Conn said he had other plans. Which was the truth, though he didn’t really know those plans beyond keeping a couple of promises.
He supposed now, at last, he could begin to think of what he might do after that.
He had changed. He knew that. How couldn’t he be changed by such events?
But he had given those changes no real thought and wasn’t sure he ever would.
Yet they would have bearing on his life.
For now, he just wanted to get out of Leadville and see to another matter looming over him, an unpaid account of sorts, a thing he dreaded but could not delay.
“Well, whatever you do, stay on the right side of the law,” Mayfield said. “I’d rather ride with you than against you.”
“Likewise.”
They nodded and parted.
Conn turned and found his parents waiting for him.
His father shook his hand and offered a rare smile. “You did well, son. And what’s more, you did good. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Conn said, and once more found a lump of unexpected emotion blocking his throat. He had never thought to hear those words from his father, especially after leaving the farm and rejecting the things he’d been taught as a child. What he said next rose straight from his soul, surprising even him. “I’m sorry, sir, for everything I did.”
It was the truth. He’d been foolish, and he knew he’d hurt his family.
He didn’t need to elaborate. They knew his history as well as he did, and they understood he was sincere and that with a man like Conn, an apology was also an unspoken promise to do better in the future.
The reverend gave another smile. “I appreciate that, Conn. All is forgiven.”
“Will you come home with us, Conn?” his mother asked hopefully.
“No,” Conn said. “Not yet, anyway. But I do promise to visit after I see to my responsibilities.”
This pleased them. They accompanied him as he left the courtroom, where he shook hands with Marshal Andrews and Rudy McKay and traded smiles with Mary.
Her eyes were very blue in the sunlight, very pretty.
No man, seeing them, could fail to notice; nor could he guess at the deep wells of strength and character that dwelled behind them.
He wished he could talk with her. He wanted to hear all about the homestead and the troubles she had faced there, how she had weathered everything and her plans for the future, but they stood among the others, and everyone was talking, so he never really had the opportunity.
The yearning remained. He felt a strong connection to his brother’s widow. He felt bound to protect and provide for her.
Of course, part of that was the promise he’d made.
And she, apparently, had remembered. “Will you still be coming back to Fairplay?” she asked quietly, while the others were laughing at McKay’s animated retelling of how the drunk had fallen off his horse and broken his arm that first night.
“Yes, ma’am,” Conn said. “I’m a man of my word. I will help you rebuild. But there’s something else I’ve got to do first.”
52
Two days later, Conn rode into the wild, logging boomtown of Stump Run, Colorado.
It was larger than he had expected and even wilder than anticipated, with dozens of saloons, gambling houses, and bordellos on full display, like a miniature Leadville that wasn’t even trying to pretend to be a respectable community.
Such places had drawn him once. The noise, the excitement. They seemed to promise everything he wanted then: whiskey, women, diversion, and probably a fight.
But places such as Stump Run lied. Sure, they delivered on the promise of wild times, but those experiences never satisfied, not for long, and only led to deeper emptiness.
