by Ava Winters
“Like what?” He laughed as he looked at her. He leaned back on one arm and propped one knee in the air. She watched him keenly.
“Like this. Caring about things like God and the problems of other people, as you did with Miss Annabelle. Are people like you born like this, or do you get to be like this somehow?”
Peter may have thought her questions strange, but Layla wanted to know. Why was it she never met anyone like him before? There had to be a reason. There couldn’t be just one Peter Jones in the world.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I’ve always been this way. My mother raised me to consider other people. She raised with the Bible as daily nourishment and, growing up, I tried to stick to that.”
“Was your father like you?” Layla pressed.
“I don’t know,” Peter answered. “My father died when my mother was pregnant with me. She raised me on her own.”
Layla smiled. “She did a really good job.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Peter answered. “Sometimes, I wonder.”
Layla balked. “Wonder? How could you wonder?”
“Sometimes, I don’t feel like I’m doin’ enough,” he answered sadly. “I was married, and my wife, Celia, she died. I tried so hard to be there, to take care of her. It wasn’t enough.”
“That doesn’t mean you did something wrong,” Layla replied. Annabelle had already told her all about Peter’s wife and how he’d grieved when she died. It wasn’t his fault. She got sick.
“Sometimes, I think I should’ve done more. Maybe she would’ve lived,” he said, but quickly brushed it aside with a laugh. “Listen to me. I’m depressing this entire day, and it’s far too pleasant out for that,” he insisted.
“It’s alright,” Layla said, placing her hand gently on his. “You can tell me anythin’. I’d be willin’ to listen. I owe you everythin’, Peter. You and Miss Annabelle made startin’ over easier, and if I can help you in any way, I want you to know that I will.”
Peter laughed. “Thank you. That being said, let’s do somethin’ I haven’t done since I was a boy.”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“Cloud watch.” Peter immediately lay back against the blanket and gazed up at the sky with his arms folded behind his head. Layla looked at him incredulously. She’d never cloud watched in her life, but she did as he did and lay back against the blanket.
“There,” he said as he pointed to a particular tuft of clouds. “What does that look like?”
“A dog?” she answered hesitantly.
“I was thinkin’ it looked more like a bear. Can’t you see, right there, the longer snout,” he continued. Layla looked over at him. He had a distant, almost dreamy look in his eyes, and she found herself staring at him.
What were you like when you were a child, Peter? Would you have been my friend if I’d met you then? What could’ve been if I’d met you instead of Jacob?
Layla turned her face back to the sky and continued to debate cloud shapes with Peter. She’d never happier. Life had never been easier, and she hoped it would never change.
Chapter Seven
“I'm leaving, Bill," Peter called as he headed toward the door of the sheriff's office. His steps were quicker than usual, and he knew why. Layla was working that night, and despite all that he told himself, he was eager to see her.
Layla had a way of making every day better. So much so that Peter had forgotten all about that troubling feeling he’d had, and instead, was focusing on the good feeling she gave him.
“You headed down to the saloon?” the sheriff asked, poking his head above the paper he was reading.
“Yes,” Peter confirmed with a smile.
Bill set the paper aside. He was grinning. “Now, that’s every night this week that you’ve been down there,” he commented. “Everything alright?”
“Fine,” Peter answered.
“Good. I just wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a problem,” Bill commented as he got to his feet. He hobbled toward Peter, the grin still lingering on his face, and set his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Then it’s for good reasons you’ve been down there so much?”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “I don’t quite get your meaning.”
“That it’s something good that’s drawing you down there every day,” Bill explained. “Maybe someone,” he pushed. “Someone in particular.”
Peter smirked.
“I knew it,” Bill declared. “I knew it! You’ve taken a liking to that girl.”
“Bill, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter replied as he hid his smile. “I am the owner. It’s natural for me to be there to keep an eye on things.”
“Not when you have someone doing that already,” Bill countered. “You may check on them, I give you that, but you don’t go down there every night unless you think something’s up.” He leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Peter knew there was no escaping what was coming next. “You like her, don’t you?”
Peter looked at Bill, a serious expression on his face. “Bill, get off my shoulder,” he replied, putting some distance between himself and his boss.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” the sheriff replied. “Now, we could do this all night and you’ll just be late in getting there, or you could come clean now and save us both the wasted time. What’s it gonna be?”
Bill was like a rabid dog when he got ahold of something, and he wasn’t about to let go of this idea unless he got the truth out of Peter, one way or another.
“Fine,” Peter answered as he set his hat back on the hook and walked back to his seat. He flopped down onto the wooden chair and looked up at his boss. The smile appeared instantly; he couldn’t help it. She made him smile when he merely thought about her.
“Fine, what?” Bill insisted.
“Fine, I like her,” Peter admitted.
Bill cocked a speculative brow in his deputy’s direction.
“Alright, I more than like her,” Peter continued. “I think about her all the time. Bill, this is insane. The girl’s hardly been in town a few weeks. This don’t make any kind of sense.”
The sheriff made his way back to his seat, a big grin on his face. “Love don’t make sense,” he noted as he carefully lowered himself down.
“I never said I loved her now,” Peter countered. “I just said… I like her.”
“And in Peter Jones language, that means you love her,” Bill retorted. “So, we can skip that part and get to the heart of this matter right now.” He leaned forward on his elbows and folded his hands together on his desk. “Let’s have some honesty, Peter. How do you really feel about her?”
Peter sat silently, thinking. He’d never really thought about it. He knew he liked Layla, but more than that he hadn’t considered. He lingered on her face in his mind.
“I think about her all the time,” he said thoughtfully. “When I wake up, I wonder what she’s doing,” he admitted. “By the end of the day, all I want to do is see her.” His eyes rose to meet Bill’s. The sheriff was still grinning.
“I’m glad,” he finally said. “It’s about time.”
Peter looked at him in surprise. “About time?”
“It’s been six years since Celia passed,” Bill said solemnly. “I know how much you loved her, and I understood your grief,” he continued. “I just… I wanted you to find happiness again. You seemed to close yourself off from that.”
There wasn’t much Peter could say to that. It was true. After the death of his wife Celia, six years before, Peter had shut himself off. He’d blamed himself.
Celia was a kind, beautiful woman, who had meant the world to Peter. They were newly married when the prospects of life out west began to call to him. He thought it was the perfect place to start a new life and build something together. Celia came along more for him than of a desire to go west. Unfortunately, things went sour fast.
They’d traveled to Richstone seven years ago, and only a few months after the
y’d arrived, Celia became ill. The dust and hard work were difficult for her, but Celia tried her best. Peter was doing his part, too. He’d worked two jobs to earn the money they needed to get the saloon from Pearce, and because of it, his time with Celia was limited.
He didn’t realize how sick she was getting until it was too late. A few weeks after the sale was complete, Celia died.
Celia’s death devastated him. He’d been right there, and he hadn’t seen it. He did nothing to help. When he realized his mistake, there was nothing he could do. He sat beside her every day and nursed her, but it didn’t help. He watched her die, slowly, and was powerless to stop it.
After that, the saloon was all he had to focus on, so he threw everything he had into making their dream come true. It was the only thing he had to keep him from going insane. If he’d given up, it would’ve been as if she’d died for nothing. He couldn’t allow that.
“Layla reminds me a little of her. She has that spunk,” Peter commented. “And that bit of hidden innocence,” he added. “But Layla’s entirely different, at the same time. She challenges me, and her tenacity is something you rarely see out here. She’s very determined, but I can see she’s very fragile underneath it all.”
Bill nodded. “Layla is a bit of a mystery, isn’t she?” he pointed out.
“That’s an understatement,” Peter replied with a chuckle. “She’s hiding something, I know it. Yet, it doesn’t matter to me what it is.” He shook his head lightly. “I’d still want her around, no matter what. Just having her around makes life better.”
“I could tell,” Bill confessed. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
A crooked smile tugged at Peter’s lips. “I dreamed about her.”
“You did?” Bill asked. “What about?”
“I dreamed I married her,” Peter divulged. “I saw myself waiting at the top of the aisle as she walked toward me dressed in white. I was smiling so big, and she was so beautiful. I couldn’t believe how beautiful,” Peter elaborated. “Then I woke up.” He met Bill’s gaze. “And I found myself wishing it was true.”
“And you think that isn’t love you’re feeling?” his boss questioned with a gentle shake of his head. “Son, you love that girl.”
“But it’s too soon; I haven’t known her long enough. Besides, why would she look at me? She really doesn’t know me,” Peter continued. He was trying to convince himself of all the reason why a life with Layla wasn’t possible. The only problem was, it didn’t do anything for the desire in his heart that wanted to make it real.
“Please, what’s time got to do with anything? This is the west, Pete—you, of all people, should know how quickly things can change out here. Happiness comes and goes so quickly that, sometimes, you can’t even tell when it arrived or when it left,” Bill emphasized. “You take love when it comes, and you don’t talk yourself out of it.”
“I wasn’t,” Peter protested.
“Sure, you aren’t,” Bill countered. “And my name isn’t William Dawson.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he agreed as he got to his feet. “I have to go now.”
“Good. You should,” Bill encouraged. “I’m sure someone might be wondering where you are.”
Peter was halfway to the door when he heard the sheriff’s statement. He looked over his shoulder. “She probably isn’t.”
“I wouldn’t put any bets on that,” Bill declared. “You might lose.”
Peter’s brow wrinkled. “What’d you mean?”
“I mean that you might be surprised. Yours aren’t the only eyes that linger from time to time,” Bill teased with a smirk.
“Bye, Bill,” Peter said, turning to the door with a smile. It was a nice thought that Layla might actually consider him. It probably wasn’t true, but it did make Peter feel good to think about it. It made him wonder what could be, if she shared the feelings that were growing inside him. What if Layla McCarthy could actually love him?
Peter’s mind was still filled with that thought when he arrived at the saloon. He could hear the rousing music and jovial laughter of the patrons inside long before he reached the door. He stood outside and peered in before entering. Layla was at the bar, as usual, and she was smiling as she worked. Everything she did was so determined and fast. She was remarkable on her feet. He walked in.
“Hey, Pete!” Albert Carbuncle greeted him the moment he entered. He was a forty-year-old ranch hand who liked to come in on Thursday nights to unwind before heading home to his family. He was a pleasant fellow—a bit slow, but kind-hearted and never caused any trouble.
“Albert,” Peter said with a smile. “How’s the wife?” While his eyes were fixed on Albert, in his periphery, he could still see Layla hard at work. She seemed to pause when she spotted him, and her silhouette stopped to look in his direction. Peter’s heart flipped in his chest. Could Bill be right?
“Pregnant again,” Albert replied unexpectedly. “Number four.”
Peter raised a surprised brow. “Congratulations. How’s Molly taking the news?”
“Terrible,” Albert confessed. “She’s been sick every day. She’s having the worst time with this one. Bertie, Cora, and Tuck were all pretty easy on her, but this baby’s really kickin’ up a fuss and doin’ a number on her stomach. She’s barely keepin’ anythin’ down.”
“So, why are you here instead of at home taking care of her?” Peter questioned.
“Because a man needs some time to himself once in a while,” Albert replied matter-of-factly. “Molly understands that. When I get home, we’ll have a later supper. I already ordered it. I’m just waitin’ for it to be done. Then, I’ll put the kids to bed and me and Molly will spend some time together. I’ll rub her belly and help her sleep.”
Peter couldn’t help but envy Albert’s simple tale of his daily life. Peter had always wanted children, but after Celia died, he’d pushed the thought from his mind. Now, much like marriage, the possibility of being a father was something he was thinking about. What would it be like to hold his own child in his arms? Peter smiled to himself.
“You have a good night, Albert,” he said as he turned toward the bar. When he did, his eyes met Layla’s. Her pretty hazel eyes were bright, as was her smile, and they sucked Peter right in. He walked toward her as if he was a piece of metal and she was the magnet pulling him to her.
“Good evening,” he said coolly as he leaned against the bar. “Good turnout we’re havin’ tonight.”
“Sure is,” Layla answered. “And I think it’s only goin’ to get better. I got a good feelin’.”
“That makes two of us,” Peter commented.
“There’s something waitin’ for you in the office; I asked Georgie to put it in there,” Layla informed him. “Some guy named Ricketts dropped it off.”
“Horace Ricketts?” Peter questioned, perking up. The man was supposed to be bringing a sample of some new liquor that was really popular down south. He’d promised to drop it off when he passed through town, but Peter hadn’t expected him to be in Richstone so soon. Why hadn’t he stuck around or come to the sheriff’s station?
“That’s the name,” Layla confirmed. “A short fella, with light blonde hair and a fat face?”
Peter smiled. “That’s Horace, alright. I’d better go check on that package. I’ll be right back out.”
“Sure thing,” Layla replied, grinning. “You had a good day?” she asked before he went into his office.
“It’s better now,” Peter answered, then went to check the package Horace had left for him. It didn’t take long. The box contained four bottles of liquor. The rich ocher color was inviting, and Peter took a quick shot. It was good—really good. He should’ve known better than to doubt Horace’s opinion on something like that. Peter tucked the box under his arm and took it back to the bar.
He was greeted by a sight that caused him to pause. There was a man by the bar, talking to Layla. That wasn’t uncommon, men were always talking to her—it was part of th
e job—but there was something about the way he was leaning toward her. Then, there was the way he was looking at her, and how she was reacting to him.
They knew each other. Peter was sure of it.
He stood still, watching the scene unfold. Layla seemed agitated and the man seemed insistent, but Peter couldn’t hear what they were saying. Who was this man, and what did he want?
Peter walked out to the bar and stepped behind it, then went over to Layla. “Layla, can you put this out? Let the customers know we have somethin’ new to offer them?” he said, getting himself a better look at the man. The man was looking at him with an unhappy expression. Peter turned to him with a smile.