Like two looming predators, Hank and Randall loitered under the cool awning of the saloon's porch. Rowdy dregs trotted in and out completely oblivious to the pair, stocking the route Celina took down the street, with their eyes. Hank leaned back in the shadows, one leg bent up supporting himself against the wall by the window. His lips closed around the stout cigar which cast long curling tendrils of smoke before his face. Forcing himself not to react, he observed the way Celina covered one side of her face as she rushed towards the boarding house. Hank shrugged his shoulders with a complacent grin, and stretching his torso, he lightly chuckled. He'd heard the dense smack and rattle of the glass panes from his position, yet hadn't dared to hope.
Randall was ever on point, and the moment he saw Celina pass, his line of sight fell back on the front of the barbershop, waiting. With his elbows leaning on the round hitching post, Randall rested his chin in his palm, the tips of his fingers resting on his bottom lip. The maroon shades that lined the roofs of the walk shadowed the glass panes, blocking any view inside the shop, Randall would have hoped to see. Moments slipped by and still no movement from within; no volatile expressions cried out, only quiet and only calm. Randall perched upwards now balancing his forearms on the posts. "Gently boy…gently," he murmured in a droll manner, as though Jake could hear him.
Hank pushed himself off the wall and came to stand beside Randall.
"Hmmmmm," Hank hummed thoughtfully wondering which outcome had won out. Either Teresa had hit Jake as well, knocking him out cold, or what he thought had transpired hadn't actually occurred. Randall stood up straight now, hooking his thumbs at the back rim of his black pants. His whole body shrugged as he stood like a slack pillar in juxtaposition to Hank's mountain like stance. Thus, the pair continued to wait. At an interval, the two felines turned to each other mentally deciding to walk out and investigate, when the shop's door swung open. Teresa was nursing her hand as she waited for Jake to lock up the barbershop.
Jake stretched one arm protectively about her as he ushered her down the steps and across the street. There was determination in his step as he blocked her from the outside of the street, and brought her up on the clinics walk. Hank called out to him only to watch as Jake unflinchingly walked Teresa into the clinic.
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The inside of the clinic was a blessing from the thickly heated air of the brightly lit street. Although she didn't feel she needed to be fawned over, Teresa conceded, allowing Dr. Mike to examine her hand. As Michaela's skilled fingers firmly pressed along every bone and joint, Teresa watched Jake. He was standing akimbo, with his eyes glued to every reaction elicited by the two women. Finally, as she worked her way into the swollen palm, Teresa flinched involuntarily jerking away from Michaela. The swift action had Jake nearly jumping out of his skin with worry. She was only back a night and a day, and already he had failed to keep her safe.
"Sorry," the corner of Teresa's mouth curled up sympathetically, as she offer her hand again. Her soft mahogany hued eyes settled warmly on Jake's face, somehow soothing his wild agitation.
Michaela only smiled, patting her hand very gingerly. "I don't believe anything is broken." She focused professionally once more, as she gave the skin another look. "The flesh does appear to be rather raw…Katie will you fill that bowl with water, please?"
"Sure, Ma," she parted from her observations of her mother's examination, in order to carry out her new assistant's duty.
"She bruises real easy," Jake offered stepping out of Katie's way as she brought the shallow porcelain bowl of water, and placed it on the examination table.
"I want it to soak a little to bring down the swelling, before I wrap it," Michaela went on plunging Teresa's hand into the refreshingly cold liquid. "Calendula should bring the swelling down as well."
"I will pick some from the garden when we get home," Teresa nodded in agreement.
As Katie busied herself readying the gauze wrappings, the trio eyed one another nervously. Matters had escalated badly, and they knew they had to talk. Jake nodded in Katie's direction remaining silent as he drew closer to Teresa's side. Nibbling on her lower lip, Michaela ran through her mental list of excuses.
"Katie, why don't you run over to Graces and see how Lucy and Izzy are doing?" Michaela looked to Teresa.
"Yes," Teresa added catching on. "Perhaps, you could ask Cloud Dancing if he would take them home."
Katie's brow disappeared beneath her coppery bangs, as she observed the tension emanating from the adults. Her sapphire eyes took them each in, adding up the strangeness of this visit. It was odd that her mother hadn't asked Mrs. Slicker how she had hurt her hand. Odd how Mr. Slicker was hovering like a nervous bee about his wife. Vaguely, she wondered if this had anything to do with Lucy's suspicions about Ms. Marrow. However, the blithe thread that was woven within her, that was her father, took over. She relented with a happy nod, exiting the clinic for Graces.
As Michaela opened her mouth about to bombard the couple with questions, the clinic's door hastily swung open again, revealing the incongruous duo of Randall and Hank. On seeing the testy nature of Teresa's injury, Randall haphazardly bypassed Hank, to get to her side. Though his concern was purely platonic, Jake dug his brows down, watching Randall surveying his wife.
"You give her something to remember you by?" Randall quipped motioning toward her hand.
"Rather shamefully…Yes," she felt a blush blooming at her cheeks, at her emboldened retaliation on Celina. It had frightened her to have struck out at someone. Even someone as vile as that woman. Teresa looked to Michaela who was now holding her hand up to her face, in awe. If Teresa's hand was any indication of the blow, she might soon see that detestable woman in the clinic.
During this exchange, Hank had sauntered behind Michaela's desk and made himself at home in her chair. With his elbows perched on the armrests, he'd laced his fingers over his stomach, watching. Watching the way Jake's jealousy simmered, at the way this newcomer had taken a liking to Teresa. Sure, he was aware of the fact that there was nothing there, but the absurd possibilities which were no doubt sprouting in Jake's mind, tickled him. Hank's Cheshire cat's smile drew Michaela's displeased attentions, as she crossed the crowded room to look down at him.
"Hank. You'd better have a good reason for walking in here like this," she fumed placing her hands on the edge of her desk. A small shaft of light had cast upon her face, through the window, lighting up the deep honey tint and soft olive green hue of her eyes. One finely shaped brow rose with an air of daring.
Unperturbed, Hank nodded joyously in Jake's direction, "An' it's a reason I got…But uh…I'd be more concerned with the green eyed monster brewin' over there."
Michaela followed Hank's line of sight seeing how Jake was misplacing his stress. She sighed pinching the bridge of her elegant nose, ignoring Hank's complacent yucks. Cool as ever, Michaela made a beeline to Teresa purposefully cutting between Randall and Jake. Teresa handed her a roll of gauze, and another sympathetic smile, knowing how stifling the small room had become. Meekly, Teresa tapped Jake's chest with the back of her good hand. This small action immediately softened Jake's face, as he looked from Michaela's exasperated expression, to Teresa's exhausted look of longing and turned to Hank.
"Hank!" Jake dropped his hands to his sides, impatiently.
"Alright," he leaned forward in Michaela's chair. Ruefully, he reached into the square bulge of his charcoal jacket and produced the framed picture. At this time Randall had backed away leaning close to the door of the clinic.
"What is it? " Jake swiped the pilfered frame from Hank's clutching hands.
A silence fell over the room as Jake stared down at the eerily familiar face of the man. He was no kin to him, and yet they seemed to share uncannily similar facial features. His eyes then drifted to the face of the mother, an obviously fair haired woman which didn't tug at his senses the way the man had. However, what quailed Jake the most was the striking exactness in shape as well as attitude, the small babe had with Izzy. It was more than resemblance. Izzy could be this child, exactly. Teresa leaned back against Jake's chest, craning her head, as Michaela finished wrapping her hand.
"Jake!" she gasped taking the frame from his loose grip. "My god!"
With serene curiosity, Michaela pressed her fingertips on the top edge of the simple frame, "May I?"
Teresa gratefully relinquished the frightening foretoken, into what she deemed to be Michaela's much more logical hands. Shifting her gaze from Jake's face and back to the man in the picture, Michaela's mind raced. She sorted through all rash possibilities, searching for clinical explanations, if not psychological ones.
"There's ah…something written on the back," Randall caught Teresa's eye, indicating to her that he was just as curious to know what the script said. But it was Michaela who turned the frame around reading the words aloud.
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The bills felt crisp and thick in his hand as he slipped the monetary parchment with his thumb into his other hand. Five dollars, ten dollars, twenty dollars, all of the percentage of his own take from Celina's profits. It was all adding up splendidly in Loren's mind. He may expand the upstairs of the mercantile, and give the Reverend and himself some extra room. But why stop there? He could practically feel the pile of cash growing heavy in his hand. Maybe have some workers in to install that fancy indoor plumbing, Preston was always lobbying for in his campaign to push Colorado Springs into more modern times. Why even Jake had been playing with the idea of having one built into the house, before his wife had gone out of town. He could beat them all to it, and be the first man to the top of the throne.
However, the sudden thought of Jake brought him low. It burst every bubble he had floating up around his head. For once, he'd tried to remain indifferent to the gossip circulating about his new golden goose, as Hank had so crudely put it. It wasn't effecting business; in fact, it was bringing business in. The men found her intriguing, for all the wrong reasons, but they bought from her any article she suggested. The women came to gawk, but stayed to have their dresses made in the finest styles. Whatever the smudge may be on Celina, there was no doubt she was spectacular at wielding her skill.
Yet, no matter how Loren tried to justify the sudden fortune he was reaping, he saw Jake's face. Saw the pained and haggard look that weighed down on his appearance. Even Loren had to admit that since the girls had come along, Jake's countenance had taken on a fresh and youthful vigor. Not even in his bachelor youth, had Loren seen him quite so carefree, and almost gallant. It was a change taken for granted, until this passed week, with the absence of Teresa. The side of Loren's mouth curled downward, as he hung his head from side to side in thought. Seeing his friend so miserable, had shown the stark contrast between the man from the past and the man that had grown. And these visions only served to trolley the little faces of Lucy and Izzy before him. What was he thinking asking their mother to bring Lucy here for a fitting? Their mother…Hadn't she proved herself to be quite a fine lady today in church among all the clucking tongues and watchful eyes of the town. He knew better then any, how she'd sat there knowing every unscrupulous rumor about Ms. Marrow and Jake, and yet she had smiled.
"Mr. Bray? Mr. Bray?" her voice pulled him out of his torturous thoughts. It was then, that he realized he'd been standing behind the glass counter frozen, with his hand clutched around his profits. Gruffly, Loren cleared his throat, shaking himself from his stupor. His cheeks jostled slightly with the sudden motion as he rubbed his bottom lip with the back of his finger.
"Mrs. Jenkins! What brings you lovely ladies in today?" he addressed the mother and her three teenaged daughters.
The mousey woman smiled politely, beaming with the title he'd given them, "Well, what with school startin' thought I'd better get these three in forah fittin, 'fore the rush starts again. 'Dah think Ms. Marrow can fit them all in?"
"Why sure," Loren quickly locked away his earnings into the small cash box on the counter. He shuffled around under the shelves producing Celina's schedule of appointments which was clipped to a thickly slabbed writing board. The round tip of his finger followed the lines of entries, until he found an empty row. He grinned displaying his white teeth, as he removed the short pencil which had been resting behind his ear. "Can fit you all in Monday morning. How'd that be?"
The three brunettes inhaled excitedly separating from their mother, so that they might peruse the dress patterns and catalogues around Celina's currently empty station. Mrs. Jenkins shoulders fell with the kind of tired pleasure any busy mother would have. "That'd be fine, Mr. Bray," she moved to join her ecstatic daughters. "See you Monday."
Another five, another ten, maybe another twenty dollars, which would be in his hand by tomorrow morning. He could already see Dorothy's wide eyed, disappointed expression, as he penciled in Mrs. Jenkins' daughters. An unsettling feeling cradled down in his stomach, for what should he do?