Andrew guided Rupert down one branch at a time. The treetop rustled with their movements. Cade followed their progress anxiously. Mrs. Fletcher didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe. Andrew and Rupert were nearly down when Paisley guided Mrs. Fletcher over.
“He’ll be with you again in only a moment.” She put an arm around Mrs. Fletcher’s shoulders.
“Thank the heavens.”
They were only two branches up. Cade moved to the trunk, directly below them. Firmly perched on the lowest branch, Andrew laid on his belly and lowered Rupert down, holding tight to his hands, directly into Cade’s open arms.
The boy’s tearstained face was a welcome sight indeed. “You’ve frightened your mother out of her wits,” he told Rupert. “Best throw your arms around her neck and say you’re sorry.”
He set Rupert on his feet, and the boy ran to his mother. Satisfied that Thackery would handle the situation from that point forward, Cade turned his attention back to Andrew, seated just above his head.
“Well done, Andrew.”
Andrew didn’t say a word. He climbed further up the tree. He can’t be around people. Why was that? “Can I do anything for you?”
Andrew still didn’t say anything.
Cade turned his back to the tree and looked out over the children spilling out of the schoolhouse. He folded his arms across his chest. He set his feet as wide as his shoulders, standing guard. If Andrew needed to be left in peace, Cade would make certain that happened.
Gideon knelt in front of little Rupert, giving the boy a thorough examination. Rice stood a pace away, directing the schoolchildren toward the road and on their way home. Paisley kept close to Mrs. Fletcher, who’d gone white as snow, as though the full danger of the situation had only just settled on her. Paisley did understand these people better than he did. She’d known Andrew would need peace and quiet. She’d kept to Mrs. Fletcher’s side when anyone else would have assumed the crisis had passed.
That knowledge was helpful. It gave her an advantage, for sure. But that knowledge could be gained with time. The town needed more than that. He’d seen peaceful places turn to chaos overnight. He’d confronted armed criminals who’d ridden without warning into a town. He’d kept the peace in places ripped to their very seams by war. Even quiet Savage Wells would bow to the advantage of a seasoned sheriff.
Gideon finished his examination and declared Rupert hale and hardy. Paisley was the focus of the doctor’s attention next. Their conversation was low and private. Yes. There’s more than friendship there.
Gideon joined Cade next. “Rupert is shaken but not hurt. Andrew can climb down on his own without incident. Is there anything else you need?”
“Why’s Andrew so afraid of people?”
“He’s not afraid of people,” Gideon said. “He’s frightened by the noise they make.”
“Noise?”
“He was, according to Mr. Gilbert, quite a friendly sort of boy before the war, but the fighting changed him. Andrew keeps to himself, in a fantasyland of sorts, up among the trees and the birds, away from the noises below.”
Cade swallowed down a few of his own memories of bloody conflict. “They lived near a battle, did they?”
Gideon shook his head. “Andrew was a soldier. He ran off to fight when he was only twelve years old.”
Saints above. Cade had been only a few years older than that and had quickly realized war was no place for children. “How old is he now?”
“Twenty-four.”
Cade would never’ve guessed Andrew was any older than eighteen or nineteen years old. “He don’t look it.”
“He does if you’re close enough to see him properly. Older, even.” Gideon looked back at the tree. “He seems childlike because he clings so much to his dreamworld. But when you truly understand what that world is, and why it is, he becomes this fragile old soul stuck in the darkest memories of his own past.”
“The war?” Cade quietly asked.
“Andrew spends his days up in a tree with his gun, not because he’s playing some unending game. He’s up there waiting, terrified.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For the enemy to come down the street with their guns and their cannons and slaughter the people the way he saw them do far too often.”
Cade knew that memory well. War left scars not even a doctor could see.
“So he climbs as high as he dares and watches,” Gideon said. “He figures his lofty vantage point will give him a few precious moments of warning, that he’ll be prepared earlier than he otherwise might. He clings to the reassurance of forewarning because, in his mind, it is only a matter of time before the soldiers come again and the suffering he saw in the war finds him here.”
“He’s looking for a premonition.”
Gideon took a long breath. “Exactly.”
Cade had told Andrew he had that gift. What he’d thought was just another odd character in this strange town was actually a soul torn to bits, looking for the right kind of paste to put himself together again. And, in his foolishness, Cade had set himself up to be just that.
What have I done?
Being charitable in one’s thoughts was particularly difficult when one was surrounded by mule-headed people. And Paisley was most definitely surrounded.
Rice, Thackery, and Cade were all exchanging stories of their past heroic deeds, each accomplishment more impressive than the last. The many townspeople who’d come by the jailhouse were listening in wide-eyed awe. The stories would be repeated over and over again by nightfall.
The mayor was present, looking extremely impressed. The men were making headway in their efforts to secure the sheriff job. Paisley needed to make her case as well.
At the first lull in the discussion, she jumped in. “About six months ago, when the Grantland Gang—”
“We heard all about that, Paisley,” Mayor Brimble said. “And Sheriff Garrison said you were helpful.”
Helpful. She’d done all the work and was only given credit for being “helpful.”
“I’m the one who brought them in,” she insisted. “Gideon knows that. Mrs. Wilhite was in the jail that day; she knows it as well.”
Whispers began quickly circulating. Rice and Thackery looked completely doubtful. Cade mostly looked intrigued. She hoped that meant he believed her, or was at least willing to consider the possibility.
“Sheriff Garrison was rather useless those last few months,” Paisley continued. “You all know I stepped in.”
“Of course. Of course.” The mayor’s tone couldn’t have been more dismissive. “But very little happened during those months. Grocery deliveries. The little spat about the chicken. Nothing like these men have done.”
Quick as that, everyone’s attention was on the others. I am never going to get a fair shake. Not ever.
Paisley slipped out onto the front porch. The street looked very much like it always did. Calm. Peaceful. She didn’t look back at the sound of boots thumping on the boardwalk. She knew the rhythm of Cade’s stride.
He stood next to her, leaning forward with his arms resting on the porch railing, sunlight glinting off his polished sheriff’s badge. “A quiet afternoon,” he said.
“They generally are.” She was not at all in the mood for pointless chatter.
Apparently he wasn’t either. They stood as they were, neither speaking. It wasn’t a comfortable silence in the least. A few people passed, unspoken greetings exchanged between them all. A cold breeze whipped through the trees planted about town. They were likely in for a difficult winter.
“The mayor shouldn’t’ve made light of the work you’ve done,” Cade said. “This whole town owes you a lot, whether or not they’re willing to admit it.”
“That doesn’t do me much good, now, does it?” She leaned her elbows on the railing, mimicking his posture, and rubbed
her face with her hands. “Did you have heaps of friends in the towns you lived in before coming here?”
“Not many. The people I interacted with either came by just to make a demand or they were criminals.”
She shot him a knowing look. “Now imagine you’re a woman holding a man’s job along with all the barriers sheriffing puts up on its own.”
“Hmm. That’d be a predicament, for sure.”
“I’ve learned over the past months not to listen to their dismissals and doubts. Otherwise, their doubts will fuel mine. Doubt in oneself is a sheriff’s worst enemy.”
He turned around so he was half-sitting on the railing, not quite facing her but not really facing away either. He folded his arms across his chest. “Did you really bring in the Grantland Gang?”
He actually sounded impressed. That soothed her frustrations a bit. “I did.”
“Reports of their capture reached Colorado, where I was working at the time, but there was no mention that the arresting lawman was a lawwoman.”
She stood straight once again. “I do a lot of things I don’t get credit for.”
“Then why do them?”
She threw back his words from the day before. “Because they need me to.”
A gaggle of women came hurrying down the street toward the jail, eager excitement on all their faces. Seeing the town’s social committee together could only mean one thing—they were making plans.
“Good afternoon,” Paisley greeted.
Miss Dunkle, the schoolteacher, spoke on behalf of the group; she always did. “Good afternoon. We’ve come to issue an invitation.”
Her eyes stayed on Cade, not wandering in Paisley’s direction for even a moment.
“What’s your invitation?” Cade asked the women.
Miss Dunkle’s smile was broad and unwavering. “There is to be a dance at the end of next week. We, of course, wish for all the sheriff candidates to attend. Though the town already has a great many bachelors, three more who are new in town are certainly welcome.”
“I’ll pass your invitation on to Mr. Rice and Mr. Thackery,” Cade said. “Miss Bell, I’m assuming, is part of your invitation, though I’m certain you know she ain’t a bachelor.”
Miss Dunkle waved that off. “She’s also not new in town.”
Paisley knew when she wasn’t wanted. “I know it’s your day,” she said to Cade, “but I’ll make the rounds and report back anything I find.”
He nodded. The social committee didn’t give him time to say anything as they launched immediately into a detailed account of the upcoming dance.
Paisley told herself not to let it get her dander up. Cade was new and intriguing with his fancy horse and flashy weapon. He was handsome enough to draw the ladies’ eyes and rough enough around the edges to warrant the admiration of the men. Rice and Thackery might not have been as striking as Cade, but they had enough of his air to draw attention as well. And she, on the other hand, had lived in town for years, kept more or less to herself, did her work without pomp or show. She was as commonplace in their lives as the wind. Of course she was being overlooked.
The town liked her well enough. She was a friend, a neighbor. She simply wasn’t what they thought of when picturing a sheriff. How did a person convince an entire town to change everything they thought they knew about her and about what made a good leader, a good protector? Maybe it wasn’t even possible.
She set off down the walk, checking the businesses as she passed, stopping to talk with the owners. She asked Mr. Jones how his wife and newly arrived son were getting on, making certain they didn’t need anything. Mr. Irving’s barbershop had a bit of a line, which was good news for him. Money had been tight earlier in the year for his family. The mercantile was bustling as always, and none of the customers hovering about looked shady. All was well at the stables. The school was closed for the day.
“Paisley!” Mrs. Endicott, the preacher’s wife, came upon her as she turned back in the direction of the jailhouse. “Have you heard about the social? A few of the ladies meant to go by the jailhouse and issue invitations.”
Paisley nodded. “They came by just before I left. Everyone is very excited.” Even those of us who aren’t bachelors.
“I’ve heard that Mrs. Carol has agreed to make her famous punch and that Mr. Cooper will supply chocolate cakes. What a treat. Now, you didn’t hear this from me”—her eyes darted about, checking for listening ears—“but I heard from a reliable source that Mr. Billings is going to ask the Joneses’ oldest daughter to the social. In fact, it is commonly believed that he is smitten with her, and there might be wedding bells before the year is out.”
All that from a rumored invitation to a social? “Everyone loves a wedding,” Paisley said.
“I haven’t heard if you are going with anyone,” Mrs. Endicott said, watching her with concern.
“I don’t have plans to go with anyone,” Paisley said. “I never do.”
Mrs. Endicott kept pace with Paisley’s quick strides. “But you used to. When you first came, you attended socials with Mr. Cooper, and Eben, Mr. Holdst out toward Luthy, and Mr. McMasters. Even once with Mr. Clark.”
Paisley shrugged. “They were decent company, but nothing came of those invitations in the end.”
“And Jeb walked you home from church a few times, as did a number of ranch hands, and Mr. Larsen.”
Mrs. Endicott’s list was both impressive and disheartening. Paisley had certainly had a lot of opportunities to find love in Savage Wells. None of them had worked out.
“Perhaps you’ll find a good match with whoever becomes the next sheriff,” Mrs. Endicott suggested.
Paisley managed not to roll her eyes. “Perhaps, but I believe loving oneself should only be taken so far.”
Mrs. Endicott only looked confused. Did anyone in town think she had a chance at winning the competition?
“I’d best be getting home,” Mrs. Endicott said. “It was good to talk with you, Paisley. Say hello to your father for me.”
“I will.”
Though it wasn’t very charitable of her, Paisley was grateful to see Mrs. Endicott walk away. She had enough doubts of her own without well-meaning townsfolk adding to them.
Only a few strides later, she spotted Ned Perkins. He strutted about in his usually ridiculous way. The man was like a gnat, hovering about at the most inopportune times, coming back again and again no matter how many times she swatted him away.
When he saw her, he added an extra degree of swagger to his gait. His boots scraped on the planks of the walk as he ambled over, his hands hovering just behind his holsters. Honestly, the man was practically begging to be shot. Fortunately for him she’d taken his measure long ago.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted as he approached.
He spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the street. “I’m hearing whispers.”
“Have you mentioned that to Dr. MacNamara?” she asked dryly.
His gaze narrowed, his eyes shifting even as his mouth opened and closed a few times. She saved him the trouble of trying to sort out whether her response was in jest or in earnest.
“What whispers are you hearing, Ned?”
“Rumor has it, we’re gonna have ourselves a new sheriff.” He nodded slow and deliberate. A glimmer of excitement in his eyes ruined the cool and calculated demeanor he was affecting. “And the whispers say he’s likely to be a rough-and-tumble, shoots-from-the-hip sort.” Ned slipped his fingers around either side of his vest, his stubbly chin stuck a bit forward.
“We have four people trying on the position,” Paisley said. “Myself included.”
Ned shook his head. “This town needs the skills of a dangerous sheriff, one who’d as soon draw his weapon as look at you.” His smile widened, showing off his tobacco-stained teeth. “He’ll find I ain’t no shavetail. I’ve bested tougher men
than he’s likely to be.”
He spat another mouthful of juice, but with less success. It dribbled down his chin and stuck to his lips.
“You’ve a bit, just there,” Paisley said, pointing at his mouth.
“Daggummit,” he muttered, wiping at it with the back of his hand. “Did I get it all?”
“Much better. But I think you should do away with the tobacco altogether. It’s more disgusting than it is intimidating.”
Disappointment pulled at his features. “But I’ve been doin’ better at it. That’s the first time I’ve dribbled on myself in days.”
“An accomplishment, to be sure,” Paisley said. “But I don’t think it has quite the effect you’re hoping for.”
“Well, you just tell those sheriffing types to keep their distance.” Ned was back in character, resuming his “dangerous” stance. “Tell them they’ve met their match in me.”
“Walk with me,” she instructed. “I’ll tell you about them.”
He did, swaggering as always.
“Mr. Rice is a tough character, not likely to go along with a joke, but probably quick with his weapon. Mr. Thackery is soft around the edges, but I still wouldn’t push him too hard.”
Ned nodded eagerly.
“The one you need to be careful of, though, is Cade O’Brien. He has worked in lawless and bloodthirsty towns. It would do you no good to leave him with the impression that he ought to greet you with the business end of his pistol.”
“Sounds like a sheriff who’s worthy of the badge,” Ned declared.
“And by ‘worthy of the badge’ you mean ‘willing to shoot you’?”
His unshaven chin jutted out once more. “I ain’t afraid.”
“Keep running your mouth like you are and you’ll have reason to be afraid,” she warned him.
The front porch of the jailhouse was empty. Cade had either returned inside or left to take care of some sheriffing business.
“Would you like to meet the others?” Introducing Ned was a far safer approach than waiting for him to approach Cade with his hands hovering over his holsters.
The Sheriffs of Savage Wells Page 8
