the distance, the Saturday evening was thankfully quiet. By perspective, Paul might have been rocking back and forth on his own front porch, instead of this one, reading the latest newspaper and contemplating life in general.
“You find anything out?” Ben wanted to know.
The sheriff blew a perfect ring into the air. “’Fraid not.”
His host watched in admiration. “Never could do that. You ever wanna give up your sheriffin’ job, you can always go on a sideshow circuit.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Another companionable silence. From inside came the muted clatter of dishes being washed and Camellia softly singing at her chores. Shadowed by semi-darkness, Ben smiled. She was a treasure, his wife. He’d had no idea, sending off that first notice to advertise for a mail order bride, just what chain of events he was setting in motion. And how richly rewarded he would be.
Newly wed just more than a month, and now he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. Arguing, stating her opinion in no uncertain terms, teasing, watching over and taking care of him, serving as helpmeet in every way. Especially when taken to that double bed upstairs.
“Not sure that’s his right name, though,” Paul continued, after the pause.
“Quinn Hennessey? How’dya figure?”
“Well, I sent off a telegram to the sheriff of that little town in Kansas—Prairie Spring?—after you asked me to do some investigatin’. Verified that Hennessey had shown up a couple years before, was workin’ at the only hotel around. But no record of him anywhere prior to that time.”
“Huh.” Ben chewed on that for a bit, in between draws from the stogie. No wonder the men had become good friends over the years; both were steady, responsible, and soft-spoken, and responded in similar fashion to various situations. “A rollin’ stone.”
“Or somebody who changes who he is every time he picks up and moves to another place.”
“Yeah, could be that, too.”
Paul sent a speculative glance across through the twilight, lit only by the lamps from within and the glowing red embers of cigars. “You got any plans on what to do?”
Shaking his head in resignation, Ben tapped his rolled-up bundle of fermented tobacco leaves (Camellia’s unflattering designation) into a small dish his wife had insisted he use. No point getting ashes all over her nice clean verandah floor.
“Dunno. Cam tried to talk Molly outa the marriage, and Hannah had a few words with the girl. I even butted in where I shouldn’ta, and said my piece. Nothin’ worked. She had her mind made up as to what she wanted to do, and, by gum, she did it. Wasn’t listenin’ to anybody.”
“Pulled the bit b’tween her teeth, all right,” was Paul’s glum conclusion.
“Oh, you got that right. Ain’t no arguin’ with a Burton woman once she’s decided on somethin’.” Proving the truth of his statement, Ben deliberately lowered his voice to make that point.
“Thanks for the warnin’. Might just as well post a No Trespassin’ sign on the property.”
Exhaling cigar smoke, Ben took a hearty slug from his glass of bourbon. It went down smooth and mellow as sweet cream, and his taste buds savored every last drop of the stuff. He might pay the price for over-imbibing tomorrow, but he hadn’t suffered a hangover since—well, since his own wedding.
That had been a day to celebrate.
This, he felt sure, wasn’t.
“Still, I can’t help bein’ worried about her.”
Paul, who had placed his worn brown Stetson on the railing, ran his fingers through curly dark hair. “Want I should make a friendly little visit tomorrow?”
“Naw. Molly took only a few things with her. They’re s’posed to be comin’ back to town so she can collect some more stuff. And he is s’posed to be lookin’ for work.”
“On a Sunday?” The sheriff’s brows went up almost to his hairline in disbelief.
“Yeah, that was my way of thinkin’, too. Howsoever, let’s wait and see what happens—maybe somethin’ good. I dunno, Paul.” Dissatisfaction colored Ben’s quiet tones. “There’s just something about that Hennessey fellah that grates on my nerves.”
“Snake oil salesman,” was the sheriff’s opinion. “Kinda rubs you the wrong way, don’t he? Did he want more from you than the sawbucks?”
“Not right away. But I figure that’s comin’. If you don’t even have a job to support two people, then wouldn’tcha have startin’ lookin’ as soon as you hit town? As far as I know, he hasn’t even been talkin’ to anybody about gettin’ employed. What does he think they’ll live on, anyway?”
A slow swallow, and a sigh of repletion. “Fine whiskey, Benjamin, my friend. Fine whiskey. Well, I reckon all I can do right now is keep an eye on him, see what’s up. ’Fraid you mighta got yourself a bad apple off your family tree, though.”