Chapter 1 #2
Wherever had the young man come from? And where were his hat and gloves? The leather jacket he was wearing and the flap of flannel shirt hem layered beneath it could hardly be enough to keep him warm. His grease-stained jeans were more hole than denim.
It was freezing in Montana this time of year, blizzard or no blizzard. But that wasn’t Morgan’s concern.
“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.” Morgan paused, taking a breath, knowing he sounded exactly like the asshole with a stick up his ass that he imagined the town thought he was. “You need to leave.”
The young man glanced over Morgan’s shoulder, and Morgan turned to see the sheriff’s patrol car pulling into the snow-covered parking lot, complete with the sheriff and his deputy returning for unknown reasons.
The pair had been at the feed and grain once already that morning to warn Morgan about the blizzard and tell him about a train derailment up the line. The first bit of information he already knew, and the second part wasn’t important, so he couldn’t imagine why they were back.
He was distracted from his irritation by a thump, and when he looked, the young man had disappeared down behind the counter. Only a bit of his snow-flecked black jacket showed, along with the glint of one green eye.
Whoever the young man was, he was leery of the law, cold and dirty, and perhaps lost.
Though Morgan was irritated by the least kind of trouble these days, he wasn’t cruel.
Not to mention, helping the young man could be his rebellion against this small town that wanted him to take up the reins his Aunt Oralee had died holding and make the feed and grain the cornerstone of the town once more. To be someone he wasn’t.
With a hard sound below his breath, he pretended the young man wasn’t there and turned to face the new arrivals.
Young Tommy and Deputy Hartland, a petite woman named Melissa who was evidently learning everything Young Tommy could teach her, looked at him, concern on their faces.
“What can I help you with?” he asked, thumping his cane to show his irritation.
“Just a neighborly visit, sir,” Young Tommy said.
His plastic-covered hat was tucked under his arm, revealing his graying buzz cut, and his forehead gleamed.
Melting snow dripped from his broad shoulders.
“We saw Maurice and his pals getting some coffee at the Bean There, and they said they were worried about you.”
“They wanted us to make sure that you were all set up, Mr. Malone,” Deputy Hartland said. “You being a tenderfoot from the South and all.”
Deputy Hartland was as trim and tidy and prepared as he’d ever seen a deputy be, but her statement and the old geezers’ concern, as well as this second visit from the local law, irritated Morgan beyond measure.
He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake, and Denver, Colorado, was hardly a place anyone would consider south.
He also had five bags of groceries, many bundles of wood, and a furnace that, while not new, seemed to be heating everything okay. He’d experienced storms before, and while he wasn’t at his most nimble, he would get by.
He wanted them gone so he could get rid of the young man, return to his fire, and stare into the middle distance for a good chunk of the day.
“I’ll manage,” he said, teeth gritted, the snarl in his voice obvious even to his own ears. “I’ve got supplies; I’ll be fine. And call me Morgan, okay?”
Young Tommy looked at the bags on the counter, bags that probably hid the young man from his view.
From where Morgan was standing, he could see the edge of that black leather jacket, but he wasn’t going to say anything, because the young man was the least irritating person he’d encountered since he’d arrived in Hysham.
“We’d be happy to carry your groceries upstairs, Morgan,” Young Tommy said, waving his hat at the brown bags.
“Seeing as you’re a bit inconvenienced by your leg, sir,” Deputy Hartland added.
Morgan hadn’t wanted the three old geezers in the apartment, with all the dust and his aunt’s belongings, not to mention his two suitcases sitting open pathetically on the bedroom floor, so why would he let these two anywhere near that?
It would be easier to limp up the stairs and down again, each bag requiring its own trip, than to endure their dismay upon seeing the disaster and the small space he’d scraped out for himself.
Similarly, he was going to refuse any offers to come clean for him, to help him poke through his aunt’s things, and to hustle him into a future that he simply did not want.
That confusing whirl of thoughts always brought him to a dead end full of unanswerable questions as to what was going to happen next. Where his life would take him. He had no idea. He just wanted to sit down, gaze at the fire in the pot-bellied stove in the office, and wait for it all to be over.
“Look,” Morgan said, taking slow, even breaths. “I’m going to be fine. It’s just a little snow.”
Young Tommy laughed a bit and then nodded, putting on his plastic-covered hat. Deputy Hartland followed suit.
“It’s more than a little snow, sir, but you look well prepared, so we’ll leave you to it,” Young Tommy said. “We just like to look after our own in this town.”
Well, Morgan wasn’t one of their own, and he wasn’t sticking around in the middle of nowhere any longer than he had to. He saw them out, thumping his cane behind them, then locked the door and flipped the sign to Closed.