Whippoorwill by Sharon Sala

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    Letty’s heart was still pounding and she was starting to feel faint. Maybe she should have eaten that steak before she did her shopping instead of waiting until later. Curious, she glanced up at the gambler and felt her heart skip a beat.
    “I figured we’d seen the last of you.”
    His smile slipped. “I hadn’t planned on returning.”
    “Then why did you?” Letty asked.
    “Because of you,” he said softly.
    They crossed the dusty street in silence. It wasn’t until they’d gained the shade of front of the White Dove Saloon that Letty found the nerve to speak.
    “What did you mean by that?”
    Dupree handed her the package. “You, dear lady, have haunted my dreams. Will you have dinner with me? The hotel fixes a fairly decent meal.”
    “Now?”
    He nodded.
    “Why? Why me?”
    He shook his head and then smiled. “If I knew the answer to that, I might have kept riding,” he said. “So will you?”
    “If you’ll give me a few minutes to fix myself up, then yes. I can’t go out with my hair like this.”
    He fingered the thick brown strands resting on her shoulders then shook his head.
    “Please… leave it. I like it like this.”
    Will came outside, eyed the couple and frowned. “Your steak is done, Letty. Ain’t you comin’ in to eat it?”
    Letty thrust her package into his arms.
    “Give it to Eulis,” she said. “And put this in my room. I’m having dinner with Mr. Dupree.”
    “Now Letty… you can’t just go and—”
    Her eyes went hard. The smile on her lips thinned to nothing.
    “I don’t work for you until the sun goes down.”
    Having said her piece, she lifted her chin, thrust her hand beneath the gambler’s elbow and followed him down the street.

WESTWARD HOWE
    Unaware of the building turmoil in Lizard Flats, Randall Howe was suffering some doubts of his own. Between the heat, the coal dust, and the squalling child in the seat across the aisle, he thought he might lose his mind. And that was only within the first three hours after boarding this train. It was the second leg of his journey into the territories and he was already regretting his decision. Maybe he should have stayed and married Priscilla after all. It wasn’t the worst fate he could imagine. As soon as he was allowed, he retired to the sleeper car and crawled into his bunk, morose, and full of self-pity. Foregoing his noon meal, he continued to mope, and sometime during the heat of the day, fell asleep.
    He woke just as the sun was beginning to set. His stomach growled as he rolled onto his back and he wondered if it was too late to get something to eat. Just as he was considering the wisdom of heading for the dining car, the train suddenly ground to a halt. Were it not for his quick reflexes, he would have fallen out of his bunk and into the aisle.
    Muttering to himself about the carelessness of the engineer, he looked out the window, expecting to see some sort of town or at the least a depot. Instead, he saw nothing but a vast, rolling prairie. With a disgusted shrug, he thought again of the dining car and was about to get up when he heard a woman’s high-pitched scream. He paused, peering nervously out the window, and again, saw nothing. Carefully, he parted the curtains of his bunk and looked out into the aisle, but all he could see were the curtained compartments of the other bunks.
    “I say,” he called out. “What’s going on?”
    Someone muttered a curse from a bed close by, but it was the only answer he received. Weary to his bones and missing his clean, soft bed in the Boston rectory, he closed his eyes, contemplating the sins that had brought him to this fate.
    It occurred to him then to just get off the train. It would be a long trek back to the next town, but it would be worth it. With a little luck, he could be in Boston tomorrow. He thought of his clothes, stashed somewhere in the baggage car and the blisters he would get on his feet. Then he thought of the Bishop’s anger and Priscilla