“You heard me.”
“Yeah? Well you interrupt people quite a lot.”
Lyssa pivoted on the balls of her feet with the basin in her hands and put it into the cupboard. She then stomped past him into the next room so she could retrieve the smaller one. The only sound that came from the other room was Lyssa’s angry footsteps. Just to be certain Byron was still in the vicinity, Whiteoak took a cautious peek. Sure enough, Byron sat at the table watching her. He wasn’t about to move and he sure as hell wasn’t about to open his mouth.
“I do not interrupt people,” she snapped once she was back in the kitchen.
Against his better judgment, Whiteoak replied, “I’d beg to differ.”
“And how would you know?”
“Because you barely let your brother or myself force two sentences from our mouths before you cut in.”
“Seems to me like you’ve been doing plenty of talking yourself.”
“Well,” Whiteoak said with a tired grin, “I talk more than most.”
“That’s a fact.” After tossing the remaining water out a small window near the cupboard, Lyssa used her rag to wipe out the basin. “And the only way you’d know so much about how I talk to my brother is if you’d been eavesdropping on us.”
“To be perfectly fair, it would have been difficult to not hear your conversation since it was spoken in such loud . . .”
“So now I’m loud too?”
Whiteoak stepped forward to gently take the wet rag from her so he could place the cool cloth against his own swollen face. “I’ll take back what I said about you being loud, but not the part about you interrupting.”
For the first time since they’d returned that night, Lyssa seemed to relax. “I suppose that’s fair.”
“It would also be fair to give your brother some credit for wanting to shield you from danger. That’s all he was doing, after all, where tonight’s escapades were concerned.”
“Tonight’s escapades,” she sighed, “and whatever trouble is to follow.”
“What’s going to follow?” Whiteoak asked.
“From what you told me, it seems obvious that this isn’t over. Those men are still here and they still want whatever they came for.”
“Sure, but this is surely the law’s problem now.”
“Oh, you know that for certain, do you?”
“Of course!” Whiteoak said with supreme confidence. “Not only was there trouble at an upstanding business here in town, but there were gunshots fired in the middle of the night. The law is more than likely sniffing around that alley as we speak.”
“And morning,” Lyssa sighed, “isn’t far away. I’m so tired.”
Wincing as he wiped some blood off his cheek, Whiteoak said, “I know how you feel.”
When she looked at him this time, there was a hint of genuine compassion in her eyes. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done, Henry,” she said while reaching out to touch his cheek.
“That’s nice.” After Lyssa yanked her hand back, Whiteoak added, “I meant you calling me by my first name. It’s not so formal. Also,” he admitted, “a touch from such a soft hand was nice as well.”
“It . . . slipped.”
“Which one? The name or the touch?”
“Both,” she replied in a voice that reflected some of her previous sternness.
Stepping closer to her, Whiteoak whispered, “A slip, perhaps, but not an accident.”
“What’s the difference?” she asked with a defiance that was only slightly convincing.
“One is something you didn’t mean and the other is something beneath the surface that you merely didn’t want to show. At least,” he added while placing the side of his finger against the smooth skin beneath her chin, “not yet.”
Her eyes were blue and unblinking as she looked at him. Although she lifted her head a bit, she didn’t pull away. “It’s late. We should both be getting to bed.”
Whiteoak raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“That’s not what I meant,” she was quick to say. “Well, I did mean we should get to bed, just not . . . or should I say . . .”
“Just not together?” he offered.
“Yes.”
“Not now or . . . not yet?”
“What a foolish question,” she stammered as her eyes flicked toward the next room which was empty since her brother had snuck out some time ago. “We’ve only recently met and . . .”
“You’re flustered,” Whiteoak pointed out. “Or are your habits so deeply engrained that you’re interrupting yourself now?”
She smiled, which brought more warmth to the room than the largest fire that could have been stoked in the belly of that stove.
Smiling also, Whiteoak slid the side of his finger along her neck before taking a subtle turn toward her shoulder. “We have only recently met,” he said. “But there’s something other than time that causes people to smile this way when they look at each other.”
Lyssa started to turn away, but all it took was a gentle nudge from Whiteoak’s finger against her chin to turn her back to face him again. “I’m still upset,” she said. “With both of you.”
“Of course. Perfectly understandable.”
“And I won’t tolerate anyone dragging my brother into danger.”
“I didn’t drag him into a thing,” he assured her.
“And as far as you and I are concerned, I don’t mind so long as . . .”
This time, he was the one to interrupt her as Whiteoak leaned in to place his lips upon hers. For a moment, her body shifted against him and her mouth pressed against his. A little moan came from the back of Lyssa’s throat, which quickly turned into something of a growl.
“Well now,” Whiteoak said with a smirk, which lasted right up to the point where she slapped it off his face and stormed away.
Placing his hand upon his cheek, Whiteoak mused, “That could have gone better.”
CHAPTER NINE
The sheriff arrived bright and early the following morning. He and one deputy approached the Keag house and didn’t need to bother knocking on the door to announce their arrival because Whiteoak was stretched out on the swing hanging on the house’s front porch, wrapped in a thick wool blanket. He was just starting to stir when his makeshift bed was sent into motion by a kick from the lawman’s boot.
Steadying himself by gripping the edges of the swing with both hands, Whiteoak tried to sit up and swing his legs down. It wouldn’t have been such a difficult task if the swing wasn’t pitching back and forth amid a shrieking chorus of rusty creaks.
“It’s Professor Whiteoak, right?” the lawman asked.
“Yes, Sheriff Willis. It most certainly is.”
“I don’t recall properly introducing myself to you. Have we met before?”
“No,” Whiteoak said as he finally managed to sit upright without falling from the swing. “I like to ask around about a town’s law before I set up shop.”
“Helps for when folks start to complain about all the snake oil you been peddlin’, I suppose,” the deputy said.
There was no mistaking the venom in Whiteoak’s stare when he looked to the younger man and said, “It helps for when ignorant people assume my wares aren’t genuine and decide to harass me for no good reason.”
The deputy was twenty years old with light brown hair and eyes that were too clear to pull off the imposing stance he was trying to use with the professor. The only feature that separated him from any young man who’d just learned to shave was the absence of the smallest finger on his left hand. Apart from that, he seemed to have avoided any harsh contact with the cruel world around him. Still doing his best to appear threatening, he asked, “Did you call me ignorant?”
“Why, no,” Whiteoak replied in a droll monotone. “I wouldn’t dare take such a risk with a bad man like yourself.”
The deputy appeared to have something more to say, but was prevented from further posturing by the sheriff. The older lawman looked to be some
where in his early forties with the grizzled lines in his face and streaks of gray in his hair that marked him as someone who’d been keeping the peace for some time. His build was solid, if not overly muscular. A somewhat rounded belly told Whiteoak the lawman had gotten used to town living a good while ago.
“All right, Avery,” the sheriff said. “You’ve got this man sufficiently quaking in his boots.”
The deputy had been perturbed before, but that fanned the flame even higher. As much as he wanted to laugh at the younger man’s inability to defend himself to his superior, Whiteoak managed to keep a straight face.
As Avery moved back, Sheriff Willis stepped close enough to stare directly down at Whiteoak. Crossing his hands like a stone edifice, the sheriff said, “I take it you know why we’re here?”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with the trouble last night?”
“That’d be a good guess. What was your part in it?”
“Why would I have any part in it?”
“I’ve spoken to some folks who were out and about when the fight took place. They say they saw you in the same area at that time.”
Whiteoak patted down a stray piece of hair that was standing up after his night’s sleep. “They could have mistaken me for some other handsome devil.”
“You’re very distinctive, Professor,” the sheriff said. “Especially after all the attention you’ve been drawing after your medicine show.”
“It just so happens that I was out for some night air,” the professor explained, “and I happened to find my friend Byron Keag in a bit of trouble.”
“Out for some air, huh?” the sheriff mused.
“That’s right.”
“In the middle of the night.”
“Or very, very early morning,” Whiteoak pointed out. “All depends on your perspective.”
“Then what happened?”
“I found Mister Keag and then three unsavory characters found us.”
“Who were they?” the deputy asked, eager to get back into the conversation as a participant instead of a distraction. Judging by the fact that neither of the other men deemed it worthy to give him so much as a quick glance, there was still some work to be done in that area.
“I didn’t get all of their names,” Whiteoak said. “I was too busy defending myself.”
“Yeah,” Sheriff Willis said as he gave Whiteoak’s swollen, bruised face a gentle slap. “Looks like you did a real good job with that.”
The professor didn’t flinch at the casual smack. His eyes narrowed and his voice took a definite edge when he said, “The task may have been easier if the town’s law was defending its citizens instead of . . . well . . . whatever it was you may have been doing while outlaws roamed your streets.”
“What did these outlaws look like?” Willis asked.
Whiteoak gave a quick description of the three men who’d attacked him the night before.
Nodding as he listened, Willis then said, “You mentioned you got some names.”
“Right. The big one was called Cord and I believe they called the one with the rifle Shawn.”
“What about the third?”
“He had scars,” Whiteoak said as he stretched his back. “On his face and neck.”
“What kind of scars?”
“Deep gouges. Like claw marks, only they weren’t.”
“What were they, then?” the deputy asked.
Finally looking at the younger man as if he was something other than a buzzing gnat, Whiteoak said, “Bullet wounds. Near misses, by the looks of them.”
Rather than keep up his angry scowl, the deputy turned to the senior lawman.
Willis gnawed on the inside of his cheek, sorting things in his mind as he asked, “You sure about that?”
“I may not be a doctor of medicine, but I’ve seen plenty of bullet wounds. They are quite distinctive, you know.”
“Yeah. I do. Tell me something. You ever hear of a man by the name of Jesse Nash?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar. Some sort of bandit, I believe?”
Willis nodded. “Bank robber. One of the worst. He’s got his sights set on something here in Barbrady.”
“Could it be the bank here in town?” Whiteoak asked.
The deputy stepped forward with his hands balled into fists. “Don’t act like you don’t know! You were there and you got away without a scratch! You must’ve heard or seen something useful.”
Motioning to his battered face, Whiteoak scoffed, “If you call this without any scratches then I’d hate to imagine what you’d consider scratched!”
In a much calmer tone than his deputy, the sheriff explained, “Most men who lock horns with Nash have scratches that look more like holes in their chest and head. Taking a beating from him and his men is getting off pretty light by comparison.”
“Well, I can grant you that.”
Turning to the younger man next to him, Sheriff Willis said, “Why don’t you go back and see if them businessmen have anything more to say about that safe?”
“I can help here,” the deputy said.
“You can help more over there. Just do what I say, Avery.”
Reluctantly, the deputy complied. He made sure to shoot Whiteoak one last glare before walking away.
“What safe?” the professor asked.
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like you had a rough night,” he said, dodging the question without much attempt at being subtle. “And I ain’t talking about your ill-fated little walk.”
Tracing the lawman’s glance to the porch swing with the rumpled blanket on it, Whiteoak said, “Oh yes. That.”
“Care to explain?”
“You are mighty curious this morning.”
“Part of my job,” Willis said.
Since the lawman obviously wasn’t going anywhere yet, Whiteoak said, “Under the circumstances, I thought it best that I stay close to these good people in case they required additional protection. The lady of the house and I had a disagreement, however, and she felt it was better for me to sleep outside. Being a good guest, I complied.”
“You stepped out of line and got booted out, huh? What did you do? Try to get your hands up her skirts?”
“Certainly not!” Whiteoak said. “And I resent the implication. Lyssa Keag is a fine woman!”
“She is,” the sheriff said. “And if you’d answered that any other way, I would have given you a few more bruises to add to your collection.”
“I can appreciate that.”
“Then you should also be able to appreciate the position I’m in. You see, men like yourself aren’t exactly reputable.”
“Men like myself?” Whiteoak asked, feigning offended ignorance.
“Con men. Hucksters. Men who roll into towns filled with big words and promises, selling bottles of sugar water and three different flavors of laudanum. You come into Barbrady, put on your big show, and that very night some valuable papers belonging to Mister Halstead get stolen.”
Sensing a good opportunity to fish for information, Whiteoak said, “From what I could see of those papers, they weren’t all that impressive.”
“Frankly, I don’t care what’s scribbled on ’em. They’re gone and since that’s all that was taken, I’d say that makes them valuable. Seeing as how Nash or those other two aren’t around right now, I’m forced to pay a visit to this town’s next disreputable citizen.”
“Which would be me,” Whiteoak said distastefully.
“Which would be you.”
“Surely you don’t think I’m some bandit sitting on a load of freshly stolen valuables. I spent last night getting beat to a pulp and then sleeping on a porch swing, for god’s sake.”
“And that,” Willis said, “is why we’re talking on this here porch instead of a jail cell.”
“I already told you what I could, Sheriff. Isn’t that enough for now?”
“I want to search your wagon.”
“What for?”
“To make
certain what I’m looking for ain’t there. Look, this here visit is a courtesy. I could be turning your wagon upside down this moment and be within my rights.”
“And you could also take whatever you like and claim it’s what you were searching for.”
The sheriff’s face took a hard edge. “You accusing me of bein’ some kind of thief?”
Whiteoak stood toe-to-toe with the lawman, staring right back at him without flinching at the growing embers burning within Willis’s eyes. “Let’s face it, Sheriff. Traveling medicine men like myself aren’t the only ones with reputations that have been dragged through the mud.”
“If you’re calling me crooked, you’d best have some damn good proof.”
“Merely acting out of experience,” Whiteoak replied. “Isn’t that the same excuse used by you and your deputy when you stroll up here and treat me like a criminal while the real perpetrators are still roaming free?”
The next few moments were long and taut as a bowstring. Finally, Willis took a step back. “You made your point. Don’t push it.”
The front door to the house swung open and Lyssa looked outside. The sheriff barely had enough time to tip his hat to her before she stepped aside and allowed Byron to move past her and walk onto the porch. “My sister thinks I should invite you in for breakfast, Sheriff Willis.”
“That’s mighty kind,” Willis replied.
“I’m not feeling so charitable,” Byron continued. “Especially since we didn’t even get the first bit of help from you when me and Professor Whiteoak’s lives were being threatened.”
“A man can’t be everywhere at once,” Willis said. “Besides, you never told us you were there. We simply checked in on some gunshots that were fired. The offices of Mister Halstead were robbed at about the same time. I suppose you don’t know anything about that either?”
Whiteoak shrugged. “I’m new to town. I don’t know any Mister Halstead.”
“Did I hear right when I thought you said the professor may be the guilty party?” Byron asked.
“Gotta be thorough. A quick check of his wagon will let us know if he’s guilty or not.”
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