Post Holes and Pane Glass Windows
By Lady Chal
AN: Takes place a few months after my other story "The Brotherhood" (which alas is still not finished) and my shorter story "Mañana," also archived here.
Summary: Post holes and pane glass windows, drummers, dances and barroom brawls... what does one have to do with another? --Ezra is about to find out when he does a favor for Inez and ends up getting more than he bargained for. Ez/Inez, Chris/Mary and Buck making mischief...
Chapter One
Ezra Standish stared intently at the cards in his hand, but his mind was not really on the game. He knew for a fact that the kid had nothing and the piano player held little better than a pair of Queens. He himself had drawn three Jacks on the kid's deal and knew that his odds could only get better. Discarding the deuce, he drew one card and was rewarded with another ten. Secure in his full house, he raised the pot another dollar and cast his eyes over the odd assortment of clientele that currently populated the saloon.
It was the usual riff-raff –himself included—but there was something different today. Something was just a bit off, tugging at his senses, but he had as yet to ascertain the source. The piano player attempted a small bluff, seeing and raising him another fifty. Ezra did not need to feign boredom as he pitched in a half dollar and then upped the ante. He was bored. The card players who had drifted through these past few weeks did not even measure up to second rate. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the steady income with which they provided him.
The kid folded quickly, as he expected, and the piano player called. Ezra laid down his full house to the man's Queens and picked up his smoldering cigar. With an absent glance he quickly calculated the winnings before him. There was about twelve dollars there, --better than a week's wages for either man who sat at the table with him. It was enough. Any further fortune on his part would only incur their resentment and although he wouldn't have minded the change in pace, he did not really want the trouble. Besides, there would be hell to pay with Inez if he spilled blood on the floor. She was still giving them grief about all the windows they'd broken in the shoot out with Ma Nichols and her boys.
The soft buzz of warning jangled at the edges of his consciousness once more, but he shrugged it off as the piano player, an itinerant entertainer named Lansky, rose from his chair.
"I reckon I know when I'm licked." Lansky picked up his battered bowler hat and set it smartly on his head. "I keep playin' with you and I'll be stuck in this town another week tryin' to earn my coach fare."
Ezra smiled. "You have discovered my nefarious intentions, Mr. Lansky. I had hoped to keep the dulcet strains of Beethoven in town a few days longer. I do not recall the last time we were blessed with such culture."
"Either too long, or not long enough," the piano player said tersely. "That big feller with the moustache threatened to shoot me if I didn't get back to playin' the bawdy songs."
"Mr. Wilmington's tastes in music are rather limited," Ezra lamented.
Lansky shot him an amused look. "Mind you, Standish, it don't bother me none to play the fancy stuff for you. I appreciate a man with culture, but next time let's do the requests after hours, all right?"
"As you wish, Mr. Lansky," Ezra chuckled. Gathering the small stack of bills, he tucked them into his pocket.
The young cowpuncher scowled. "Just 'cause he's out ain't no cause to leave. How about giving me another chance to win back my money?"
Thanks to the years of emotional repression which he fondly termed his childhood, Ezra managed to hold back a sigh. They never knew when to quit. The chances of the young man winning back his money were about as good as Buck Wilmington sitting down to the piano and pounding out the Moonlight Sonata. He did not, however, say so. Instead, he flashed the kid what he hoped was an apologetic smile.
"I assure you sir, I would enjoy nothing more. Unfortunately, other duties call me away at this juncture in time. However, if you are available this evening, I would be delighted to provide you with ample opportunity to do just that."
With any luck the boy would let it go. Otherwise, he was going to have to resort to card manipulation in order to let the kid win back a small pot. God knew the young cowhand didn't have the skills to do it on his own. With a polite nod to both men, the Southerner rose graciously and ascended to his room.
From his table near the corner, Chris Larabee watched him go. Smooth, he thought, as his eyes tracked Standish's movement down the long hall towards the back stairs. The gambler had perceived the potential for confrontation and neatly side-stepped it, making his excuses in such a way as to leave the kid's pride intact while giving him the time and opportunity to back away. Chris watched as the irritated young cowpuncher signaled Inez for another drink, and wondered if the kid would ever realize the magnanimous gesture the gambler had just performed. The cynic in him doubted it.
Whether the kid knew it or not, he had just been spared a painful and potentially deadly lesson. Most men would have taken him up on the challenge, and played until he had nothing left to draw upon but his gun. It was an old story. More than one proud, hot-headed youngster not knowing when to quit had lost his money and ultimately his life to some gun-slick card sharp. Larabee had seen it himself too many times. --Apparently, so had Ezra.
Finishing his beer, Chris rose and stepped outside onto the boardwalk. Letting his eyes wander down the dusty street, he quickly spotted Standish out in front of the Jail, engaged in what appeared to be serious conversation with Buck and JD. Chris knew better. More likely, the gambler was attempting to entice them in a friendly wager while waiting for the young cowhand to lick his wounded pride and clear out of the saloon so that Ezra might resume his enterprise. Moving across the alley towards Watson's Hardware, Larabee claimed a chair on the boardwalk and surveyed the street scene with a small smile of satisfaction. There were still days when he questioned the wisdom of taking Standish into the group, but today was not one of them.
"You're looking awfully pleased with yourself," a feminine voice observed.
Chris looked up into the china blue gaze of Mary Travis and let his smile widen.
"A man wants something done right, he'd best do it himself," he said mildly. "I reckon it's no different with appreciation." He eyed her with obvious speculation. "What brings you to this end of town."
"Research," she said quickly. "Things have been slow lately. I'm writing an article on the bad element."
He flashed a wicked grin. "You came to the right place," he said.
She swept him with an assessing look, taking in his dusty black garb, the tied down guns and the unshaven jaw. "I would think so."
She cocked her head towards the doorway of the hardware store. "Actually, I've been visiting the local merchants. I've been appointed to the planning committee for the Sweethearts Dance. The businessmen's association is looking for sponsors to pay for the band."
"Sweethearts Dance?" Larabee queried. This was news to him. There hadn't been so much as an ice cream social since he'd hit town. "When's that?"
"Valentines Day, of course," Mary said practically.
Chris frowned. "Startin' early, aren't you? We ain't even had Thanksgiving yet, let alone Christmas."
Mary sighed. "Have you ever tried to play anything by committee?"
Chris shrugged. "In my line of work, the only thing I plan on is who I'm gonna shoot first. There generally isn't much call for discussion on the matter."
Footsteps sounded on the boardwalk to his right, and he glanced towards the saloon. The young cowhand had left and was making his way back up the street towards the hotel.
"Maybe I should take you to some of the committee meetings," Mary sighed. "It might hurry things along. As it is, it took two weeks just to decide to have a dance. It will be months before they figure out who's going to be in charge of the food and the decorations and the music…" She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "There are days when I honestly wonder how on earth I get myself into these things."
Chris nodded sympathetically. "I ask myself that question all the time," his green eyes baited her. "usually it has something to do with a firebrand newspaper woman I know."
Mary scowled at him, but he could tell she was enjoying the sparring match. "Just for that, you are going to owe me a waltz."
"A waltz?"
"You do waltz, don't you Mr. Larabee?"
He shifted his gaze away from her to the street. No. He did not. –Not since Sarah, anyways. A brilliant flash of plum moved past his line of vision and he noted Ezra coming back across the street from the jail. The southerner, having observed the young card player's departure, was heading back towards the saloon with Buck in tow. The two men drew a table and two chairs from the building's murky interior and placed them strategically on the boardwalk, where they might enjoy the warm sunshine of the late October afternoon.
Inez came out then and took their drink orders. Buck, ever the hopeless romancer, offered her a brilliant smile and whatever line he'd most recently been polishing for her benefit. They were far enough away that Chris could not make out her reply, but he judged from Ezra's snort of laughter and Wilmington's befuddled expression that the bar maid had just dealt Buck's ego a mortal blow. He chuckled and shook his head.
"Poor old Buck, he doesn't stand a chance."
"Neither does Ezra," Mary Travis murmured.
The remark caused Chris to swivel his head about in surprise. "What?" he said, not quite certain he had heard her correctly. From what he had been able to see, Standish showed about as much interest in women as he did in making large charitable donations from his own pocket.
Mary was now studying the trio with undisguised interest, her reporter's eye taking in every small detail of their interaction, and her womanly intuition reading between the lines to interpret what Chris had missed.
"You are absolutely right," Mary said. "Buck doesn't stand a chance with Inez… and Ezra doesn't stand a chance against her."
Chris laughed and shook his head in disbelief. "Are you saying she's set her cap for Standish?" He glanced quickly about them and then took care to lower his voice, aware that they were sharing private speculations in what was still a very public setting. "I think even Inez has more sense than that."
"Watch her," Mary said quietly, nodding as Inez came out with the drinks. "Buck speaks to her, flatters her, tries to get her attention, but she never quite meets his eyes. She looks at Ezra. She smiles at Ezra."
And, Chris noted silently, it was Ezra whose shoulder she patted as she turned and walked away. He felt a small twinge of unease as he watched the woman disappear back into the saloon. He did not really know Inez well, had barely exchanged more than a few words with her in the months since she had come to town, but she struck him as honest and hardworking and decent. –Too good, a few might say, for the likes of Ezra Standish. Part of him hoped that Mary was wrong. Any woman who thought herself in love with the gambler was likely to find heartbreak instead of hearts and flowers.
He shook his head. "I don't reckon much will come of it. Ezra ain't exactly the settling down type."
Neither were you, Mary thought with a touch of grim amusement, …until the right woman came along. She knew better than to speak her mind aloud, however. Chris was in one of his rare and pleasant moods and she was of no mind to upend it. IT was not often that he spared the time to tease and chat with her, and she savored it, for it offered a tantalizing glimpse of the man he must have been before the deaths of his wife and son.
On the other hand, she didn't particularly care for the smug way in which he dismissed her observations. Larabee was entirely too cocky as it was. Perhaps she sould leave him with something to stew over. She fixed him with what she hoped was an innocent smile.
"Are you willing to place a friendly wager on that?"
He returned her smile with a lazy grin. "Why Mrs. Travis, you'd best be careful or people will be thinking you've been corrupted." Still, he could not hide the speculative interest that lurked in his dark green eyes. After the briefest moment of hesitation, he asked "Just what did you have in mind?"
"Well, she said carefully, fixing her gaze upon the two men who were easily enjoying their beer and a card game on the boardwalk, oblivious to this intense observation, "seeing as how you never did answer my question, I suppose I could be gracious and let you off the hook."
You could, Chris thought grimly, but you won't. And she didn't.
"Mr. Larabee, I'll wager you that when the Valentine's Dance finally rolls around, it will be Mr. Standish dancing the last waltz with Inez rather than Mr. Wilmington."
"And if you're wrong?" Chris asked.
"Then you can bask in the knowledge that you were right and I am merely the victim of foolish womanly notions."
"And if you're right?"
Mary looked squarely at him then, and there was a feral edge to her smile. He rather thought he liked it …until she replied. "Why then, Mr. Larabee, you will owe me a waltz."
"High stakes," he murmured, maintaining his calm façade even as he felt the trap spring shut. "You sure you're holding the winning hand?"
The mischievous glint in her blue eyes told him that she was far more certain than he was. Bending forward slightly, she offered him a conspiratorial whisper, along with the briefest whiff of lavender soap. "I'm sure you know a great deal about men, Mr. Larabee, which is why you are so sure of how Ezra might respond, but let me share with you one little secret about women."
"What's that?" he said quietly, hardly able to breathe in the short distance that lay between her face and his. She was fixing him with that damnable, knowing vixen's smile.
"We always get our man."