Gideon jumped right in. “T-bone steak, baked potato with a pat of butter, steamed carrots, and a dinner roll.”
She jotted it down. “To drink?”
“Lemonade, I think.”
Paisley raised an eyebrow. “You think, or you’re sure? Once I write it down—”
He chuckled. “I know, I know. Once you write it down, it’s official. Lemonade. I’m sure.”
She turned to Cade but refused to allow her gaze to linger on his shiny badge. She missed wearing it. She missed Cade and the connection she thought had been growing between them.
“For you?” she asked, her eyes firmly fixed on her notepad.
“Fried chicken, baked potato, dinner roll, a slice of apple pie, and sarsaparilla. And I’m sure of that, so go ahead and write it down.”
“I already have.” She slipped the notepad in her apron pocket. “I’ll be back directly with your lemonade and sarsaparilla.”
She passed Thackery’s table. He’d finished his meal. “Any good?” Cooper’s meals could go either way.
“Better than anything Old Tom out at the ranch makes.” He set his napkin on the table and stood up. He pulled a few bills from his jacket pocket and handed them to her. “I’ll come by for that cake sometime.”
She slipped the bills into her apron pocket. “I hope you do.”
His eyes widened for a moment. “You do? Ur—Yes. I will.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I could walk you home after services on Sunday, if you don’t have someone doing that already, of course.”
“My papa always walks home with me,” she said.
He nodded quickly, fidgeting. “Well, I’ll see you for that cake, anyway.”
Paisley did her best to clean tables and sweep as far from Cade and Gideon as she could get. Neither was being particularly difficult or pitying, but she’d rather not give them the opportunity.
It had been a hard few days, and she wasn’t holding up well.
She stepped out of the restaurant late that night. One day on the job and she was already exhausted. She’d spent many hours the night before listening to Papa cough, wondering if it warranted talking with Gideon. In the end, the cough hadn’t sounded like much more than a tickle in the throat, but she couldn’t be certain.
Cade stood nearby, leaning against a post. She walked directly past him.
“You’ve avoided me for two days, Paisley.” He walked alongside her, his long strides keeping easy pace with hers. “Though you’ve tossed a few glares toward the jail as you’ve passed.”
“How do you know those weren’t wistful glances inspired by a deep longing and—No. I can’t even continue with that one.” She pulled her coat more tightly around herself.
“I’ve missed having you around.” His tone and expression were fully serious.
“If I promise to get myself arrested next time you’re lonely, will you quit crying yourself to sleep at night?” They’d not yet reached the edge of town.
“So we’re back to this, are we?”
“Back to what?” The cold wind bit at her face. The walks home each night would grow more miserable as winter drew closer.
“To decidin’ which of us is the porcupine and which is the pincushion.”
She folded her arms across her chest, though she didn’t stop her onward march. “Are you calling me prickly?”
“Let’s just say that chip on your shoulder is turning into a boulder.”
Cade didn’t give off walking with her. The ground was muddy enough to muffle their footsteps as they left the town behind. The only sound was the branches blowing in the wind. The scene was serene and peaceful, but it didn’t soothe Paisley’s battered soul. She was tired of always coming out the loser.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she insisted.
“I’ve a feeling you can do far better, Chip.”
“Chip? As in that ‘chip on my shoulder’ you were just mentioning?”
“A fitting nickname, don’t you think?” He was unapologetic. “You are convinced this town dislikes you, shuns you, but they bend over backwards for you. They care about you. Not every town does that. And if you keep pushing them away, this one will stop. Then you’ll have real reason to feel sorry for yourself.”
Feel sorry for myself? How dare he twist my troubles into nothing but self-pity. I am struggling, but I’m surviving.
“The council meeting should have had more give-and-take, you were right on that score,” Cade said. “You ought to have been given the chance to make your case, and I’m sorry you weren’t.”
Did he mean it?
“But more than that, I’m sorry you see the world through tinted lenses, convinced that everyone looks down on you and thinks the worst of you.” What little sympathy had touched his words before evaporated. He was back to stern, businesslike Cade O’Brien in a flash. “Life’s tough on everyone, Chip. Everyone. You got to let the hurt go, or it’ll eat you up.”
It was the last thing he said before walking away, and the last thing she heard echoing in her mind before drifting off that night into a restless sleep.
Cade sat astride Fintan at the edge of town, watching a stagecoach approach. He had his rifle resting across his legs. Today was the bank delivery. His badge was in full view, polished to a shine that ensured every ray of sunshine glinted off it. He meant to make certain that anyone watching would walk away knowing Savage Wells was well protected.
To that end, he’d temporarily deputized four others to stand guard throughout the town. Bill Nelson, who’d made cattle runs in these parts for years and had a steady hand on his weapon and a calm head on his shoulders, was stationed at a window above the mercantile. Cade had spoken with the man a number of times since coming to Savage Wells and had taken his measure straight off. Nelson said little, but didn’t miss a detail. He was a straight shooter in every sense of the phrase. Bringing him in for the deliveries would add a much needed layer of safety.
The stagecoach slowed as it reached the edge of town. The driver dipped his head in Cade’s direction. Cade answered with a dip of his own and turned Fintan to follow alongside the coach. Up beside the driver was a man with a dark brown hat pulled low over his eyes, a dust-covered kerchief about his neck, and a shotgun resting on his lap. The stage was guarded as well.
Cade kept pace as they made their way to the bank. He eyed the street and surrounding buildings. Nelson was at his post. Cade recognized the townspeople standing about. No one looked out of place.
Clark stood at an open window above the restaurant, just where Cade had asked him to be. Though the man was a bit too attached to his chicken, Clark had impressed Cade on other occasions with his logical mind and firmness of character. Add to that Clark’s reputation as the best hunter in all of Savage Wells and he was an easy choice to be temporarily deputized and placed as a lookout during the delivery.
Paisley would have been his best and first choice, but she was still as angry as a hornet the last time they’d spoken. Her grievances with him and her easily bruised pride would likely have prevented her from accepting.
The stage pulled up in front of the bank. Cade dismounted, his calculating gaze sweeping the street. He kept his weapon at the ready. The man riding next to the driver climbed down, a heavy box under one arm, his shotgun held in the other hand.
“You the new sheriff?” he asked, eyeing Cade’s badge.
“O’Brien.”
“I’m Stevenson,” the man answered.
“Have you been doing these deliveries long?” Cade watched the street as he spoke, keeping close to Stevenson as they walked the few steps toward the bank.
“Two years now,” he said. “I come up from Laramie.”
Cade nodded. That’s what he’d been told as well. Hearing a consistent story was always reassuring. He opened the door to the bank and stepped inside with the delivery. Th
is was a crucial moment. Once inside, Cade couldn’t watch the street. He’d depend on his lookouts to make certain no one came inside while the money was handed over.
Nelson would watch the north. Clark would watch the street. Andrew was stationed in the schoolhouse tree, keeping an eye on anyone approaching town from the south.
Mr. Lewis waited inside. He closed the bank during deliveries so the place was empty except for the three of them.
“You can set the box here.” Lewis motioned to the clerk’s counter. He pulled out his keyring and flipped through them. The strongbox Stevenson set down had two locks, and Cade’d wager only the bank officials in Omaha and Lewis here had keys. A good system.
“I’ll stand guard out front,” Cade said.
“Thank you, Sheriff O’Brien,” Lewis said. “And send Mr. Nelson down once he’s done.”
Cade stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. The stage had pulled over to the post and telegraph office where it usually let down passengers. The street was quiet again. Cade hadn’t expected any trouble with this first delivery. He had no worries over the next one, for that matter. Or the next one. But he was convinced the town’s response would be watched and noted and discussed. He knew the lawlessness of the West too well to expect anything else.
Anyone watching today would realize Cade O’Brien wasn’t taking a lazy approach to his new position. Savage Wells would be protected just as fiercely as every other town he’d sheriffed.
Stevenson stepped out of the bank. He carried his weapon and strongbox again. “You’ve an impressive setup here, Sheriff,” he said. “More lookouts than I’ve ever seen in such a tiny place.”
“I don’t take chances.”
Stevenson’s eyes filled with both respect and agreement. “I appreciate that. It’d be my life, after all, you’d be taken the chance with.”
“Lewis said these deliveries may very well start coming in almost weekly,” Cade said. “Would you be the one making the delivery each time?” He intended to make certain he could identify everyone who was supposed to be part of these risky endeavors.
Stevenson nodded. “But I don’t make deliveries out to the smaller banks. They’ll send their own men.”
That was good to know. He’d have to make certain Lewis introduced him to everyone coming for their portion of the funds.
As Stevenson made his way back to the stage, Cade crossed to the restaurant, where Clark had come out front.
“Any reason I need to stay nearby?” he asked Cade.
“None. Thank you for agreeing to help.” He shook Clark’s hand.
“Any time, Sheriff. None of us wants to see Savage Wells turn in to a den of thieves.”
Clark made his way down the walk, heading home. Nelson was out front of the mercantile, so Cade went there next. Andrew had told him he’d simply climb down from his tree once everything was quiet again.
“Delivery went off peaceful as a newborn kitten,” Nelson said, nodding toward the bank.
“Just the way I like it.” Cade would rather avoid trouble than fix it later. “Lewis has seen the wisdom of keeping a guard posted while the funds are waiting to be picked up by the other banks. He’s agreed to take you on at the rate I suggested.”
Nelson set his rifle on his shoulder. “He’ll not be disappointed. And I’m grateful for the pay. Cowboys don’t find as much work during the winter.”
Cade jerked his head toward the bank. “Get to it, then.”
Nelson walked away without another word. There was no small talk with him. Cade liked that.
The rest of the day was uneventful, leaving Cade plenty of time to think over his strategy for the deliveries. As the cash amount increased, the security would have to as well. He needed to think about placing someone behind the bank should anyone try to get in, or out, that way. Paisley would have a good idea who he should talk to.
But after their last conversation, when he’d ripped into her the way he had, he’d not be surprised if she never spoke to him again. He shouldn’t have let his frustrations run off with him that way, but that blasted chip on her shoulder irked him to no end.
He’d never met anyone like Paisley Bell. She was tough but caring. She fought for the things she wanted even when the deck was stacked against her. Sharp-witted. Strong. Determined. Beautiful. Brave. She was surprising in the best way.
And she didn’t see it.
She didn’t see it.
Paisley worked herself to the bone over the next week. She worked at the restaurant both days the stagecoach stopped in Savage Wells. All of the riders ate their midday meals there, though none of them seemed very happy about it. They complained about the food, the speed of service, the comfort of the chairs, the color of the tablecloths. Paisley realized they were tired and sore from long hours cramped in a stagecoach. They were hungry and anxious and that made people impatient. She understood that. But she was tired and sore and hungry and anxious, herself. Cade’s scold had stayed with her. Life was hard on everyone, and she needed to buck up under the weight of it.
She didn’t enjoy her job, but it was the reason she’d been able to restock the pantry and begin preparing for the coming winter. And though the townspeople still watched her with the sad expressions usually reserved for the very ill or destitute, they were helping her and offering encouragement. She could focus on their good intentions even if she chafed against their sympathy.
She returned home late one night after a week at her job, desperately tired. She meant to check on Papa, have a cup of tea, and drop into her bed. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, trying to convince herself she had the energy to climb them. She had never been a layabout by any means, but being a waitress was proving taxing.
She dragged herself up the stairs. The hallway needed sweeping. She’d have to see to that the next morning before she left for the restaurant. And she needed to make Papa a sandwich for his lunch; he sometimes forgot to eat when she was gone. And she’d fallen behind with the laundry as well.
It’s little wonder you’re so tired.
Papa’s bedroom door was ajar. No light spilled out into the hallway. She hoped that meant he was sleeping. His cough still hadn’t cleared up, and it had her concerned.
“Papa?” she whispered as she poked her head inside.
She didn’t hear a response. After a moment she realized she didn’t hear anything at all. No rustling or movement. Not even breathing.
Oh, good heavens. Panic surged through every inch of her. He wasn’t breathing!
She rushed in, but couldn’t make out much in the dimness. She felt around in the blankets on his bed. He wasn’t there. She was relieved, but only momentarily. Where was he? She turned about, searching every corner of the room.
He was definitely not inside the room. She checked her bedroom, just in case, then she checked all the other rooms on the upper story. He wasn’t in any of them.
She rushed down the stairs. Not in the parlor. Where could he possibly be? Only by sheer willpower did she prevent her mind from dwelling on the worst possibilities. She moved swiftly to the kitchen—no sign of him there—then opened the back door. Papa wasn’t out on the porch, either.
Where was he? He never ventured in to town. Perhaps he was in the barn. Paisley snatched up a lantern and lit it.
She pulled on her coat and headed out into the dark night. The wind blew fiercely as she crossed the yard. Ominous clouds had hung overhead all day. Though they’d reached November, they’d not had their first snow. That looked likely to change overnight.
The barn was dim. “Papa? Are you in here?”
He was nowhere to be found. His fishing pole wasn’t in its usual spot. Had he gone fishing? Heaven help him if he’d headed for the river at night in the cold. He didn’t always remember to wear his coat.
Paisley rushed back to the house. His coat wasn’t on its usu
al hook. At least he had some protection from the elements. But, then, his coat would only be sufficient for so long, and there was no way of knowing how long he’d been gone.
Oh, Papa. Where are you?
She couldn’t possibly find him on her own; there were too many places he might have gone. Her only choice was to go back to town and get help.
Savage Wells was dark when she arrived. That would make gathering a posse a bit harder. No one answered Gideon’s door when she knocked. What if he was making a house call? She glanced at the jailhouse. The downstairs windows were dark. But the back upstairs windows glowed with lantern light. Cade was awake.
Paisley hurried up the exterior wooden staircase that led to the sheriff’s personal rooms. She knocked at the door, worry building to painful levels inside her. The door opened.
“Cade, I—Oh, Gideon, you’re here.”
Gideon must have seen the concern in her face. “What’s happened?”
“Papa is missing. I can’t find him anywhere. His fishing pole is gone, and I think he headed to the river. There’s miles of bank and hardly any moonlight tonight.” Saying it out loud brought a surge of panic nearly to the surface. “If he went anywhere other than the river, who knows how far he might have wandered.”
“We’ll help you look.” Cade turned to Gideon. “Grab your medical bag and a couple of blankets. Paisley and I will head to the stables and grab horses. Meet us there.”
Thank the heavens.
Gideon stopped just long enough to give her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Paisley and Cade rushed to the stables.
“I’m trying not to worry,” she said, “but Papa gets disoriented easily, and his mind wanders, and—”
“We’ll find him, Paisley. With all three of us looking, we’ll find him.”
She rubbed her hands repeatedly over her legs and forced the air from her tight lungs. “I thought I was hiding the panic pretty well.”
“You were,” he said. “If not for the narrowing of your eyes, I’d not have sorted it out.”
The Sheriffs of Savage Wells Page 16
