Walkers Creek - A Western Read online

  'Well you can tell your Mr. Humby that I'm getting tired of all his fake customers trying keep an eye on me. I don't threaten that easily. Why don't you just say your piece and get out of my store?'

  'Hey, look here, I'm new to this town and I don't know a damn thing about your local politics. If I was just pretending to be a customer, why would I start out by saying that Mr. Humby sent me when that's clearly exactly the sort of thing to get on your nerves? I honestly don't know the man, and clearly his "tell him I sent you" was intended to create exactly this situation. I don't know what Mr. Humby has done to you, but it really isn't any of my business.'

  Logan picks a hat at random and puts it on.

  'I'll buy this one. And thank you for the lesson. Everyone in Walkers Creek has been happy and welcoming. Unless, it seems, you say "Mr. Humby" and then the smiles vanish like blowing out a candle.'

  'Would you like a box for that?' Mannion asks uncertainly.

  Logan ignores him for the moment.

  'So the barber tells me Humby owns the town, but he clearly doesn't own you. Good for you.' He tries a disarming smile.

  'Humby is a bully. A wealthy bully, but a bully all the same. He doesn't own so much of Walkers Creek by paying a lot for it, he owns it because he forced the owners to sell to him. I'm too old to be bullied like that. I don't have so much life left that I get that troubled by someone threatening to take it away from me.'

  'There's no call for a box.' He puts the new hat on his head. 'I'll wear it, but perhaps you could find somewhere to get rid of this old one?'

  'If you're sure. Are you staying in the town?'

  'I was planning to. For a few days at least. I thought I'd try the hotel, and avoid mentioning Mr. Humby's name.'

  'That's a good choice. I'd say to tell them I'd sent you...' Mannion smiles, a generous smile, it seems to show that he wants to put the misunderstanding behind them.

  Logan turns to leave.

  'Hold on a moment, sir.' Mannion stops him with the door half open. 'I don't suppose I could press a small errand on you could I? You see, I have this dress for Miss Nixon. She'll be waiting for it in the hotel. Since you're going over there, perhaps you could take it to her for me?'

  He understands the gesture for what it is. The shop keeper isn't giving him an errand to run, he's telling him that he trusts him. Refusing would be throwing that olive branch back in his face.

  'Of course.'

  Logan checks on the horses on his way across the street. They've been stood there long enough now. He will see about getting stabling for them when he takes a room in the hotel.

  Looking at the hotel again with the little extra knowledge he has gained about the town, he wonders whether or not Humby owns this place too. The hotel looks prosperous and busy. There is a bustle about the place, but the conversations at the tables are quiet. It isn't that these well-dressed people aren't enjoying themselves, but their laughter is restrained as though they are trying hard to present the impression of being refined.

  The lobby is an unwelcoming mass of polished wood and brass. Walking in, he is immediately accosted by a man in a slightly ridiculous looking green velvet jacket.

  'Welcome sir.' The man says obsequiously. One hand seems to be trying to draw attention to his red cravat as he does a little bow. 'Welcome to La Rosa.'

  'I was thinking of taking a room.' He says brusquely, not liking the man's manner. 'Who do I speak to about that?'

  'That'll be me.' He smiles. A gold tooth glints. 'I'm the owner. My name is Renault. Marcel Renault.' He pronounces the name with an ostentatiously French accent.

  Logan suspects that he is no more French than the dust on his boots.

  'Let me go and have a look for you to see if we have anything suitable. How long were you planning to stay?' Renault looks him up and down, probably assessing his ability to pay.

  It is as well that his clothes are a little dirty. This odious little man would probably be charging him a lot more for the room otherwise.

  'I'm only planning on a couple of days to start with. But who knows, I might like it here.'

  Renault flashed his gold tooth again.

  'While you're checking,' he calls him back, 'can you tell me if Miss Nixon is here? I have something for her.' He brandishes the ribbon-wrapped box.

  'Of course, she's at her customary table over there by the stairs.'

  'Miss Nixon? Mr. Mannion asked me to bring you this.'

  He holds out the dress box. She doesn't take it but looks up at him suspiciously.

  'Sorry.' He takes off his hat. 'I don't mean to be rude.'

  'No, no.' she laughs, 'I didn't recognize you with the new hat. It's a great improvement.'

  'Thank you.' She still hasn't taken the box from him.

  'White? An interesting choice. It says a lot about a man the color that he chooses for his hat.'

  'It's white for the moment, but I don't put too much store in your color theory. They all end up the same color in the end.'

  She raises an eyebrow at that remark.

  'Please, sit down won't you?'

  For the first time he realizes that she is the only person here who is sat alone. There are groups of three or four sat round several tables and a pair of old ladies sat at a table by the window passing comment on the goings on in the street. But Miss Nixon is sat drinking coffee on her own. He pulls up a chair.

  'Aren't you worried that people will talk, seeing you sat drinking coffee with a strange man.'

  'But you're not a strange man are you? You work for Mr. Humby. And even if you didn't,' she ignores his attempt to interrupt, 'I owe you something for helping me with that dog.' She smiles. The smile distracts him. He was about to tell her that he didn't work for Humby, that it was all a misunderstanding. But she smiles and he is lost for a moment in the way she looks. It takes him by surprise, he is used to being in control of his emotions, so he ends up saying nothing.

  'Perhaps we should order you some coffee.' she says, 'Otherwise people really will think that this is odd.'

  'I wondered,' she says as they wait for the coffee, 'how you came to be so good with animals.'

  'You mean with the dog earlier? I was brought up on a farm. I was an orphan and I was basically brought up by the dogs.'

  'Really? So you're basically a dog?'

  'No, not exactly, but my mother was ill most of the time and we were five brothers so what little energy she had was spread so thin that I ended up spending more time with the dogs.'

  'Your mother was ill? I thought you said you were an orphan?'

  'Did I say orphan?' he asks with a chuckle. 'You see through my tall tales so quickly. I've just been spinning tall tales to the barber and his friend and they didn't seem to cotton on at all.'

  'Don't spoil it, let me pretend it's true. Tell me about your farm.' She sits forward in her seat.

  Should he try to correct her misunderstanding about him working for Humby or or should he go on with the fanciful story? She looks so interested, the moment will be lost if he mentions Humby again.

  He spins the tale on further. The fanciful farm is described in detail. He tries all the while not to remember his real home and his real family. He isn't lying completely when he says that he spent his childhood with horses and dogs.

  'So you see, I could ride before I could walk.'

  'And learned how to get what you want from a woman with the sparkle in your eye?' she teases.

  'Exactly!' They laugh. He notices her touch his arm briefly as she laughs and he feels comfortable and happy.

  'It sounds like you'd be ideal for working on my ranch.'

  'Your ranch? You own it?'

  'Why not?' she sits back and crosses her arms. 'Why shouldn't I run a ranch?'

  'Okay. You believed my tale, I'll believe yours. So how did you come to be running a ranch? You have to admit that's a rather unusual occupation for a lady of your youth?'

  'Well, if we're telling tall tales, mine is as much about a troubled family
as yours. I have a brother you see, and it was always expected that he would take over the ranch when our father got too old. My brother always took the love his father for granted and I always strained to please my father more and rarely succeeded. But my brother took things too far and he upset my father, upset him so much that he disowned my brother. He never acknowledged him ever again and when my father died he left the ranch to me.'

  'Did you disown your brother as well?'

  'If my father wouldn't recognize his own son and I loved my father then I would have to disown my brother too wouldn't I?'

  'So once your father died you'd be able to speak to your brother again, or do you not want to do that in case he wants his share of the ranch?'

  'Hey, stop trying to pick holes in my story.' She laughs.

  'I think your brother must have done something really terrible to have been completely cut off like that. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd been hanged for it.'

  As they talk he notices Mr. Humby's mustache make an entrance, accompanied by the sheriff. Renault fawns over them, attempting to brush the dust from their jackets but they ignore him and seat themselves at a table near the door.

  'I think you might have it all back to front, don't you think it's possible that my father was the bad man and that my brother was too good? Don't you think? You're not listening to me now are you Mr. Tanner?'

  She has him there. He is completely distracted by the arrival of a grimy cowhand who drunkenly staggers over to the table where the mayor and the sheriff are sat. They wave away Renault. After a brief conversation the man heads towards the bar and Logan can see that, rather than being drunk, the man simply has a pronounced limp.

  'I'm sorry.' He says. 'I can see why you come here, there are so many interesting customers to watch.'

  The limping man intercepts the barman carrying their coffee and takes the tray from him. This man stands out as one of the few that Logan has seen in town wearing a gun. He senses trouble and tenses up, gently moving his chair so that he can get clear of the table more easily. It alarms him that this appears to be one of Humby's men. Why have they sent him over? This town that seemed so charming and naively welcoming is showing itself to have a nasty underside.

  The coffee tray crashes onto the table.

  'Is this man bothering you Miss?' the man says, spraying spit with last word.

  Logan stands, brushing spilled coffee from his pants.

  'Go away Frank.' she says quietly.

  'You're interrupting, take a hike.' says Logan calmly. It's an old game, picking on the new guy in town, finding out if he can handle himself. The man who backs down in this sort of situation is going to find himself robbed and bullied at every turn. He knows he has to make a good first impression. He doesn't need to look to know that Humby and half the room are watching.

  'I ain't talkin' to you.' says Frank. 'I was talkin' to the woman.'

  'I don't care who you were talking at mister. You spilled my coffee. Now you're crowding me when I want to drink it. Perhaps you came over here with something to say? Spit it out and go or I'll make you leave.' He needs to put on a show, which isn't going to work if he gives Frank a chance to get away with his pride intact. An idle threat should be enough to sucker in a man like this.

  'You're gonna make me, huh?'

  'Go away Frank.' she says again.

  'And you can shut up. I ain't working for you no more so you can't tell me what to do.'

  Logan tires of the exchange and steps forward, treading deliberately and maliciously on the foot that causes Frank to limp.

  Frank yells and hops away unbalanced. Logan swings a punch that lands squarely on Frank's jaw and sends him sprawling in a heap on the floor. Logan finds himself feeling sorry for the man, sent on such a foolish errand. He pulls the punch a little, after all Frank is already off balance and it wouldn't take much to knock him down. It is just a show, he reminds himself.

  Frank, lying on the floor, touches his fingers to his bleeding lip. Logan is surprised to see that he has drawn blood when he hadn't hit the man that hard.

  'Is that the best you've got?' he says, reaching for his gun.

  'I really wouldn't do that in here.' Logan warns him. 'Not with everyone watching you.'

  'You're as bad as she is.' Frank says, moving his hand back away from his gun. He starts to try to get to his feet. 'But don't you think you'll get by working for her. Oh no, she'll shoot you like a coyote. Why, she's got that little gun pointing at you right now.'

  'Thanks for the warning.' He doesn't look at Miss Nixon. She might be pointing a gun at him, she might not, but turning to look at her is going to give Frank an opportunity to fight back. 'Now don't make me hurt you again. Get yourself out of here.' Logan steps towards Frank again in a way that he hopes looks menacing.

  Frank glares first at Logan and then at Miss Nixon, and then turns to go. 'This isn't over.' he says under his breath. He drags himself to his feet and limps away, clutching the rail of the bar for support.

  'And perhaps you could ask them to send me some fresh coffee on your way out since you spilled so much of this one.'

  Frank doesn't look back, but he does exchange a glance with the sheriff and the mayor on his way past them and out of the door.

  'Thanks,' she says, putting a tiny pistol back into the folds of her skirt, 'but I don't need you to fight all my battles for me'

  'Your battle?' he says, confused. It seems clear to him that Frank had been sent limping over to bother him, to test him out as the new man in town. In what way could that have been her battle?

  'He has that limp because I shot him. He used to work for me.'

  'I see.' He says. But he doesn't see. It makes so little sense. Someone is playing games with him here. He wonders if the pretty girl is everything she seems or she is another of the mayor's puppets. 'So was the gun pointed at me or him?'

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee.

  'When I arrived I thought this looked like a strangely peaceful town. Hardly anyone wore guns and everyone seemed to be smiling. And now I see you tucking that little gun into your skirts and I find myself wondering how many guns there were that I didn't see.'

  'You weren't wrong. Most of the people in this town are very happy here. It is normally a pretty peaceful place, but if you live out of town like I do and travel alone then you'd be a fool not to protect yourself somehow.'

  Renault sidles up to the table carrying a fresh tray of coffee.

  'I'm very sorry about that problem with your coffee.' He exchanges the spilled cup for a fresh one.

  'I'm sorry that we had to ask him to leave.'

  'That's quite alright sir, although we do prefer it if you could avoid violence inside the hotel itself. We really don't want to get a reputation for fist fights, not in a quiet town like Walkers Creek.'

  The muffled sound of three gunshots in the street contradict Renault.

  'My horses...?' Logan starts up, concerned.

  'Don't worry, we've got them stabled out at the back for you, and I've had your saddles and packs sent to your room.'

  Renault departs with the same oily movement that he arrived with.

  'So you're staying here? Will you be in Walkers Creek for long?' she asks.

  'A couple of days. Maybe longer. It depends how welcoming the locals are.'

  'Well,' she says, standing to go, 'I have some urgent things to attend to, but I hope I can be a welcoming local for you again sometime Mr. Tanner.' She offers her hand.

  Logan stands.

  'Stay there.' she says, playfully pushing him back into his seat. 'I can look after myself you know.' She smiles and laughs. That smile. He forgets for a moment his confusion over who works for whom and where all the violence was hiding in plain sight. He resolves to see that smile again soon.

  He notices that Humby's eyes follow her as she leaves the room. He wonders if she says anything to him as she passes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  She feels as though the trip to Wal
kers Creek has been successful. The medical supplies that Laura asked for are the most important thing. It seemed surreal sitting calmly drinking coffee in the hotel knowing that Billy was so desperately unwell back at the ranch but it was better than getting in the way trying to help at the ranch. Laura had sent for supplies but they probably weren't needed, it was a ruse to get her out from under their feet. At least she is doing something to help this way.

  Meeting Logan Tanner gave her a brief respite from her own dark thoughts. It is unusual for a man in the town to take an interest in her. Frank Lake bothers her quite regularly but that is just crude leers. All the others Humby normally scares off. But this man was charming and just a little over-protective. She talked a steady flow of half-truths at him just to try to keep him there in La Rosa because it was so nice having his company. Her heart leapt to see him fight with Frank. She shouldn't be attracted by violence but there was something thrilling about having two men fight over her. Perhaps she seemed ungrateful afterwards as she tried to conceal how much she had enjoyed it. She hopes that one day he should visit the ranch. Will her vague offers turn out to be interpreted as an invite? She realizes she'll be watching the road for the next week hoping the next rider to round the bend is him.

  When she wasn't flirting with Logan she kept her ears open in the town as she went on her errands. If there was anything known about what happened at the McLaren house and at the dam then she hoped that it would come out. Nobody mentioned anything about a deputy. That's a big relief to her. Billy will be in the clear once he gets better. Provided, that is, that Sanchez dealt with that problem successfully. He hadn't returned to the house before she'd left for Walkers Creek. She hopes the deputy was already dead and that Sanchez only had to hide the body.

  The incident at the McLaren house is certainly exercising the town gossips. The well-dressed folk in La Rosa talk of an illegal whiskey still that exploded. McLaren is not of their class so it seems to please them to think of him suffering as a result of his own foolishness. If everyone believed it was just a whiskey still that exploded then she'd have failed. It wasn't meant to look like an accident, it was meant to look like a warning. The shop-keepers, on the other hand, seemed to know that it was dynamite. They have no reason to look down on McLaren and without their thoughts being clouded by wealth they can see exactly what must have happened. Her friend Mannion isn't the only one that suspects that she might have had a hand in it. It seems McLaren talked a lot about his dispute with her when he was drunk in the saloon.