A Wanted Man by Susan Kay Law Page B

work ,” Laura clarified quickly.
    “Hmm.” She crossed her arms, encased in black poplin edged with a wide white cuff, in front of her, as if confronting a disobedient pupil. “Who is he?”
    Drat, Laura thought. “I don’t know.” But I certainly hope I get the chance to find out .

Chapter 4

    K earney was not a large city, as such things went. Thirty-four hundred and growing fast, the mayor had proudly told her, and sure to explode once the Kearney Canal was completed. He had gotten into the habit of stopping by to offer his assistance and, Laura surmised, to ensure that his town was painted in a flattering light.
    But though it was not large, neither was it tiny. Yet Laura caught glimpses of her dark man with suspicious regularity.
    He did not speak to her again even though, as Laura realized with wry amusement, she was making it easy for him to do so. She set up her easel on a daily basis in obvious and public places, so that anyone who made the slightest effort would have no difficulty finding her. Although he would have to fight through Mrs. Bossidy most of the time, for she stood guard with determination and a scowl that Laura doubted few men would be willing to brave. No more solo shopping trips for Mrs. Bossidy, at least for the time being.
    But Laura saw him often. Once, through the plate window of a restaurant as she ate her creamed toast, she glimpsed him striding down the street on a cool, windy day, hatless, his great canvas coat billowing behind him like smoke clouds. He appeared in church, slipping into the last row as the organ strains of the first hymn faded away, catching her eye as she turned at the door’s slam, with that quirk at the corner of his mouth that always made her wonder if he ever truly smiled. Riding by on a fiery red stallion as she worked in front of the courthouse, strolling in front of a saloon as she wheeled by in a rented carriage, arguing politics on the front porch with a storekeeper when she and Mrs. Bossidy arrived to purchase a new scarf.
    Laura did not believe it could be coincidental. And the very unpredictability of his appearances kept her on edge, constantly anticipating the next time, the next place, never quite forgetting the possibility that he’d be around the next corner.
    They should have left Kearney two days ago. Laura knew she was stalling. There was little else of interest to paint there, and she’d already done studies in more detail than the subjects required. At her present rate they would never finish the journey before the snows clogged the rails over the Sierras. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to give the order to hitch up to the train due to steam through.
    “That’s enough.” Mrs. Bossidy froze in midstep. More restless of late, she’d suggested an evening stroll. The sun hovered over the horizon, a coral haze spreading wide, the broad flat surface of the river awash in pink and gold.
    “What is it?” Laura asked, still caught by the colors. How would she mix that hue? Some carmine, certainly, and—
    Mrs. Bossidy snagged her by the elbow, halting Laura’s forward motion. “Let’s go back to the car.”
    “But it’s so lovely out.”
    “Gnats.” She flapped a hand in front of her face. “Most annoying.”
    Gnats? Laura hadn’t felt a one. “You go ahead. The color’s just so lovely. I wonder if perhaps I should have days roll by as the painting follows the rails to allow me to use different skies, dawn and dusk, stormy and clear. Perhaps even all the seasons. It would be a shame not to—” She turned to survey the wide sweep of the river, calculating potential scenes, and Mrs. Bossidy practically threw herself in the way. “What is the matter…oh.”
    He was far enough away that there should have been some doubt as to his identity. A dark spear of a figure standing alone on the bridge, the sunset behind him making it impossible to pick out any features—all she could truly see was a tall black outline in front of a