The Sheriffs of Savage Wells

by Sarah M. Eden

  He moved to the door of the cell Paisley was sweeping out. “So which is it? Gunslinger or Sloppy Sue?”

  “Oh, good grief.” She didn’t even look up at him, and she certainly didn’t seem likely to answer his question.

  “I don’t care for riddles,” he warned.

  Her smile was more of a smirk. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He stepped further inside the cell, stepping around her broom so he could look her more fully in the eye. She knew how to get under his skin. He’d not enjoyed brangling so much in years. “Sharpshooter or lazy housekeeper?” he asked again.

  “You’re a career lawman,” she said. “Use your highly honed powers of discernment and figure out the answer for yourself.”

  Were she any other woman, he’d never consider that she might be a gunfighter. But this was Paisley Bell. She could say she’d once been a pugilist and he’d believe her.

  A broad-shouldered man in mud-speckled trousers stepped inside, his wide-brimmed hat stuffed haphazardly on his head. The man’s eyes settled immediately on Paisley. “He’s done it again! He’s gone and done it, and I won’t stand for it.”

  Cool as a cucumber, Paisley turned to Cade. “This is Mr. Abbott, his farm is north of town. Mr. Abbott, this is Cade O’Brien, a newly arrived lawman and fixer of broken chairs.” She pointed to Thackery. “Mr. Thackery, just there, is also a lawman who’s come to try his hand at sheriffing this den of villainy we live in.”

  “Pleasure,” Mr. Abbott said quickly and gruffly before turning back to Paisley. “You have to—”

  Paisley held up a hand to cut him off. “If you’re here about sheriff business, you’ll have to bring it up with Mr. Rice out on the front porch. He’s filling that role today.”

  “There’s no one out front,” Mr. Abbott said.

  Cade peeked out the front window. Sure enough, Rice wasn’t there. He’d likely gone out patrolling the streets. Cade himself had done that during his day yesterday.

  Abbott jumped directly back into his earlier complaint. “You have to do something about him, Paisley. He’s done it again! He’s a lying, no-good—no-good—” Abbott struggled for his next word, but his temper didn’t seem to cool in the least.

  “What’s the problem?” Cade strode across the room. Someone needed to take charge. He had rules against hysterics in his jail.

  Abbott pointed eagerly as though he’d just stumbled upon something. “Heartless, that’s what he is. He’s heartless. Write that down, Paisley. He’s heartless.”

  She leaned against the low half-wall that separated the cell area from the rest of the room. A ray of sunlight spilled through the open door, glinting off her high-polished pistol. “The last time you and Mr. Clark were at odds with one another, I wrote down that he was ‘heartless,’ so rest assured it has been recorded. The two of you swore then that you’d respect Annabelle’s decision.”

  “Oh, I’ve honored it and respected it, but Clark’s a dirty sneak thief.”

  “Would you like me to write that down as well?” Her question contained the tiniest hint of dryness.

  The humor was lost on Abbott. “Yes,” he said with emphasis. “A heartless sneak thief!”

  A second man stormed inside at that very moment. “Annabelle came on her own, Abbott, and you know it.”

  Abbott turned on the spot, pointing his stubby finger at the new arrival. “Heartless sneak thief! It’s written down, Clark. It’s official now.”

  Paisley glanced down at her fingernails, not the least put out. “Mr. Clark, this is Cade O’Brien. He’s come to learn how to be a sheriff. And Mr. Thackery, who, if my guess is correct, already knows how.”

  Troublesome.

  She continued with the introductions. “This is Mr. Clark, whom Mr. Abbott has declared a ‘heartless sneak thief.’”

  Clark pulled off his shapeless hat and offered a quick bow. “Pleased to meet you.” He even smiled, right up until the moment his hat was on his head again and his eyes on Abbott.

  “Had her write that down, did you? Well, then she can just write down that you’re a black-hearted cajoler. Write that down, Paisley.” He waved his arms for emphasis. “Write that down!”

  “Explain the trouble between you,” Cade ordered. He’d not have them come to blows in the jailhouse.

  “The trouble is this lily-livered sneak thief has taken my Annabelle,” Abbott said.

  “Wait just one moment, there,” Paisley jumped in. “Is he lily-livered or is he heartless, because, honestly, I’m only going to write down one or the other.”

  Abbott actually stopped his blustering and thought about it. “Heartless,” he finally decided. “Definitely heartless. Clark’s not a coward.”

  “Why, thank you very much,” Clark answered, sounding pleased by the compliment.

  “Nothing but the truth,” Abbott returned in the same friendly tone. “It does take a certain amount of gumption to make off with another man’s—”

  “She’s come to live with me,” Clark barked. “She was never happy with you. You don’t care for her the way I do.”

  “You enticed her, tricked her.” Abbott pointed an accusatory finger. “She’d never have left me if you hadn’t put it in her head to do so.”

  They were fighting over a woman? No argument was stickier than that variety.

  “She was never yours in the first place.” Clark was nearly nose-to-chin with his much taller rival. “The judge said as much when he last came through.”

  Cade caught Paisley’s eye. “Judge?”

  She nodded. “The biggest case our local lawyer has tried in years. Well, nearly the only one, really. And he did have to represent both sides since he’s the only attorney we have. Still, it was quite the to-do a few months back, especially since it afforded a rare, in-person glance at Mr. Larsen. Most people around here think he’s just a rumor.”

  She was wandering far afield of the matter at hand. Cade motioned at the argument going on beside them.

  Paisley waved it off. “It’s an old, familiar dispute.”

  Years of bad blood made for hot tempers.

  “Sheriff Garrison didn’t care to be bothered with domestic disputes, so he handed this one over to me. I can easily address this, Cade.” He half expected her to pat him on the head and send him off to play. She jumped back into the fray. “The judge ruled that the choice was Annabelle’s,” she reminded the men. “And you both agreed to honor her decision. Now, if she was with Mr. Abbott”—she looked at Mr. Clark—“then it would be a bit underhanded of you to lure her to your house.”

  Lure her. Sounded like a blasted kidnapping.

  “I didn’t lure her,” Clark shot back. “She wanted to come. She’s stood at the fence for weeks now, begging me. I could see she was unhappy.”

  Paisley sighed. “You didn’t unlock the gate again, did you?”

  Unlock the gate? “You keep her locked up?” Cade demanded.

  “Of course we do,” Abbott answered. “She’d wander all over creation otherwise.”

  “Annabelle isn’t the brightest bird in the flock,” Clark said.

  Cade glared at the two men long and hard. “Seems to me you’re takin’ advantage of her simplicity.” He’d not stand for that.

  “It’s not your day to be sheriff,” Paisley said.

  “Not yours either, and Rice ain’t here.” The situation was a shambles. “Give over, I’ll fix this mess.”

  “Very well.” She turned back to Clark and Abbott, each staring the other down. “Mr. O’Brien’s going to sort this out. It’ll be a good learning experience for him, I’m sure.”

  Cade bit his tongue. Annabelle’s well-being mattered the most.

  “But first,” Paisley added, “let me repeat what I have been telling you for months now. You simply need to find a way to share Annabelle.”

  S
hare? Was the woman addled?

  “Can’t do that,” Abbott said firmly. “Annabelle’s mine. I’ll not share her with anyone.”

  “Neither will I,” Clark said.

  Cade looked between the three of them. He had to be missing something.

  Paisley held up her hands in helplessness. “Well, then, your only solution seems to be the one proposed by the judge when he heard your argument. Settle this trouble with a good, old-fashioned fried chicken dinner.”

  The men objected immediately and loudly. At least they thought Annabelle worth more than a hastily struck deal made over supper. For his part, Cade silently watched Paisley. He didn’t trust the overly solemn expression she wore. She had something up her sleeve. But what?

  “Come on then, men.” Cade nodded to them both in turn. “Let’s see what Annabelle has to say.”

  “You intend to talk to Annabelle about this?” Paisley asked. “Honestly, talk to her?”

  “She ought to have a say.”

  “I’m not certain I’d set much store by Annabelle’s decision-making skills,” Paisley said. “She’s likely to go with the first person who feeds her.”

  The first person who feeds her? It was too odd of a declaration to mean what it appeared to mean. What wasn’t he seeing?

  “We tried letting Annabelle decide,” Abbott said, “but her tiny little chicken brain can’t remember what it wants.”

  “Tiny, little—?” Wait just one blasted minute. Chicken brain. Bird. Wanders all over creation. Wait. “Annabelle is…a chicken, ain’t she?”

  “Of course she is,” Abbott replied. “Best laying hen I’ve ever seen. And more than that, she’s such a sweet bird, scratching about, pretty as a picture.”

  A chicken.

  Clark nodded. “Never known a hen to produce so consistently without exception. And she’s not mean like all the others, pecking at people and being ornery. She’s a treasure. A prize. And that’s why I’m not giving her up to the likes of him.” He jerked a thumb in Abbott’s direction. “He doesn’t appreciate her like he ought.”

  “How dare you—”

  Cade held up a single finger. They grew silent on the instant. “She’s a chicken? An actual chicken?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Abbott’s drawn brows suddenly shot up. “Ah, Jerusalem crickets!” He grinned broad as the horizon. “You thought Annabelle was a person? That we were fighting over a woman?”

  A split second passed before both Clark and Abbott were nearly hunched over with laughter. Thackery didn’t manage to stifle his laugh entirely. Paisley grinned. Pleased with herself, was she? He’d deal with her in a minute.

  “Here he was thinking we were going to ‘share’ a woman.” Clark choked on the words.

  Abbott chortled. “What would my wife think of that?”

  Paisley executed a flourishing bow, clearly quite proud of the merry dance she’d led him on.

  Enjoy your moment, Paisley Bell. It’ll end soon enough.

  He turned back to the two men.

  “We should have told you right from the start that Annabelle’s a hen,” Abbott said through his laughter.

  “That would’ve helped, yes.”

  Paisley had the audacity to speak. “Would you like me to write that down?”

  Cade kept his gaze on the men, not trusting himself to look at her at the moment. He let his expression turn good-natured. He stood casually with his thumb hooked in its usual place behind his gun belt. “You’d best settle this, men. I’d suggest a yard all her own, half on each of your properties. That you—” He hated having to use Paisley’s exact word, but it was the most fitting one. “That you share her.”

  Thackery, who stood in the nearby cell, dust rag in hand, listening to every word, nodded. “That does seem best.”

  “We can split the cost of building the yard,” Abbott added. “And we can build her a little henhouse.”

  The men shook hands on it, though their chuckles didn’t die down. They made their way up the road once more, talking as though there’d never been a quarrel between them.

  Cade waited until Thackery returned to his dusting before addressing Paisley. “That was quite a trick.”

  “Not a trick at all. I simply knew something you didn’t, and you didn’t bother asking for my help.”

  “Chose the perfect words, didn’t you? Made sure I thought Annabelle was a person.” He turned around slowly, breathing through his frustration. “Quite a trick.”

  “I suppose I can see how you might have grown confused. Next time, you ought to simply ask for my help.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Keep this up and there’ll not be a next time. It would be easy as anything to end this competition right now.”

  “Just what is that supposed to mean?” Her gaze narrowed.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, love.”

  “Remind me to hide the cats,” she said dryly.

  “It ain’t the cats you ought to be worryin’ about.”

  For the first time since he’d met her, Paisley actually looked a little unsettled.

  “I’ll not have you undermining everything I do, Miss Bell,” he warned. “And who’s to say you won’t start sabotaging the others, too?”

  She held her ground, eyeing him defiantly. “And you taking over the chicken dispute when it was Rice’s day—isn’t that undermining him?”

  He shook his head. “Trickery ain’t my style. Rice was gone. There was a problem. I’m efficient not underhanded. I want your word that you aren’t going to be pulling any more of these tricks.”

  She seemed to ponder a moment.

  “I’m not asking for you to consider it,” he said. “I’m saving you from yourself. A word or two dropped in the right ears and you’d be out of the running.” He’d taken the town council’s measure straight off. They’d be easily talked around. “Either start bein’ a straight shooter, or this’ll end for you real quick.”

  She didn’t look intimidated by his threat, but she also didn’t look as defiant either. “Tomorrow’s my day as sheriff.”

  “I know.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “No trickery from you on my days?”

  “None,” he promised.

  “This could be interesting.” Her mouth tipped upward on one side, and an unmistakable look of mischief entered those brown eyes. “And because I am feeling particularly generous, I’ll agree to give you whatever help you eventually realize you need.”

  “Enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Enjoying what?” She spoke far too innocently.

  “Brangling with someone.” No, that wasn’t quite it. She didn’t spar with Rice or Thackery. “Brangling with someone who can keep up with you,” he amended.

  “And you figure that’s you?”

  He took a step closer to her. The set of her shoulders, the upward twitch of her mouth, the gleam of anticipation in her eyes. It all confirmed his suspicions. She most certainly enjoyed crossing swords with him.

  “If it’s a challenge you’re looking for, darlin’, I’ll happily oblige.” His pulse picked up at the thought. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

  She stood up straighter, closing much of the gap between them. The air crackled over his skin as she held his gaze. He’d wager if he actually touched her, sparks would fly.

  “‘Go easy on me’?” she scoffed. “Where would be the fun in that?”

  “Oh, this’ll be a great deal of fun.” His voice lowered of its own accord.

  Her pert little mouth twisted in the earliest renderings of a smile. “Do you promise?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  Pull yourself together, Paisley. She leaned against a post outside the jailhouse, trying for the hundredth time since the previous afternoon to focus her thoughts. Something had happened betwe
en her and Cade the day before, something she couldn’t make any sense of. They’d been trading barbs, like they often did, when without warning the exchange had gone from chilly to inarguably warm.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he’d warned her just before the change in tone. That was the most likely explanation for what had happened—he was trying to undermine her despite his promises to the contrary. She didn’t intend to let him.

  Today was her day as sheriff. Paisley didn’t know if she’d rather the day be quiet and uneventful or if she’d do more for her cause by tackling a few problems here and there. Sheriff Garrison had left more and more things for her to handle toward the end of his time in Savage Wells. She was good at the work but never received any credit. This was her chance to show the entire town that she could be exactly what they wanted and needed, if only they weren’t too thickheaded to acknowledge it. Of course, not even the other candidates had come to see her at work.

  “Good morning, Paisley.” Speaking of thickheaded people. Gideon stood on his front porch next door.

  “You appear to be having a lie-about sort of day,” Paisley said. “Is there no one with lung inflammation or a sore throat today?”

  “I am having a lazy day? What about you?” Gideon leaned on the porch railing, grinning at her. “Don’t you have a still to break up or a notorious bank robber to smoke out of a cave?”

  Paisley turned so her back was pressed to the post. “I’ll get around to that this afternoon.”

  “You think you’re up for such a task, do you?” Cade stepped out onto the porch, apparently having overheard.

  “I’m more than just a pretty face,” she answered.

  “You are that,” he muttered.

  Was she meant to have heard that? She couldn’t imagine Cade would offer a compliment on purpose. Still, he had said it. “I am which? A pretty face or more than?”

  “You’re wanting to be a lawman,” he said, echoing her words from the day before. “Use your highly honed powers of discernment and figure out the answer for yourself.”