Hall jerked his hand back, eyes wide.
Jonathan lifted the fork with the chicken leg attached, sniffed it and slowly handed it to the man.
Hall gave a snort and took the fork from Jonathan. He pulled the leg from the fork and returned the fork to Jonathan. Pulling a piece of meat from the bone, he chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving Jonathan's face. After a long moment he put the half-eaten leg on Nathaniel's plate.
"Never cared much for Mrs. Anderson's chicken, way overcooked." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With forced casualness, he rose to his feet. Slapping Nathaniel's shoulder again, he said, "Good to see you, Doc. Glad you're here to take care of our good citizens. Would be a shame to lose you, or your girl. People have come to depend on you."
He threw a half-smile at Jonathan along with a cold stare, sharply contradicting his friendly speech. "Real nice to meet you, Mr. Winthrop. Hope I can get to know you better."
The man with the gun remained, his eyes riveted on Jonathan. In his expression was an unmistakable challenge. Jonathan nodded to him. The man backed away without saying a word. Turning slowly, he followed Hall.
Nathaniel let out a ragged breath, staring at Jonathan as if seeing him for the first time. At last he spoke. "Did you know that man?"
"Don't think so. But I know his type." Jonathan stabbed a slice of beef.
"I've got to admit, that I've heard the rumors, Jonathan. Are you a lawman like they say?"
Jonathan pushed his plate to the side. With slow movements he placed his hands on the table in front of him, staring at them for long moments before looking up to meet Nathaniel's curious gaze. His Texas drawl seemed more pronounced as he answered, drawing out the first word. "Well, I don't know what the rumors are sayin', but I can tell you straight that I was a Texas Ranger." His gray eyes appeared to grow darker, "I was, but not anymore." He sat back and looked beyond Nathaniel to follow the passage of the two men as they worked their way through the crowd of townspeople. "I decided it was time to move into another line of work," he said.
Nathaniel heard the weight of the word, the unspoken history of it. "But you're a young man yet."
"Age had nothing to do with it."
"Ah." It was all Nathaniel said in reply. He studied his plate, pushing the remnants of his meal into neat piles.
Jonathan watched him, a tightness forming around his mouth. "But I need to ask you, Dr. Meriwether, if you understood that Hall just threatened both you and your daughter?"
Nathaniel lifted his eyes slowly to meet Jonathan's. He sighed heavily. "Afraid I did, yes."
"You know something. You saw something."
The silence grew heavy and telling. This was all too familiar, something he'd witnessed before, that reluctance to trust, the crippling fear. Jonathan assessed that the man was not a coward. He also surmised that had his daughter not been privy to this bit of evidence, the doctor would have spoken of it. But what was it he knew, and did it really implicate the sheriff? Why else would he threaten him?
The turmoil that roiled in his gut, was how much should he encourage the man to speak what he knew. The last time he'd done that. . .He felt the cold sweat of his nightmares.
Across the grassy field a fiddle sang out a cheerful reel. A dozen young men and women danced under the cool shade of the cedars, their merry voices mingling with the tune. Jonathan caught sight of Kat's blue dress and chestnut curls, a handsome man close at her side. He noted the manner in which the young man held her elbow leaning in close to speak to her. It was the man he'd seen earlier cleaning her shoes outside the mercantile.
"Dr. Meriwether, who is that man with your daughter?" Jonathan asked.
Nathaniel's forehead creased, "That's Ethan Hall, the sheriff's boy."
Those familiar alarms rang ominously inside Jonathan's head. He frowned watching the familiarity of the man with Nathaniel's daughter. What better way to find out what the two doctors suspected than to win her confidence? She laughed at something Hall had said. Jonathan chewed on his lower lip, considering what he might do to interfere with the man's attempts to cajole information out of her.
If they were involved in the wagon attacks and the murder, Jonathan was certain that they'd find a way to cover the evidence, stopping at nothing to protect themselves. A slow awareness of pain caused him to look down at his hand where blood dripped from the palm onto the grass beneath the rough bench. He released his grip on the bench to see a splinter of wood protruding from the skin. He stared down at it for a moment before extracting it, absently wiping the blood away.
Chapter 17
A Ranger’s Sense
The contents of two plates of cookies showered down about Kat like fall leaves as her shocked face once more met that of Ethan Hall. She closed her eyes, then quickly knelt to retrieve the scattered confections.
"We meet again, Mr. Hall," she said through tight lips.
Ethan knelt beside her, pulling a smashed butter cookie from beneath his knee. "Yes indeed, Dr. Meriwether. We seem to have some destiny working for us." He threw her a charming grin of amusement.
As she retrieved two chocolate cookies from beneath the table, Kat entertained the thought that perhaps destiny was working against her rather than the other way around. When they'd both collected all they could, Kat held a rather sad assortment of cookies in various stages of crumble, mixed in with a generous portion of organic matter.
"Guess I'll just buy both of these. It's for a good cause after all." Ethan took one of the plates, leaving Kat to follow with the second.
Waiting for him to make his purchase, she watched as he stuffed his jacket pockets with the broken pieces. She couldn't help but laugh, conceding to herself that it was a generous manner of apology.
After hearing her laugh, Ethan looked down at himself, his pockets bulging. He tipped his head to the side, shrugging his shoulders. Popping one broken piece in his mouth he offered her another, which she accepted.
Ethan was an easy conversationalist, a carefully honed skill. He saw it as a professional necessity which had served him well. Out of the most taciturn gentlemen, Ethan could draw information he might not otherwise wish to share. Over an amiable game of cards perhaps, or sharing a drink, he gleaned an amazing amount of valuable secrets which could be exchanged for a lucrative profit. He was talented at being an insightful companion and a sympathetic listener. Both men and women found themselves drawing him into their confidences by what they determined to be his personal interest in them. With the men he was a perfect companion, one who could tell a bawdy joke very well and drink to apparent excess. With the women, he could use his pale blue eyes like a snake charmer, mesmerizing them into trusting him. With his soft voice and gentleman's courtesies, he rarely had to overwhelm or strong-arm his way into anyone's secrets, rather, he was invited in for tea and confessions.
However, Kat presented a challenge to him. When he thought he was squeezing through that sturdy door of her polite exterior, she could skillfully slam it shut. Like Jonathan, he had a talent for assessing people. This woman was smart and she was driven. He could see her leading some women's suffrage parade, a sash of protest tied neatly at her very trim waist. He hadn't had much experience with such women, but he believed that beneath the veneer of self-sufficiency there was a very needy young woman. Of course, he would be the very thing she needed, or so he would convince her. How unfortunate that he actually liked her.
"It seems as if you may be staying with us awhile. That's wonderful." It wasn't difficult for him to sound sincere. In contrast to the town's offerings, her company would be a welcome change.
"I'll help as long as I feel my father needs me."
Ethan considered that fact and filed it away. He ventured an observation, "It seems that could be a sacrifice for someone of your education and professional goals. Even Boise has more to offer a physician than our humble town. What with the new capital, train depot up on the bench above town, new hotels, I'd think a young woman would be eager to be a part
of such a thriving community." It was flattery on Ethan's part, but he was also curious to learn why such an attractive and talented woman would return to this provincial setting. He genuinely wanted to hear her answer.
Kat allowed herself to be escorted across the grounds. "I would think that I might ask the same of you."
Ethan's step hesitated. "Care to elaborate?"
"Well, you seem to be a man of some education, and I would think there were few opportunities here for you as well. You don't seem to have an interest in either farming or ranching. Is there a business you are interested in pursuing here?"
This was unexpected. It shouldn't have been. In a few steps, she had turned the tables on him, prying him for information. It was a dangerous tack for her to take.
"That's a very good question." He recovered his smile. "You are correct in assuming I have some education. My father saw to that." He continued, "He hopes to turn me into a banker. With the town growing and more ranchers moving into the valley, he's hoping to establish a formalized banking institution. These people deserve something more than biscuit tins under their beds." This was a hastily constructed lie, but one he'd employed before. There was a degree of truth in it, he supposed. The bank would simply be one of deposit with no withdrawals.
"I see."
Something in her voice, a faint but unmistakable shimmer of doubt, made him wonder at just how much she knew. "Do you dance, Dr. Meriwether?" He inclined his head.
Kat granted him a genuine smile. "Indeed, Mr. Hall, I do."
He took her hand in his while slipping his other hand to her waist. The music drew them into the swirling, laughing ring of dancers. The lone fiddler had been joined by two others, another with a banjo. For a time, neither Kat nor Ethan attempted to take from the other anything beyond the companionship of the dance.
While he spun with her, both hands around her waist, listening to her breathless laughter, he felt a pang of sincere regret that he was not the man he pretended to be. For a time he put aside the man he'd become and fully assumed the character of the man he'd rather be, allowing the music to carry them both away. This free-spirited, foot stomping, breathless freedom epitomized the risk-taking life of the frontier itself. Here anything seemed possible, including fresh starts.
"Did 'ya see? Father won the pie baking contest!" Adam's eyes shone with the pride of it. "Come see the ribbon he won!"
Jonathan dutifully followed Adam to the tent where all the contesting foods were on display. Timothy stood next to his strudel engaged in animated conversation with two older ladies.
One of them, a lady with an extravagantly large, brimmed hat, leaned forward, speaking in conspiratorial fashion. "Now, Mr. Hindricks, you want to be careful about giving away any secrets. Sure as I'm breathing, next year there'll be five more just like yours."
"Oh, I'm not too worried about that. My mother shared her recipe with half the county, but no one could get it quite right. But really, cooking's a gift, and what good's a gift if you don't give it away?"
The hat lady touched his arm lightly with her hand, scrunching her nose as she said, "Well, you, Mr. Hindricks, are a gift to Snowberry. We're so grateful that someone finally come along to knock Mrs. Townsend plumb off her throne!"
Both ladies giggled like school girls as they walked away.
"See, Jonathan? It's the top prize!" Adam beamed at his father, touching the ribbon as though it were a precious artifact.
"Congratulations, Timothy. It's good to know I'm not alone in my good opinion of your cooking."
"Well, not all approved." Timothy leaned over, speaking softly. "Heard there were a few ladies who took objection to my strudel, complaining that it shouldn't be judged as a pie. Suppose that's understandable. But the lady that told me said it was the young lady doctor who made the decision to keep it in. That was nice, but I fear she might have made herself some enemies as a result."
Jonathan drew an amusing picture in his mind of the petite young doctor going toe to toe with some of the town's elite upper class. She'd be looking up their noses as they looked down at her. While the thought definitely amused him, he wondered if her independent spirit might be creating some unnecessary enemies. On the frontier, that was never wise.
"Father, can we go watch the shooting competition now?" Adam had caught sight of the stream of picnickers heading to the far side of the field. "I heard the mercantile donated some ammunition for the winners. Maybe you could enter, Jonathan."
"Adam, I hardly think you should be telling a man his own business." Timothy rested his fists on his hips and frowned down on his son.
"No need to scold the boy. He's just fired up with the devilry of competition right now." Jonathan gave Adam's elbow a nudge. "Come on then, let's go watch the fun."
All three joined the crowd of onlookers stretched out along the edge of the prairie. Targets had been set up for rifles and pistols. The first competition would be with pistols. Out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan saw Kat Meriwether and her father approaching the line of spectators. Not far to her side was Ethan Hall. He also noticed that Kat's hand was linked in her father's arm, not the young man's. That gave him some satisfaction.
The competitors formed up in groups of three. Six targets per shooter, best of six advanced to the next tier of competition. While most of the crowd focused on the accuracy of shots, Jonathan studied the style and intentionality of each man. He found the variety of pistols interesting and even more amazing were the abilities of many shooters to compensate for their antiquated weapons. Some of the antiques used were worthy of note, making the accuracy of their shooters more impressive.
It came as no surprise that Ethan Hall advanced to the line to try his luck. Although he appeared casual enough as he waited for the others to ready themselves at the line, Jonathan suspected the young man was more than casually acquainted with the gun he wore so comfortably at his hip. When he successfully won out over the others in his group of three, he modestly stepped aside for the next group. But Jonathan had seen, probably more than anyone else, the man's expertise with the weapon. He was quick and he was deadly accurate.
"Ah, come on Mr. Winthrop. You could beat them all. I've watched you practice at home. You're fast! And I've never seen you miss, not once! You could win!" Adam's eyes were wide with his appeal.
Jonathan just shook his head. "I appreciate the vote of confidence." He pulled a piece of taffy from his pocket, handing another one to Adam. "But shooting just isn't a thing I do for sport."
Jonathan knew the smell of trouble brewing, and the town was rank with it. This was no time to be showing one's hand. This was a time for staying low, staying quiet, and most important, staying watchful. The real players, whoever they were, would be doing just the same.
The explosion of gunshots snapped him out of his ruminations. What was he thinking? He wasn't a lawman. If there was a fight coming, it wasn't his. He'd most likely be gone before it started, moving on, maybe Oregon Territory or as far as Canada. He unwrapped another piece of taffy and stuffed it in his mouth, casting a thoughtful look in the doctor's direction.
From where he stood, he could see her furrowed brow. Something had made her unhappy, or was it uncomfortable? He also noticed that her father was no longer beside her. A short distance behind her, another man, one whose flat face and square body looked vaguely familiar, was working his way through the crowd heading directly toward her. Jonathan watched the swagger in the man, the vacuous expression of one who had probably been drinking.
Kat apparently saw him too, moments before he spoke to her. Jonathan saw her body stiffen into a defensive posture—a posture that told him she knew the man, but more importantly that she didn't like him. Jonathan watched, his dark eyes shaded, obscured by the brim of his hat.
Nathaniel Meriwether came up behind her and Jonathan heard him call out her name. When Kat turned, Jonathan watched her posture relax. Nathaniel was carrying a rifle which he handed to Kat. He saw her brown curls shake as she declined some s
uggestion by her father. The younger, flat faced man spat out some words that Jonathan couldn't hear. Directly, he forced his way to the front of the spectators.
Light, unenthusiastic applause lifted from the crowd as the winner of the pistol competition was announced. It was awarded to Ethan Hall. Jonathan was not surprised. His face creased into a half-smile, devoid of real satisfaction.
Fewer in number were the competitors for the rifle event. Doc Meriwether had apparently won the argument with his daughter. She stepped to the line with the first group. The targets were several yards farther out this time. Ten shots. Ten tries. Kat Meriwether struck true on all ten, so did one of the men. The flat-faced man with the crooked nose was in the second group. Ten for ten.
Twelve competitors narrowed to just three. The flat-faced man leaned in close to Kat, speaking to her. Her shoulders stiffened again, but she didn't turn her head, and whether she gave a reply, Jonathan could not determine. Kat again shot ten of ten, as did the flat-faced man. The third competitor missed one. So, it was down to two.
Jonathan observed Kat's form with admiration. She was steady, obviously sure of herself. There was not the slightest suggestion of nerves or rushed performance. Ten times, she lifted, pulled the trigger, levering quickly another round. The flat-faced man, despite his inebriated state seemed quite capable of focusing on his target. Perhaps he was one of those individuals who is in a perpetual state of mild inebriation, capable of functioning better while under the influence of a small amount of alcohol. He'd actually ridden with a Ranger who swore he shot more accurately with a shot of whiskey under his belt.
When both of them shot ten for ten, the targets were moved another 50 yards. At this point, Jonathan caught sight of Ethan, his face appeared strangely flushed, his body language screaming his irritation with something. At first, Jonathan thought it must be Kat's participation in the competition, but dismissed that on closer observation. It was the flat-faced man with whom Ethan Hall had an issue. Moving closer to the line, he said something to the flat-faced man that caused him to turn. There was a look there of familiarity, of authority to sub-authority. Hall was unhappy with him. For what?
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