The Sheriffs of Savage Wells

by Sarah M. Eden

  “I’d wager Canadians aren’t all quite like that,” Clark said with a smile. “But it seems like a right friendly place to live.”

  Clark followed the crowd inside. The walk and the street were clear once more. All was as it should be.

  Aren’t you the problem solver, Cade O’Brien? Savin’ the world from politeness.

  Cade set himself in the direction of the jail, whistling a jaunty tune as he walked. He took in a lungful of cold, fresh air. This town was precisely what he needed. Peaceful. Welcoming. But still in need of his help.

  Paisley was crossing the road from the millinery. She’d taken on a great many small jobs about town, mostly cleaning and laundry. Cade’s father had often said there was no shame in a job well done, but, truth was, Paisley’s talents were wasted as a maid-for-hire.

  He tipped his hat as she came closer. They’d not spoken since the night her father had wandered away.

  “Good day to you,” he said. “How’s your pa?”

  “Recovering. How is the exciting world of sheriffing in Savage Wells?”

  “I bravely saved the town from a couple of Canadians,” he said.

  Her smile made an immediate appearance. Thank heavens. He’d not thought to see her smile any time soon with all the worries she carried about. “Oliver and Jones. While I was working at the restaurant I accidentally knocked over Mr. Jones’s cup of water, and he apologized to me for a full ten minutes.”

  He loved her smile and was more grateful than he could say to see it again. But he knew how easily he fell under her spell. He’d do better to keep his head. A bit of light banter seemed the safest approach.

  “It’s an odd thing living in a town where most everyone isn’t going to shoot me.” He patted his holster. “This little beauty is going to start feeling neglected.”

  “I can’t say I have much call to use mine while scrubbing floors and washing windows. And yet, in a very real way, I am still ‘cleaning up’ the town.” She cringed at the bit of humor. “How did the bank delivery go?”

  Cade motioned for her to walk with him as they spoke. “Fine enough. Though I’m planning to have a few more guards stationed about. The delivery attracted more attention this time than last, and the new teller hasn’t arrived yet to add to our numbers.”

  “Ask Tansy. She may be a moonshiner, but she never shied away from helping me out when I was acting on behalf of Sheriff Garrison.”

  That was a good idea. Cade had spoken with Tansy a couple of times since taking over as sheriff. She was a tough old bird and, he’d wager, didn’t have a cowardly bone in her entire body. “She’d work on this side of the law, you think?”

  “She’s done it before.” Paisley’s brows shot up as though she’d just thought of something. “You ought to ask Mr. Oliver as well. He is mild-mannered and polite, but he’s also good with a gun and quick on his feet. Not a soul would suspect he was a guard, seeing as he’s so sweet-tempered.”

  Brilliant. “He’d be the ace up our sleeve.”

  “Exactly.”

  He and Paisley reached the porch of the jail. “I visited with Andrew yesterday,” she said. “He said you’d checked on the strangers who came in to town.”

  He nodded. “Two brothers looking to take up farming. They’re the sort who’re content to keep to themselves. Still, I’ll keep an eye on things.”

  “Bill Nelson seems happy with his new post as guard at the bank.” Paisley’s eyes darted away from him for just a moment. “Annabelle has her own henhouse now, so there’s peace again amongst the chickens.” Again Paisley’s gaze moved from his face to just over his shoulder in the direction of the land office.

  Quick as a desert hare, Paisley flipped back her jacket and pulled her pistol from its holster. Cade had just enough time to cover his ears before she shot at something behind him. He spun around. A man he’d not seen before laid on the road.

  He and Paisley rushed off the porch and to the prostrate man. A six-shooter sat next to his outstretched hand. Paisley nudged it away with her foot. The stranger moaned, clutching his shoulder.

  “I spotted him sneaking out from behind the land office,” Paisley said.

  “I know that makes him suspicious,” Cade said, “but it ain’t quite enough reason to shoot him.”

  “This here’s Gary Burton.” Her pistol was already in its holster again. “He’s a cattle rustler. He was arrested here in Savage Wells about six months ago. He’s supposed to still be in prison.”

  Cade recognized the name. “Word came last week of his escape. Marshal Hawking suspected he might be in the area.”

  Paisley nodded. “Then I’d say it’s a very good thing for you I was in the area.”

  Cade grabbed the man by his unwounded arm and pulled him to his feet. The sound of gunfire had brought people out onto the walk. Cade spotted Mrs. Wilhite on the porch of the millinery. “Fetch the doc,” he instructed.

  “I ain’t going back to prison,” Burton mumbled.

  “Fine. I’ll have her just shoot you dead,” Cade said, nodding to Paisley. “That’d save me a great deal of trouble.”

  Burton groaned.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘No, I thank you kindly, Sheriff.’”

  He and Paisley dragged the man to the jailhouse. The next thirty minutes were the most familiar Cade had spent in Savage Wells: an outlaw had a bullet dug out of his shoulder while tied down to a bed so he wouldn’t escape. Cade arranged a cell for him then prepared a telegram.

  But running through his mind was an unsettling thought. If not for Paisley’s sharp eye and lightning-fast draw, he’d’ve been shot in the back. He’d left himself open, not keeping an eye on the street like he’d always done before. Savage Wells had lulled him into putting his guard down. That had to change, else next time he wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Paisley’s mind hadn’t stopped reliving the moment she’d spotted Burton on the street though more than two hours had passed since she’d shot him. He’d arrived unkempt and unshaven, so she’d not recognized him straight off. But the moment she’d realized who he was, she’d known exactly why he’d come back to town. The two days he’d spent in Savage Wells’s jailhouse had been filled with detailed threats of what he meant to do to the person responsible for sending him to prison in the first place.

  Sheriff Garrison had taken credit for apprehending Burton, but Paisley—and Burton—knew better.

  And now Burton had come back to kill her.

  She hadn’t had enough time to be scared. Her heart had made up for its calm in the moment by pounding a touch harder whenever she thought back on the encounter. Keeping cool while in the heat of the moment was a crucial part of being a sheriff, but eventually a person had to feel that worry and realize the danger of it all.

  Papa was spending the afternoon at the jail with Cade. She wasn’t entirely sure of the arrangement, but Gideon had let Papa stay at his house every day that week. She owed him at least one day on his own.

  She stepped inside the jail, ready to whisk Papa away if things had turned out as badly as she feared. But what she found stopped her in the doorway. Papa and Cade sat across from one another at the desk with a checkerboard between them.

  Papa is playing checkers? He must have been having one of his better days. He’d been so distant, so vague over the past week.

  Papa moved a checker.

  “A triple jump?” Cade threw his hands up in the air. “Here I was thinking I had a chance this time.”

  Papa smiled. “I warned you I am a very good checker player.”

  “I’ve a knack for the game myself,” Cade said.

  “My four victories to your one say otherwise.”

  Cade chuckled good-naturedly. Burton, still locked up in a cell, twitched in his sleep but settled back into a loud, buzzing snore. Papa and Cade both turned their heads in the direction of the cell, the
n sputtered in unison, barely keeping back laughs.

  “It is cruel to laugh at a man for snoring like an ailing raccoon,” Paisley said.

  The two men looked at her, both grinning. “He’s been snoring for at least thirty minutes,” Papa said. “Your brother used to snore so loudly we feared the riverboats would think it was a foghorn.”

  He was thinking of Tom in the past tense. Papa really was more lucid than usual. Paisley treasured these days. It was as if the heavens were smiling down on her for a moment, letting her cling to her father for a little longer.

  “Do you two mind if I join you?” She crossed to them even as she asked the question.

  “Pull up a stool, love.”

  “Love?” Papa looked at the two of them with curiosity.

  “Don’t read too much into it, Mr. Bell. I’m only one of dozens of unattached men in these parts. Miss Paisley could have her pick of any one of them.” Cade grinned at her. Was he mocking her? But his own scold from a week before wiped that thought from her mind. He’d insisted she was too quick to take offense, and she was working on that.

  “My pick of any of them?” she tossed back. “I like the sound of that. But I probably should cross off my list the bachelors I’ve shot. They aren’t likely to come courting.”

  “Shot?” Papa was immediately on alert.

  Cade slipped his hand around hers. Heavens, she liked it when he did that. “You saved my life from that ailing raccoon over there,” he said. “So I’m voting you shoot all the men you feel deserve it.”

  She moved a little closer, keeping her hand in his. “What if I decide you deserve it?”

  His smile turned lazy. “I’ve a feeling I’d enjoy convincing you otherwise.”

  Heat crept over her face. She was not usually a blusher, but Cade managed to bring that out in her time and again.

  “Now, give me back my hand, woman. I’ve a checker match to win.”

  She did just that. “What was that I heard about Papa winning four games against you?”

  Cade bent over the checkerboard. “I used to be quite proud of my checkers skills.”

  “When I was a girl, he used to let me win,” Paisley said.

  Papa smiled at her fondly.

  “The man won’t even let me come close,” Cade muttered.

  “Don’t be a sore loser,” Papa said.

  Paisley couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a laughing mood. It was wonderful to see again.

  Cade’s eyes darted in her direction. “Why’re you smilin’ at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a cream pie or a newborn puppy or something.” He moved a checker. “I ain’t complaining. It sure beats the death glares you sometimes give me.”

  Papa took his turn. “I think you’re in trouble already, son.”

  “With you or with your daughter?” Cade pushed one of his red checkers ahead.

  “Looks like both.” Papa jumped Cade’s piece. He spun the checker around in his fingers. “You had best make up with Paisley because you’re not likely to win against me.”

  Cade caught her eye. “How would you propose I make up sweet to you? Shall I buy you a length of ribbon?” He motioned around the room. “I know where I can get some.”

  She enjoyed being back on friendly terms with him. “Sew me a shirt and we’ll call it even.”

  He focused on the game once more, though he continued talking to her. “The look on your face when you saw my shirt that night was priceless.”

  She could finally look back on that moment with humor. “Probably much like the look on yours when I shot down those bottles without the slightest effort.”

  “We are full of surprises, you and I.”

  Mr. Lewis chose that exact moment to storm into the jail. Livid didn’t begin to describe his expression.

  “See here, O’Brien,” he nearly shouted. “The delivery strategy you—”

  “Clap your trap, man.” Cade didn’t even look up from the checker­board. “I don’t abide chaos in my jail. If you’ve a comment, make it calmly and civilly.”

  “I don’t have a comment,” he said. “I have a complaint.”

  Cade leaned back casually in his chair. “Do you? Well, I’ve needed a good laugh lately, so let’s hear it.”

  Mr. Lewis stumbled over a reply. Paisley rather appreciated seeing him upended.

  “Our next bank delivery will be noticeably larger than the last,” Mr. Lewis said. “And you have only increased the number of guards by one. And to suggest—”

  “Two,” Cade said. “I’ve increased the number by two. If you’re going to complain, do it accurately.”

  “Well, two perhaps, but one of those hardly counts,” Mr. Lewis said. “Mr. Oliver couldn’t scare off a mouse, and you’ve placed him inside the bank—inside. To have a mild-mannered Canadian overseeing the most important—”

  “That mild-mannered Canadian came highly recommended by Miss Bell.” Cade’s tone was casual, but nothing in his expression was. “I’d wager Burton over there could give you an accounting of how sharp she is.”

  Mr. Lewis shot Paisley a look of painful condescension. “You Bells just can’t stand to let the bank go, can you? You push your way back in by whatever means possible.”

  Paisley knew better than to defend herself. Mr. Lewis always managed to twist it around.

  “Your father nearly ran the place into the ground with his incompetency.”

  Papa’s face flushed. His gaze dropped to his hands. He had, of course, done absolutely nothing resembling Mr. Lewis’s accusation, though things had been chaotic during his last few months at the bank. He’d simply grown too scattered and too forgetful for a job so dependent on details. He’d been humble enough to step down before things grew truly bad.

  “I’ll shoot him, Cade,” she muttered under her breath. “I swear I will.”

  “Believe me, shooting people quickly loses its appeal.” Cade stood up. He motioned for Mr. Lewis to walk with him back toward the door. “Clearly you’ve no confidence in my abilities. So I’ll leave you to guard your deliveries from now on. But, to show I’ve no hard feelings, I promise to attend your funeral.”

  He slapped Mr. Lewis on the shoulder then pivoted as if to return to his desk.

  “I beg your pardon? Keeping this town safe is your job—your only job. I suggest you do it.”

  Cade turned his hard glare on Mr. Lewis. He hooked his thumb over his gun belt, a posture Paisley hadn’t seen him take in a few weeks. Everything about him spoke of danger and barely restrained temper. “Are you feeling lucky enough to say that again, Lewis?”

  Mr. Lewis stood mute and shocked. “That, er…” His Adam’s apple bounced twice in his throat.

  “You’ve insulted my judgment. Called into question the services I’ve offered your bank. You’ve insulted a family I hold in regard. Now you’ve implied I’ve shirked my duties to this town.” A growl hung low in his words. “I don’t tell you how to run your bank. I’d suggest you don’t come around here telling me how to be a sheriff.”

  Cade stood stock-still and watched Mr. Lewis with impatient expectation. After a moment, Mr. Lewis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted about.

  “I’d—” Mr. Lewis cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate if you would continue to oversee the deliveries.”

  “I’ll oversee it,” Cade said, “but not because it’s my ‘only job.’ I’ll do it so that your idiocy doesn’t destroy what Mr. Bell created. I don’t bow to the opinions of a louse. Understood?”

  For the first time since he’d moved to Savage Wells and taken over the bank, Mr. Lewis appeared truly cowed. Almost humble. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. This is a big opportunity for the bank—for me. I’m letting my nervousness run away with my judgment. I’m sorry.”

  “Do
n’t let it happen again,” Cade said. “Now, off with you. I’ve work enough to do.”

  Mr. Lewis, to Paisley’s great surprise, left without further comment, without bothering to take one more shot at her or Papa.

  Cade returned to his desk not looking the least bothered by the banker’s attack. “Whose turn is it?” he asked Papa.

  “I think it was yours.”

  Poor Papa. He still hadn’t looked up from his clasped hands.

  “’Tis a shame our game was interrupted by the ravings of a madman. I wasn’t sure Lewis would ever stop blatherin’.” Cade steepled his hands in front of him and eyed the checkerboard. “I believe I’ll win this game.”

  “I’ve seen you play, son. Don’t hold your breath.” Papa looked as though he might smile.

  “Don’t count me out. I might suddenly become the greatest checker player who ever liv—You can’t start laughing before I’ve even finished my speech, man.”

  But Papa was most definitely laughing, a sound that did Paisley’s heart good. The men continued their game, tossing back and forth their predictions of the other’s defeat. Papa looked happier than she’d seen him in quite some time, despite Mr. Lewis’s visit.

  When Cade had first sauntered into town, Paisley hadn’t pegged him as the type to spend an afternoon playing checkers with a man whose mind wandered relentlessly or to defend a family whose circumstances grew more humble by the day. She was happy to be wrong.

  Cade had set up the checkerboard for another game when Andrew Gilbert stepped inside, though he didn’t come in more than a few feet.

  “Howdy, Andrew,” Cade said. “Thought you’d drop in.”

  Andrew stuffed his hands in his pockets. He dug his toe against the wood floor. “The weather’s too cold for climbing.”

  The war had done something terrible to Andrew, had left cracks in his mind that nothing seemed able to heal. Paisley worried fiercely about him.

  “Do you play checkers, Andrew?” Cade asked.

  He nodded.

  “Mr. Bell has won the last five games we’ve played,” Cade said. “I think he deserves a new challenger.”