A Hero in the Making

by Laurie Kingery

  “But Bohannan’s under arrest,” Ella reminded the sheriff. “Or are you letting him work off his sentence by fixing the damage he—that is, his employer—inflicted on this place?” she asked, allowing her voice to suggest that she still didn’t believe he was completely innocent.

  “Sentence? He’s not under arrest anymore,” Bishop said blandly.

  “He’s not?”

  “I’m not?” Ella and Bohannan asked in unison. Ella’s voice was indignant, while Bohannan’s held notes of disbelief and gratitude.

  Bishop nodded, and turned to Ella. “He’s convinced me he didn’t know anything about what Salali was planning to do, so I can’t hold him any longer. I would’ve advised him to ride on out of here and stay out of trouble, but that Salali scoundrel robbed him, too, Miss Ella. So what he’s offering is a favor to George Detwiler—and to you, since he’ll fix your café, too.”

  “I wonder if he’d be offering to stay and help if he had any way to leave,” she retorted, glaring at Bohannan.

  Something—she wasn’t sure if it was hurt or anger—sparked in those blue eyes as he returned her stare, but when he replied, his voice was even.

  “I’m sorry you don’t trust me, Miss Ella.”

  “No, I don’t,” she retorted. “You may not have wrecked the saloon, but I saw how willing you were to help fleece the townspeople of their hard-earned money to sell a bottle of worthless—maybe even dangerous—liquid. How do I know you won’t try to fleece Mr. Detwiler too?”

  “I don’t believe there was anything harmful in the Cherokee Marvelous Medicine, Miss Ella,” he said.

  She noticed he didn’t try to insist that it was helpful, though.

  “And it’s true I might not have offered if I had a dollar in my pockets and a horse to ride out of here,” he went on. “But my carpentry skills will speak for themselves, and I hope I’ll be able to prove you have nothing to fear from me while I’m here.”

  She couldn’t seem to escape that penetrating gaze of his.

  Sheriff Bishop cleared his throat. “Reckon there’s no time like the present to make that visit to the lumber mill.”

  She stiffened. The sheriff was going to leave her alone with Bohannan?

  “Sheriff Bishop, surely you should speak to Mr. Detwiler before you do that,” she protested. “It’ll be up to him whether he decides to take Mr. Bohannan up on his very kind offer.” She was aware of Bohannan’s eyes on her, and his infuriating grin.

  As if on cue, they heard a wagon pull up outside, and a moment later Detwiler came through the bat wings, carrying a small parlor table.

  Bishop quickly informed the saloonkeeper about Bohannan’s being cleared of the charges, his offer to help repair the saloon and his own intended visit to the lumber mill.

  First, Detwiler was incredulous, then whooped and slapped Bohannan on the back. “If you ain’t an answer to a prayer, I don’t know what is! Sure, you kin have room an’ board, can’t he, Miss Ella?”

  Ella knew she was being asked because the “board” part of the offer would have to come from her. What could she say but yes? Hopefully, the fellow wouldn’t be there to eat into her profits for very long.

  “’Course, the poker players won’t like it too much, bein’ so close together an’ all, but I’ll designate one table as bein’ for poker and the players in one game can sit at opposite ends of the table from the players in another. Don’t usually have more than a coupla games goin’ at a time, anyhow. The first table you repair will be for faro, Mr. Bohannan. Must admit, it’ll be good to have someone here at night to watch over the place when I leave,” Detwiler enthused, and then the two men went to help the preacher bring in the chairs and boxes of dishes and silverware for the café.

  After removing the debris from the café and salvaging what could be repaired, they left Ella alone to arrange the tables and chairs as she saw fit, and to put away the dishes, silverware and cups the preacher’s and mayor’s wives had sent. By the time she had the donated things set up to her satisfaction, she found that the sheriff had indeed succeeded in convincing the lumber mill owner to loan some planking and sawhorses, and the men were already setting them up. And Dayton had also agreed to let Bohannan use his lathe to repair the saloon’s wrecked furniture. The hotel had contributed a few cast-off chairs from its storeroom, as well, so at least the poker players could sit, but the rest would have to stand until the chairs were repaired.

  “There!” Detwiler said with a satisfied grin a little while later, clapping his hands together as he looked over the arrangement of the long tables and benches. “That’ll do for a spell, I reckon.” But he was speaking to Bohannan’s back, for he had wandered over to study the piano against the wall.

  Curious as to what he might be up to, Ella watched him as he studied the piano, plunking a few keys here and there.

  “Nice piano, ain’t it?” Detwiler said.

  “It would be, but it’s out of tune,” Bohannan said.

  “I used to have someone to play it at night when the saloon was crowded full of fellas playin’ poker and drinkin’ whiskey, but he moved on not long ago.” Detwiler ran his hand along the piano top. “I’ve got the tuning stuff upstairs—the guy who sold me the piano left ’em—but I dunno how to tune it.”

  “Reckon I can help you with that, too. Just so happens I can tune a piano,” Bohannan murmured.

  Ella ground her teeth in frustration at the sight of Detwiler’s round face all lit up. George set great store by his piano, and he was looking at Bohannan as if he’d hung the moon.

  “Bohannan, this is turning into my lucky day!” Detwiler told him. “Don’t suppose you kin play, too? If you’d agree to play for a couple of hours every night when the saloon is busiest, Nate, I could see my way clear to offering you an additional three dollars a week, over and above your room and board.”

  Ella watched Bohannan’s face, which revealed nothing of what he was thinking.

  It took an endless minute, but at last he shook his head. “I’m not one to spend my nights in a saloon. But I’ll tune your piano, Mr. Detwiler. I can start on that right away.”

  Ella hadn’t thought Bohannan would decline working in the saloon for money, and she felt her respect for him go up half a notch.

  Bohannan straightened and turned from the piano. “So now that you have the problem of the furniture solved, what else do you need in order to open the saloon for business again?”

  “Some glasses and whiskey. I buy the whiskey from a saloon in San Saba—the proprietor there orders extra for me.” Detwiler turned to Ella. “Miss Ella, would you please go down to the mercantile and see if Mrs. Patterson would consider putting a case of glassware on my account? If we can get the saloon back in business, tell her I could settle with her in a few days.”

  Ella nodded. Anything to get away from these two men who had suddenly become allies and fast friends.

  “Do you have any money saved up so you could go to San Saba and get some whiskey?” Bohannan asked Detwiler. “There’s still a lot of daylight left. If you got some whiskey, and assuming the mercantile will give Miss Ella some glasses, you could have the saloon open by tomorrow.”

  Detwiler beamed as he dug through his pockets. “I reckon I got enough to buy some whiskey, all right—enough to get started, at any rate. I’ll go fetch it, by gum!” He clapped Bohannan on the back again. “How did I ever get by without you, Nate?”

  How indeed? Ella wondered sourly to herself. When would Detwiler remember that before Bohannan and Salali had come to town, the saloon had been intact and he had gotten along just fine?

  To add to her ire, the two men never even noticed when she left.

  Chapter Five

  “Why, sure, George can pay me later for the glassware,” Mrs. Patterson replied. “His mama would never speak to me again if I didn’t
give him credit. How about you, Ella? Don’t you need some new plates and glasses? I heard that medicine-show man broke everything in your café, as well as the saloon.”

  “Mrs. Gilmore was kind enough to give me some extra, thanks,” Ella said, and waved at her friend Kate, the proprietress’s niece, who was dusting shelves.

  Mrs. Patterson lifted a crate of glasses and placed them on the counter. “A saloon never lacks for business, even if we Christian folk wish people wouldn’t spend their money on what they buy there,” she said. “You take care, Ella. You’re a hardworking girl.”

  Ella thanked her again and picked up the crate, nodding at Kate, who held the door for her. But she had walked only a few feet down the boardwalk when her way was blocked by the rotund form of Mrs. Powell, the cook from the hotel restaurant.

  Ella’s former boss narrowed her already beady eyes, making her cheeks look even fleshier than before. “Humph. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than some new glasses to get that saloon runnin’ again, and your café, too, from what I hear. You’ll be back whinin’ for your job any minute now, won’t you, Ella?”

  “Nope.” She wouldn’t go back to this woman’s bullying if it was the last job in Texas. Mrs. Powell had made Ella’s life miserable, and it had given Ella the impetus to start her own establishment sooner than it had probably been wise.

  “Well, it’s too late if you was to come beggin’,” Mrs. Powell cackled. “That Trudy came and pleaded for a job, and I already have Daisy Henderson, too. I wouldn’t hire you back anyway, the way you left us high and dry, with the clerk having to do double duty waiting on tables and registering hotel guests.”

  Ella couldn’t imagine the lazy, free-and-easy Trudy in a gray waitress uniform, putting up with the cook’s rantings. She wouldn’t last till the end of the week, especially after she saw the saloon was back in business.

  She tamped down her temper with difficulty. “The saloon and my café will be back open tomorrow. Now, if you don’t mind, this crate is heavy and I have to get back there.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s jaw drop, and knew she was wondering how reopening tomorrow would be possible.

  “You’re dreamin’—”

  “I’ll help you carry that crate, Miss Ella,” interrupted a voice from the street.

  She looked away from her tormentor to see Bohannan crossing toward her, reaching out for the crate.

  “Why, thank you,” Ella murmured, but she made sure her voice was brisk and businesslike. She hoped to get away from Mrs. Powell before the woman realized who Bohannan was. Ella wasn’t sure if the cook had been among the throng flocking to the Cherokee Marvelous Medicine Show yesterday, but if she had been, Ella didn’t want Mrs. Powell to figure out the man who had helped Salali fleece the townspeople of their money was the same one helping Detwiler now. The woman loved to gossip more than she loved to breathe, and if her tongue got going, it might slash Detwiler—and her—to ribbons.

  Mrs. Powell’s eyes narrowed again as Bohannan took the crate from Ella. “Say, ain’t you the—”

  Nate favored the cook with a quick, dazzling smile. “Good day, ma’am.”

  Together, they crossed the street to the saloon, with Ella sensing that Mrs. Powell still stared suspiciously at their backs. She knew she should be grateful that Bohannan had rescued her just now—the man had a positive habit of coming to the rescue, didn’t he? Instead, she said, “I thought you were supposed to be tuning the piano.”

  Bohannan gave her a sideways glance. “I guess you’re not going to thank me for interrupting that dragon’s tirade,” he said, “but after George left with the wagon for San Saba, I realized he hadn’t told me just where in his office he kept the tuning tools. And I didn’t feel right about rummaging in there without him or you present. After all, both of you just met me yesterday, and a lot’s happened since then.”

  How did he do that? Ella wondered. How did he have a knack for bringing another person’s fears out in the open like that so that the other person felt faintly foolish for having them? He was right—if she’d arrived back at the saloon and found Bohannan rifling through Detwiler’s desk in his upper-story office, she’d have been suspicious all over again.

  By now Bohannan was backing his way through the saloon’s batwing doors, carrying the crate, with Ella following.

  “All right, we’ll go up to Detwiler’s office and I’ll stand there while you look for them,” she said grudgingly. “Do you know what you’re looking for?” She’d never seen a piano tuned, and had no idea what tools he needed.

  Bohannan set the crate down at the foot of the stairs. “Sure. I’m hoping he has a tuning fork, a tuning hammer and mutes, at the minimum,” he said, climbing the stairs alongside her. “What I furnish is this,” he added, tapping his ear.

  They reached the top of the stairs. The first room was Detwiler’s office, and the two rooms at the other end of the hall were the ones Dolly and Trudy used. The room across the hall from the office was a spare room with a cot, and here was where Bohannan would sleep. How convenient—right across from the room where George Detwiler’s safe resided. She’d have to warn the saloonkeeper to start taking his profits home with him at night, for Nate Bohannan might number safecracking among his many skills.

  Bohannan paused right outside the office and was looking thoughtfully at her.

  “Go ahead,” she urged, pointing at the open room, wondering what he was thinking.

  “Miss Ella, I’m aware you don’t like me,” Nate Bohannan said.

  She blinked, astonished that he was exposing this feeling of hers, too. She was not going to allow him to make her feel guilty for being wary of him. Only a fool wouldn’t be.

  “It’s not that I don’t like you, Mr. Bohannan,” she retorted crisply. “I don’t trust you. Not any farther than I could throw you.”

  “Yet George Detwiler does,” he pointed out.

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “So it’s up to me to stay on my guard, since Mr. Detwiler trusts way too soon.”

  “What is he to you, anyway?” he asked. “You don’t call him uncle, or Pa—he’s not your beau, is he?”

  The idea of George Detwiler being anyone’s beau, let alone hers, was so laughable she almost forgot how audacious the question was, coming from this relative stranger.

  “You have a lot of nerve, Mr. Bohannan. What business is that of yours?”

  Speaking of nerve, she thought, the intensity in those blue eyes was decidedly unnerving. She was suddenly aware she was alone in the building with a man she’d just admitted she didn’t trust.

  He shrugged. “Just wondering, Miss Ella. Since we’re going to be working in the same place, more or less, I just thought I’d ask. I like to know what’s what.”

  If the circumstances had been different, she’d have reiterated that it was none of his business and flounced off, but she knew she had a responsibility to Detwiler to watch Bohannan search his office.

  She extended her arm, pointing at the office. “Fetch what you need to get in there, Mr. Bohannan, and do it quickly. I have other things to do.”

  * * *

  By the time Ella left Bohannan tuning the piano and returned to the boardinghouse, it was already almost suppertime. She would still have to get the ingredients organized for tomorrow’s café meals after supper—but considering what had happened today, it was a miracle that she would be able to serve customers tomorrow at all.

  “I’ll set the table,” she told Mrs. Meyer, the boardinghouse proprietress, as the woman stood putting final touches on the beef roast.

  “And Ella and I will do the dishes afterward, so you can put your feet up,” her fellow boarder Maude added, giving Ella a wink.

  “Ach, you girls are so good to me,” Mrs. Meyer said, shooting each a grateful smile.

  “Nonsense, you work
too hard,” Ella said, but she admitted to herself she had an ulterior motive for taking over the after-supper cleanup. She and Maude could get it done much more quickly than the older woman would, enabling Ella to do her meal preparation for the next day sooner. Normally, she could do it at her café. And while she did the slicing, mixing, seasoning and preliminary cooking, she and Maude could talk about what had happened.

  There would be eight at dinner this evening; besides Mrs. Meyer, Maude and Ella, there were the other boarders—Mr. Dixon, the undertaker, a pair of drummers, a stagecoach driver and Delbert Perry—if he showed up. No one had seen him since he’d gone strolling down the street the day before with his bottle of Cherokee Marvelous Medicine, and Mrs. Meyer, Maude and Ella were beginning to worry about what had happened to him. They planned to ask Mr. Dixon to look for him after supper if he didn’t make an appearance.

  But when Mr. Dixon arrived and sat himself down at his customary place at the foot of the table, he mentioned seeing Delbert shambling into the saloon.

  Mrs. Meyer pursed her lips and tsk-tsked. “So he’s drinking again. He’d better not think he will keep his place in my boardinghouse if he’s going to be a drunkard again. I keep a decent establishment.”

  Another thing to blame Bohannan and Salali for, Ella thought grimly. Bohannan would see firsthand how his phony elixir affected one of his customers, assuming he was still there working on the piano. Not that he would be able to do anything about it. Perry would have to start that long road back to sobriety all over again.

  * * *

  “You’ve had quite a busy day, from what I hear,” Maude said later, after the boardinghouse residents had left the table and Mrs. Meyer had gone out onto the porch to put her feet up.

  Ella rolled her eyes. “That’s the understatement of the year.” She gave Maude a summary of the day’s events, ending with Bohannan’s being released from jail and agreeing to help repair the furniture and tune the saloon piano.

  “Well, that was decent of him to stay and help like that,” Maude said. “I guess he has a conscience along with that handsome face.”