemporary, so it won't cost the city a great deal to replace them if we have to. I'm glad that the historical collection was in the other room. I'll bet that the smoke never got in there."

He pointed to the back half of the room that was closed off by a glass wall. "I've been watching over the collection and adding artifacts to it as they are brought in by tourists or the folks who live around here. Would you believe that there are people who actually want to sell things to us? They aren't really happy when I tell them that state law doesn't allow them to keep native artifacts." He smiled at the thought. "I make sure that anything that might belong to one of the tribes around here is returned."

Mary Sue went over to the room and looked in at the shelves. There were shelves upon shelves holding a myriad of pottery shards, books, clothing, and even some weapons.

Pat continued, "I know that it's a mess in there, but a degree in library science isn't enough to manage a museum. So I just watch over everything and I only let researchers in there." He looked at her with a lopsided smile, "You never had a chance to get in there though and the fire kept us from coming back."

Mary Sue just shrugged. "I think that I found everything I need for my thesis. I've been thinking that my focus won't be solely upon the wagon train, but will be about women on the wagon train and how they were important to their success. Yolanda will be a big part of my thesis."

"Do you want to check out what I have in there?" Pat asked.

"Yes, I would. Thank you."

Pat led her over to the entry door and unlocked it. He had been correct that the smoke hadn't gotten in here, obviously because of a separate filter system.

"I'm glad that the fire didn't get in here," Mary Sue said. "Each of these items is a link to our past and they have a story to tell. They should be curated and catalogued.

Pat looked at her for a few moments before he said, "I know. I just have to find someone who will come in and work on it. Interested in a job? It doesn’t pay much but has great benefits.” He said with a grin.

They looked around a bit more before returning to the main library. Before leaving, they inspected the store room where the fire had been set. Most of the smell of smoke appeared to emanate from here.

"I only had office furniture, tables, and chairs in here. It looks like I'll have to junk it all," he shook his head. "What a waste. Maybe I can find a couple of college kids who want to make a few bucks to haul everything out. I’m just glad that the fire chief thought about using the fire extinguishers instead of soaking the place with a fire hose."

"When do you think you'll be able to reopen the library?"

"I'll find a couple of volunteers tomorrow when I get back from taking you over to Cheyenne. It should only take a few hours to empty this out and get rid of the smoke smell."

Mary Sue nodded. The mention of Cheyenne reminded her again that she had to leave. She needed to get her materials packed and ready to leave early in the morning. She hadn't given any thought to how she was going to the airport in Cheyenne.

"I…I was going to see about a shuttle service. I wasn't going to ask you to take me all the way over there."

Pat wrapped her in a hug and held her as he said, "I don't mind taking you at all. I'd feel better about taking you over there because of everything that's been going on around here. I know that you'll be safe once you're on the plane. But we'll need to leave early though."

She had to pull back a bit to look up at him. "Then I should get packed and probably get to bed early." There was something about the look in her eyes, maybe how she seemed to look through her eyelashes that said something more.

"Let's go get something to eat then you can get packed and into bed," he said, bending down to give her a warm kiss.

They closed up the building again and drove down to the diner. Rush hour was over by now, so one of Liz's co-workers, Donna, was chatting at one of the few tables that were still occupied. The atmosphere seemed a bit subdued.

Donna came over to their table and smiled warmly. "Hi Pat. Hi Mary Sue. We haven't heard anything from Liz yet. Is Samantha okay?"

They related everything that they knew about Samantha and her condition, which really was not much. Donna thanked them, took their order, and headed back to the kitchen. It was a great meal and they laughed and talked as if Mary Sue was not leaving. It was obvious that they were both making an effort to not dwell on it.

They went back to Pat's place when they were done. It took Mary Sue about an hour to organize her things and prepare for the next day. She carried the last of her bags out to the living room and said, "That's it, except for the one I'll need in the morning."

Pat had busied himself catching up on his housework to clean up the living room and kitchen. With Mary Sue's announcement, he came over to her and replied, "I think that I have everything back in shape around here too. Is there anything you would like to do on your last night here?"

She smiled and pulled his face down to allow her to give him a deep kiss. Then she took him by the hands and pulled him along to the bedroom.

Chapter 17 - The Search Begins

By Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proofread by: Qmodo

Liz sat quietly, her arms wrapped around herself, knees pulled up on the chair. Even though the doctor had reported that things looked good for Samantha, she was still worried about her and probably would stay that way until she was able to see for herself.

"How long have you and Samantha known each other?" Leslie asked, doing her best to keep it from sounding like an interview. She asked partly to fill the silence and partly to get Liz outside of herself. Keeping her thinking and talking was better than allowing her to fret about Samantha.

"Sam and I grew up together," Liz began. "We've lived within a couple of miles of each other forever, but we have been together for about a year.

"I would see her around town and in the stores. I never really talked to her in school because we moved in different circles." She smiled a bit sadly and continued, "Everyone knew I was a lesbian and that made me an outcast with everyone. Your Emily was a couple of years behind me, but she was smart enough to keep it quiet and to avoid the boys."

Leslie wasn’t aware their relationship had become public knowledge. My Emily? Had they been that obvious to people?

Liz could tell by the look on Leslie’s face that she had both surprised her and scared her. She smiled weakly, "You can’t fool me. When you two are together, a blind man could see the attraction between you. You are one lucky lady. Emily is a good person. If she likes you, so are you."

Liz took a deep breath and continued, "She came into the diner one evening. She and Jackson had had a fight and she wanted to be somewhere with people while he was working the night shift. It was a really slow night and we got to talking. At closing time, she wasn’t ready to go home. We had a lot in common so I invited her back to my apartment. We talked for hours."

"She started coming over a lot back then and we would just talk. Jackson really was not very nice to her and talking with me made her feel better. I really liked being around her too. Over time, we realized that we liked being with each other and we spent even more time together. At first it was strictly platonic. It's wonderful to be with someone who wants to be with you just as much.”

Leslie smiled and nodded. She knew only too well how nice that feeling was.

Liz blinked back tears and looked up at Leslie. "Do you really think that she will be okay? I never thought that Jackson was the kind of person who would hurt Samantha. I don't want her to be hurt because of me." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her expression hardened as she said, “I’m not the pushover that Samantha was. I’m going to make Royce pay for hurting her.” Her voice had a dangerous tone to it.

Leslie pulled her into a hug and said, "The doctor said that she would come through this okay. We'll be able to talk to her in a little while.” Liz’s anger and threat concerned her. “I'll make sure that Jackson is put somewhere so that you and Samantha are safe. I don’t want you to do something "

She was interrupted by the appearance of another state police officer as he entered the waiting room. Seeing Leslie consoling Liz, he half-waved before backing out of the door. She patted Liz on the knee and left her to go outside.

Phil was waiting outside the emergency department when she stepped out. "Hello Lieutenant Caldwell, I haven’t seen you in a while. I’m guess you’re in charge for this.”

She nodded. "Hi Phil. I'm glad you were one of the guys that Captain Williams sent. I’ve been working this side of the state for the past couple of years. You must have been over on the west side."

Phil smiled. "Jack is outside with the car. The captain sent us on ahead of Sanders and Wilder. I'm supposed to tell you that Judge Anderson will be here by tonight." He grinned and said, "It looks like you've got a real bag of snakes on your hands."

Leslie nodded absently. "I know. Just when I think that I know who all of my suspects are and what they are capable of, they change the game on me and surprise me."

Phil looked at her, ready to go into action. "What do you want us to be doing? Anything special?"

She consulted a notebook she took out. "Sheriff Jackson is the main suspect in the assault upon his wife, so I want him brought in. His deputy was in their office when I stopped there about an hour ago. I'm not sure if he is involved or is just incompetent to not be aware of what has been going on around here."

She looked up at Phil and asked, "Do you have any idea when Jeff and Pete will be here?"

"The captain wanted all of us here by tonight, so they should be here in just a couple of hours." He grinned again. "I've never seen him so intense before. I don’t think that he was too happy to have to pull us back from here before because he sounded happy that you found a reason to bring us back. I’m supposed to tell you that Judge Anderson and his clerk will be here tonight."

Leslie returned his smile. "I didn't like having you guys pulled back either. The Kaylocks have a lot of clout in Cheyenne, but I suspect that is going to end tomorrow. First, I'd like you and Jack to track down the sheriff and then hold him and his deputy for questioning.

"You should be able to find the sheriff's car by tracking the GPS transponder. I doubt that he will go far from the car. Put out a bulletin for him in case he decides to leave the area, but I don't think that he will. He is probably hoping that Ron Kaylock can bail him out of this.

"I'm going to stay here until I know how Mrs. Jackson is doing and I'll try to take a statement from her."

"Yes, ma'am," Phil answered, giving her a half-salute. "I'll send a message back to dispatch to tell them what we’re doing."

Leslie pursed her lips and nodded. "That makes sense. I haven’t had a chance to report in, but I’ll try to keep dispatch updated."

"I’ll let you know as soon as we have news about the perp. Stay close to your radio."

Leslie nodded. "That sounds good. If I’m away from the car, I’ll have my cell with me."

Giving her a smile and another mock salute, Phil turned and headed out to meet up with his partner. Leslie watched him go with a smile of her own and she went back to sit with Liz.

About an hour later, the doctor came out to where they were waiting. Leslie would not be able to see Samantha for a few hours yet, but Liz was welcome to sit with her. It was obvious that Liz was more than just a friend and it would be good for Samantha to have her there when she finally woke up.

While a nurse took Liz off to be with her loved one, the doctor stayed to give his report to Leslie. "She didn't have internal injuries as such, but it was close. From the bruise on her side, it looks like she might have taken a hit or a kick that broke a rib. Another shot to the same place would have lacerated her lung. She has a mild concussion and we'll be watching her closely for the next several hours. That's one of the reasons why I let Miss McHenry sit with her.

"Her face is badly bruised and she appears to have some loose teeth. She does have a broken nose that we straightened and packed." He looked at Leslie with a sad expression. If he had been wearing spectacles, he would have been looking over the top. "She is going to want painkillers for the next few days, but she is going to be okay. Things looked worse at the beginning than they really were."

Leslie winced at his description of her injuries. Samantha must have taken some hard hits during her beating. It was obvious that whoever had hit her had been angry, which would explain the kick to her ribs. She was probably already on the floor at that point too.

"I'll let her rest then," she said. "I would like to make sure that she has no visitors other than Liz and members of the state police only." She looked the doctor in the eye and continued, "I have reason to believe that her husband might be a danger to her. Do I need to post a guard outside her door?"

The doctor's expression was very sober as he answered her. "No officer. We will be keeping her in intensive care for the next few days as a precaution. I'll make sure that she is not in the general computer system. That will prevent someone from calling in and finding out that she is a patient here."

"Very good," Leslie said. "I will get about my business and let you get back to yours." She held out her hand and they exchanged handshakes. “Do you have any information from her as to who hit her?”

"Officer Caldwell,” the doctor began. "Before we knocked Mrs. Jackson out, she mumbled something to the effect: ‘I kept trying to stop him but my husband was too strong and he kept calling me a fucking lesbian whore while he was beating me.’. I really hope that you nail the bastard." He said it with some vehemence. "Folks with alternate lifestyles haven't been treated very well in this town lately. But I can promise you that Sam will get the best care we can provide her."

"I will sir," Leslie replied. "I already have my own people looking for him. We won't stop until we have him in cuffs." She nodded her head firmly and headed out to her car.

* * * * *

Leslie drove back into town where she found the other two officers assigned to her team and a pair of suits from the State Attorney General's office. The lawyers were present to provide legal authority for the state police to take over law enforcement in the area. They would also be working with investigators who would be acting as Internal Affairs officers to look into what had been going on in the sheriff's office. Because federal crimes had been committed, the FBI would be making an appearance as well.

While they chatted over a quick cup of coffee, Pete Hendricks updated her on what had taken place so far. The deputy had been taken into custody for questioning, but had not been charged with a crime as yet. He was being treated as a material witness at the moment and was watching television from one of his own cells.

Phil Thompson reported in about half an hour later to report that the sheriff had been found. He had apparently gotten drunk and put his car into a ditch as he tried to make his way out of the state. He had been passed out in his car when they found him. He too would become a resident in his own jail after being checked out at the hospital. Leslie knew that she would not be involved in questioning the sheriff, which would be responsibility of the Internal Affairs folks. She had been subjected to their kind of treatment once and she had not enjoyed it.

Leslie was looking through the files Sheriff Jackson had compiled on gun registrations in the county. It was possible that it was an outsider who had shot at Mary Sue, but It was highly unlikely they would use an antique weapon, they were just too unreliable. Even then, there was no regulation that required a collectible rifle to be registered.

It took her only a couple of hours to scan through the hundreds of registrations to see that all the forms dealt with hunting rifles and various contemporary hand guns. She slid the file away from her, frustrated at the dead end, but not surprised.

As she pondered what her next avenue of investigation should be, if there was one, a cool draft moved through the room. The sudden change in temperature raised goosebumps on her arms. There was a hint of flowers in the air as the breeze intensified for a moment. Leslie shivered and looked up to see what could have caused the breeze. At that point, she noticed a form that had been blown off the sheriff’s desk.

It was immediately apparent that she was alone in the room, but the scent of flowers lingered in the air. The lawyers and the members of her team were drinking coffee out front and she thought perhaps that they had opened a window and that was the source of the lovely smell. As she picked up the form from the floor she saw that it was an old auto accident report that listed the accident party’s insurance companies. Leslie immediately realized that she was looking in the wrong place for the rifle. An antique gun would not be registered as a weapon, but it could be insured because of its value.

There was a phone number of the local insurance agent on form she held, so Leslie sat down to make the call. It turned out that the part-time fire chief was also the insurance agent and he was available to talk. It didn’t take much argument on Leslie’s part to get him to consult his records for the information she wanted. She was surprised to find that there were two antique guns in town. Not surprisingly, one belonged to the Kaylocks but the other belonged to Elizabeth McHenry.

Based upon what she knew about Liz McHenry, Leslie did not believe that she was involved in what was happening here, but it was always possible that she was. She knew that Liz would need to be interviewed again. Even though the Kaylocks appeared to be the better suspects, it was better to be thorough.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Answering it, she found herself speaking with Judge Anderson's clerk. Leslie had heard that the judge and his clerk were practically inseparable. The judge depended heavily upon her organizational skills.

It was agreed that Leslie would meet with the judge the following morning. All of the evidence she had gathered was in the secure area of the trunk in her car. In fact, everything she had was in the car right now. She still did not have any kind of a base of operations established. It hadn't even occurred to her until now. A smile grew on her face. Maybe Emily wouldn't mind having her as a guest for a few more days.

Mentally, she reviewed what she had for the judge. Leslie hoped that it would be enough to merit further investigation. She knew in her gut that something was going on that involved Mary Sue's research, but it might not be enough to justify a search warrant. She had gotten warrants with less evidence in the past though. She had also had a lot more that had been refused too. It was all up to the judge.

* * * * *

She had plenty of experience in presenting evidence, even though she had never met with Judge Anderson before. She started with the arson report regarding the library, which was listed as a federal landmark. The door had been chained and locked with a security lock purchased directly by Tom Kaylock. The serial number on the lock had been documented on the purchase order that Tom had signed. The violence that had ensued after that seemed to center around the same two individuals. The sabotage of Mary Sue's brakes, but no evidence of who had committed the crime. Assault upon Patrick with threats being made which appeared to be linked to Mary Sue. Circumstantial evidence of a diamond from a ring had been found. The diamond that had been found was too large to be used in a traditional lady’s setting, she just hoped that the judge would not demand proof of something she was guessing at. She pointed out that the Kaylocks both wore signet rings with diamonds in them. The murder attempt upon Mary had used an antique rifle and she showed the judge the information she had discovered about the insured gun.

After she had laid out all of the physical evidence she had, outlined the circumstantial evidence, and her suspicions, Leslie sat quietly at the table with her hands folded before her as the judge did not need to ask for any additional information. He finally closed the folder she had presented to him and looked her in the eye.

"Lieutenant Caldwell, your physical evidence is good, but I'm concerned that there is no hard evidence to tie your suspects to the evidence and the crimes. Even so, I believe that there is enough evidence to justify a warrant. I’m going to issue two warrants however. One for the Kaylock ranch and the other for Ms. McHenry. There is too much involved here to not investigate both of them."

While he signed the warrants and accompanying documents, Judge Anderson outlined information that had come into his office by way of his contacts in the FBI. There was hearsay evidence, that had come to him via a wiretap that might be ruled as inadmissible by higher courts regarding the possibility of organized crime trying to take legal ownership of natural water supplies in the area.

Armed with this confidential knowledge and her search warrants, Leslie left the judge. She had put her men on notice that she might need them all when she was finished with her meeting. In addition, two more teams had arrived earlier to act as her back up as well. This would allow her to take her own men with her while someone guarded their prisoners and provided law enforcement coverage for the community. There were also FBI agents standing by to join her search.

While Liz’s apartment was here in town, it would take time to perform the search properly and Leslie would not need the small army that had massed here to do that search. So the Kaylock ranch would be her primary target and she and her deputies would serve the warrant on Liz tomorrow.

* * * * *

The cars made an impressive convoy as they pulled up in front of the Kaylock house. Of course, the FBI SUV's were black. Someone in the department either had a sense of humor or they had bought into the black helicopter mindset. The sight of every federal agent wearing a dark suit and sunglasses made her smile. Did they get a discount for buying entire racks of suits and cases of sunglasses?

The FBI agents were jumping out of their vehicles almost before they rolled to a stop and were running toward the outbuildings to secure anyone present. Because of the number of men estimated to be at the ranch, Leslie found herself in command of a sizeable number of agents and police officers.

There had been some question at the very beginning as to who was in command, which Leslie had very calmly and forcefully put down. She informed the federal agents that they were all acting under the authority of the warrant issued to her and the state police. While she was grateful for the support they offered, they would either take instruction from her or they would not participate. After a conference call with their superiors, the senior FBI agent was told to toe the line or get his behind back to his own office.

She had no intention of keeping the feds from doing their jobs, but Leslie was there to nail the Kaylocks for their local crimes. If their activities stepped on the toes of the federal government, the feds could have them when she was finished.

Ron Kaylock had been standing beside his pickup truck, speaking with one of his men as Leslie's car came to a stop. The other man started to move off, but was stopped by one of Leslie's deputies. While the rest of the cars started pulling in, a second deputy took Ron into temporary custody. Ron began to bluster but was smart enough to avoid getting physical.

Leslie waited until the lawyers reached her before she went over to Ron.

"Mr. Ron Kaylock," she held up the folder containing a copy of the search documents. She handed them to him as she said, "We are serving a search warrant upon this ranch, the people on the premises, and all property. Please go with the deputy and we will go about our jobs."

Leslie turned away as Ron started talking about illegal search and seizure. When he started yelling about lawsuits, the deputy said something to him about handcuffs and being locked in a cruiser until they were done. Ron either settled down or Leslie had moved out of earshot as she approached the house. Either way, she couldn't hear him any further and she did not bother to look back.

As the agents spread out among the various buildings in the compound with their guns drawn, Leslie led her team up to the main house. Someone must have been watching the activity going on in the courtyard because Tom Kaylock himself stomped onto the wrap-around porch of the ranch house as they stepped onto the porch themselves.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Leslie suppressed a smile as she walked up to him. From the amount of men and uniforms, it should have been obvious that she was not making a social call. If the elder Kaylock thought that he could somehow over-awe them by acting outraged, he was about to be seriously disappointed.

"Mr. Tom Kaylock," she began, "you are being served with a search warrant that authorizes us to search all buildings, vehicles, and persons on this property. The items and information we are looking for are detailed in the warrant."

As she finished speaking, one of the lawyers stepped forward to give him his own copy of the documents.

When faced by the number of people in front of him, some of them in State Police uniforms, Tom Kaylock did what most people do when faced with guns and uniforms: be scared and uncertain. Their drawn side arms added to the effect. He did try to rally himself by demanding that he be allowed to call his own lawyer before they began their search.

Leslie felt some satisfaction when she shut him down. "You are welcome to contact your attorney Mr. Kaylock, but we will not wait for him. This warrant would have been executed whether you were home or not. Your presence just means that we do not need to break the door down to get in."

She waved her hand, indicating the he should precede her back into the house. Once inside, he was directed to a hard-backed chair and was positioned so that he was in the middle of the room where he could be easily monitored. He was joined in just a few minutes by his son, Ron, and a very scared cook. Where the cook was completely intimidated by the mass of law enforcement, Ron was arrogant and uncooperative. Ron was warned once again to remain seated and quiet while the search took place.

When he was informed that one of the items listed in the warrant was the keys to the doors of the library, Tom willingly informed them that he had the keys and told them where to find them in his desk. Even though Leslie had already obtained proof that Tom had purchased a security lock like the one removed from the doors of the library, he still denied any knowledge of the lock. Leslie did not bother to tell him that the proof was already in hand.

She had a whole laundry list of things that she was looking for, some of which were not listed in the warrant. After all, what senior jurist would approve searching for a particular brand of lady's lingerie or lipstick? Of course, if she found those items during the performance of the search, she would be able to take them into evidence. Because of that, she was determined to search the senior Kaylock's private rooms herself.

She expected to find the underwear and makeup from Pat's assault in Tom's rooms, but it was a typical man’s bedroom. Right down to the pile of worn clothes. She was confused for a moment until one of her deputies reported that there was a bedroom that they could not get into.

Leslie went back to the living room and told Tom that she needed the keys to the room. A brief argument ensued, with Tom becoming increasing agitated. She could see that he was greatly upset, so much so that he was perspiring heavily and he could not remain still at the thought that someone would be going into that room. “No one goes into that room except me, not even the maids.”

She could read Tom well enough to see that he was not concerned about anything that might be found in the room, he appeared to just not want the room to be disturbed. He relaxed somewhat when she explained that they needed to search the room and that they fully intended to do so, but she was willing to allow him to watch them while they did their job. Tom retrieved a set of keys from the center drawer of his desk and handed them to Leslie.

To keep him from going off on another tirade, Leslie allowed Tom to accompany her. The bedroom was obviously a hospice room, probably where Tom’s wife had passed her final days, and it appeared that it had been untouched for years. Tom must have turned the room into a shrine to his dead wife and Leslie was sure that she would find what she was looking for here.

Tom objected to the deputies even taking pictures of the room, but they ignored his complaints as they worked. He was almost frantic when Leslie opened the drawers of the bureau. A potpourri sachet lay among the clothes and the strong smell wafted out. She only needed a single sniff to know that it was the same scent on the clothes Mary Sue had given to her from Pat Summerfield's assault. It was a flowery scent, but totally different from what she had been smelling lately.

"Leave that alone, that’s an invasion of my privacy!" Tom was practically frothing at the mouth. He would have charged across the room to shoulder them away from his wife's things, but the hand on his own shoulder prevented him from going far.

"Mr. Kaylock," Leslie began gently. She was not insensitive to the man's feelings, even though he was not really a likeable person. This room was a memorial to his dead wife and she did not intend to disrespect her memory. She was already sure that he was not the sole focus of her investigation and it just was not in her to be as heartless towards him as he presented himself to others.

"We can see that this is a special place as we are being careful to not disturb anything, but we do need to document what is there." Once she had Tom’s attention again, she continued. "I need to know if everything is in the drawers is owned by you.”

Tom was led over to the chest of drawers. He took one glance at the top drawer and the bottles arrayed on the top of the bureau and started yelling, “You didn’t need to dig through Rachel’s drawers! Those were her things!” The man was practically hysterical.

“Mr. Kaylock!” Leslie had to shout a second time to get the man’s attention. “We have not touched anything yet! We wanted you to look at things before we started our search.” As he settled down and looked at Leslie, she continued, “That is why I wanted you to tell me if everything was in order. We won’t disturb anything else, but I am going to have one of my men check for fingerprints. Can you tell me who else has been in here?”

“This was Rachel’s room and I’ve been the only one in here for years! You had to get the key from me to even get in here! No one else comes in here!” Tom was practically writhing in the grasp of the deputy who stood beside him.

Leslie nodded in acknowledgement and assured him that she would personally see to it that they would disturb things as little as possible. She had him taken back into the living room while she oversaw the gathering of fingerprints and a series of photographs. From his reactions, Leslie was sure that the elder Kaylock had not used the items in the room in the assault upon Pat Summerfield. But someone had.

Once Tom had been returned to the living room with her assurances that nothing more would be disturbed in his wife’s room, she went back to the bedroom. Her inspection of the drawer’s contents showed that the style of lingerie used in Pat’s assault matched up with Rachel Kaylock’s. From the patterns in the dust on the top of the bureau, Leslie could see that lipstick and perfume containers had been disturbed or were missing. She gave instructions that anything that was disturbed as part of their search was to be replaced as neatly as possible. She knew the team was disciplined enough to do just that.

The team determined that Rachel’s room was locked again and sealed with tape when they were done. In Tom Kaylock’s den was found a gun cabinet in which was displayed a set of antiquated guns. There was a space in the cabinet for a rifle. Tom was brought in and asked about the contents of the cabinet. When he was questioned about the missing firearm, he was both confused at its absence and nervous. He swore up and down that he did not know where the gun was.

The search progressed through the house and hit pay dirt again when they came to Ron Kaylock’s rooms. Ron actually occupied a bedroom, den, and a sitting room. A jewelry box in the bedroom held a family signet ring with an empty setting. They immediately reported the fact to Leslie who smiled tightly and nodded in satisfaction. An inscription on the inside band just said, “Ron.” The ring was bagged as evidence and documented with their growing collection.

Leslie was bewildered as a sweet perfume-like aroma floated through the room. It was out of place in a cowhand’s bedroom, she was trying to locate its origin when the thought struck her it was the same flowery scent that had been in the air the day before in the sheriff’s office only stronger here. As unlikely as it was, some said that the fragrance was linked to the investigation’s success.

Not surprisingly, here was no sign of the missing rifle that Leslie knew Ron owned. Considering the wealth of the Kaylock family, it was entirely conceivable that Ron would have disposed of it rather than keep it around. They could afford the loss.

Leslie was satisfied with the results of the search though. She had enough evidence to arrest both father and son on charges of conspiracy to commit assault, murder, and desecration of a state or federal landmark. Even though Tom was campaigning to become a Congressional election candidate, the number of charges involved precluded suppressing the news of the charges. But no one would go out of their way to publicize them to hurt Tom.

Leslie fully enjoyed reading Ron his Miranda rights and taking him into custody for assault and suspicion of attempted murder. She knew that the murder charge might not hold, but they would continue to search for the gun.

As she finished, one of her deputies, Jeff Adams, came to her about a floor safe that they had found set into the foundation of the house. Leslie returned to the living room to speak to Tom again. Asking for the combination to the safe caused Tom to go into another episode of agitation. It was obvious that she was not going to get any additional cooperation from Tom, so Leslie decided that it was time to take folks into custody and move them into town. If Judge Anderson determined that opening the safe was necessary, they would either prevail upon Tom to reveal the combination or send someone capable of forcing it open.

Tom was led outside where Leslie read him his rights. The stress and strain of the day’s events must have finally broke Tom down. His coloring was almost gray as he looked up at Leslie and said, “I give up Lieutenant Caldwell. I’ll tell you everything.” He had the bearing of a man who had been beaten.

Ron had been read his Miranda rights in the house and was being led out of the house as Tom stated his intent to confess. He lunged at his father with a shouted, “No!” His hands were up, as if he wanted to push his father away from Leslie. Regardless of his intentions, he shoved Tom hard. Tom was hit hard and he stumbled back. A dull thud sounded as Tom’s head impacted upon the wall and he crumpled slowly to the floor of the porch.

Officers were suddenly moving at high speed. Ron was practically tackled to bring him back under control and handcuffs were forced onto his wrists. Tom was laid out on the floor to check his condition. It was quickly apparent that Tom was in trouble. Emergency calls were sent out for an ambulance while officers attempted to render first aid and CPR. It quickly became apparent that Tom was beyond help as he was not responding to first aid.

Ron had been held to one side while the other officers worked to save Tom’s life. Instead of showing concern for his father, Ron almost seemed to be wanting him to not survive. It was only a few minutes later that it became apparent that Tom Kaylock was dead from either a heart attack or stroke. Ron’s reaction was to gloat quietly rather than grieve for his father.

Leslie was appalled at his behavior. What kind of man must Tom have been that could cause his own son to take such pleasure at his death? And what kind of man must Ron be to do that? Ron was taken to a cruiser for transport. Leslie found herself disgusted by his behavior and she did not want to be anywhere near him. Besides, she was still in charge of the search.

She was on her way back to the house when her attention was drawn to Ron’s truck by a small dust devil of purple flower petals that swirled beside it. It had become apparent that someone or something wanted her to pay attention to certain things and it was also becoming annoying. She did not like to be led around like she was playing a game of hot-and-cold with her.

The driver’s door was unlocked and the interior of the truck looked like it had just rolled off the dealer’s showroom, even though the exterior was covered in dust. While the rest of the interior was pristine, the area behind the driver’s seat was covered in flower petals. There was no way they could have drifted into the truck when she opened the door, at least not in the quantity that covered the floor and the bundle that was half under the bench seat. Instead of flowers, there was a strong smell of gun oil.

She smiled broadly as she took hold of the bundle. From the shape, it was either a fishing pole or a rifle. Considering how things had been happening lately, her money was on rifle and she had no double that this was the gun she was looking for.

She motioned for the deputy in the cruiser to come along with her as a witness. She could see Ron yelling at her from the back of the cruiser and she heard him yelling about the gun briefly and then the car door closed again. Leslie favored him with a smile as she and the deputy went into the house. She happily set the rifle down on the table so that it could be documented into evidence,

In the end, there were half a dozen men among the two dozen ranch hands that were not ranch hands. When all of the workers were taken in hand by the search team, only one had been foolish enough to attempt to pull a weapon. He had been arrested without a shot being fired and he would be spending time in a cell beside Ron and the sheriff. The remaining thugs drove away when they were allowed to leave.

The ranch foreman acted as a witness while Leslie and her team loaded their items of evidence and locked up the main house. The actual ranch hands agreed to remain on the job until the court could appoint an administrator. Leslie returned to town to report her findings to Judge Anderson and to begin the next step of her investigation.

Chapter 18 - Aftermath

By Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proofread by: Qmodo

Leslie watched the elder Kaylock be loaded into the ambulance with mixed emotions. The paramedics could not tell her much about his chances though, she would have to speak with the doctors at the hospital. The man’s entitled attitude had made him unlikeable, but seeing anyone injured always bothered her. It was one of the reasons she had pursued law enforcement as a career.

Ron found himself handcuffed in the back of one of the cruisers. She knew that Ron was a product of how he had been raised, but he was still responsible for his actions and decisions. Whether he had intended to hurt his father or only stop him from talking was not the point, he had resorted to violence. She really was not surprised as she suspected that Ron settle most issues that way.

Before the troopers left to take him into be locked up, Leslie gave strict instructions that he was to speak to no one and that he was to be kept in a cell away from everyone else. The last thing she wanted was to have Ron suddenly coordinating stories with someone else. It would make it harder to get to the truth later.

Ten men had been found on the ranch that were obviously not there to handle livestock or to do any apparent productive work. It appeared that they were there representing the other business Judge Anderson had referred to in private. To cover herself and the Feds, they requested wants and warrants on everyone. Half of the bad eggs came back with misdemeanor warrants out-of-state. The rest came back with rap sheets but nothing outstanding. Privately, Leslie doubted that the sheriff would have acted on the warrants anyway.

They were ostensibly involved with a criminal organization, but there was no proof and they were not necessary to Leslie’s case. She threw her FBI friends a bone and let them take the gangsters back to Cheyenne. She was glad to see them all go because their presence would have just muddied the water for her.

Yes, arresting them all might look good on her record, but it would really not mean much to her or her team in the long run. Her personal philosophy had always been to do a good job and she expected to be recognized for that. Getting ahead by blowing her own horn just was not her. But she made sure that all of the members of her team were recognized for their performance. It was only right.

As the officer in charge, Leslie had to stay at the ranch until everything had been reviewed and put to rights. She talked with the ranch foreman to make sure that lines of communication, responsibilities, and authorizations to keep the ranch operating had been addressed. The man was a professional, even though he was definitely a Kaylock man, he would still keep the place running properly. Because the ranch was a working concern, with crops, livestock, and employees to maintain everything, the foreman was put in charge. The Kaylock house itself was now a crime scene and needed to be sealed off. A team would have to remain on site until the court decided to release the building.

Leslie found that being in charge of things could be a real pain at times. It didn’t get any better when she finally got into the car to leave. She had messages waiting from the two men she had sent to search Liz’s apartment, letting her know that they had found an antique rifle and they had taken it into custody. They assured her that they had left the apartment in good condition.

Leslie sat in her car for several minutes, thinking. Everything pointed to Ron as being the sniper who had shot Mary Sue, even those ever-present flowers said so. But now she had to investigate Liz. Fortunately, she would be at the hospital with Samantha Jackson. She also needed to go to the hospital to get an update on Tom’s condition.

* * * * *

It took less than half an hour to reach the hospital and Leslie was able to track down the chief resident easily. The hospital administrator was also present, both in the emergency department. Tom Kaylock was a powerful man in the area and everyone would bend over backward to make him happy. The reason the administrator was there was not a good one though.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant Caldwell,” the doctor began, “but Mr. Kaylock expired not long after he arrived.” He went on to explain that Tom never regained consciousness, the blow to his head was too severe.

While the doctor also acted as the area’s medical examiner, he had asked for help from Cheyenne as backup because of the high-profile nature the Kaylocks presented. An autopsy would be performed as soon as they arrived. The cause of death would be an important factor regarding charges that might be brought against Ron.

The death of one of the chief suspects changed the complexion of the entire situation and Leslie wasted no time in reporting to her superiors. A prosecuting attorney had already been dispatched to deal with the case, he or she would just have this new wrinkle to deal with now.

She left the chief resident and the hospital administrator to prepare for the autopsy and so that she could prepare for the arrival of the prosecutor. Foremost on her list was to collect Samantha Jackson’s statement and interview Liz McHenry. Stopping at the admissions desk, she identified herself and asked where Samantha had been moved to.

She met Sam’s doctor outside of her room. “Hi, Doc, how is Samantha doing?”

“She is going to be fine,” he answered. “I’m going to keep her for a night or two for observation because of a mild concussion. It will help us keep her ribs immobilized as well.”

Leslie frowned. “Is Miss McHenry still here?”

The doctor grinned and rolled his eyes. “Oh yes. I decided not to fight with her and arranged to have a cot put into the room for her. It was that or find some way to put her on staff."

Leslie returned his smile. She had gotten a sense of the devotion Liz had for Sam earlier. She hoped to know that feeling someday.

She paused outside the room to look in at the two women. Sam was reclining on the bed; her head was probably raised as far as was safe for the ribs that had been damaged in the beating she had taken. Liz was in a chair right next to the bed, Sam’s hand held in both of Liz’s. They were talking quietly, but she could see that they were devoted to each other. Leslie could not keep the smile from her face as she entered the room, even though the reason she was there was very serious.

They looked up at her as she came in, their smiles barely fading.

“Hi Leslie,” Liz said happily. “The doctor said that Sam’s going to be okay, but she’s going to have to take it easy for a while.”

“Yes, I was just talking to the doctor. But, right now, I need to talk to you both. Separately.” The smiles dropped as she said the last as she slipped back into peace officer mode.

“What’s the problem?” Liz asked.

“Let’s go down the hall and talk shall we?” Leslie said, trying to lighten things up. She looked back at Sam and continued, “I need to get a statement from you regarding how you got hurt. We just need a few minutes.”

Leslie waited for Liz to step out into the corridor and then guided her down the hall to an empty waiting room, her hand on Liz’s elbow the entire way and leaving her other hand free. After all, Liz was a suspect in an attempted murder case, if an unlikely one. She managed it so deftly that Liz really could not tell that Leslie was in control. Once the door was closed, Leslie took a seat facing Liz. She set a small recorder on the table between them.)

“Liz, a couple of my men executed a search warrant on your apartment this morning.” They were looking eye-to-eye and Leslie was letting her know this was deadly serious.

“Why? What could you have been looking for?” Liz could not have been more shocked at the revelation.

“We had information that you owned an antique rifle and the judge ordered a search. I also led a search of the Kaylock estate for the same reason.” Leslie took a deep breath. “The reason you and I are talking now is that we found the rifle in your apartment and it appears to have been recently fired. I need to know why.”

Liz blinked a couple of times before she said, “There are probably several people in town with old guns, but I think that mine might be one of the few that actually works properly. I don’t know about the Kaylocks though. I only use mine for target practice and I take it to some of the gun shows in Cheyenne. I used it a few days ago to spook some coons that were getting into the trash as the diner. With all of the craziness that has been going on, I haven't really had a chance to clean it.”

Leslie nodded. Her story made sense at least. Liz already had an alibi for the time Mary Sue had been shot, it would just be necessary to follow things through the end. They would analyze the gunpowder residue found on the evidence where Mary Sue’s shooter had been against the gunpowder they found in Liz’s apartment and at the Kaylock house.

Leslie looked Liz in the eyes, “Have you loaned your rifle to anyone recently? You may have an alibi, but that doesn’t mean your weapon wasn’t used in the assault on Mary Sue.”

Liz was still coming to terms with things, managed to answer, “No ma’am, that rifle hasn’t been out of my control.”

“Could someone have taken it without your permission?”

“Absolutely not. If I found someone ‘borrowing’ my stuff without permission, they would be singing soprano in the church choir. Everyone knows it too!”

“That’s good to hear. Now… my guys were under orders to make sure that they treated your place with respect. Most people think that law officers just trash a place while they are searching and that they enjoy it. If you find that your place was messed up, I want to know about it. Okay?”

Liz acknowledged her with a nod. She was still processing the fact that her home had been searched. “I have to ask, am I a suspect in any of this?”

Leslie looked up from her notebook and replied “Let’s just say you are a person of interest.” Her expression was impassive, but then she continued, “We are looking at everyone that could have been involved in everything that has been happening here. I promise that you have nothing to worry about if you have done nothing wrong.”

Liz was either a good actress and able to hide any guilt around owning the rife and her involvement in things or she really was innocent. Instead of continuing with her interrogation, Leslie decided to bring things to a close.

“We are going to confiscate your rifle for a while to do some tests and I don’t want you to leave town until I tell you. Okay?”

Liz just nodded again. Leslie knew that the shock would pass and that it would be replaced with a combination of outrage, violation, and some humor. All normal reactions. She was sure that Liz would come to see that the search of her apartment had not been directed at her personally, but was just necessary as part of a criminal investigation.

She turned off the recorder and stood up, drawing Liz to her feet.

“Come on. I need to take Samantha’s statement. You can sit with her as long as you do not say anything. This needs to be in her words. Okay?” She looked Liz in the eye, trying to impress upon her how serious she was.

Liz smiled a bit and nodded her understanding. Outside of Sam’s room, Leslie asked her again, “Are you okay? Do you want to sit down somewhere until you have a handle on all of this?”

Liz was nowhere near her bubbly self, but she shook her head at Leslie’s invitation. “Really, I’m okay. I just didn’t think that I would be drawn into whatever is going on around here. I’ll be quiet while you talk with Sam.”

Leslie patted her on the shoulder and ushered Liz into Samantha’s room. True to her word, she sat beside her friend and just held her hand while Samantha told her story. Leslie did pay attention to how Liz held her hand though, in case they attempted to pass a message of some kind. The only times that Liz moved her hand was when Sam told about how Royce had come into the house angry about the fact that his wife’s affair with Liz was made public. Samantha was unable to remember much after Royce had hit her in the head, it all ran into a blur of kicks and fists.

Sam looked down as she said, “I should have left him the first time he ever hit me, but he had almost as much power around here as the Kaylocks. Besides, my family is from here too and I wasn’t ready to pick up and leave.” Sam squeezed Liz’s hand at that point and their eyes met. They exchanged warm smiles.

Sam looked back to Leslie with a determined look on her face.

“I don’t know if they are still there or not, but Royce had a couple of boxes from the sheriff’s office hidden in a closet that might be important. He brought them home a day or two after Miss McLaughlin came to town, asking questions. You are free to look at them as far as I am concerned.”

“I looked at them when he was out one day and I found that they were reports and evidence from the time the first Kaylock family settled here and one of the sons was murdered. I remember stories from that time that my great-grandmother used to tell me about how life was back then.”

Leslie nodded at Sam’s information, not sure how any of this mattered to her, but more than willing to find out where her story went.

“My husband’s family was the sheriff back then. The Kaylocks have made sure that his family has always had a family member as the sheriff. They supported each other for all of these years. Almost like a dynasty.” Sam paused and then said, “I think that Mary Sue was shot because she was researching the town’s gypsy school teacher, Yolanda.”

Leslie wrinkled her forehead. “Out of curiosity how did you determine Yolanda was connected to the Kaylock murders?”

“Why I assumed you knew, the school teacher, Yolanda, was married to Tom Kaylock’s great--great-uncle, the one that was murdered!”

The revelation that additional evidence existed that might be related to her case was very interesting. Leslie was already planning what needed to be done to take the files into custody and how to do it.

“I’m going to need permission to enter your house to get those files,” Leslie said.

“I’ll give that to you,” Sam replied, with a smile.

Leslie and Sam worked to get everything written down and recorded. Once signatures were done, Leslie told them to just relax and recover. They were not to leave town without checking with her and she would talk to them in a day or two.

Samantha told Leslie, “I have no intentions of going anywhere. This is my home. If you need me after I am released, I will be living with Liz in her apartment. I don’t want anything to do with my husband’s house.”

She felt like she was dead on her feet, but Leslie had to stop by the former sheriff’s office which had become the offices for herself and the officers assigned to her. She was happy to discover that the four men had already organized themselves into patrol shifts, so there were just two men in the office. With that burden lifted from her shoulders, she just dropped off the documents she had gathered from Samantha and joined Emily for a quiet evening.

* * * * *

A federal prosecutor showed up after breakfast the next day to review everything that Leslie’s team had collected. It had been moved into an empty office and laid out on tables. He looked at everything that had been seized and the search warrant that Judge Anderson had signed.

What had started as a case of arson on a federal landmark now appeared to involve a case of assault, two separate attempts at murder, and the possible murder or manslaughter of Tom Kaylock. In addition, evidence gathered during the search at the Kaylock estate indicated that Ron Kaylock was involved with a plot to sell control of the area’s main supply of fresh water to an organized crime group. It harkened back to the water rights wars from the 1800’s. The plot could very well allow them bring charges under the RICO act. In addition, it looked like Leslie might be able to solve two very old cold case murders. Things promised to be very interesting and noisy for a while, both here in Laramie and in Cheyenne.

Ron’s fingerprints had been found in his deceased mother’s rooms indicating that he had been handling items linked to the assault on Pat Summerfield. Tom Kaylock had said that he was the only one to go into the room, there was now no way to prove that Ron had not also been allowed in.

Once the review was over, the prosecutor could see that he was going to need an entire team to prepare and try the charges. The man could already envision making his entire career on this one case. Leslie and the prosecutor, Dan Franks, went in to inform Ron of the charges that would be filed against him. Interestingly, Ron’s legal representation had appeared within hours of his arrest and Ron had not even made a phone call.

The four of them sat down in the conference room of the sheriff’s office. The confident smile on Ron’s face did not start to fade until they were done reading the charges and his own attorney asked if they were willing to make a deal. They started with the lesser charges and moved up from there. Assault, kidnapping, RICO charges involving limitation of water rights, attempted murder, and murder.

The man was a smarmy weasel whose upbringing had given him an entitled view of life. Instead of conducting himself as a gentleman, he had become a thug and expected everyone to kiss his ass.

Leslie took some personal pleasure at watching Ron’s expression go from a sardonic smile to an angry snarl as each item was explained. She loved his reaction when she told him that his control of the ranch would be non-existent while he was being tried for the charges and, if he was found guilty of causing his father’s death he would not be able to inherit his father’s estate.

They had to explain that Ron’s assault upon his father had precipitated his death, if not directly caused it. They also had the evidence of Ron’s ring with the missing stone that allegedly caused the bruise on Pat’s head as well as the missing diamond itself that had been found. Ron would be moved to Cheyenne where a federal judge would hear the official reading of the charges and decide if bail was warranted. Dan made the statement that they would oppose any possibility of bail. In fact, there was the strong likelihood that the death penalty would be discussed, unless Ron was willing to cooperate. There was nothing more heinous than killing a member of one’s own family.

That is probably what set Ron off. He began yelling that he needed to be running the ranch and that he had done nothing to keep him locked up. Then he segued into bargaining, as if Leslie or Dan could change things. Despite his lawyer’s advice, he freely made a statement, “He had only intended to make it look like his father was doing everything so that he would end up in jail. That way he could take control of the ranch. Selling the water rights would set him up for life.” All of the time Ron was ranting, his lawyer was yelling at him to shut up. Ron managed to do plenty of damage to his legal situation before he wised up.

Leslie helped move Ron back to his cell before Royce Jackson was brought in. It was not overly surprising that the sheriff had the same legal representation.

For all of the problems that seemed to swirl around the sheriff’s office, they were only able to charge him with malfeasance in the performance of his job, corruption because he took money from the Kaylocks for certain services rendered, and felony assault upon his own wife. The arson fire at the library was suspicious as well and Leslie really wanted to hang that charge on Jackson as well, but she had no evidence to prove it.

When the lawyer questioned the charges, they pointed out that they had evidence of regular payments from the Kaylocks to him by check and Samantha’s sworn statement accusing him of assault. They shut the lawyer down by showing him copies of Samantha’s permission to search the house and her statement regarding the beating he had given her.

It was clear that Tom Kaylock had been involved in the arson that had precipitated the whole investigation and Ron appeared to be an accessory after the fact in trying to coerce witnesses and he was the primary suspect for attempted murder of one of those witnesses. This was enough to hold Ron until he could appear before a judge.

Jackson’s deputy was released from custody before Ron was transferred to Cheyenne for arraignment. Leslie interviewed him and found that the man was pretty much clueless about what had been going on around him. He had to have known that things were not being done properly in the office, but there was nothing to indicate that he had been involved in any wrongdoing. Leslie was sure that the town council would decide to discharge him for incompetence and she wanted nothing to do with the deputy.

As the sheriff, Jackson’s office had been responsible for law enforcement over a very large area, which would fall to the state police with the absence of a sheriff. Because the state had stepped in to supplement law enforcement while the sheriff’s office was being investigated, it was decided to allow Leslie to remain in place until a new sheriff was hired, with Leslie having the option to decline the posting. She could not accept the temporary placement fast enough, though it was dependent upon finding a place to stay. She found that she had very little problem in that regard. After a quick phone call to the mercantile store, Emily was thrilled to have a roommate, even if it was only for a little while.

* * * * *

With the arrest of the sheriff and Ron Kaylock, as well as their cohorts at the ranch, Leslie determined that the danger to Pat and Mary Sue was minimal. As a result, she advised them that they could come out of their self-imposed house arrest with the admonition to be careful. 'No nighttime walks and stay out of dark alleys,' was her advice.

Mary Sue had installed herself at a booth in the back of the diner to review her notes while Pat was taking care of the library. He had been unable to do his job properly these past few days and library patrons had been met with a brief message on the door that told them the library was closed until further notice. Mel (owner of the diner) didn't mind letting Mary Sue use a table as a desk as the breakfast rush was over and she had promised that she would leave if the lunch rush became heavy. Mel's business really had not suffered because of the arrest as they involved a negligible number of men.

Mary Sue looked up as Liz stopped to top up her coffee. "Liz?" she said a bit puzzled. "Why are you here instead of at the hospital?"

Liz looked much better today than she had been at the hospital with Samantha.

"They sent Sam home yesterday. Right now, she is with Leslie," the waitress said. Once the doctors were satisfied that the danger for a concussion was past, they had allowed Sam to go home with Liz, with the order that Sam move carefully and that she not lift anything heavier than a coffee cup.

They had been happy to release her, knowing that Liz would practically wait on her hand and foot. Liz had been driving the nursing staff crazy in just the time that Sam had been in their care. She had already stated that Sam would be staying with her.

The only reason Liz was working today was the Samantha was with Leslie to allow a search of her former home. She had actually wanted to go along, but Leslie had explained that it was necessary to maintain confidentiality of any evidence that might be collected.

"How are you doing?" Mary Sue was actually glad for the break. She had not been making much progress on her notes.

"I'm doing pretty well now," she responded, smiling down at Mary Sue. "Sam is able to move around a lot better, she just needs help sitting or laying down and then getting back up."

"Where is she? Did you leave her home resting?"

"Oh no. Leslie took her back to her house to allow Leslie to do the search. I wasn't allowed to be there, so I decided come in for a few hours to stay busy. How are you?"

Mary Sue signed and sat back in the booth. "I don't know." She looked like she was close to crying.

Liz made a quick scan around the dining room to make sure that her attention was not needed elsewhere and slid into the seat across from Mary Sue.

"What's wrong, hun?" Liz reached across to take Mary Sue's hands.

"It's Pat. I've been hinting to him that I would like to stay, be he doesn't seem to care. He seems to like me though."

Liz smiled and patted Mary Sue's hands.

"It's not you and really it is not Pat either," she said. "You see, Pat grew up without a father, so he was always around his mom. He went on a few dates in high school. We were even an item for a while."

"Really? What broke you guys up?"

Liz shrugged and smile a bit self-consciously, "I realized my tastes were more to silk and lace, not jockie shorts. If you know what I mean. His mother's health was suffering by then anyway and he was taking care of her. That took up all of his free time."

"What was wrong with her?"

"I believe that it was early onset dementia." Liz said. "It's really a shame too. Mrs. Summerfield was the best seamstress around and she was always working. I remember that her appointment book was always full around the time when the girls wanted prom dresses."

"What happened to Pat's dad?"

"I never heard. Mrs. Summerfield never talked about him to the other ladies in town. It's funny though. Even though she was a single mother, no one ever caused her trouble about it. I know that Mrs. Kaylock, Ron's mother, was one of her biggest customers. Also, I heard a lot later, from some of the older ladies, that Kaylock ranch hands were told not to bother her, or else. I believe that came from Tom Kaylock."

"So Pat just does not have much experience with girls?" Mary Sue asked. "Where does that leave me?" It was frustrating to be in love with someone who did not know how to recognize it.

"All I can suggest is that you keep trying. Pat is definitely worth having."

Mary Sue smiled at her as she tried to think of what else she could do to win Pat over. Liz gave her warm smile as she scrambled back to work. Seeing that lunchtime was quickly approaching, Mary Sue packed up her notes and headed over to check on her man.

* * * * *

Mary Sue decided to go for a walk to work her options and found herself at the library. Pat was closing the building's windows for the day. There was still a hint of wood smoke in the air, but it wasn't entirely objectionable. Probably due to what little seasoned oak and cedar that had actually burned. It made her think of the smell of incense in some Oriental-themed stores she had been in.

Pat's eyes lit up as she walked into the library from the small entryway. "Hi! Did you get your notes organized?"

Mary Sue found herself captivated for a moment by his broad smile and those deep, green eyes. After a moment, she came back to earth and returned his smile. "I made a little bit of progress, but I just couldn't concentrate." 'Please ask me why,' she thought.

"Mel's can be noisy," he replied, dashing her hopes that she could just come out and tell him that she could only think about him. "I was going to close up for the afternoon. I was wondering if you would like to see some of the sights. Things have been so crazy that I haven't a chance until now."

"You mean like a date?" she asked. She might not want to trap him into something he didn't want by telling him that she thought she loved him, but she was still going to push a little.

"There isn't much to do here on a date I'm afraid. Most folks go over the Cheyenne because there is more to do over there."

Pat escorted her out to his truck and held the door for her. He drove around town for a bit, pointing out some of the historical sites that she had not had a chance to see because of the chaos they had been embroiled in. Laramie seemed to be split between homes of one form or another and buildings that dated back to the Old West.

One of the obvious visitor sites of interest was the old fort. The fort itself was nothing more than a visitor center and they had no information or resources that she could not already find on-line. There were buildings that had existed in some form from the time when the town had been founded. Mary Sue took pictures to provide some context for her research. They also stopped at Yolanda’s old schoolhouse for pictures.

After that, they headed west out of town. The terrain was relatively flat and the mountains that seemed to rise up in the distance were really too far to go on a sight-seeing trip. The same mountain range that Yolanda's wagon train had to winter over before crossing in the spring.

"I'm sorry Mary Sue," Pat said. "I forgot that a lot of our attractions are outdoors. With the exception of a couple of memorials to be seen, you have to be into rock climbing or fishing to really appreciate Laramie." He sounded a bit frustrated that there was not more to offer her. How could he show a girl from New York the value of Laramie when it had little night life and little shopping? She would have to go to Cheyenne to find anything like that.

"That's okay Pat," she replied, trying to make him feel better. "I liked fishing when I was girl. I would go out with my dad or my brothers once in a while."

They agreed that it was time to eat so they headed back to the diner instead of just eating at Pat's. The place was about half full and Liz was no longer in evidence. They got a table near the back of the diner and were waiting on their meal when Leslie bounced into the café, obviously looking for someone. They could see that she looked a bit lost and they waved her over.

Pat rose out of his chair and to hold the deputy’s chair as she took a seat, “Hi, Leslie, what’s new?”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, trying to imitate a Southern belle. She looked at them with a big smile, lowered her voice to avoid eavesdroppers, and said, “I’m busting at the seams to tell someone. I’ve been asked to stay in town until the township can hire a new sheriff.” Blushing she went on, “Emily and I are taking advantage of the situation and are testing out living together.”

Mary Sue smiled at her and put her hands over Leslie’s, “That’s wonderful. You make a great couple.”

“Thank you.” Leslie lowered her voice a bit and said, “I think I’m falling in love, Emily makes me happy.” She had found the feeling that she had been looking for and it felt so nice.

“Mary Sue, I have a message for you. We’ve relocated Ron Kaylock and Royce Jackson to Cheyenne, so there is no reason to ask you to stay in town. There might be a point where you might be needed in court, but that will be months away. You’re free to leave and continue your research whenever you want.”

While it was news that came as no surprise, it was still a letdown to hear. Her shoulders slumped at the news. Dejectedly, Mary Sue looked over at Pat and said, “Thanks. My university has been pestering me to wrap this thing up. I think I have sufficient data to complete my thesis I can’t see any reason to follow this all the way to Oregon. Now I need a few weeks to organize it all and put it on paper.”

“There is something else Mary,” Leslie continued. “I found things in the box of papers Sam gave me that just might interest you.”

That piqued Mary Sue’s interest, “Really? Like what?”

“Well, I found the original investigation report on the Yolanda and Nathaniel Kaylock murders. It seems the Kaylock family’s homophobia goes way back. You can read it for yourself, but it appears Nathaniel’s brother lost it when the word got out that Yolanda was really a man, living as a woman. He went to Nathaniel’s house, confronted him about living with a man, and ordered Nathaniel to come home to the ranch. When Nat refused, Peter drew his cavalry pistol and said he was prepared to make Nat come home whether he wanted to or not. The two wrestled and the gun went off, killing Nathaniel. Yolanda started screaming at the murderer, who shot her down in cold blood.”

Mary Sue realized she had closure on her story, but needed more than hearsay. So she asked, “How do you know that’s what happened? All the eyewitnesses were killed.”

“Not all of them, Peter was so overcome with remorse he turned his pistol over to the Sherriff and confessed the entire thing. The pistol was in the file box with the records. I didn't see a signed confession, but it was in the sheriff's report.”

“That is fantastic. Why wasn’t he prosecuted?”

“His father interceded with the sheriff and got all the charges dropped on the grounds of self-defense. Then the sheriff just told everyone that a stranger must have committed the murders and then disappeared.”

“Do you think that I could come over to see those papers?” Mary Sue asked. It would be at least one or two more days that she could justify staying in Laramie.

“I have them over at the office. If you want to stop over tomorrow morning, I’ll let you read through them.” Leslie stopped as she saw Emily come into the diner. She bid the two of them a good night before she practically skipped over to Emily and they exchanged hugs. When Leslie and Emily were together, Leslie acted nothing like the focused law officer that she normally presented herself as. The two women waved to them as they moved off to their own table. Mary Sue noticed that no one paid any special attention to the two women.

There was an awkward silence between Mary Sue and Pat before he said, “So when do you think that you will head back to New York?” He seemed to be searching for some kind of sign in her expression.

“I guess that it will have to be after I look at the papers Leslie has. It might not be related to the wagon train directly but I’ve found that I’m more interested in Yolanda now. I’m going to have to be careful that my thesis does not end up sounding like a piece of fiction.”

She stopped for a moment to think about her answer to Pat’s question.

“I guess I should plan on flying back the day after tomorrow. After all, that ‘accident’ with my car was the last straw.”

She made air quotes when she said accident. Hiram had called them earlier that day to tell them that repairing the car would cost more than the car itself was worth. Even though she was fond of the vehicle, Mary Sue was pragmatic enough to know that it was best to cut her losses.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Pat said. He wanted to say more, but he just did not know how. She was a big city girl with a bright future ahead of her. He didn’t think he had the right to ask her to give all that up to be with a small town librarian. He wasn’t even able to look her in the eye. He wished that he could say what he wanted, but he was afraid that she might not feel the same. Then he would just sound creepy.

“I wish I could stay, but I have to go back to finish my thesis and my degree,” she replied. “I thought that I would have enough money for this trip, but I was burning through cash faster than I thought. Now that I don’t have a car to continue on to the coast, I just have to give up following the Trail. I have to hope that I’ve gathered enough information and that I can complete my research with the computer.”

She wished that she could think of a reason to stay, but she had no logical excuse that she could use. She had no job that would support her and Laramie’s economy did not appear to have a job for a college student who supported herself as a cocktail waitress in a casino.

The two of them had been living in Pat’s house to protect them from possible trouble from the Kaylocks. There was the constant temptation to repeat their intimacy, but neither ever spoke of it. Both wanted it but they each feared the other would see them as only being interested in a fling. Mary Sue was afraid if she gave into her passions, Pat would lose respect for her. Pat, on the other hand, had really strong feelings for this woman, which went far beyond lust. He forced himself to be a gentleman and treat his houseguest like the lady she was. They slept in separate rooms and used the bathroom facilities at different times, only sharing meals and common entertainment time. They were actually involved in standard dating rituals, though neither of them recognized it.

Once they got back to the house, Mary Sue used the computer to purchase plane tickets and they spent the evening playing cribbage.

“Do you mind if I ask why Yolanda is so important to you?” Pat asked.

Mary Sue was thoughtful for a moment. “From the stories that I gathered from people on my way here to Laramie and from Yolanda’s own journal. It is obvious that the Yolanda might have been transgendered. She was a kind and gentle person who was successful at the task she had been given, but then met the same kind of negative attitudes and discrimination that we see today.”

She paused for a moment and seemed to look far away.

“I had a good friend in my home town who came out as transgendered in our junior year of high school. She was beaten up by some of our ‘well-educated’ rednecks in town and ended up in the hospital. After she was released, her parents wouldn’t even let her come home. When I wanted to have her stay with us for a night or two, my own family wouldn’t have anything to do with her either.” Her voice was a mix of pain and anger as she remembered that time.

“A couple of our friends and I got her a room in a motel for the night.”

Mary Sue stopped, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked up at Pat and said, “Being rejected by so many people that she thought cared for her hurt her more than we knew. I was the one who found her. When I went to pick her up the next morning for a doctor’s appointment. She took an overdose of the painkillers they had given her at the emergency room. Her note thanked us for caring about her, but she just couldn’t deal with the hate.”

Blinking back her tears, Mary Sue said, “At least they let her be buried in the cemetery. Yolanda wasn’t even permitted that.”

Pat covered her hand with his and just let his presence be felt. After a moment, he said, “I think that Yolanda was every inch a lady. She was a great woman and she was respected by everyone until her secret was revealed. Instead of judging her for who she was, the people around her judged her by their own small minds and attitudes.

“I think that Yolanda was just like your friend. She wanted to live her life without hurting anyone.”

“Thank you,” Mary Sue said, smiling through her drying tears.

Her sharing of why she cared so much about Yolanda opened the doors to more conversation. The two chatted for the rest of the evening about themselves and each other. Pat learned what it was like to grow up on a working dairy farm with 4 older brothers and Mary Sue got an idea of how it was for Pat to grow up as an only child whose father had left his mother before he was even born.

Pat and his mother had been very close. When she became too ill to care for herself, he had taken the librarian / museum management job to be remain in town with her. He still felt her loss deeply, but he was glad that she had escaped the pain she had been in.

Mary Sue’s experience with her friend had served to drive a wedge between her and the rest of her family. While she still loved them, a rift grew between them. It was hard when the people you look up to and trust show that the regard they have for others comes with conditions. It was always in the back of her mind that she might not measure up to some standard.

They finally called it a night when they both started yawning. Mary Sue wanted to properly review the records Leslie was holding for her, so they headed off to sleep. Still in separate beds.

* * * * *

They met with Leslie the next morning after picking up some pastries and coffee for the office. As Mary Sue was finishing up her recording the pertinent facts from the old files, Liz and Samantha came in.

“I can see why Tom Kaylock was so afraid that someone might dredge up his family history for the wrong reasons. He must have been scared that news that there was fratricide and a non-traditional marriage in his family tree might hurt his political career.”

She was rewarded with wry smiles and understanding nods.

“When you’re a bigot,” Pat said, “you just assume that everyone else is too. That is probably why Tom and Ron were so angry all of the time. They expected the rest of the world to agree with them and they wouldn’t admit that they were wrong, so they were mad at the world instead.”

Samantha was moving slowly so Liz helped her take a seat at Mary Sue’s work table. Sam was not looking too good at the moment. Because of the assault, she had surgical tape across her forehead that almost went into her blond hair. There was also a strip along one cheek. One arm was in a sling and Mary Sue could see various bruises on her face and shoulders. She could only assume that there were others across her body. It was plain to see that Royce had been murderously angry when he attacked her.

Sam had to turn her whole body to face Mary Sue, undoubtedly to avoid straining her damaged ribs and said, “When I heard that you were going to be reading through the old files, I wanted to come over to talk with you.”

Mary Sue heard what she was saying, but found herself staring into the greenest eyes she had seen in a long time. She could see that Samantha was attractive, but her time with Royce had been hard on her. He must have been taken with her beauty and had then proceeded to break her spirit. She was lucky that she and Liz and discovered each other.

Liz stopped speaking when she saw that Mary Sue seemed to be elsewhere. When Mary Sue finally blinked and actually focused on her again, she smiled and said, “Thank you. I haven’t seen that reaction in a long time. Except for Liz that is.” She smiled at her loved one. “I used to see it a lot in school. Guys will do anything for a cheerleader. Right, Pat?” She looked up at Pat who was at Mary Sue’s shoulder.

“That’s true, but I wasn’t around after school much. I didn’t see much that kind of thing,” he replied. “I do remember stories of guys falling over their feet when you smiled at them the right way.”

That all got a laugh out of Pat’s joke and then Sam took a small book from her purse and held it out to Mary Sue.

“This is the reason Royce didn’t want you and I to talk,” she said. “It’s a diary from my great-grandmother. I’ve marked the pages near the end that are related to Nathaniel Kaylock and Yolanda.”

Mary Sue looked between the diary and Samantha in surprise. Then she carefully took the small book and set it on the table. It was very old, bound with string or thread instead of glue. That was why the pages were not falling out of the book. In addition, Mary Sue could tell that pages were not typical paper as they would have crumbled away over the years, so they were probably parchment. The book itself must have been expensive when it was first purchased. Its age made it even more valuable now.

Sam opened the diary to the first marked section and indicated the entry she wanted Mary Sue to read. The pages were filled with script that could have been attributed to a hurried hand.

Well now I know what kind of woman Nathaniel jilted me for. Doc Meyers told me himself that he went to
look in on Yolanda when she came down with a fever because Nathaniel is travelling for his daddy.

I cannot believe that Yolanda is a man! I don’t even know whether to say her or him. Doc Meyers found
Yolanda passed out on the floor and got her into bed. I assume that he had to examine her because of
her fever and he discovered that Yolanda was not a real girl.

A page later, there was another entity:

Peter Kaylock just left. He told me that he went to Nathaniel to force him to be a man. He says that
Nathaniel attacked him and Peter shot him. Then he shot Yolanda when she attacked him. Peter told
me that what Nathaniel did to me was wrong and that he should not have left me at the altar, especially
for someone like Yolanda. I guess that Peter has always loved me. (Peter told me he always loved me, but didn’t want to interfere in his brother’s affairs.

“My great grandmother married Peter Kaylock,” Samantha said. “I’m related to the poor side of the Kaylock family.” She grinned. “I guess that makes Yolanda some sort of great aunt or great uncle… whatever because she was married to Peter’s brother.”

She flipped the pages of the diary for a moment before she put it down.

“My grandmother had other things to say about Yolanda. It would appear that there were a lot of bigots here during her time. She did comment on the fact that the children in her school did not feel the same way about her as their parents did.” She squeezed Liz’s hand as she said, “I can just imagine what they would have said about Liz and I.”

“I imagine that is why the caretaker at the cemetery was not able to tell us anything. The town has really changed since then,” Pat said. “I think that the bigots are the ones in the minority now. Most people just do not care how folks live their lives.” There were nods from everyone.

With Samantha’s permission, Mary Sue took pictures of the diary pages and gave Samantha some advice on how to preserve the book for her descendants. After the five friends chatted for a while, they broke up when a call came in that required Leslie’s attention. Outside, Liz and Sam bid Mary Sue goodbye and wished her a safe trip home.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon working in the library. At closing time, they decided that a trip to the grocery store was in order for a going away dinner. Pat had really wanted to take her out for a last meal together, but Mary Sue was formulating a plan to show him how she felt and then he would not want to let her go.

Mary Sue swept thru the store to gather the makings for the light dinner she had in mind, Pat trailing behind her. As she filled the cart, her imagination about how the evening might go was getting her more and more excited. It was fortunate that she was wearing a skirt instead of jeans as she could feel her panties sticking to her. A damp spot in the wrong place would have been embarrassing. She would have to take the time to go to the restroom before they headed home.

In Pat's kitchen, the two of them worked smoothly together to slice vegetables and meat to put together a meal of cold cuts and salad. Over dinner, they chatted about Emily and Leslie, Liz and Samantha, about the journal that Sam's ancestor had passed down to her. The only subject that they avoided was Mary Sue's departure or the possibility that she might remain in Laramie, both of them too insecure to broach the subject and to hear rejection from the other.

Mary Sue was sure that her plan would work. They would both have fun and, when Pat told her that he loved her, she could tell him the same thing and she could stay. The next step called for a bit of misdirection on her part and was going to be messy. It simply called for her to "accidentally" lose her grip on the serving spoon as she was getting a second helping, which resulted in filling lap with a very warm helping of food.

She did a credible job of acting shocked. "Oh no! This is one of my favorite skirts!" Mary Sue was sure that everything would wash out, but it was a cheap price to pay. "I'm sorry. Do you mind cleaning up while I change and try to rinse this out?"

"No, you need to get cleaned up," Pat said helplessly. There was nothing that he could do for her. "I can take care of everything."

She hurried to the bathroom, breaking into a smile only after the door was closed. She quickly removed the skirt and rinsed their dinner out of it. Satisfied that it was salvageable, she set it aside before stripping and hopping into the shower. The only thing she did not wash was her hair. No one likes to have sex with wet hair and she doubted that Pat was any different. It only took a few minutes, but it always feels longer when you are trying to hurry.

She patted herself dry before pulling on her scandalously short coral colored Satin Kimono that she had staged there earlier. Belting it loosely around her, she headed back out. Pat had finished the clean-up and was hunched over the table lost in reading something. She sauntered up behind him and asked “What’s that you're reading?”

"I took Yolanda’s diary out of your bag and was reading it. This section is fascinating.”

“Where are you in her story?”

“At the end, she is describing her wedding night. Have you read this?”

“No, not yet. Even though it's a century in the past, it almost felt like an invasion of privacy."”

“She was really a remarkable person. In no way gay, yet she married a man. She was terrified of what was going to happen on her wedding night. According to this, she was more worried about disappointing the man she loved than the act itself. That is the definition of love in my book.”

Mary Sue put her hand on Pats back and leaned over his shoulder to see what he was reading, this put her mouth adjacent to Pat’s ear. Pat read aloud how Yolanda arrived on a way to satisfy her husband, hoping to relieve the pressure of his passion. She didn’t describe the act, but did comment she didn’t find it as distasteful as she had anticipated. She didn’t find the act pleasurable but delighted in the joy it brought her husband. She commented that she felt it was her duty as a wife to keep her husband satisfied. She was prepared to do anything to achieve that end.

Mary Sue was getting hot visualizing the scene. She was leaning against his back, her boobs had fallen free of her robe, and as she slowly swayed back and forth she lightly rubbed her feminine charms against his back. She was panting softly in Pat’s ear. She whispered, “Is sex your ultimate fantasy?"

Pat coughed and squirmed in his seat.

“Giving and receiving pleasure is what sex is all about, no matter what form it takes.”

Mary kissed his ear and said, “Good answer.”

Pat did what any normal man would do. He spun in his chair to face this femme fatale that was driving him crazy. He was not prepared for what he found. Mere inches from his face were two of the most magnificent breasts he had ever seen.

He froze, not sure if he should cover his eyes or appreciate what was being presented to him.

She stood less than an arm's length away, without a stitch of clothing under her robe. From his vantage point, Mary Sue's breasts were completely on display. The robe came together at her waist and provided her with a minimum of modesty. But it was apparent that she was hardly concerned with her modesty.

His gaze lingered on her breasts for only moments before he looked into her eyes. Her look was full of challenge that said, 'Okay. What are you going to do now?' He accepted the challenge and smiled as he slid his arms around and pulled her to him. Even though he was a head taller than she was, it was easy to bend over to meet her lips.

Her breath was sweet, with a hint of her mouthwash. Their tongues danced together and probed around the other's mouth. Even though they had been intimate before, it had been more like the urgency of two people needing the closeness of the other. This time, it was as two lovers wanting to be together. She was wobbly-kneed as she relaxed into Pat's hold. If she had been excited before, what she felt now could not compare. There was a tightness through her entire body and she knew that could not wait much longer.

Mary Sue's plan would probably have worked perfectly except for what she said next. Taking him by the hand, she pulled him toward the bedroom and said, "Come on. I have a present for you.” Fiddling with the belt of her kimono she teased, “All you have to do is unwrap it. I want to say goodbye properly."

Her words were like needles that stabbed at his heart. He had been on the receiving end of farewell sex a few times in college, the girl somehow thinking that giving her body to her boyfriend one last time was some kind of gift or a gesture of mercy. Pat kept his disappointment off his face as he let Mary Sue pull him along to the bedroom. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her think that he was not glad for the time they had spent together or that he was ungrateful for this gift.

They were hardly through the door before Mary Sue was trying to help him undress. In the process, her robe loosened and dropped to the floor. Pat was down to his skivvies and stood back to behold the vision before him.

Mary Sue was quite obviously aroused. She stood with her legs slightly apart that tapered up to a small waist. Her belly exhibited a bit of a pooch that made her beautiful instead of looking out of shape. Her full breasts stood out above, her pink nipples proud and crinkled with excitement.. She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. Her cheeks were flushed and, while she was not breathing heavily, her pulse was quite visible in her throat.

Pat knew that he was as excited as she appeared to be. He quickly dropped his drawers and closed the distance between them. They were kissing and stroking each other tenderly before laying down. The night was spent in a collage of giggles and moans of ecstasy.

* * * * *

They were up early the next morning to make the trip to the airport in Cheyenne. Both were rather subdued when they spoke to each other and neither knew how to break through. Pat was down because this would be the last time he would be seeing Mary Sue and she was upset because Pat had not said those magic words during the hours that they had been making love.

The almost hour long drive to the airport was very quiet with the two of them making polite conversation. Mary Sue had opted for no breakfast, saying that she wanted to make sure that she got through security without any problems. It was obvious that she was in a hurry to get back to New York.

Pat wished he knew what to say to her that would change Mary Sue's mind about getting on the plane. Mary Sue really wished that she had the nerve to turn and tell this wonderful man that she loved him and wanted to stay with him. Neither wanted to force the other to change their lives just for them.

The line through security was relatively short, so Pat stayed with her as long as he could. When it came time to separate, Mary Sue gave him a deep kiss while she looked him in the eye. As they hugged goodbye Mary Sue could fell his arousal against her thigh. In just moments, she was through security and had gathered her bag. He went to the tarmac and watched the plane until it took off. Pat watched the plane until it was long out of sight.

Chapter 19 - Going Home

By Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proofread by: Qmodo

Mary Sue strode happily out of the Liberal Arts building and onto the quad. Dropping onto a bench, the afternoon sun felt great. Now that the summer heat was in the offing, but not quite here yet, it felt good to take a few minutes to just enjoy the afternoon.

The lion's share of organizing her notes and all of the typing of evidence and conclusions was done, so she could begin the task of proofreading and editing. She already felt that she was close to being done and her faculty advisor agreed with her. Once her dissertation was accepted all she had left was the daunting prospect of defending her thesis at a ‘viva voce’, Latin for an oral examination, in front of a panel of experts.

She had been meeting weekly with Professor Freidman to discuss her progress on her thesis and his attitude was a marked change from before she had driven out to Laramie. While he still had the same opinion regarding the original focus of her paper, the addition of Yolanda's experiences seemed to engage him. He did make suggestions for changes that she did not agree with, but he was not upset when she did not incorporate them.

When she asked him about his attitude change, he readily explained why he was willing to support how she was changing her thesis. Many years ago, he had done his own work on Edward Hyde, the governor of New York in the early 1700's. The man was reputed to have been a transvestite and was known to wear woman's clothing to formal functions. Despite this small personality idiosyncrasy, the man had been a brilliant politician and a great governor.

Mary Sue thought for a second then said, “I have heard about him. He would dress as a woman in hooped skirts and lurk behind trees to pounce on unsuspecting victims and laugh.

The professor smiled and said “Exactly, it gave himself a decided advantage in negotiations. When asked why he did that his reply was classically way before his time, “I represent the world's greatest woman, the Queen and in all respects I ought to represent her as faithfully as I can."

The professor felt that Mary Sue's thesis touched on subjects that were avoided or just not pertinent to other historian's focus. This could help energize other scholars to look at historical figures in a new light. She recalled the disdainful attitude her faculty advisor had taken when she described the original focus of her thesis, but that attitude changed when he read her new thesis proposal and her very rough first draft. Having her advisor supporting her in this change meant that the review committee would be unlikely to reject it.

She had been back from Wyoming for a few weeks now and she intentionally kept herself busy. Between working on her paper and spending weekends working at the casino, she saw Evelyn once or twice a week, but Evelyn was preparing for her own exams and did not have much time for socializing. Being able to talk to her roommate helped to manage some of the sadness that still hit her when she wasn't expecting it. She had cried out all of the tears she was going to on the flight home. It was times like this though when she would think about her new friends in Laramie and, of course, Patrick.

She wondered what life would have been like if he had asked her to stay. She had been more than half-willing to give up her degree to stay, if only he had asked her to. She had done everything short of coming right out and telling him exactly that too. They had enjoyed being around each other and he had been attentive when they were together. She had to assume that he did not see her as someone to spend the rest of his life with.

With the completion of her degree finally in sight, Mary Sue had to start thinking about what she was going to do once she graduated. History had always held a fascination for her. It allowed her to study how the world came to be the way it is today and understand the way the people of those times had thought.

Many people would have accused her of hiding from reality by studying the past. She could very well have agreed with them, but any misgivings she might have had in that regard had been washed away with her field trip.

Discovering that Yolanda had probably been transgender brought home the fact that this was not a phenomenon that was unique to today's world. She wondered how many people throughout history had been like Yolanda and the problems they must have faced with the need to stay hidden. She felt terrible thinking about how alone those people must have felt.

That still did not answer her dilemma about what she was going to do next.

Realistically, the only place her degree was good for was as an educator. She was already qualified as an instructor, but was that what she wanted? Her part time work as a cocktail waitress had shown her that she was comfortable around people and her weeks researching her paper was enough to make her cringe at the thought that she would end up in a classroom for her foreseeable future. If she could find some way to make a living off of just doing research she would be a happy camper.

She could always continue her education to pursue a different career that would allow her to use her current degree. Right now, she was more than a little schooled out. Maybe she needed to take some real time off to think about what she wanted out of life.

She really did not want to go back to Iowa to do her thinking though. While she loved her brothers, their attitudes and opinions were far too hardline for her. They had made their opinion known that, with her mother getting along in age, she had an obligation to return home and take care of her father and brothers as they worked the family farm. She would be grinding her teeth within hours of getting home. Her parents would have been easier to take, but they too had been rather conservative. How had she ended up the way she was when she considered her upbringing? All she could do was shake her head in amazement and be glad that she wasn't so hidebound.

What would have happened if she had told Pat she loved him? Would he have rejected her? They had made love twice in the few weeks she had been there. The way he had treated her made her think that he would not have let her go if he knew how she felt. She would have gladly given this up for him. Should she have put herself out there and told him how she felt? She wondered how much a librarian made anyway. In a fit of wishful thinking, she even did a computer inquiry into teaching positions at the University of Wyoming.

She mulled her future options and her past choices. There were definitely things she would wish to do differently, but only if it did not keep Yolanda’s story from being told. That meant that she was supposed to have made the choices she had. All she could do was live her life from this point and make better decisions.

She had been there for quite some time, so lost in her thoughts that she was not paying attention to whoever crossed the quad in front of her or along the covered path behind her. She did not notice that the scraping of shoes behind her did not continue moving along the walk. New York was not a place to not know what was happening around you, even in the middle of the afternoon on campus.

When the man who had stopped behind her spoke and asked, “Excuse me, but is there a library around here,” she gave out a squeak and jumped. The fact that she knew that voice sank in a moment later.

She turned to see Pat Summerfield smiling at her. He was probably the last person she could have expected to see and she could only stare in shock.

Pat's smile became a bit tentative as he said, "Hi. How are you?" Her expression was not what he was expecting, but he didn't realize that Mary Sue was in fight or flight mode.

Mary Sue nodded jerkily a couple of times before answering, “I’m fine. W-What are you are doing here?" She was thrilled to see him, but she couldn't believe it either. At least this apparition spoke to her instead of dropping a book in front of her and vanishing.

"You forgot something in Laramie and I brought it to you," Pat said, walking toward her.

Mary Sue was puzzled. She had done a thorough inventory a couple of times while she had been packing and she knew that all of her notebooks had been accounted for, as well as Yolanda's journal.

"What did I leave behind?"

"Me," he replied. "I wanted so badly to ask you to stay, but Laramie just can't compare to New York. I didn't think that you would have wanted to stay. On that last night, you said that you wanted to do something special for goodbye and I just thought that it was a fling to you. Liz told me about how big a fool I've been and I knew that I had to be here to tell you that I love you."

Mary Sue actually felt a bit dizzy at hearing Pat's statement. "I love you too," she said. "I didn't think that you wanted me to stay." Her eyes filled with tears at knowing that she hadn't been rejected like she thought. She was thankful that she had shared her feelings with Liz and that the woman was enough of a busybody to want to fix her 'friends' love lives.

She wasn't aware of how it happened, but she was suddenly holding Pat in a tight hug. They held each other for a few minutes as if keeping the other from being pulled away. They eventually had to come up for air from the kiss that their hug had morphed into.

"Does this mean that you're going to move to the New York?" She hoped that was not the case. She could end up anywhere after she finished school. While she had spent the better part of two years here, she certainly did not want to stay in New York.

Pat shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that I can't leave Laramie now. I actually came here to ask if you would ever consider settling down there."

Mary Sue stepped up to him with a smile and said, "I was always willing to live in Laramie. It's a place that really feels like home."

Pat added, “Even when you were getting shot at?”

Mary Sue smiled gently at him. “Pat, take a look around. This is New York City; we have more gunfights here than in old Dodge City. I know that we knew each other for a few days, but there was something about the two of us together that felt right. I grew up on an Iowa farm. Laramie would be wonderful to live in. We could get anything we want over in Cheyenne. I think that living in your house would be lovely."

A thoughtful smile passed across Pat's face for a moment.

"We wouldn't be living in my old house anymore. It is in the process of being declared a historical landmark because of its age. It's one of the oldest homes in that part of Laramie."

She frowned at him. "You mean that they took your house away from you? Where are you supposed to live?"

She was working up a good case of indignant and it showed in how her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. How dare they put him out of the house he had grown up in? Pat put his hand on her arm to settle her back down.

"No…no. I donated the house to the Historical Society. They will make sure that it stays in good shape this way. There would have been no one to take care of this place otherwise."

Now she was even more confused than before. "Where did you move to then? Did something happen to the house so that you can't live in it?" She had actually liked the place. It had not been the typical small frontier house but more of a spacious rambler."

"Let me explain," Pat said as he maneuvered her around and gently pushed her down to sit on the bench before he took a seat beside her.

"I moved out of the house because I had to move into the ranch house on the Kaylock estate."

He watched Mary Sue's expression go from confused, to surprised, and back to confused again. It was obvious that she did not understand what he was talking about.

Taking pity on her, Pat grinned and said, "I know this might be hard to take in, but I own the ranch now."

Now she frowned, trying to make sense of it.

He could see that his statement made no sense, so he tried to explain himself. "Okay, let me walk you through it. I was present for it all and I barely grasped it the first time."

He took a breath and started.

"Ron was charged with manslaughter in Tom's death and held without bail. He was considered a flight risk because of the people he had business arrangements with. His lawyer tried to argue that Tom's death was accidental or even involuntary manslaughter so that he could get bail but the court didn't go for it.

"The court left the foreman in charge of the ranch because Ron would not be allowed to manage the ranch from jail. Because of the legal situation, the courts got involved in deciding with the resolution of the estate. One of the first things that was done was to have Tom's office safe opened.

"They found his will, but a few other documents as well. I understand that Tom's lawyer objected to having the contents of the safe revealed, but he didn't have a leg to stand on. The court overruled him because Tom was gone and his son was in jail. That meant that control of the land might revert to the state and everything needed to be completely transparent."

"So what was so important that the lawyer was upset?" Mary Sue prompted.

"They found hospital records and some other official documents." Pat's voice trailed away.

"Yes?" She could see that there was a lot more to the story and Pat was actually enjoying the telling.

"Well…They found a birth certificate in there with my mother's name on it and my birth date. It seems that my father was Tom Kaylock and I was born several weeks before Ron.

"That makes me the older brother, even if I am illegitimate. I am now the owner of the Kaylock ranch until such time as Ron is found not guilty and in a position to contest things. Even then, he would probably have to share ownership of the ranch with me." Pat grinned broadly at the thought.

"I'm surprised that they even came to you and put you in charge," Mary Sue said.

"It didn't happen right away. I was notified by the court about the situation, but the Kaylock lawyer tried to block things. I don't think that he believed that the birth records were real and he demanded a DNA test. It took a week or so, but it came back and the judge read it out in a final hearing. You should have seen the look on that lawyer's face when the report stated that I was undoubtedly Tom Kaylock's son. Then…considering that I was older than Ron, I was legally one of Tom's heirs. Because Ron is in jail and probably on his way to prison, I am in charge of the estate."

"Will Ron be released any time soon?" Mary Sue asked.

"It was his actions that caused his father to be injured and die, so it was not truly an accident. Even if they argue it down to the lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter, he would not be allowed to inherit. The law says that you cannot benefit from a criminal act. That means that I am probably going to remain the sole heir of my bastard father, Tom Kaylock." He paused and grinned, "Of course, technically I'm the bastard."

"So Tom's will didn't name Ron as his heir?"

Pat nodded and said, "It did state that Ron was to inherit, but that was considered invalid by the court because Ron is accused of Tom's death."

"What are you going to do about Ron? It sounds like he is going to prison."

"I'm a bit torn about what to do for him as there is no friendship between us, let alone love. But I can't just throw him to the wolves. I think that the estate can at least pay for his defense."

Pat looked her in the eye and asked, "What do you think? Could you handle a life of being a rancher’s wife?"

Mary Sue gave him a sidelong glance, “Are you asking me to be your wife?” She smiled as she snuggled into his side. "I could deal with it. Remember, I declared my love for you before I knew that you were rich. I would still marry you if you weren't."

"Yes, about that," Pat began. He took out a small box from his pocket.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the box. It was not the way she had hoped that someone would propose to her, but she didn't care, this is what she wanted with all of her heart. Her prince had followed her to declare his love.

He said, "I know that it is probably too soon in our relationship to ask you to marry me, but will you wear this as a form of engagement ring?"

He opened the ring box to display a beautiful ring. Instead of just a diamond in the center, it prominently displayed a round, faceted emerald surrounded by smaller diamonds. It was all set in dark yellow gold. From a class project she had done, Mary Sue recognized it as a very old engagement ring, approaching almost 200 years old.

"I was told that it belonged to a Russian tsar before he gave it to my grandmother. My mother would have worn it herself before passing on to you. She was never married and she felt that it was improper for her to wear it. I know that she would have loved you." His smile drooped as he thought of his mother.

"You mean that you are Russian royalty?" She smiled at the thought.

He shrugged as he said, "My grandmother was not royalty because of how the marriage laws were written back then. I have received some letters over the years that mean that I could be in line for a title of some sort. Who knows, you could be the wife of a land baron and a tsarina."

She looked up in shock at Pat's broad smile. "I would dearly love to wear your ring, any ring, Pat. But this ring is far too precious for me to ever wear. It belongs in a display case. It would rip my heart out, if I were to damage it while I was doing housework."

"I understand," he said, pulling Mary Sue into a tight hug. "But who said you will be doing all the house work?"

"Oh, do you plan to hire a maid?"

"Not exactly. I view a marriage as a true partnership. I plan on doing my share of the work too."

Mary Sue smiled at the thought of Pat scurrying around the ranch in a French Maid outfit, while she sat on porch sipping tea.

Pat interrupted her daydream when he said, "Would you let me buy you a conventional diamond engagement ring?"

He slipped onto her hand, the ring fitting snugly on its traditional finger.

She tugged at it for a moment and said, "I don't think that I am going to be taking it off any time soon. We could consider this to be our engagement ring for now."

They hugged each other tightly and exchanged kisses for a while longer before they decided to head off to the apartment she shared with Evelyn.

* * * * *

Evelyn was home when the lovebirds arrived. She took one look at Pat and knew immediately who he was.

Her smile could have split her face in two as she said, "I'm glad you came to get her. Whenever I saw her, she looked like she had lost her best friend." She stepped forward with her hand out to finally introduce herself. "I'm Evelyn, the roommate and I suspect that you will be the new roommate."

Pat returned her smile and took her hand. "Yes, ma'am. At least I hope so."

Evelyn glanced over to where Mary Sue was watching and saw how she was stroking the ring on her left hand. She grinned again and pointed out, "I think that is a foregone conclusion. If you could hear how she has talked about you, there would be no doubt at all."

"Well, I am feeling very good about my future," Pat responded. "I was about to ask Mary Sue to accompany me to dinner. Would you like to join us? I don't think that Mary would mind greatly if I took you both out." He looked over at Mary Sue. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you first."

Mary Sue hugged his arm in response and said, "I don't mind at all dear. Eve and I have been like ships passing in the night for weeks now. If she's free, I think it would be wonderful if two of my most favorite people could go to dinner with me. Besides, I'll have you forever. I don't mind sharing you for an evening."

Mary Sue got Pat situated on the sofa and then joined Evelyn in hurrying to get ready to go out. It only took three-quarters of an hour before they were ready.

Both women looked beautiful, neither had tried to make themselves look like fashion models, but Pat thought that they could give a model a run for her money.

Mary Sue had opted for a light blue knit dress that hugged her curves nicely and came down to just above her knees. She was wearing heels for the first time in quite a while and they brought her up so that she could look into Pat's blue eyes much more easily. Her dark brown hair had been brushed back and caught so that it flowed down the middle of her back. This exposed her ears to display the emerald earrings she had found in her jewelry box. Her makeup was elegantly done to make her eyes pop, making sure that she would stand out in a crowd.

Evelyn had done well for herself as well. Her blond hair was styled so that it framed her face before streaming back to her shoulders. Her makeup was done in what she called New Your City chic. It had been done to make her greenish-brown eyes almost glow as well as complement the steel-gray knit dress that she wore. It almost appeared as if the two women had purchased the dresses at the same time.

Actually, they had. Evelyn had dragged Mary out for some retail therapy to cheer her up the week before.

Standing in the living room as they stepped out of the small hallway, Pat felt extremely underdressed in comparison.

In response to their silent question, Pat smiled and nodded in appreciation. "Ladies, you both look absolutely beautiful. When I look at you, I feel like I should be wearing a suit and calling myself James Bond."

That was obviously the kind of compliment the ladies liked to hear. Mary Sue stepped up to him and kissed him.
"Thank you. We have not had much of a chance to get dressed for quite a while. It's good to hear that you think that we are even halfway attractive."

Pat walked out with a beautiful woman on each arm and thought he could get used to this. He had used YELP to select someplace romantic and already made reservations at a restaurant in the tourist district, obviously hoping that he would be escorting Mary Sue to dinner. He didn't think there would be an issue with adding Evelyn. Even if there was, the proper gratuity would solve any objections.

Pat escorted the ladies down to the taxi stand and they headed off to dinner. They spent the evening talking and laughing about a variety of subjects, with Eve confirming a humorous side to Mary Sue he had just caught glimpses of. He got them back to the apartment well before last call, having consumed a celebratory bottle of champagne. When the tables around them heard that Pat and Mary Sue had just become engaged, he had not been allowed to pay for the bottle he had ordered. While he could well afford it, it would have been rude to decline the gift, so they thanked their new friends and enjoyed themselves.

Once they were home again, it was not difficult for Mary Sue to convince Pat to stay the night.

* * * * *

One of the first things Mary Sue did was phone her boss. The casinos were accustomed to losing employees so they were not overly upset when Mary Sue called to explain why she would not be working the coming weekend. Her supervisor actually congratulated her on her engagement.

It was a wonderful week before Pat was forced to return to Wyoming. During the day, Mary Sue put the finishing touches on her thesis and Pat enjoyed a busman's holiday by talking with the librarians responsible for the university's various collections. Seeing how things were actually done at the university was much different from learning about it as you earned your Masters' degree. Of course, it was doubtful that he would be using his credentials as a librarian for quite some time.

Eve gave them plenty of space as she was also working on her thesis. She was thrilled for her friends, but she was wise enough to avoid intruding upon their happiness.

In the evening, Mary Sue showed Pat around some of the more fun places in town. While everyone thought that visiting Broadway for a show was the end-all of New York, Mary Sue took him to see some other sights first. To give him some perspective on the differences between Laramie and New York, she took him to Grand Central Station where he could appreciate how he would have to deal with the sheer mass of people passing through each day. The terminal was not just a place where people came and went though, she knew that he would love the architecture as well.

Knowing that this might be the only time that they were going to be in the city, she showed him Central Park, the Met, and she was lucky enough to get them both tickets to the Lion King on Broadway. Just because everyone else goes to see a play, doesn't mean that you shouldn't too.

The nights were spent in Pat's hotel suite, cuddling. Mary Sue would have had him staying at the apartment, but Evelyn was still working on classes and the apartment wasn't private enough for lovers.

All too soon, Mary Sue had to take Pat to the airport and bid him goodbye, for just a little while. This time, their farewell was much more tender and filled with more tears from them both. It made them feel better knowing that they would be together again in a month's time. On the other side of security, Pat turned and waved one more time before heading off into the tunnels leading to the planes. Mary Sue found herself as the one watching as he disappeared down the corridor. This time, her tears rolled down a smiling face.

* * * * *

Mary Sue and Eve relaxed into the sofa, each with a glass of white wine in their hand. Now that they had both finished their degrees, they could take it easy and think about what they would do next.

Commencement ceremonies were low key as their families could not attend. Evelyn's aunt and uncle were too old to travel while Mary Sue's brothers had responsibilities to manage their agricultural businesses. Everyone did send their congratulations and best wishes though. They both wished that their parents could have seen them reach this milestone.

The only sour note that sounded for Mary Sue was Professor Friedman's speech to his graduates in which he took credit for the way Mary Sue had written her thesis. It had been Evelyn's urging to introduce the human element into Mary Sue's thesis, Friedman claimed the concept and the very focus of the paper for himself. Mary Sue was surprised that the man actually admitted that she had performed the investigation and analysis of the facts she had gathered. It appeared that the man really was a jerk.

Mary Sue had not worked very hard to find academic positions for herself this final semester. She knew that she would need to be contacting schools across the country and she had been too busy working on her thesis and its presentation to think about that. Then she had been struck with the 'virus' of second guessing herself. Patrick's appearance and declaration of love pushed her future to a side burner for the time being.

Evelyn's situation could not be more different. She had finished her doctorate in psychology and had been offered a residency at a hospital in Minnesota as a result of her first and only interview. She really did not need to work unless she wanted to because of the trust fund she had inherited from her parents, she was already set for life. She chose to work in the field to help people who might experience some of the problems she had as a result of her parents' deaths.

"Do you need to get to Minnesota right away?" Mary Sue asked.

"Not really," Evelyn replied, "but I want to get settled before I have to start working."

"I wish you could come out to Laramie with me," Mary Sue said wistfully. She wanted to share her experiences with her friend.

Evelyn smiled at her. "I should be able to take some time off after a few months. They actually have a pretty good benefit package for medical practioners. We will only be a couple of states apart, so we can plan visits."

The two women chatted far into the night talking about their plans.

Making the decision to pull up stakes and go west required some organization, very much like the work the pioneers two centuries before them had done. They gave their notice on their lease and Mary Sue arranged for a rental truck to be picked up on moving day. Evelyn's boxes and furniture would be loaded on to a professional moving van bound for Minnesota at the same time. Their remaining time was spent in either packing up the apartment or disposing of the things that they would not be keeping.

* * * * *

Mary Sue's trip out to Wyoming was uneventful. The girls had hosted a pizza party for the friends that they had asked to help them move out of the apartment. After the normal jokes about being shanghaied into being unpaid labor, everyone had made short work of getting boxes and what furniture they wanted to keep into the rented truck. A fun time was had by all, although Mary Sue had a small meltdown when she broke a fingernail. She was trying to grow them out. She associated long nails with femininity and wanted to be the perfect wife for Pat.

After putting Evelyn into an airport bound taxi, Mary Sue headed out of town herself. Driving straight through on the interstate freeways this time would only take a couple of days, but she knew not to push that hard. She would have stopped off at home in Iowa, but her brothers would all be busy running their farms. She usually only saw them on the holidays anyway. She was still working on a way to tell them she was moving to Wyoming and not coming home to Iowa.

She retraced the path she had followed a few months before, without all of the stops she had made to talk to people or look through cemeteries. She timed crossing of Nebraska so that she stopped before she reached the area that was probably the stomping grounds of her savior cowboy-turned-masher. She was armed with pepper spray just in case, perfume was too good to waste on a jerk like that.

Sure enough, the next morning, Mary Sue saw the pickup truck that she remembered from last time. It was parked at a garage along the frontage road, probably where he worked. She recalled his reaction when he ended up with a face full of White Diamonds. She couldn't help but laugh each time she thought about it. It was probably the best he had smelled in a very long time.

She stretched her fuel a bit to make sure that she was well down the road before she had to stop, the likelihood that he would come this far out was pretty low. Over lunch, she looked her maps over. It looked like she only had a few hours left to drive, so she made a quick call to Patrick to let him know where she was. Then she settled down for the last leg of the drive.

The road was smooth and she made pretty good time to reach the outskirts of Laramie. The small section she had found so comfortable looked exactly the same when she arrived in afternoon. With the notable exception of the group of people standing in the parking lot of Fred's diner.

She must have made an impression upon more people than she realized because Pat, Liz, and Samantha were standing in front of several others. Everyone was smiling and waving as she rolled the truck into a parking spot.

Everyone stood back until Pat and Mary Sue came out of their tight hug and kiss. While they had talked to each other every night, they no longer had to wonder about how the other felt about them and they were still making up for lost time.

"I'm glad that you're here," Pat breathed into her ear.

She rubbed her face into his shoulder as she replied, "Me too." The feel of his Pendleton shirt against her cheek felt wonderful. If she were to hold the cloth in her hand and brush it against her skin, it would not feel anything like this.

Seeing that the two lovers were talking instead of kissing, Liz with her normal irreverence, said, "Now that you two have come up for air, why don't we go inside for something to eat?"

Pat and Mary Sue grinned at her, refusing to be embarrassed. "It seems like I had breakfast just a couple of hours ago. But I could do with something to eat."

Most of the welcoming committee melted away to return to their jobs, so it was just herself, Liz, Samantha, and Pat to head on into the diner. Everyone bade her goodbye and promised to see her later. Hiram looked like he would have liked to join them, but he reluctantly returned to his garage.

It had already been agreed that Mary Sue would stay in Liz's apartment as she had moved in with her lover Samantha. Interestingly enough, the house actually belonged to Sam, having been passed down through her family. Her soon-to-be ex-husband actually owned nothing, not even a car.

While Mary Sue might be spending a lot of time with Pat, either at the library or the ranch, she still would not be spending the nights there. It might have been acceptable for the two of them to live in the house together when they had been sequestered from the violent elements present at the time, but those times were past and they felt that it would be better to observe the proprieties. She would not be moving out to the ranch until they were married. A decision that Pat reluctantly agreed to, but he could see the wisdom in maintaining decorum.

* * * * *

Life quickly settled into a routine around their small part of Laramie. Mary Sue did not have a degree in library science, but she had taken courses as part of her Master's degree. She put that knowledge to work managing the library in Pat's place as he now had a huge ranch to oversee. Mary Sue spent her time organizing the archives and studying some of the artifacts that were stored in the closed section of the library.

Pat and Mary Sue were sitting on the porch swing one evening, each of them had finished their respective jobs for the day. Snuggling up against Pat's side, she sighed in contentment and sounded a bit like a purring cat.

"This is nice."

Pat smiled. Even though Mary Sue could not see his face, his happiness and contentment came through in his voice as he agreed with her.

"I'm glad that we discovered each other," he said as he turned to kiss her cheek.

"I'm not so sure that we found each other by sheer accident," Mary Sue replied quietly. Into his questioning silence, she continued, "Ever since I came across that book of Mitch Bridger's in the library, I feel as if I've been guided to be here." She sat up to face him. "Do you remember when I told you that a girl dropped that book in the library and that gave me the idea to research the wagon train?"

"Yes," he answered. "Your description sounds very much like a gypsy. Do you think that someone in Yolanda's family knew the truth and wanted you to come here and discover what happened to Yolanda?"

In a hushed tone, Mary Sue said, "No. From what I saw in my research in Missouri, Yolanda had no brothers or sisters. It's possible that she had cousins though."

"So everything else was just a coincidence?"

Mary Sue was quiet for a couple of minutes. Still in her quiet voice she said, "I know that this will sound silly, but I don't think that Yolanda had any cousins either. I think that we have been brought together by Yolanda herself." She hurried on before Pat might start laughing at her. "Have you noticed that violets have been around us almost all of the time? Violets were Yolanda's favorite flower. Someone or something has been with us right along."

Patrick sat quietly for a few minutes, mulling over what Mary Sue had just said. The idea that their lives had been somehow manipulated bothered him. To think that agency was a ghost was pure fantasy. Pat didn't know it, but his attitude was the same as Mary Sue's had been when Yolanda had gifted her with Mitch Bridger's journal.

"I can't say that I believe in ghosts Mary, but I can't come up with any other explanation for things either," he said. "I haven't seen anyone unusual around town who would be doing this to us either."

Mary Sue kept her silence as she looked at him. There was no reason to press her argument with Pat. He would either see things the way she did or he wouldn't.

Mary Sue smiled and nodded. Whether he refused to consider her idea or not, at least he wasn't calling her crazy or making fun of her.

"We're here now. That's all that matters to me," he said.

"Me too," she said softly.

"What do you think we should do then?"

She frowned. "What do you want to do?"

He hugged her and said, "I think that we should get married. If we ended up together by accident or because Yolanda's ghost wanted us to meet, it doesn't matter to me. The important thing is that we are together."

"Pat, do you remember what the caretaker at the cemetery told us? That Yolanda was buried somewhere out on the prairie and not on holy ground?"

"Yes," he answered. "Are you thinking what I think you are?"

She smiled up at him, nodding. "Can we find her grave and lay her to rest beside her husband?"

Chapter 20 - Yolanda

By Monica Rose and Marina Kelly
Proofread by: Qmodo

Mary Sue stood in the doorway of the library's special archives, hands on her hips. Before her stood the rows of shelves that had been in the basement when she had arrived.

One of the first things she had done after taking over as the temporary librarian was to get a group of teenaged boys in to move the boxes stored in the basement up to where they would be better protected. She had then spent several days briefly inventorying the contents of each box and listing it on the outside of the box.

She would be on her own for the next couple of days for her search for Yolanda's grave as Pat was still settling as the new owner and the ranch was just like any other farm or big business, there is no time off when you’re the boss. So while he arranged with his new foreman to take a couple of days off later in the week, she would search through the archives for any information that might refer to Yolanda and Nathaniel.

She already knew the general date range that she was looking for, so she could bypass the first dozen or two file boxes on the shelves. As she looked through the files, she was very aware of how the newsprint was becoming brittle and in danger of breaking instead of tearing. Maybe a case could be made to have the deteriorating documents transferred to electronic documents. While the papers might have been read and thrown away at the time they were printed, they represented an important window into the past and needed to be preserved, on the computer if nothing else. The original hard copy documents could be stored in the proper environment so that they could be examined when necessary.

She hit pay dirt of sorts when she opened some boxes of military records. Documents from several years were all mixed in together, but she came across some reports that really excited her. There was a brief report that related how a young soldier had reported seeing the ghost of an Indian girl in a cave on Kaylock land. The soldier had spent three days in the guardhouse for getting drunk and submitting a false report. She frowned when she saw that the date on the report was almost three years before Yolanda had come to Laramie.

Another report was about the mustering out of a young Nathaniel Kaylock from the Army. He had served satisfactorily under U.S. Grant in the Army of the West and had been discharged honorably. He had kept his service revolver, but had turned in his rifle. Finally, she found a request from the Kaylock family for a graveside rifle detail at Nathaniel's burial.

Knowing the date that Nathaniel had been buried, she turned back to the newspapers, searching for any mention of their burial. All Mary Sue was able to find was a short mention of Nathaniel's funeral and burial in the family plot of the cemetery. There was nothing said about Yolanda at all.

* * * * *

When Pat and Mary Sue met up for dinner, their conversation ranged over many things.

While she wanted to talk about Yolanda, Mary Sue cared about how things were done on the ranch and if there were any problems for Pat. There had been problems at the beginning with some of the ranch hands who had been upset at working for Pat instead of Ron. Tom, the new foreman, had dealt with those kinds of issues rapidly and decisively. Labor on a ranch was just like any other workplace, even if the number of possible of workers might be smaller. There were still men and women out there who wanted to work, so Tom was not afraid to fire anyone who might be a problem.

Their talk finally turned to what she was so excited about. They were both happy to know more about Pat's something-great uncle, Nathaniel, but it was disappointing that nothing had been said about Yolanda. It was apparent that bigotry was not something new to the twenty-first century.

"I think that our best bet is to go back to the cemetery to see if the caretaker will talk to us," Pat said. "Now that there is no one to threaten him to keep quiet, we might find out what we need to know."

"I hope he is willing to share what he knows. I got the feeling that he wanted to tell us more than he did."

They waited until mid-morning to drive out to the cemetery. That way, the caretaker would have had time to have had his coffee and to settle in. They wanted his cooperation and the best way to do that was to avoid putting him in a bad mood at the start.

The cemetery was rather large, but Laramie had been a waypoint on the Oregon trail for years. That meant that pioneers bound for the west contributed to the overall 'population' of the cemetery. At some point in the past, ownership and management of the land and church had been transitioned to the town as the membership had grown and a larger church had been built in Laramie proper. The caretaker position apparently had gone along with it.

While visitors to gravesites could just walk on into the property, Pat and Mary Sue stopped at the cottage that was situated just outside of the gates. The building was actually fairly large for a dwelling, but it also contained a small chapel and offices. The entire area was shaded by a multitude of trees, making it feel like a park.

Mary Sue studied the brass plate set into the outside wall of the chapel that stated that the chapel was almost as old as Laramie itself and that it had been designated as a historical landmark. She thought that explained why there was still a caretaker employed, this place was probably popular to certain tourists and having someone here insured that things would be halfway protected as a result.

The gentleman who came out to see them was the same man they had talked to months ago. He was well past the point of retirement, but he only needed to watch over things and organize the occasional service. Mary Sue had seen that the cemetery was generally at its capacity. The only new graves would be members of families who were already permanent residents.

The caretaker's smile faltered for a moment when he saw who his guests were, but it came back almost immediately.

"Young Summerfield," he said. "Congratulations on finding your way home." The way the old man made his statement said that he had expected something like what had happened to Pat. It hinted at the fact that he might know other things as well.

"Thank you, Mr. Olson," Pat began. He was not sure if Mr. Olson was a retired pastor, priest, or man who has been hired into the position. Olson had been old when Pat had been in school. "I know what you told us when we were here a few months ago when we were looking for Yolanda Kaylock's grave."

The old man's smile went away again as he nodded, "Yes, I remember."

"Well, we are still trying to find her grave."

Now Olson's guarded expression was replaced with narrowed eyes and a set face. "I already told you everything that I can," he almost snapped. He was not quite rude, but he was also not friendly.

"I know that sir," Pat said, politely. "But we got the impression that you might know more than you were telling us and we were hoping that you would talk to us now." Pat spread his hands and continued, "I mean, there would be no reason to be concerned about telling us now. Tom Kaylock is gone and I don't know if Ron will be back here any time soon.

"To be honest with you, we want to find Yolanda Kaylock's grave and do what we can to have her buried next to her husband. Because I am also a Kaylock and owner of the Kaylock estate, I would have the authority to request that be done."

Pat's statement made the old man pause. Olson's manner changed from being challenging to more of a posture of examination of Pat and Mary Sue.

"The family didn't want her buried beside him," Olson said. "They were offended by the fact that the son married someone who was not born as a woman."

"We know," Mary Sue said. "We found the diary that Yolanda wrote and one from Samantha Jackson's great-aunt. Nathaniel's brother, Peter, is the one who actually killed them. All Samantha's diary says is that Yolanda was buried somewhere out on the prairie, but it did not say where."

Mr. Olson nodded and replied, "Yes, my grandfather was there when she was buried. He was just a kid then and he was with his father." He gestured toward some chairs, inviting them to sit down. His manner was no longer as aggressive as it had been, becoming almost friendly.

"My grandfather used to tell me stories from back then," he said, looking distant. "I understand that there were only a few families who actually had a problem with who Yolanda was. Everyone else liked her. Granddad said that everyone felt she was a real lady and that is how she acted. He really liked her."

Mary Sue looked at the caretaker and made a mental note that she needed to come see this gentleman. The knowledge of the history of Laramie was sitting here before her and it would be a crime if it were lost.

"So you know where her grave is?" Pat prompted.

The old man looked at him and smiled. "Well…That is an interesting question son. I've been out to where they buried her, just to look around. It's actually on your land in fact."

Mary Sue's eyes lit up.

"Can you tell us where it is sir?" This was more than she had hoped for. She had expected that they would have to search a large area, looking for tell-tale clues of a grave.

Mr. Olson smiled at her. His whole face changed when he did that. "Of course my dear." He paused for a moment, looking devilish. "I can draw you a map to where she was buried the first time." He did not continue after that, almost as if he was waiting for them to pick up on what he had said.

He was not disappointed when Pat and Mary Sue asked simultaneously, "First time?"

Mr. Olson smiled broadly. "Yes, the first time." He shifted around to make himself comfortable, obviously feeling good about knowing something this important. "You see, Yolanda Kaylock was actually very highly regarded in Laramie. The kids all loved her and her way with children actually made their parents like her too.

"When Nathaniel and Yolanda were killed, there were suspicions about who did it, but no proof. All people could do was be sorry that they had been murdered and want to catch their killer. After the sheriff told everyone that a drifter was suspected of doing it, they kind of stopped looking. Everyone was angry about the fact that old man Kaylock would not allow her to be buried next to his son, but they couldn't do anything about it. The Kaylock family was powerful, even back then. Maybe more so because it was easy to hire a drifter with a gun to teach someone a lesson."

Pat and Mary Sue sat quietly, not wanting to interrupt their storyteller.

"Remember when I said that my grandfather saw Yolanda be buried?" Olson asked. At their nods, he continued, "Well, he was along with my great-grandfather who helped to bury her. He told his friends about it and where he thought she was. A group of fathers who had liked Yolanda went out there one night and moved her body."

"Where did they take it?" Mary Sue asked quietly.

"They brought her back here," he answered simply. "The Kaylocks didn't want her next to their son and there was no way to do that without it being known. But there was nothing to keep them from giving her a Christian burial."

"So is she already buried in the cemetery?" Mary Sue asked with surprise.

"Not exactly," Mr. Olson replied with a smile.

"There was no way to bury her in the cemetery itself without it being seen, but no one would know anything about what or who might be buried in the garden of the rectory. You see, the pastor of that time had come to learn that people were just as much different as they were the same. He was part of the group of men who went out to Yolanda's grave and brought her home."

Mary Sue could only look at Mr. Olson with her mouth ajar in awe, tears in her eyes. Compassion, just like bigotry, existed throughout the ages too.

"So where is she buried now?" she asked.

Mr. Olson smiled at her and pointed to a large lilac bush in the middle of his garden. "This house was the old rectory. Yolanda might not have been buried next to her husband, but she was on holy ground. She's over there." He looked at Pat. "Do you think that you can get her remains moved into the rest of the cemetery?"

"Of course. I don't know of any reason why anyone would object. Besides, she will be going to my family's section. If nothing else, I know that there are still open spaces in there."

The three of them spent quite some time discussing the logistics involved in moving Yolanda's remains. It was something that Mr. Olson had some experience with as families associated with the many wagon trains had endeavored to relocate the remains of their ancestors in the past. It came down to applying for a permit to have Yolanda moved to the family plot and having the work done by a licensed funeral home. Pat made plans to get everything started the next day.

* * * * *

It was a couple of weeks later that Pat and Mary Sue drove out to Yolanda's first resting place. Moving Yolanda to be next to her husband had been almost anti-climactic. There was a good-sized group of their friends who came to witness Yolanda's reinternment and there was a general feeling of friendship and welcome. The attendees had all been involved in the events over the past months and a happy ending was appreciated. The reception in the old rectory that followed had a somewhat festive feel to it, almost like an Irish wake.

Pat brought the old truck to a stop near the base of the hill indicated on the map. Mr. Olson had drawn a very detailed map, even showing an old Indian cave in the hill. The spot they were looking for was supposed to be situated near a group of large boulders. The large rocks had fallen at some time in the past so that they provided natural protection for the former gravesite. Mary Sue was certain of the location the moment she saw the growths of violets throughout the area. The flowers almost seemed to follow her.

"I know that Yolanda is no longer here, but I feel like I'm standing in a special place," Mary Sue said, quietly.

"Yes, I know what you mean," Pat replied. "I can feel it too."

"It's peaceful," Mary Sue said.

He nodded as he looked around. "This section isn't being used for grazing for the cattle, so I think that we should fence this area off and protect it."

Mary Sue looked up at him and smiled before she kissed him. "I think that would be a good thing to do."

* * * * *

Mary Sue settled back in the armchair, watching her bridesmaids work at getting themselves ready for the ceremony. It wasn't time for her to be putting on her wedding dress yet and she was just relaxing. Not that she wasn't in a hurry to be ready, but she didn't want to damage the dress or ruin her makeup. Occasionally, Liz or Leslie would come over to see how she was doing and if she needed anything. She would just smile and tell them that she was fine.

Truthfully though, she was nervous and it was hard to keep from fidgeting. She'd been looking forward to this day almost from the first time she had had a real conversation with Pat. Now…she had not seen him in two days and she missed him.

The first night had been the traditional hen and stag parties. When she had sent Pat away, she had a very serious talk with her brothers who were to be Pat's groomsmen. If they pull any pranks on her future husband, they would suffer long and hard for it. Considering that she was backed up by her sisters in-law they promised to be on their best behavior in how they handled him.

The party the ladies threw for Mary Sue was rather sedate. They could have driven over to Cheyenne and found a club with male strippers, but half of the women were married and had men of their own they were happy with. The other half of the group had women they were happy with and had no use for male strippers any way.

Yesterday was spent at an all-day spa, being pampered and getting ready for the ceremony. They had to be careful about how they slept to keep from completely destroying their hairstyles, but an hour at the salon this morning put everything to rights.

All of the time at the spa and the hairdresser had come out of Pat's new savings account. Pat and Mary Sue thought that it was the least they could do because her brother's families had to come from Iowa while the members of Mary Sue's wedding party had to miss days of work.

Mary Sue's four bridesmaids, Liz, Sam, Emily, and Leslie, each wore a comfortable dress. She did not have bridesmaid's dresses picked out for the wedding. Her only requests had been that they wear muted primary colors and that no one wore the same color. Pat's group was wearing simple business suits instead of rented tuxedoes. It certainly saved everyone a lot of money.

The result was that Mary Sue and Pat stood out in the midst of everyone else. Pat had opted to wear a tux anyway, but Mary Sue was going to wear the wedding dress she had discovered in the trunk beneath Yolanda's journal. For its age, the fabric had survived remarkably well. After it had been cleaned and pressed, it only needed to be altered to take into account that Mary Sue was more well-endowed than Yolanda. Pat had teased Mary Sue that he might wear cowboy boots with his tux, but had relented with a grin under her intense glare.

As it got closer to the time to slide into her wedding dress, Mary Sue found herself feeling somewhat depressed and it was obvious to Leslie. Leave it to the police officer and former Marine to know when someone was feeling down.

Leslie slide onto the loveseat beside her and gave her a hug. "What's wrong honey?"

"I'm just missing my mother and father," Mary Sue said quietly. "I always dreamed of having my mother at my wedding and having Daddy walk me down the aisle to give me away."

Leslie turned her so that they met eye-to-eye. "As long as you remember them, they will always be with you. As long as you love them, they will never leave you."

Mary Sue blinked back a few tears and smiled shakily. "Thank you. That is the nicest way to think of them."

"You're welcome," Leslie said, hugging her again. "Come on, we have about half an hour to get you into your dress and do your makeup." She pulled Mary Sue to her feet and led her over to the vanity that had become Makeup Central for everyone. "Of course, things aren't going to start until you are ready and the bride is NEVER late."

In relatively short order, Mary Sue was in her wedding dress and her makeup applied. The style of the dress was timeless, so it was not obvious that she was wearing a dress older than even her grandparents would be. It had a look of a dress that had just come from the bridal boutique.

When the traditional wedding music began to play, each of Mary Sue's brothers escorted one of the ladies down the aisle until only Mary Sue was left. The plan had been to have her walk down the aisle herself because she had not found anyone she wanted to ask. Hiram would have loved to have the honor, but she had found a graceful way to avoid asking him without hurting his feelings. Standing alone in the front alcove, she began to wish that she had looked harder for someone to walk with her.

Before she could begin the short trip down to the altar, shaking all the way, she became aware of the fact that she was no longer alone. The ushers had already stepped into the church and she knew that there was no one else left.

She had experienced enough unusual things over the past months to only be apprehensive and not afraid. Still, it was a shock when she sensed someone standing on either side of her. Even though she could see and hear nothing, the words came to her, 'Your mother and I are right here Sweet Pea. We are going to walk with you to your husband.'

A warm feeling surrounded her as Mary Sue began her walk to the altar and to Pat. Nothing could have removed the happy smile from her face. While most people thought that it was because she was walking down the aisle to be married, that was only part of it. She was walking with her parents, the people she wished most of all that she had a chance to talk to and to tell them how she felt about so many things. Now though, it felt like that was all unnecessary.

It was when she reached the altar where Pat waited for her that Mary Sue knew that words were no long required. There had been additions made to the wedding party on both sides and Mary Sue instinctively recognized that it was Yolanda and Nathaniel who were standing there with them. From the way Pat smiled at her, she knew that he could see them as well and recognized them for who they were. She was glad that she was at with their presence.

They had thought ahead and asked everyone to not throw rice as they left the church. Instead, they had provided bundles of bird seed that would be much safer for the birds and ground animals to eat.

It came as no surprise to either of the newlyweds that there were violet flower petals mixed into the birdseed that fell. Only Pat and Mary Sue saw Yolanda and Nathaniel standing as a group with Pat's mother and Mary Sue's parents. They watched smiling as the grouped returned their smiles and faded from view.

At the same time, a young native American princess moved restlessly through the broken pottery in the cave that had been her prison and resting place for well over a hundred years, hoping for some kind of release.

FIN