* * * *
Next day, I put small possessions into the saddlebags, clothes into the bedroll, and look around a room I no longer hate because it’s where I knew Jack best. When I come downstairs, he’s at the bar and makesno effort to disguise knowing me. I shake hands with Abel and Sam, say good-bye to the girls, and start out with Jack following.
“One more stop,” he says as we go along.
I don’t inquire, just let him lead me into a mercantile, where he finds a row of hats. “Can’t be a cowpoke without a good hat,” he says as he plops a white number onto my head. It’s too big, coming downover my eyes, and we share a laugh.
“You choose,” he says, so I do that, finally settling on a plain brown number with a slight roll to thebrim.
“Now that’s a look,” says Jack as I turn to him.
“Feels right.”
“Good. We’ll take it,” he tells the clerk and hands over the money.
On the way out, I thank him. “I seem to be doing a lot of that. You’ve spoiled me something awful.”