by Amy Faye
He'd probably be dismissed immediately. 'What, El Bandito is suddenly taking an interest in the children?' He'd bite down on his lip and not make a response. The man had a sharpness to him that cut deeper than Chris liked, and as much as he could deal with it when he had to, the bartender wasn't looking to stick his foot in it on purpose.
The next words out of her mouth were exactly what he'd expected. "Can't you talk to him? He'll listen to you."
She sounded so confident. Was that because she thought she knew something he knew not to be the case? Or because she was just trying to sound convincing? He didn't know, and didn't much care, either way.
"No, he won't," Chris said with a quiet sort of confidence. "You can trust me on that."
Her lips twitched, but she didn't say anything for a long minute. "So you won't, then?"
There was a little twinge of guilt in his chest. No doubt it was exactly the twinge that she'd wanted to give him. It wasn't out of spite that he decided to ignore it.
"I oughtn't. You ought to try, though."
She took a deep breath. "Alright, then. Thank you, Mr. Broadmoor."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," he said, to a retreating woman's back. She didn't turn to respond.
Why did he feel so bad? There was nothing that he could do. If she wanted to take up a collection in the bar, it wasn't going to be good if they did it without talking to the owner. If it were Chris doing it, he'd laugh the idea right out of the room.
It was the best advice he could give, that she should talk to the man herself.
But the way she'd looked at him, the way she seemed so let down… it got to him more than he'd have liked. More than it should have.
He leaned back again, set a glass down and picked up another, working the rag around and through. None of the self-satisfaction he'd felt before.
There had to be something that he could do. If there wasn't, then there was no reason to feel bad. It might just be that he was making himself feel bad for no reason. That was more than possible, it was even likely. He didn't want to accept that logic. If he felt bad, it was probably for some reason. Something that he could be doing, but he wasn't. The only question was what it was.
The idea took a few minutes to occur to him. But once it had, he was moving out the door before he had time to worry about it. Time was limited, and he'd better get to it sooner than later.
Nine
Marie's throat felt tight walking out. She shouldn't have tried this place, and she definitely shouldn't have expected that she'd get any kind of help from Christopher Broadmoor. Nobody had ever said a single thing about him that made the man sound remotely charitable.
He wasn't a church-going type of man, for one thing. Nobody had ever seen him at church, not once. They hadn't seen her, either, but she had a good reason, which was a big difference.
So it made no sense that she'd be surprised that he didn't want to give her the time of day. He had no reason to give her any special attention whatsoever. But somehow, it stung anyways. She closed her eyes and pressed the door open, stepped through into the morning sun.
It was still low on the horizon, angled perfectly to point right at her eyes, somehow magnified by sitting just above the buildings across the wide main road. If she ought to go talk to the owner alone, then she ought to do it now, she supposed. There wasn't going to be a better time, and if she didn't want to do it now, she'd only want to do it less later.
So Marie stood there a moment, gathering up her courage and trying to stifle the slightly sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of having to go in and ask someone for a favor a second time, after being so politely refused.
There was a noise behind her, but since she was outside and the noise was inside, she ignored it. Then the door opened and someone stepped right into her, too absorbed in her own nerves to react. Her feet slipped a little and for an instant, Marie was afraid she'd fall.
A pair of arms wrapped around her and caught her before she could lose her balance totally. That allowed Marie enough time to steady herself, to turn and see who had grabbed her. Her chest didn't seem to want to open itself up to air, as if there were something sitting on her chest.
Chris's face, lightly stubbled, was only a few inches from her own. His masculine scent filled her nose, filled her entire head. She was a professional, and not the sort of woman to get involved with his sort, though. A crease between her eyebrows deepened.
"What do you need?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. "I have an answer for you," he said. He closed the door and stepped away.
"Oh?"
"If someone else did the work for free, then you wouldn't need so much money, yeah?"
"Why, do you know a carpenter who works free?" The way his body language shifted was almost confusing for a moment. And then it was all too clear. "What do you know about carpentry?"
"I know more than just how to pour a whiskey and how to shoot straight, you know."
It might have sounded haughty if someone else had said it, but somehow the way that it came off when he spoke was neither boastful nor defensive. No different than if he'd said that the weather looked pretty clear.
"Are you offering to do it?"
"I'm not going to beg you," he said. The words were standoffish, but his expression wasn't. She'd almost have called him bored.
Marie considered the idea for a moment. There would be certain advantages. Certainly, the main one was the cheaper labor. She wouldn't have to worry about whether or not the carpenter would do it. Certain disadvantages, too, of course.
He'd be around more, for one thing. That wasn't necessarily a problem in itself. The little shiver that ran through her spine at the idea, on the other hand, was.
If she were being honest with herself, it would be the best thing that had happened to her in at least six months. Years, quite possibly. Marie had made a policy decision to be honest with herself as irregularly as possible.
The thought occurred to her in a flash, exactly how she could get out of it, and she spoke before she even had much opportunity to think about it.
"But you'd still need materials, right? That would cost a fair bit of—"
He smiled, like she'd stepped right into his trap. "Not a penny, ma'am. We got some out back, just going to make firewood at this point."
"But that's not yours to use, is it?"
He shrugged. "I don't know Mr. Davis even knows they're out there. Just sittin' in the shed."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
He made a convincing argument. The sensible thing would be to take him up on his offer. It was a good offer, no up-front costs, and she had to admit, there were more reasons that she'd come to him than just his convenient location.
At least, she had to admit it to herself, because she sure wasn't going to admit it to him. She'd get to sit back, this way, and watch him working every day, for a few days at least. Maybe she'd to solve the riddle of what the hell the story of Chris Broadmoor was. Get to the core of all those rumors.
More than that, she could get to why there were rumors in the first place. See if there was anything to them. If there was anything to him.
She looked out across the way. Her schoolhouse didn't look nearly as pathetic from this distance as it had once she'd gotten close. Inside, it was almost heartbreaking.
"I think I'd like that," she said, finally.
He nodded and started moving before she could say a thing. The door flipped open easily and he disappeared inside. She waited a minute, and then another minute. She had begun wondering when she was going to decide that he'd just left her when she heard a voice call out from behind her.
"Lead the way, then."
He had a heavy-looking ladder slung over his shoulder, one that had the rough condition of a tool that had seen heavy use. She paused for a moment, thinking that he looked startlingly unlike what she'd expected from him. Then her brain caught up with her ears and she turned to start moving toward
s the school building.
He followed a ways behind, but the ladder was almost long enough to sidle up beside her, a reminder that he wasn't far behind. She looked up at the roof as she got closer. It wasn't the tallest building in Applewood Junction, of course. That was the steeple on the church. But it was tall, for the little town. Nothing like New Orleans, of course, but it had its own sort of charm.
Or, at least, it had its own charm before something had punched a hole in her roof. Now that she knew where to look, it was immediately, embarrassingly, painfully obvious to her. She took a deep breath and stopped once they were almost to the door.
"The roof, you said, right?"
It was the first thing he'd said to her since he'd reappeared with his ladder.
"Yeah, there's a big man-sized hole up there."
"Alright," he said. "I'll take a look."
Ten
It's been a long time since the apprenticeship ended. It was supposed to turn into a long and manageable life, same as Chris's father had led. It was supposed to be a nice, quiet life ahead of him.
That wasn't what had worked out. Almost as much time had passed since the last time he'd picked up a hammer as he'd been alive when he'd put it down for the last time.
The way he felt climbing up the ladder wasn't what he'd expected, though. He ought to have felt at least a little uncomfortable. Out of place, maybe. But that was the last thing that he felt.
Chris took a deep breath. There was more to it than Marie had realized. It should have been obvious, but he was out of practice looking at framing, so the common problems had slipped out of his head. But the fact that there was a hole in the roof, maybe two feet across, more than wide enough for him to slip through if he put his mind to, it should have been obvious.
It was going to take a little work. He had time, though. A few days off would let folks cool their heads, and maybe they'd get some ideas about him being a good worker, if they saw him working with his hands.
There was one thing uncomfortable, though, about the job. He'd worn that pistol for so long, it felt like it was almost a part of him. He looked around as he climbed, worrying that someone would see him without it and get a funny idea in their head.
It was completely nuts, of course. There wasn't anyone in Applewood Junction who tended that way. Even once they got a few drinks in them, he couldn't think of anyone who would like to tangle with him, whether he had that pistol sitting on his hip or not.
But the thought still bothered him. Itched at the back of his mind, like. He kept his hands moving up the ladder and pulled himself free and up onto the roof. Once, the height had made him a little nervous, but he'd been broken of it before he could read.
Now it was almost peaceful. He ducked his head down under the roofing and confirmed once again what he already knew. The frame would need to be repaired. That meant that the roofing would need to come up, and if that was all then he'd be lucky. But he'd already stuck his foot in it.
Damn his weakness for pretty women. If he'd had a lick of sense in his head, he'd have asked her for at least something. But the time for that had passed, now, and he had to deal with it.
Chris slipped his gloves on, leather that hadn't had a reason to break in yet. He'd give it a good reason now. The roofing came up with a hard tug, a little ways, and he tossed it aside. Maybe he'd be able to reuse it, or maybe they'd have to buy more.
Thirty minutes later found him breathing hard, his legs dangling over the peak of the roof through the hole he'd torn in the top. He laid back and let his aching muscles relax just for a minute. Soon, he'd be pulling nails from timbers and trying to pull a rotting rafter onto the roof, instead of letting it fall through.
A sweet voice called up from inside the building, the place he'd told her absolutely not to stay. Well, that wasn't all that surprising, he supposed.
"Everything alright up there?"
Chris shifted himself around the other way until he was looking down through.
"Just taking a break before the next part."
She was hiding a worried expression, which he found almost cute.
"You just, be careful up there, alright? Don't break anything. I don't want to have things get worse."
He chuckled and stood himself up. The roof was steepled and there was always some risk of slipping, but his boots dug in comfortably and he wasn't worried.
"Don't you worry, Miss Bainbridge. I wasn't fixin' to make things worse."
He wedged one arm under the rafter and pulled hard, twisting. The board was rotted most of the way through and though it had been nailed in fairly well, the nails pulled free easily, staying lodged into the ridge-board. The rafter was heavy, but with a grunt he managed to pull it aside until it sat safely off to the side.
Another deep breath. That should probably have been a two-man job. Dangerous didn't begin to cover it, he realized as soon as it was done. But it was done. He just had to go down to the bottom and pull that side of the rafter off as well, now. Then it would be a matter of pulling the nails out, and then he could cut something to length and put it back in place.
Then…
He took a deep breath. It wasn't important to know the whole thing, not to the exact detail. He'd done it all before, and it would come to him. The most important part was just doing the next step in line.
He lowered himself down the side of the roof, wedged himself in between the good rafters and yanked hard until the little piece of the busted rafter came free. It was tossed back behind him, where it landed with a thud.
Marie called up again.
"Is everything alright? You sure you're alright?"
"Sure, everything's fine."
"And it's all going according to plan?"
"Sure. Gonna have to cut a rafter to length and nail her back in, and then it's just reattaching the roofing. Easy."
His voice, strained as it was as Chris tried to figure how to ease himself back to safety, didn't exactly communicate 'easy,' he knew. But there was easy, and there was easy.
He wedged his hands in behind him and pushed up. With his body free, he tilted until one leg turned over to the building's frame and put his weight down. Easy.
A sound that caught his ear made him start. Someone yelling, coming in from the plains. He climbed up the roof and looked out. Definitely someone yelling, and now that he could see, he was riding hard, too.
His hand dropped naturally to his hip, where it found a heavy carpenter's hammer. Useless. If someone were chasing this fellow—
Chris scanned the horizon. Nothing. Nobody was following him. He closed the gap to the ladder in two long, easy steps and was down a minute later. Marie was out the door by the time he set his feet on the floor.
"What's wrong?"
He looked over at her, considering not telling her for a moment. As if he didn't have the time, but it wouldn't cost anything.
"Rider coming in. Riding hard and hollering up a storm."
He started moving before waiting to see what Marie's thoughts on it were. He didn't know what he'd be able to do about it, but he'd at least get there to see what the problem was. Then, if he could do something about it, he'd find out what it was.
Eleven
The first thing that Marie saw was the man, same as Chris had told her was coming into town. The second thing, the thing that worried her a hell of a lot more, was what he had slung over the horse's flank.
Two people. From their clothes, a man and a woman, and from the way they were laid there, without moving except when the horse's rump kicked a little hard. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to figure out whether or not they were going to be alright.
Chris's voice caught her by surprise.
"What the hell happened?" He sounded angry. Why would he be angry? Hurt, sure. Worried, upset. She was afraid, but she couldn't imagine him being afraid for an instant.
As the rider pulled up to a stop, Marie got a better look at the bodies laid out across the horse's rump. Spots of red sta
ined their torsos. The rider wasn't heading from Indian territory way, and no arrows meant it couldn't have been that.
The teacher hoped somehow that it was an animal. Somehow it would be better to imagine that they'd been attacked by a wild dog than to imagine that there were people who'd chosen to do it.
"I don't know," the man answers, his voice wavering a little. "I found 'em like this. No horses, and nothing of value in their bags."
Chris filled in the blank. "Robbery, then, you think."
"I don't want to jump to no conclusions," the man said, but in spite of his stubborn response, it wasn't hard to hear the warble in his voice that agreed with the conclusion.
"G'on to the Sheriff's office, sorry to have taken your time."
The big man's shoulders set and he started moving before the horse did. Marie scurried to follow, the schoolhouse temporarily forgotten. He didn't stop to answer her when she put a hand on his shoulder. Her hand practically recoiled, once she realized what she'd done, but she had to know what he was doing.
"Stop," she said. She didn't like the edge of worry that she heard in her own voice.
He didn't stop, but his head turned. "I can't do that."
He turned as he came to the foot of a stair-set behind the bar where he worked, and started up the steps without a pause, his hands already working the clasp on the work-belt.
"Mr. Broadmoor, what are you doing?"
She followed him before she could stop herself. She didn't have time to worry about appearances, not with the way that he was looking. He looked set to hurt someone. Or, worse, to get hurt himself.
"I'm doing what I have to do, Miss Bainbridge," he answered. He opened a door at the top and stepped through. The sounds of people engaged in less-than-wholesome activity in the upper-floor of the bar were all around. "You oughtn't be up here."
