“Clarice and me were friends,” Sully spoke up, returning somewhat dazedly to the present.  “She showed me kindness at a time when I really needed it.”

     “Guess that’s one way o’ puttin’ it.”

     “As hard as I try, I’ll never understand you,” Sully reproached the barkeep.  “How can you speak ill of the dead like that?  More to the point, how can you make that kinda accusation about the woman you claimed to love?  Are you that bitter?”

     “If I am, you made me that way.”

     “I don’t know where you got this crazy notion about not bein’ Zack’s pa, and why you’re accusin’ me—but whatever you think happened is just inside your own head.”

     “You actually got the nerve to look me in the eyes and deny it?!”

     “There ain’t nothin’ to deny!”

     “I see.”  There was a dangerous edge to Hank’s voice.  “So that wasn’t you I saw huddled with Clarice night after night, always with yer heads together, whisperin’ . . .”

     “Not that I ain’t grateful for the patronage—“  The saloon owner winked.  “But it’s past closin’ time.”  Sully looked up at him blearily from where he sat hunched at his solitary table.  The bartender’s face seemed to rush toward him and then recede. “If ya can’t make it home on yer own, I’ll get Flora to take ya back to her tent ta sleep it off.”

     “I don’t need any help,” Sully mumbled, casting his eyes downward again.  “Just leave me be.”

     “Sorry—can’t oblige.”  He grasped Sully’s arm to drag him to his feet.

     Sully jerked away.  “Take your hands off me!”

      Lawson’s hand strayed to the gun on his hip.  “We can do this peaceful, or we can do it the hard way.  But whichever ya choose, yer leavin’.”

      Sully placed the flat of his hands on the table and pushed himself to a standing position.  He staggered slightly, but then regained his balance and took a step in Hank’s direction, eyeing the barkeep insolently.  “And who’s gonna make me—you?”

      “If I got to.”

      “I don’t think so.”

     “I’m givin’ ya fair warnin’—“  But the saloon owner didn't have a chance to finish before Sully’s fist abruptly came out of nowhere and caught him on the jaw.  He crashed into the table behind him, upending it as he fell to the floor.

     Sully stood over him in triumph.  “Tell me again what you’re gonna do to me.”

     “Hank!” he heard a low, throaty voice exclaim.  The stunning woman with the ebony hair—the one named Clarice, according to Daniel—hurried to Lawson’s side and crouched next to him.  “Are you all right?” she said anxiously.  “Easy—let me help you.”

     He allowed her to support him as he regained his feet, but then shook her off.  “Yer gonna pay fer that,” he growled, kneading his injured jaw.  His hands dropped to his sides and he advanced on Sully, fists at the ready.

    “Hank, don’t,” Clarice entreated.  “He’s drunk—he don’t know what he’s doin’!”

    “I don’t care!”  He spat blood and saliva on the floor.  “Nobody does that ta me and gets away with it!”

    But she wouldn’t be dissuaded.  “Please, Hank.  You ain’t hurt bad and nobody saw.  Let it go.”

    “And have him boastin’ to every man in camp that he got the best o’ me?!  Ferget it!”

     “He probably won’t even remember in the mornin’.”   She dared to touch the barkeep again, sliding her hand up his arm.  “C’mon,” she persuaded.  “Go finish cleanin’ up.  I’ll see to him.”  Her dark eyes fell on Sully, and his skin tingled pleasantly beneath her gaze.

     “I don’t trust him.”

     “It’s all right,” she insisted.  “He ain’t gonna hurt me.”

     “If he does, he won’t live ta tell about it.”

     “Hank, just go about your business.  I’ll send him on his way, and then come to you.”

     “Make it quick.”   He glowered at Sully.  “You touch a hair on her head—“

     Sully glared back.  “I ain’t in the habit of beatin’ up women.”

     “Hank!” Clarice intervened once more.  “Enough.”

     The saloon keeper gave Sully a final venomous glance, then reluctantly moved away.

     “Well!  That was quite a scene,” she remarked.

     Sully reddened.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to cause trouble.  It’s just—he made me mad, is all.”

     “Hank’s got a quick temper—it gets the best of him sometimes.  What’s your excuse?”

     “I’m sorry,” he repeated.  He wanted to say more, to explain somehow.  But when he looked into the depths of her eyes, all coherent thought seemed to vanish from his mind.

     “Well, it’s over and done with,” she said.  “Though if I was you, I wouldn’t cross Hank like that again.  Anyway, I promised to get you outta here, so let’s go.”

     Sully allowed her to lead him out of the tent.  He stopped outside, taking welcome breaths of the clean winter air, letting it clear his head.

     “You need me to help you to your tent?”

    He started to demur, but then hesitated.  “Thanks.  That’d . . . be nice.”  He felt a trace of guilt at letting her think he was worse off than he actually was.  But he couldn’t resist the temptation to spend a few more minutes alone with her.

     “Which way?” she asked briskly.  He pointed, and they headed in the direction he’d indicated.

     “I’ve seen you before,” Sully ventured after they’d been walking for a few moments.

     “I’m around most nights.”

     “Your name’s Clarice, ain’t it?”

     “That’s right.  And how do you know that?”

     “I asked.”

     She favored him with a smile.  “I’m flattered.  But you have the advantage over me.”

     “Sorry, I forgot.  My name’s Sully.”

    “Is that your first name or your last?”

     “My last—but it’s what I go by.”

     “I see.  Well, it’s good to know you, Mr. Sully.”

     “Nice of you to say, after what I did back there.”  He gestured behind them.  “But you can drop the ‘mister’,” he added shyly, hazarding a smile.

     She returned his smile with a disarming one of her own.  “All right.  Good to know you, Sully.”

     “Feelin’s mutual.”

     Quiet descended between them as they made their way through the maze of tents in camp, the ghostly shapes of the canvas structures standing sentinel along their path.  After a time Clarice spoke again.

     “I’ve seen you before, too.”

     Sully’s heart abruptly began to beat a staccato rhythm as the blush returned to heat his cheeks.  “That so?”

     “Yes—a few nights ago, I think.  You were sittin’ with . . .”  She paused, trying to recall.  “Oh yeah—with Daniel.”

     Sully’s heart lurched.  He cleared his throat.  “You know Daniel?”

     “Just noddin’ acquaintances,” she answered matter-of-factly, and Sully was conscious of an absurd sense of relief.
“Is Daniel a friend of yours?” she inquired.

    “Yeah—we go back a long way.  Even came out west together.”

    “I kinda figured it was somethin’ like that.”

    “Why?” he asked curiously.

    “Oh . . . just somethin’ about the way the two of you had your heads together.  It looked like you were pretty close.”

    The memory of his conversation with Daniel flooded back to Sully’s mind, blunting the pleasure of these few moments with Clarice.  He didn’t speak, yet the woman with him seemed to sense a change in his demeanor, and he could feel her dark eyes studying him.

    “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to pry,” she said, apparently fearing she’d given him offense.

    “It’s all right.  It’s just—somethin’ I’d rather not talk about.”

    “Of course,” she agreed.  “None of my business, anyway.”

    All too soon they were within sight of his tent.  He felt a palpable sense of disappointment that their brief time together was almost over.

    “We’re here,” he announced, wishing he could think of something bright or clever to say that might encourage her to linger.

    “Can you manage on your own?” she said politely.

    His mouth curved in a self-conscious smile.  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  I wanna thank you—for your kindness to me.  ‘Specially since I wasn’t exactly at my best when we met.”

    She chuckled softly, the sound resonating musically in his ears.  “You ain’t the first man to over-indulge, and you surely won’t be the last.”

    “Still—it was good of you to be so nice to a stranger.”

    Her eyes twinkled in the dimness.  “But we ain’t strangers any more, are we?”

    An odd sensation—part excitement, part anticipation—surged through him at her words.  “No, I guess we ain’t.  But I’m still obliged.”

    Unexpectedly she cupped his jaw.  Her hand felt cool against his hot cheek.

    “You’re a sweet fella, Sully.  I hope we see each other again.”  Her hand dropped away and she gave him a smile of farewell.

    “Clarice?”  She paused, and he added with unaccustomed boldness, “Would you like to come inside?  Maybe . . .  talk a little longer?”

    Her eyes were kind.  “That’d be nice, but it’s late, and Hank’s waitin’ on me.  I’ll be at the saloon, though, whenever you want to stop by.”

    “Sure.”  He tried to mask his disappointment.    “Clarice?” he repeated impulsively.  She faced him.  “Do you . . . work for Hank?”

    She regarded him with mild surprise.  “Well—yes.  I thought you knew.”

    “I wasn’t sure.  I mean . . . I saw the two of you together, and I thought—that is, I wondered . . .”  He cursed himself for his clumsiness.  “Forget I asked.  Ain’t none of my business.”

    “No harm done.”  After a pause she added, “Do you have a problem with me workin' for Hank?  A lotta folks do, you know.”

     “Well, I ain’t one of ‘em,” he said promptly.  “As many faults as I got, I’m the last person to throw stones.”

    “Well, thanks for that.  As for Hank and me—“  She tilted her head, as if considering how to respond to his question.  “I guess you could say we got an—understandin’.  But it don’t mean I can’t have other friends.”  She touched his cheek once more.  “Get some sleep,” she advised, her tone almost maternal.  “I’ll see you soon.”

     She moved away with a faint rustle of skirts, becoming a wraith in the darkness.  Sully strained his eyes to follow her figure until her silhouette blended into the camouflage of shadows and she disappeared.

     Clarice, he thought.  Her name whispered tantalizingly in his ear.  Clarice . . .  But then another name rudely intruded.  Hank . . .

     “Last I heard, there weren’t no law ‘gainst talkin’.”

     “Well ya sure musta had a lot ta talk about, ta keep ya so busy all them nights.”

     “I told you—I was goin’ through a bad time.  Clarice was kind.  She let me confide in her and helped me feel better.”

     “I’ll bet.”

     “What about what you told Zack?” Sully challenged.  “You claimed you never lied to him.  If you accuse me of bein’ with Clarice, then you’re goin’ back on everythin’ you told your son.  How can you do that to him?  How can you do it all of us?”

     Hank’s shoulders sagged, and he seemed to collapse into himself as he sank back against the cushions.  “I told him what he needed ta hear—so’s he wouldn’t think ill of his ma.  I owed her that much.  Hell—maybe I told him what I wanted ta believe.  What I pretended to myself for all these years.

     “But it was no good,” he went on darkly.  “The truth was just hidin’ . . . waitin’ for its chance to come out.  And now here it is, chokin’ us to death.”

     Sully felt a wild sort of desperation take hold of him.  “Hank,” he said unsteadily.  “You’re takin’ somethin’ innocent, and turnin’ it into somethin’ ugly.  You’re lettin’ your jealousy get the best of your common sense.

     “We can agree to put this behind us right now, and never speak of it again,” he urged.  “Like it never happened.  You don’t judge me, I don’t judge you.  Let the past stay in the past.”

    “Least I’m facin’ up to the past—which is a hell of a lot more than yer willin’ ta do.”

     “Why can’t you let go of this?”  Sully demanded.

     “Maybe . . .  ‘cause I can’t get the memory of a certain mornin’ outta my head.  A mornin’ when I walked in on the two o’ ya together.  Together in her bed!

     “Damn you,” Hank cursed softly.  “Damn you to hell.”