The Sheriffs of Savage Wells

by Sarah M. Eden

  Rice raised his weapon, steadied his aim, and shot. When all was said and done, only one bottle still sat on the fence. Four out of five. Not bad shooting at all.

  Cade caught her eye, his unspoken question clear. She motioned for him to go next. He agreed without argument and stepped up to the shooting line.

  The crowd grew quiet with anticipation. Paisley was more than a touch curious herself. She set her hands on her hips, just above her gun belt, and watched with bated breath.

  Cade drew his pistol, flourishing and spinning it about. Casual as could be, he shot, knocking the first bottle from its position. The crowd oohed. Cade’s arm shifted, and he shot the next bottle, then the next, then the next. Plenty of oohs and aahs followed each successful shot. Four bottles in a row was no small thing.

  He looked over his shoulder at her, a question in his gaze. She gave him a nod of acknowledgment. He winked at her then swung his head around and, with only a flicker of a pause to check his aim, fired off his fifth and final shot. He knocked the bottle clean off.

  The crowd erupted in applause. Paisley joined in. He was good. He was most definitely good.

  “Five out of five,” Paisley said. “You’re a good shot.”

  “Good enough to be honored with this.” He indicated his pistol before spinning it back into its holster. “An O’Brien six-shooter.”

  “You have a pistol named after you?” It sounded so ridiculous, and yet she believed it.

  He shrugged. “I’ve obtained something of a reputation.”

  “Apparently.”

  He motioned toward the bottles on the fence. “Your turn, Miss Bell.”

  She moseyed up to the firing line. Five bottles stood in a row, waiting for her to knock them down. Before she’d so much as reached for her pistol, she caught sight of a familiar, but seldom seen face out of the corner of her eye. The town lawyer, Mr. Larsen.

  She was shocked enough to stop everything and turn at his approach. The entire crowd did the same. Whispers quickly filled the air, a common sound in Savage Wells. People loved news, and the arrival of Mr. Larsen was certainly that. Their resident man of law seldom left his house. Indeed, Paisley felt certain he actually left town altogether for long stretches. The man made hermits seem social.

  “Mr. Larsen,” she said as he approached her. “I haven’t seen you in months. What brings you around?”

  “I rode past Tansy’s place,” Mr. Larsen said.

  “Oh, dear.” Paisley knew precisely what that meant, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it. “How close do you think she is to making her deliveries?”

  “She had only just begun loading her wagon.”

  She thought on that for a second. “We have thirty minutes at least, then.”

  Mr. Larsen nodded.

  “Care to fill me in?” Cade watched the two of them expectantly.

  “Cade, this is Thomas Larsen, Savage Wells’s resident lawyer. Mr. Larsen, this is Cade O’Brien, candidate for sheriff. And Mr. Rice, also a candidate, though he is the one acting in that capacity today.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” Mr. Larsen shook their hands.

  “Who is this Tansy, and what’s she delivering?” Cade pressed.

  “She is our resident moonshiner,” Paisley said. “Nothing to fret over.”

  “A moonshiner?” Rice’s eyes pulled wide.

  “She isn’t a threat,” Paisley insisted. “But she does make a rumpus.”

  “Moonshining ain’t nothing to sneeze at,” Cade said. “Besides being against the law, it’s a violent trade.”

  “He’s right there,” Rice said. “We need to take care of this straight off.”

  “The both of you are blowing this all out of proportion.”

  “I’ll not stand by and wait for a moonshiner to descend upon the town.” The smiling, winking, laughing Cade had disappeared. “You can hem and haw all you want, but I’m going to introduce myself to this Tansy, whether you’re there or not.”

  “I’m sheriff today,” Rice said. “If anyone’ll be doing any introducing, it’ll be me.”

  They were going to get someone shot, and it’d likely be the both of them. Maybe not Cade; he was quicker with his weapon than Rice.

  “Fine, I’ll come along,” Paisley said. “Give me half a minute to finish up here.”

  “Half a min—”

  She pulled her pistol as she turned back to the bottles. She popped off one shot after another, not bothering to double-check her aim, dropping all five bottles in the length of a breath.

  Silence descended over the crowd. Cade stared, dumbstruck. Rice fairly had steam pouring out of his ears.

  Paisley slammed her pistol back in its holster. “Shall we go harass a harmless moonshiner?” She stormed past the lot of them. Why was it Cade couldn’t ever take her at her word?

  He caught up to her with little effort. “I have never—Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “As someone once said, Cade, I am more than just a pretty face.” She continued in the direction of the stables. Tansy lived too far from town for a leisurely walk.

  “I never doubted you could shoot,” Cade said, “but, by Harry, you took those bottles down faster than a bird in a gale.”

  “You know a lot of birds that fire guns, do you?”

  Paisley stepped into the stables. Jeb had been among the crowd left behind at the shooting match, so there’d be no help from that quarter. Fortunately, she knew how to saddle a horse. She pulled a saddle off its hook, setting it on her shoulder, then crossed to the stall where Butterscotch was stabled. She’d already arranged for a rancher near Luthy to purchase the mare at the end of the month. Paisley couldn’t afford to keep her any longer.

  “Hello, there, girl.” She rubbed the mare’s nose. “Shall we go trot out to Tansy’s place and see how she’s doing?”

  “You seem right chummy with this moonshiner.” Rice stood just outside Butterscotch’s stall.

  “I have had several years to make her acquaintance,” Paisley said. “I know how she thinks and what she’s likely to do.” She began the task of preparing Butterscotch to be saddled.

  “Moonshiners are criminals.” Rice glared her down. “A good sheriff doesn’t take the side of criminals.”

  “A good sheriff also doesn’t jump to unwarranted conclusions,” Paisley said.

  Rice pointed at her. “I won’t take lectures from a batty woman.”

  “Enough,” Cade growled. “Go saddle up, and quit wasting time.”

  Rice’s mouth pulled tight, but he obeyed. There was something to be said for Cade’s intimidating air.

  Paisley couldn’t claim that and it picked at her. “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Cade O’Brien.”

  He leaned against the top of the stall door. “What’s crawled into your boots? We passed a fine evening last night, you and I. But today you’re bristly as a porcupine in a cactus field.”

  “Do you want to meet our moonshiner or not?” Paisley asked.

  “Do you regret it? Is that what’s got you fit to be boiled?”

  “Regret what? Distracting you while you were on duty?” She tightened the cinch.

  “Not kissing me while you had the chance.”

  Part of her did regret it, though she knew it would have been a mistake. She covered the awkwardness of her own thoughts with gruff instructions. “I’m nearly done here. If you mean to come along, you’d best get a move on.”

  He tapped the top of the stable door as he stepped away. He disappeared into his horse’s stall, and Paisley felt like she could breathe again. Plenty of twisted up, confused feelings had surfaced at the reminder of that kiss. That almost kiss. She’d never keep her focus if he kept bringing it up.

  A moment more and they were riding down Main Street toward the edge of town. Cade rode as though he�
�d been born in the saddle. He kept complete control of his mount without looking as if he was even trying. He sat with his hat tipped casually on his head, one hand on the reins, the other hooked over his gun belt. There was no mistaking he was a man of action, one not to be taken lightly.

  Rice mostly looked mulish. After a moment, he rode up beside her. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you like I did, Miss Bell,” he said. “Being a lawman doesn’t teach a fellow to be soft.”

  It was likely as close as he’d come to apologizing. Still, she’d take it. A simple nod seemed to satisfy him. He rode a pace ahead, though eventually he’d have to hang back; he didn’t know where Tansy lived. Paisley chose to enjoy the separation for as long as it lasted.

  “You never answered m’ question,” Cade said.

  They kept their horses to a slow trot, a leisurely enough pace to allow conversation.

  “Which question?” she asked. “You have had an awful lot of them.”

  Cade tipped his hat to Mrs. Carol as they passed the millinery. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

  “I’ve always been a good shot.”

  But Cade didn’t accept that explanation. “Natural talent only goes so far. No one shoots as well as you did without working at it. Laws a’mighty, you didn’t pause for even a second to aim.”

  “I honed my skills at a time when pausing for a single second could have meant the difference between life and death,” Paisley said. “You learned to always line up a shot so you didn’t need to stop to aim. Those who were slow didn’t live long.”

  He glanced her way as they rode past the first of the outlying farms. “Sounds as though you learned to shoot on a battlefield.” A change had come over him in the last week. He’d seemed less burdened, less unhappy. But talk of the war weighed him down once more. She missed the friendlier Cade.

  You’ve gone soft, Paisley.

  “I learned to shoot as a child in Missouri. When the war reached us there, I learned to be faster and more accurate.”

  He kept his gaze forward. “Missouri was not a peaceful place during the war. But, then, Abilene isn’t a pattern card of calm itself.”

  She nudged Butterscotch, picking up the pace. “Tansy’s place is just up the road. When she’s preparing for a run, she keeps her shotgun close at hand.”

  Cade’s hand settled more firmly near his pistol.

  “You won’t need that,” Paisley said.

  His mouth twisted in obvious doubt, but his posture relaxed. Perhaps she’d managed to earn a sliver of his trust. “What’s her story?”

  “She grew up in the Appalachians in a family whose history boasts generations of moonshiners. She moved out West with her brother and his wife—who promptly decided she was an unwanted burden and up and left her behind. They even deeded her the homestead in their haste to be rid of her. She turned to the only occupation she’d really ever heard of.”

  He nodded his understanding. “Making bootleg whiskey.”

  “She doesn’t make whiskey,” Paisley said.

  “Beer?”

  Paisley shook her head.

  “Ale? Wine?”

  Paisley couldn’t help a grin. “You’ll simply have to take a look for yourself.”

  As Paisley expected, Tansy met them at the fence, her shotgun propped up on one shoulder. Rice’s hand dropped to his holster.

  “Leave your weapon where it is,” Paisley said. “Tansy’s calm most of the time. But if you rush in there, weapons ablaze, she’ll likely respond in kind. Defending herself, as it were.”

  “She’s a criminal—”

  “Do you always rush in without any information? That seems a foolhardy way to be a sheriff.”

  Cade cut off whatever Rice intended to say. “Let’s see what this Tansy has to say.”

  Tansy moseyed over, wearing the same mud-stained bowler hat and work boots she always wore. “I knew that weaselly lawyer’d rat me out. Told you I was loading my wagon, didn’t he?”

  Paisley slid from her saddle and stood at the fence, looking over it at Tansy. “Mr. Larsen did mention it, but you know that he is required to. The judge asked that he keep the sheriff informed of your activities.” Seeing as Garrison found checking on Tansy tiresome, Paisley had taken on that responsibility as well.

  Tansy pushed her hat back. “That ol’ judge had no right stickin’ his nose in my business. I’ve a right to earn an honest living.”

  “That you do,” Paisley acknowledged. “But so long as you identify yourself as a moonshiner, the law around these parts is going to keep a close eye on you.”

  Tansy’s hard gaze settled on Cade. “Who’s the pretty boy?”

  A deep laugh rumbled in Cade’s chest. “I ain’t never in all my life been called a ‘pretty boy.’”

  “You been livin’ with people what can’t see, have you?” She turned to Paisley. “Is he your fella?”

  “Not at all.” The admission unexpectedly pained her. “His name’s Cade O’Brien, and he’s making a run for sheriff.”

  “That one, too?” Tansy pointed at Rice with her chin.

  “That one, too. And me, while we’re on the subject.”

  Tansy made a noise of approval. “You did plenty of work for that lazy dog who wore the badge before ya.”

  Tansy was enough of an oddity herself to not be bothered by Paisley’s “odd hitch in her getup,” as Mrs. Holmes insisted on calling it.

  She tied Butterscotch’s reins to the fence post. “Since there is a possibility one of these two will be filling this role in the near future, would you mind if I showed them around your operation? They need to be familiar with what you do.”

  “Just don’t let ’em tamper with any of my Savage Wells White Lightning,” Tansy warned. “I’ll not stand for it.” She walked off, her shotgun still resting on her shoulder.

  “Was that her giving us permission?” Rice asked.

  “More or less.” She walked up the path toward Tansy’s barn, where she housed her operation.

  “Tansy named her moonshine after the town?” Rice asked. “In honor of everyone turnin’ a blind eye, I’d wager.”

  “On the contrary,” Paisley said. “The town is named after her moonshine.”

  Cade stopped on the spot, mouth agape. “Savage Wells is named after bootleg whiskey?”

  Did he never listen to her? “She doesn’t make whiskey.”

  She kept walking. Rice kept pace with her. After a moment, Cade caught up as well, reaching her in several long strides.

  “Her father was a moonshiner, and he had a saying, something along the lines of ‘Water on its own is civilized, and it’s a moonshiner’s duty to bring out the savage in it.’ That’s where she got the name. The town didn’t have a name until about six years ago. The handful of families here at the time thought ‘Savage Wells’ had a ring to it, even if it was the name of the local moonshine.”

  “Strange ol’ town,” Cade muttered.

  Rice’s gaze took in the wide horizon. “She’s very isolated out here. How did anyone ever find out what she was doing?” He squinted, motioning south. “Those look like her nearest neighbors. Did they turn her in?”

  “That’s the old Parker place,” Paisley said. “They arrived after Tansy began openly selling her moonshine and left before the circuit judge ordered these checks on Tansy. They weren’t part of it.”

  “She openly sells it?” Rice’s expression was thunderous. “That’s far too bold for my liking.”

  “Get a good look at what she sells, and then tell me if you still think she’s too bold.” She pushed open the barn door. She waved at the crates and pots and the potbellied stove. “This is her still. No spiral tubing, no copper pots.”

  Cade eyed it all, his mouth thinned in thought. “She can’t possibly be brewing white lightning with this setup. I’d wager it’s no
t even alcoholic.”

  “It isn’t.”

  Rice peeked into one of the crates and pulled out dried leaves. He smelled one. “Tea?”

  “Sweet tea. Iced tea. Light tea. Dark tea. Tansy bottles it up and drives around, selling it clandestinely.”

  Rice dropped the leaves back inside the crate, wiping his hand on his ever-present blue kerchief.

  “Why the secrecy?” Cade asked, looking around the barn. “There’s no law against selling tea.”

  “Moonshining is all she’s ever known. It was her family’s pride and joy. And, yet, she isn’t terribly keen on actually breaking the law.” She peeked inside a few more crates and bags. The judge required that they make certain the operation wasn’t producing actual whiskey. “I told you how her family dropped her like a hot rock, basically telling her she wasn’t wanted or needed or useful. I think moonshining is her way of proving she’s still one of them.”

  Rice set his hat on his head. “Savage Wells seems to collect the runts of the human litter.” He shook his head in disapproval as he stomped out.

  Cade remained behind.

  “We have enough strange characters here in our tiny town to fill an entire state, but behind each of them is a story, an often tragic history.” Paisley caught and held his gaze. He needed to understand the importance of what she was telling him. “If you take over as sheriff, that is what you are inheriting. It is more than keeping the peace. It is more than wearing a badge and collecting your pay. You’ll have the keeping of this town of misfits and outcasts. They don’t deserve to be patronized or laughed at. They need someone who watches out for them because he cares what happens to them. If you can’t be that, then you’d best pack up and go.”

  Cade closed the gap between them. He wasn’t the sort to take kindly to being told what to do, but he needed to hear it. He needed to understand. She looked him in the eye, communicating without words that she wasn’t afraid of his disapproval.

  He surprised her. There were no scolding words or haughty dismissals. He simply took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the backs of her fingers. “This town doesn’t deserve you, Paisley Bell.”