Arthur Powser performed the expected grumbling when Wesley asked to bunk in the livery, but he'd heard the young man's story from Horace, and in sympathy, allowed him to camp out in one of the stalls. He even threw in some blankets and a coal lamp, maintaining his annoyed bluff over being cheated out of his usual fee. Wes thanked him gratefully and retreated to the stall, giving Dammit some attention before he called it a night.

Morning arrived to the accompaniment of Arthur banging stall doors and leading the horses out back to the small corral. Wesley hauled himself up by the rails and leaned on the top just as Dammit was led past, looking at him sternly. Wes pulled on his boots, folded up the bedroll and Arthur's blankets, and wandered out the back, carrying his shirt and hat.

"There's a pump an' a basin behind you there." Arthur said, pitching some hay into the trough along the fence.

Wes nodded and set his clothes down, taking the basin and filling it with the clear, cold well water. He splashed his face and chest, making blubbering sounds, and shivering as the chilly water coursed over his skin. Hair, arms and fingers dripping water, Wes stood awkwardly, looking for something to dry himself with.

Arthur walked past, sucking his teeth. "You ain't much use to yerself, are you son." He went into the barn and returned with a rough piece of towel, tossing it to the dripping Wesley.

"Thanks Mister Powser. I really appreciate what you done for me." He finished with the towel and spent a minute combing his hair with his fingers. "If you don't mind, I'll be stayin' a little while an' I could surely use your stall while I'm here." He saw Arthur's features darken and, buttoning his shirt and tucking it in, he added, "I could give you another dollar for the privilege."

"Cain't talk figures now. We'll see how long you're here an' then we'll fix a price."

"You're a fair man Mister Powser." Wes grabbed his hat and went back to the barn for his gun belt.

Outside of the saloon, Granny's was the only place in town to get a meal, and Wesley wasn't sure he should be showing up there too soon, so he opted for the saloon. The first thing he saw was the bull of a man behind the bar polishing glasses. He'd never seen such a large man. The sleeve garters were the diameter of wagon wheels, and the bald round head gleamed like polished coal in the light from the stained glass wall lamps. Wes saw maybe a half a dozen other men scattered at tables about the room, eating or reading the paper. He went to the bar and waited uncomfortably until the giant looked at him.

"Uh, can a fella get some breakfast here? Steak, eggs, coffee?"

"Dollar fifty up front. I'll bring it to a table when it's ready." The voice growled like thunder rolling through a mountain pass.

Wesley blushed and held up his hand. "Whoah! I don't think I can afford a dollar fifty. Maybe just some eggs and coffee?"

The bartender's face stayed bland as he went on polishing glasses. "Seventy cents. That's three eggs and coffee." Another roll of thunder.

"Do we have a problem Paul?"

Wesley turned to find an attractive woman in a bright white shirt, riding pants and boots, standing behind him. Her black hair was swept back behind tiny ears, and held with a white bow, errant strands dusting the sides of her face. Wesley snatched off his hat and greeted her politely.

"No problem ma'am, I just can't quite afford the price of a full breakfast."

"You're that Torrance fella, aren't you?"

Wesley looked surprised and nodded. "Wesley Torrance ma'am." He held out a tentative hand.

"I'm Verna Fairweather, owner of the Hang "Em High." She gripped his hand firmly and stepped closer. "Sheriff Bragg mentioned you. The sheriff and I are friends."

A sudden, short boom sounded from over his shoulder and Verna's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Don't mind Paul, he's my watchdog." Still holding his hand, she pulled him toward an empty table, calling to Paul to fetch a full breakfast for Mister Torrance— on the house.

"Oh I couldn't do that ma'am." Wes rescued his hand and backed away.

"Nonsense. It won't bankrupt me, besides, I'd like to get to know you. Bragg told me some pretty sorry things about you."

Wesley bridled slightly, thinking that the sheriff would do well to mind his own business, but the riveting look from the woman's dark eyes compelled him to accept her hospitality. Verna set about making idle chit chat, bringing Wesley's comfort level to a point where she saw him beginning to relax; his posture slumped and the creases in his brow smoothed. When Paul appeared with a sizzling steak crowned with three perfectly cooked eggs and a steaming pot of coffee, Wesley forgot his inhibitions and dug in heartily. By the time he'd finished eating, and was sitting back enjoying a third cup of coffee, Verna had coaxed the entire history of the past few weeks from him. She sat staring at the young man, her own coffee sitting cold in the cup.

"That's a lot more detail than Sheriff Bragg revealed." She toyed with the emerald coloured ring on her finger. "Do you have feelings for this Megan, Wesley?"

He gave her a bleak look, his cheeks flushing. He thought for a moment that he saw Gwen sitting across the table, and he stifled a choking sob.

Verna recognized the guilt her question had prompted and she placed a comforting hand over his. "It's all right, I know what you're thinking. She sounds like a very special lady— and a strong willed one too."

Wesley looked desolate. He didn't even know this woman and here she was climbing right inside his head, wrenching out feelings his didn't understand nor wished to confront. And Megan, what did he know about her except the misery they both shared? My god, my wife and son were murdered horribly less than a month ago, and here I am parading my guilt in front of one strange woman while lusting after another!

Verna gave his hand a consoling slap and sat back, breaking into his silent misery. "Why don't you ask your friend to come and see me, Granny's doesn't sound like the right place for her."

Wesley gaped at her. "You think she'd work in here?

"There are a lot more duties to perform in a place like this than the one you're thinking of." Her smile was rueful.

Wesley coloured and stammered sheepishly. "I- I'm sorry, I—"

"I was thinking she could cook here just as easily, and in better conditions. An extra hand in the kitchen would certainly be to Paul's liking."

He sneaked an appraising look toward the bar then down at his hands. "Miss Fairweather, I—"

Why don't you just think on it, the offer's open. And Wesley, a person's natural feelings shouldn't be tainted by guilt. Life's road keeps going, and there isn't but one way to get off. Hope you enjoyed your breakfast." She smiled warmly, and left him staring blankly at the table.

*****