That wasn’t going to happen. Not if he could help it.
Nimble stepped back from the tracks, long dark lines beneath the white snow that had already started to gather, and looked east and then west.
To the east was nothing but open emptiness buried beneath stretches of white, trimmed with the dark, white-and-gray sky. To the west was the town, a clump of buildings and streets and bare trees, almost empty of people and activity, from what he could see. Which was probably due to the coming storm, but what did he know.
He walked to the railroad crossing and turned toward the town. The short street was flecked with snow, shiny where it had melted beneath the passage of tires. As he rounded the corner, he could see the bank and the grocery store to his left and, to his right, a long building that sat along the railroad tracks, as if they had a relationship of some kind.
Some old guys came out of the building, piled into three separate trucks, and took off like they had someplace to be.
Nimble blinked the snow out of his eyes, cupped his hands together for warmth, and headed that way, hurrying as he spotted the sheriff’s SUV making a left turn, which would bring it back toward him.
He skirted the parking lot and neared the building, where a painted sign, faded and snow-dappled, announced the place as being Malone Feed & Grain, whatever that meant. A yard in the back looked to be full of crap he could duck behind to hide.
He was cold to the bone by the time he made it to the gate to the yard, just as the sheriff’s SUV turned the corner onto the road that went past the building.
The snow flurried around Nimble as he slipped through the gate. It would be warmer inside the building, so he tested the door. The handle jiggled and then fell off, and he pushed the door open. He darted through, shut it behind him, and took a deep breath, blowing on his hands to warm them.
Standing still made him miss the movement of the train, the constant motion like a promise that he was headed someplace warm, someplace better. Only now he was inside a store, safe for the moment.
The sign over the pair of glass doors in the front now made sense, as he took in the bags of grain and seed, blocks of salt, leather saddles and tack, mousetraps, empty metal trash bins, and on it went.
There was a smell of earth and dust, and beyond, through the windows, he could see three tall silos. The fenced yard he’d come through held stacks of wooden pallets being buried in the snow. An old green-and-yellow tractor, and an even older pickup truck. The train tracks beyond. And snow coming down as though rough-handed angels were shaking it from a blanket.
He didn’t see anyone around as he looked for a place to hole up. Maybe the store was closed because of the storm. The three old guys had left in a hurry, that was for sure.
Maybe the store was even abandoned. Just like the small town, where he’d barely seen anyone on the streets, it looked dead. Dead was fine with him, because it meant nobody would catch him poking around.
He spotted the cash register and wondered if there was any money in it. Wondered where the door behind it led. And where the smell of burning wood was coming from.
A number of grocery bags sat on the long counter, but Nimble ignored them. Just as he got behind the counter and placed his hands on the cash register to test if it, too, would jiggle and fall open, the wooden door behind it opened, and a man came through.
He was using a shiny purple cane, which was the first thing Nimble noticed, and walked with a limp, favoring his left leg.
When Nimble looked up from the cane and the leg, he took in the man’s face: unshaven, with an expression that seemed etched and raw, like he’d not smiled in forever.
His eyes were very blue and intense, with bruises underneath them, and his brown hair was messy and a bit ragged for so handsome a guy. He was wearing gray sweatpants and slip-on sneakers, as well as a stained white T-shirt and a dark blue robe that flopped, untied, around his legs.
“What are you doing?” the man asked, his voice coming out dark and low. “The feed and grain is closed.”
“I’m looking for—” Nimble started and then stopped, his mind flicking through items that might be purchased in this type of store. “Seed.”
“Seed?” the man asked, his dark brows furrowing. “It doesn’t matter. We’re closed for the storm. Haven’t you heard? There’s a blizzard that’s going to shutter the whole town for days.” Theman paused, shuffling forward a step, chuffing out a breath as if the motion cost him. “You need to leave.”
Through the front bank of windows, Nimble saw the sheriff’s SUV pulling up. When it stopped, two people got out: by their uniforms, the sheriff and his deputy. They were bundled against the cold and walked purposefully up to the main door of the feed and grain.
With a sharp glance at the man, Nimble ducked behind the counter, leaving the cash register untouched as he crouched there with his hands on his thighs, trying to ignore a sudden desperate need to pee, reeling at his own stupidity that he’d actually thought this would work.
The sheriff and the deputy were coming into the store, and the man was going to point Nimble out to them. Then Nimble was going to end up in jail, arrested on charges of vagrancy, trespassing, train hopping, and who knew what all else—and, by that time, he’d smell of piss.
Nimble tried to calm his shaky breaths and just about couldn’t. Then, as he listened to the conversation, he wanted to laugh, but that would be the worst thing he could do, giving away his hiding place. His hiding place that the man—Morgan—could see, but somehow, for some reason, failed to mention.
The conversation wasn’t funny, really, but Morgan’s reaction as the cops insisted on offering help and advice was, with Morgan getting more and more worked up, cane thumping, refusing everything they offered.
Yes, he knew about the blizzard. No, he didn’t want help carrying those bags of groceries. Yes, he was fine. No, he wasn’t worried about the weather.
Nimble could hear Morgan’s frustration rising higher and higher. He had a warm voice, but there was strain in it, as well. It was pretty clear that Morgan didn’t want these two in his store. Like he didn’t want Nimble in his store.
But at least he was giving Nimble a chance. Letting him hide, and then, hopefully, later Nimble could sneak out, though where he would go from here he had no idea.
