She smiled.
"Deal."
Ethan nodded.
He walked toward the schoolhouse.
Behind him, a man standing across the street lowered his newspaper.
He had been watching Ethan since the moment he entered town.
His name was Silas Vane.
And unlike everyone else in Red Hollow, Silas remembered exactly who Ethan Blackwood was.
The Teacher
By sunset, Ethan had repaired half the schoolhouse roof.
Abigail watched from below.
"You work fast."
"Roof isn't difficult."
"You've done it before?"
"Many times."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
She smiled.
"You answer questions like a politician."
"I don't like questions."
"That much I've noticed."
Ethan replaced another board.
The children had gone home.
Only Abigail remained.
She carried two cups of coffee.
"One is yours."
Ethan looked down.
"I didn't ask."
"I know."
He climbed down.
They sat beneath the schoolhouse porch.
"How long have you taught here?" Ethan asked.
"Three years."
"Why?"
She looked toward the empty road.
"Someone has to."
Ethan smiled.
"That's a dangerous answer."
"Why?"
"Because people use it to convince themselves they can save everyone."
"Can they?"
"No."
"Then why did you?"
Ethan looked at her.
"I didn't."
She waited.
He continued.
"I once thought I could."
"Did you fail?"
"Completely."
Abigail studied him.
"You were a soldier?"
"No."
"A lawman?"
"No."
"Outlaw?"
Ethan's eyes hardened.
"No."
She knew she had reached something.
She changed the subject.
"Red Hollow needs a blacksmith."
"I don't know blacksmithing."
"General store needs shelves."
"I can build shelves."
"The widow Parker has a broken fence."
"I'll fix it."
Abigail smiled.
"You are useful."
"That's unfortunate."
She laughed.
It was the first time Ethan heard her laugh.
He looked at her.
She looked away.
For a moment, the silence between them felt easy.
Then Abigail said:
"You're not what you pretend to be."
Ethan's smile disappeared.
"What do I pretend to be?"
"Nobody."
He looked at her.
"Sometimes nobody is all a man wants to be."
Abigail lowered her eyes.
"Maybe."
Then she stood.
"Good night, Mr. Blackwood."
"Ethan."
She looked back.
"Good night, Ethan."
He watched her walk away.
He had spent five years making sure no one remembered him.
Yet that night, for the first time, he wished someone might.
The Name in the Saloon
Three days later, Ethan entered the saloon.
He had avoided it since arriving.
But the town blacksmith needed horseshoes.
The blacksmith owed money.
The man who owned the forge owed money to the saloon owner.
And the saloon owner was Silas Vane.
Ethan stepped inside.
The piano stopped.
Not because anyone recognized him.
Because Silas had told the pianist to stop.
Vane stood behind the bar.
He was fifty, broad, clean-shaven, and dressed better than any man in Red Hollow.
"Ethan Blackwood."
The room became silent.
Ethan looked at him.
"Do I know you?"
Vane smiled.
"You don't remember me."
"I remember everyone who tried to kill me."
Several men shifted.
Vane laughed.
"Still dangerous."
Ethan looked around.
"I'm not here for trouble."
"Then why are you here?"
"Horseshoes."
Vane nodded.
"Of course."
He leaned closer.
"I heard you were dead."
"I've been busy."
"You disappeared."
"People do."
Vane's smile became thin.
"Not men like you."
Ethan's eyes hardened.
"Don't."
Vane whispered:
"The Wraith."
The name moved through the saloon like wind.
Several men stared.
Someone whispered:
"That's him?"
Ethan walked toward the door.
Vane called after him.
"Red Hollow remembers."
Ethan stopped.
Vane continued.
"You killed six men at Black Creek."
Ethan turned.
"Seven."
Silence.
Vane smiled.
"Good."
Ethan walked out.
Outside, Abigail was standing across the street.