“I hope you like fried chicken, Mr. Baniff. I had a hen that was pecking at the others.”
“I do like fried chicken, but I’m wondering if you’d mind calling me Tom.” He shouldn’t be so forward, but if he was going to convince her to leave, he needed her to consider him a friend. Someone she could trust.
“Boy, it smells good in here, doesn’t it, Tom?” Billy said.
The boy’s timing or comment couldn’t have been more perfect. Tom didn’t say a word, merely lifted a brow that he hoped she read as saying that if Billy could use his first name there was no reason she couldn’t.
Her cheeks turned pink as she bowed her head slightly before turning to the stove. “Sit down, both of you.”
Other than the platter she was piling pieces of fried chicken on, the table was set, so he waited until she’d forked the last piece out of the pan before he lifted the platter, signaling he’d carry it to the table.
She didn’t protest as she wiped her hands on her apron while walking to the table. He appreciated that. A woman should expect a man to assist her in all aspects of life, and a man should want to.
As they ate, Billy talked about all the kindling he’d chopped that afternoon, and about helping Clara pluck the chicken clean, stating it had been a long time since they’d had fried chicken. It had been a long time since Tom had eaten fried chicken, too, and doubted he’d ever had any this tasty.
“That was the best chicken I’ve ever eaten, Clara, thank you,” he said when he couldn’t take another bite. Food, no matter what it was, tasted better when shared with others, but that chicken had been exceptional.
“Me, too, Ma,” Billy said.
“I’m glad you like it,” she answered. “Both of you.”
“We liked it so much, we’re going to do the dishes for you,” Tom said.
“We are?” Billy asked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
He and Clara had spoken at the same time. Him nodding while she shook her head.
“You’ve been on that leg long enough today,” Tom said. “It can’t heal completely without rest, so you just sit there and tell us if we’re doing something wrong.”
“How can you do dishes wrong?” Billy asked.
“I couldn’t just sit here, Mr.—Tom. I’d feel guilty.”
“Then go lie down, or go sit on the porch,” he said before turning to Billy. “Considering we did the dishes the entire time she was ill, I don’t think we’ll get anything wrong, do you?”
“Nope,” Billy said, now more than happy to help. So happy, he stood up and carried his plate to the counter. “I forgot about us doing them while she was sick. That wasn’t so bad, so I reckon it won’t be tonight, either.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Tom said, stacking the empty potato bowl atop the empty platter. Looking at Clara, he stood. “Go sit on the porch if watching us will make you nervous.” He was concerned about her overdoing it after being so ill, mainly because if he could convince her to leave, actually doing so wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t own a horse and walking all the way to Hendersonville was out of the question. He’d have to ride there, rent a rig and return for her and Billy. Or involve the Ryans. The trouble with that would be how Hugh would react to her and Billy’s absence, which could put the Ryans in danger.
“I’m not nervous.”
He was, but not about doing dishes. “Good. Then you’ll have no worries while you sit out there and watch the sun go down.”
* * *
Another first, sitting on the front porch while someone else cleaned her kitchen. She’d had many firsts since Tom had arrived, and it saddened her to know that she would never experience a man with his qualities again. They had to be few and far between. If-onlys started to form in her head and she purposefully ignored them. There was no sense wishing things were different when they couldn’t be. She’d tried to change things once, and despite the consequences she’d faced, would have tried again if it had only been her. Billy was the only thing about her life she didn’t want to change, would never change, and he was worth whatever she had to do to keep him safe.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Tom could be her savior. Take her and Billy someplace that Hugh would never find her. It was a nice pipe dream, but she couldn’t wager his life just to make hers better. Nor did she believe such a place existed. Why should it? She’d chosen her life and now had to live it.
Still sitting on the porch trying to bury her grief, she glanced toward the door when it opened.
“All done, Ma,” Billy said, barreling out the door as usual. “Tom says I should bury these here bones so the scavengers don’t come sniffing around, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Bury them good and deep.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “And thank you for doing the dishes. I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, already running down the steps. “Doing dishes ain’t so bad when you got someone doing them with you.”
“That’s how most things are,” Tom said, walking out the door. “Life in general is more fun when you have someone sharing it with you.”
Although her mind screamed to know, Clara waited until he sat down in the chair beside her and set her chair back in motion before asking, “Do you have someone who shares your life?” He’d said there was no wife, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone ready to become his wife.
“I have lots of someones,” he said.
Not entirely certain what he meant, she waited for him to say more while trying to hide the disappointment stirring her stomach. Which wasn’t right because she had no reason to be jealous of the people in his life. Except she was. Especially whoever was waiting to become Mrs. Tom Baniff.
Setting his chair in motion with the toe of one boot while staring out at the slowly setting sun, he said, “The town I live in down in Kansas is full of people I share my life with every day.”
More curious than ever, she asked, “Who are these people?”
“Well, let’s see. There’s Chester Chadwick. He’s a really good sort, would give a stranger the shirt off his back without a single thought as to why not to. He and his wife, Joyce, have a boy, Charlie, about Billy’s age, who sneaks off to go fishing every chance he gets. Chester is forever having to collect Charlie from the river and take him back to school. There are weeks where I wonder if Chester spends more time in the school building than Charlie does. And there’s Brett Blackwell, who is about as tall and wide as your barn door, and his heart is almost as big. He has two boys about Billy’s age, too, and Brett’s wife just had a baby girl this past winter. Then there’s Teddy White. He owns the newspaper and—”
“Let me guess,” she interrupted. “He has a boy Billy’s age.”
His grin was as enchanting as it was charming. “Nope. Teddy’s wife just had a baby girl on Christmas Day, but Rollie Austin has two boys around that age. Kade and Wiley. You never know where you’re going to find those two. Not even Rollie does.”
Her gaze had gone to Billy, who was on the far side of the barn digging a hole to bury the chicken bones that had been licked clean. More often than not, she wished Billy had others to play with. “Seems everyone in your town has children.”
“Not everyone,” he said. “Steve and Mary Putnam don’t. Not yet, anyway, but they do have two pet raccoons, and Mary has a twin sister, Maggie. I can’t tell them apart. Maggie’s husband is Jackson Miller. He builds the finest furniture in all of the state.”
He laughed then, and the sound was so delightful it made her giggle. “What’s so funny about that?”
“Jackson also builds coffins, and Angus O’Leary has had him build three for him so far, but none have suited him.”
She covered her mouth to hide a louder giggle. “You mean he’s ordering his own coffin while he’s still alive?”
�
�Yes, ma’am. Angus is a silver-haired little Irishman who came into some money a few years ago. No one knows exactly how—some sort of inheritance—and because he’s getting up in years, Angus has planned his funeral in advance, including having his casket built. I can’t recall what was wrong with each one of them, but last I heard, Jackson was ordering wood for another one. Angus also wants to go out in style, so he wears a three-piece suit and tall top hat every day. Gets a shave every day, too. The barber, Otis Taylor, opens his shop even on Sundays, just for Angus. Of course, Otis had to get a special permit from the mayor to be open on Sundays.”
Enjoying all he was saying, she said, “Your town sounds like a fun place to live. What’s its name?”
“It is a fun town. A good town, too. Oak Grove. Oak Grove, Kansas. It’s somewhat in the middle of nowhere, but most towns in Kansas are in the middle of nowhere.”
Looking around, at land she’d stared at for years and years, Clara said, “Lots of places are in the middle of nowhere.”
“They are,” he answered with a nod. “But sharing them with others makes them somewhere to call home.”
She called this place home because it was the only place she could live, not because she wanted to or because she shared it with others, yet she nodded. “I suspect you’re right about that.” Still curious, she asked, “Are there any women in Oak Grove? Those who aren’t married?”
“Funny you should ask that.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Why?”
“Because there weren’t too many women in Oak Grove, so the town decided to do something about it. The Oak Grove Betterment Committee has paid for several mail-order brides to come to town from back east.”
“And have they? Brides come to town?”
“Yes, they have. Steve and Jackson, Brett and Teddy, Rollie and several others have all married women who came in on the train.”
“Really?”
He grinned again and gave a single head nod. “Yep, really.”
“Are there others?”
“Yes. Doc Graham married—”
“I mean other brides waiting to marry someone.”
His gaze was on Billy as the boy carried the shovel back to the barn. “Josiah Melbourne, he’s the mayor, paid for a full dozen.”
Although she truly wanted to ask if one of those dozen mail-order brides was for him, she couldn’t get up the nerve. However, she did say, “If Oak Grove is so wonderful, what are you doing traveling through Wyoming?”
He had his elbow on the arm of the chair and his fist beneath his chin. “Looking for someone.”
His chair stopped and she held her breath, preparing for him to say Hugh’s name. She had no clue what her response would be. There was no loyalty inside her to Hugh, but there was to Billy. And there was shame. Shame that Hugh was her husband.
“Will you look at that?”
Her heart stopped. Afraid to look toward the roadway that was little more than a pathway through grass that was slightly shorter than the rest due to seldom use, she kept her gaze on him, swallowed hard and prayed there wasn’t a rider on the roadway. “What? What is it?”
“The biggest toad I’ve ever seen,” he said, leaping to his feet. “Billy! Come quick!”
What transpired next soon had tears rolling down Clara’s cheeks, and she had to cross her legs to keep from peeing. There wasn’t one but two toads, and watching Billy and Tom run, jump and trip over one another in their attempts to catch the toads had her laughing harder than she’d ever laughed. She giggled and squealed at their antics and gave directions, when she was able to speak, at which way the toad had gone. When they both finally stood, each with a toad in their hands, she clapped at their accomplishments.
After a short bout of comparing the toads, Tom knelt down and let his go, and a moment later, Billy did the same. They then stopped at the water trough and washed their hands. While Billy ran to get the scrap bucket he’d dropped by the barn door, Tom walked to the porch.
With a huff, he sat back down in the rocking chair. “That was fun.”
His grin was still as large and glowing bright as the sun making its way behind the hills.
“It looked fun.”
“You should have joined us,” he said.
Though the pain was more tolerable every hour, her leg was still too sore for such shenanigans. Not wanting him to question her recovery, she said, “I’m too old to chase toads.”
“Too old?” He shook his head. “Chasing toads is like going fishing. And no one’s ever too old to go fishing.”
“Are we going fishing?” Billy asked, running up the steps. “When? Now?”
“No,” Clara replied. They hadn’t gone fishing since Uncle Walter had died and Hugh had sold the horse and wagon. The river was too far away to walk. “You two worked so hard to catch those toads, why did you let them go?”
The look Billy and Tom shared was identical. It was as if they couldn’t believe she’d just asked that.
“Keeping them isn’t any fun,” Tom said. “It’s the catching them that’s fun.”
“Yeah,” Billy said while nodding in agreement. “And I’m gonna go see if I can find some more.”
She was about to tell him to put the pail in the house first when Tom held out a hand.
“I’ll take that inside for you,” he said.
“Thanks!” Billy handed over the pail and was gone in a flash.
Tom set the pail down beside his chair and pushed a foot against the floor to set the rockers in motion. She rocked in her chair, too, as her mind wouldn’t let go of what he’d said.
“Is that how it is with most things? Fun to catch but not fun to keep?”
He shrugged. “I suspect that depends on what you catch.”
“I suspect,” she said, not certain why a statement so simple troubled her mind.
“Take fish, for instance. Keeping them isn’t as fun as catching them, but some are mighty tasty.”
She nodded. “That’s true.”
“Whereas toads, well, no one wants to eat toads.” He turned her way and gave an exaggerated look of shock. “You don’t, do you?”
She tried, but couldn’t suppress a giggle. “No.”
“Well, that’s good,” he said, turning back to watch Billy run around while keeping his chair rocking slow and steady.
She wondered if he liked chasing outlaws, for that was what he did. It was dangerous and hard, but he must like doing it or he wouldn’t do it. He hadn’t told her that, just as he hadn’t told her he was a lawman, but she knew. Was certain of it. He was the good in the good against bad. The lessons he’d already taught Billy proved it. The most intriguing part was that Billy hadn’t even known he was being taught a lesson, yet the things Tom had shown him would stay with him forever.
They sat in silence, listening to nothing but the wind rustling the leaves of the cottonwood tree at the side of the house, a few evening birds and the echoing thuds of Billy’s footsteps as he ran about, searching the ground for toads.
Maybe Tom was listening to a few more things than that. She certainly was. Her inner thoughts were screaming inside her head. Proclaiming things that could never be and denying things that were certain.
Those certainties won out. The barn door was fixed, as were the corral and the porch roof; there was enough wood piled up to make it until this time next year; and he’d brought home a smoked pig. Withholding a heavy sigh that threatened to collapse her chest, Clara rose to her feet and took a step in order to press a hand against one of the rough-hewn beams holding the porch roof overhead. “You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”
She felt more than heard him rise and step up behind her, and when she turned around, she was unable to look away. His eyes were so dark brown, and so, so full of sincerity. If only...
“That depends on you, Clara.”
&n
bsp; Her heart stalled in her chest and she leaned heavier against the post. “On me?”
“You know why I’m here.”
She did, so it shouldn’t be so hard to admit. But it was. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said, “I don’t know anything. Don’t know where he is or what he did.” When his lips parted, she shook her head. “And I don’t want to know.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Not knowing—”
Reaching out, she laid a hand on his forearm. “I know not knowing doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t even mean it didn’t happen. But...” She withdrew her hand because she had to pat her chest in order to keep from crying as she forced the words out. “If I don’t know the particulars, someday, when Billy asks why I didn’t tell him, I can honestly say it’s because I didn’t know.” She drew in a breath. “That may sound paltry to you, but it’s not to me. There is very little I can give my son, except love and protection.”
He grasped her elbow. His hold firm, solid, while being kind. Just like him. Which made tears threaten to erupt.
“I can help you with that, Clara. I can take you away from here.”
Another if-only. “To where? There’s nowhere I can go.”
“Yes, there is. There are places you can go. People who will help—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “I tried that once, Tom, shortly before Walter died.” Removing her fingers to press them against her lips, she swallowed before she was able to continue. “We made it all the way to Denver. Billy and I. I thought it was a big enough town, that we could get lost in the crowd, or move on when...” There were certain things she refused to remember.
“I won’t let anything happen to you or Billy.”
He was sincere and it was easy to believe he thought that, but she knew different. Didn’t want to, but did. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you. But it will.” Touching one of the tiny pinholes on his vest, she said, “Just like lawmen, outlaws band together. Even those who don’t know each other. They have rules they live by, and though they don’t put out wanted posters, they let each other know who they’re looking for and why, and how much they’ll pay to get them back.”
In the Sheriff's Protection Page 5