A/N: Thanks X-phoenix for all the inputs. I'm sorry, but I'm a sucker for cliffhangers and slow burning romances - so are you, apparently. I have a hunch you'll like this chapter. And you're an amazing writer. I'd love to read your Western.
Anyone else reading? Let me hear your thoughts.
Chapter 7 – The Sheriff.
Two weeks passed before I had to return to Fredericksburg. It was past three in the afternoon when Peter suddenly came to the house. At first, I thought he might be searching for Kitty, since I had noticed that he used whatever opportunity he had to be near the girl – preferably out of James's sight. Yet this time, it was Logan he was looking for.
"I found the remains of a dead pig near the barn. I think a wolf may be attacking the drove," he told me, sounding very worried.
I advised him to look in the distillery. Five minutes later, James marched into the house with Peter and Kitty in tow.
"Where's the damn rifle?" he asked no one in particular as he glanced around the kitchen. Logan always carried a revolver with him, but the Henry Repeater was for special occasions only.
"Try behind the door," I said.
He found the gun exactly where I told him it would be. After checking the ammunition, he announced, "Pete and I are goin' huntin'. Ya girls stay here."
"What about Ms. Frost's delivery? She's expecting ten casks of bourbon at five o'clock today," Katherine reminded him.
"This is more urgent, pumpkin," Logan replied. "We gotta find this wolf before he slays the whole flock."
The girl disagreed. "But The White Queen is our best client, dad. If we don't deliver the bourbon in time, Ms. Frost won't ever buy from us again."
"Not to mention, she'll tell every other saloon owner in town that we've messed up. That woman can put us out of business in one day," Peter added.
"Ya think I don't know that, kid?" James retorted, visibly upset. "We have no other option."
Except that we did have one option, I realized. "Wait. What if…" I began tentatively, and three pairs of eyes instantly fell on me. I cleared my throat and straightened up my pose. "What if Kitty and I deliver the casks while you boys hunt this wolf? I can ride the wagon to Fredericksburg."
"Ya outta your mind, Jean? These roads are dangerous!" James yelled, glaring crossly at me.
But Katherine knew we could do it. "We'll take our guns, dad. We'll be careful," she promised, her big eyes filled with hope.
"No, damnit! It's too risky!"
"No, it's not, Logan. It's only a three-mile drive. If we leave now, we'll be back before dinner time," I tried to reason with him.
"You know we can't lose The White Queen," Kitty insisted.
James took off his hat and angrily ran a hand through his thick black hair as he paced around the kitchen considering all the scenarios. After a moment, he huffed and said, "Fine! But Pete goes with ya."
"You can't hunt a wolf by yourself, dad!"
"I can, and I will. Now off ya go."
Up to this day, I'm yet to meet someone as stubborn as James Howlett. Nonetheless, I tried to dissuade him. "Logan, going after a wolf by yourself is a terrible idea. You can't be serious about this!"
"I'm dead-serious, Red. Now grab your guns and go before I change my mind!"
Hesitantly, Kitty, Peter, and I left in the freight wagon. I rode those horses as fast as I could because none of us wanted to leave Logan alone for long. That said, we made it to the White Queen in less than thirty minutes.
While Peter brought the barrels inside, Kitty and I went looking for Ms. Frost so that we could get paid. It was late afternoon on a Friday, and the saloon was starting to get crowded. Scanning the place, we couldn't find Emma Frost, but Sean Cassidy was on his usual spot behind the counter.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Cassidy."
"Howdy, lassies," he greeted us with his customary broad smile. "How're ye doing today?"
"Fine, thank you," I replied. "My brother couldn't come, but we've brought the ten casks that Ms. Frost's ordered. Is she around?"
"Aye, but I'll take care of it fer ye today, Ms. Laura. The boss's kinda busy right now."
The barman pointed up to the stairs leading to the upper floor. Following his index finger, I saw Emma Frost helping a tall gentleman as he stumbled across the mezzanine to one of the bedrooms. However, before both of them could disappear into the room, the man turned around long enough for our gazes to meet.
I recognized him immediately – it was Scott Summers, or what was left of the town's sheriff after fifteen ounces of whiskey, judging by the nearly empty bottle dangling from his fingers. Even from a substantial distance, it was evident that the man wasn't well, for his hair was completely disheveled and his eyes were unfocused and red; plus, his badge was missing from his vest. For a brief moment, I thought he had recognized me too, because he abruptly halted by the banisters and seemed to sober up a little. But then he whirled around and threw himself in Emma's arms.
"Wow. I didn't know that Sheriff Summers was such a drunkard," Kitty commented with me and Mr. Cassidy.
"That's 'cause he ain't, sugah," a brunette waitress named Anna Marie cut in as she stopped by the counter to retrieve a new order. She glanced from left to right, then motioned with her free hand for the three of us to get closer and whispered, "Rumor has it that his wife ran away with his brothah last naght."
"His wife and his brother? That's awful, Marie! I'm so sad for him," Katherine lamented.
"I guess dat explains why de sheriff's drunken like skunk, non?" a man with a heavy Cajun accent spoke behind us, prompting us to turn around.
"Remy!" the waitress shrieked. "I thought ya're avoidin' this place, ya' swamp rat!"
"Cher, you know dat I can't stay away from your charms for too long," the newcomer explained flirtatiously, draping one arm across her shoulders.
Mr. Cassidy was quick to reprimand him. "LeBeau, ye touch one of the lassies, ye pay. Ye know the rules, boyo."
"Oui, mon ami. Remy apologizes." The Cajun man slowly removed his arm from around Anna's neck to hold her hand and kiss it instead. She giggled in response. Then he turned to me and Kitty and tipped his hat in a charming way, saying, "Mademoiselles."
"See you, Remy. And try to go easy on the poker bets this time," Katherine advised him. Apparently, my 'niece' was acquainted to everyone in town. Also, I found out that she couldn't resist a hearsay. "Gosh! I still can't believe that Madelyne and Alex would have an affair behind Sheriff Summers' back," she repeated.
Mr. Cassidy nodded from behind the counter. "Aye. That oughta be a tough blow on the fella, with Maddie leaving him alone with the boyo."
I was never one to gossip, but that observation raised my attention. "What boy?"
"The sheriff's son," Anna Marie answered my question and went on, "It ain't enough to cheat on the man with his own blood, Madelyne has to leave her sick son behind. That lyin' minx nevah fooled me!"
The idea of a mother abandoning her sick child to run away with a lover made me nauseous. "Si-Sick? How sick?" I had to ask.
"Sick enough not to evah leave the house," the waitress told me and would continue to criticize the sheriff's wife if it weren't for one of her colleagues tapping on her back.
"Anna, love… Marshall Lehnsherr's still waiting for his pint," a woman with oriental features and British accent warned Anna Marie.
"Oops! Thanks, Betsy. Ah gotta go, sugahs," Marie said and left with her customer's drink, her movements being closely followed by Mr. Remy LeBeau.
In the meantime, Peter had finished bringing the bourbon casks inside. Mr. Cassidy checked them one by one and paid us. We could finally go home.
On our way out, we passed by a table where a huge man with dirty blonde hair and beard was sitting alone. He watched us with predatory eyes, making a show of licking his lips as I headed to the swinging doors.
Kitty must have noticed it as well because she urged me to walk faster. "Let's hurry, Laura."
Later in the wagon she told me that the mean-looking type was Victor Creed, an old rival of her dad and a first-class crook. Logan had warned her and Peter to always avoid the man. After seeing him, I could understand why.
When we returned to the ranch, James was waiting for us on the porch with his rifle in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
"Did you find the wolf?" Kitty asked as she ran up the front stairs to meet him.
"There ain't no wolf," Logan declared, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground to hug his daughter. "Some bastard slayed that pig."
I stopped on the first step. "Are you sure? Peter and I have roamed around the ranch the whole morning and we haven't seen-"
"Yeah, I'm fuckin' sure, Jean," James snapped, clearly irritated at the trespasser and perhaps also at my lack of faith in him. "The motherfucker didn't even try to erase his footprints," he explained.
"Was he a thief? Are there other animals missing?" Peter inquired.
Logan shook his head. "No, I don't think so. He didn't steal the pig, only slaughtered it."
That was beyond cruel and simply senseless to me. "Why would someone risk getting caught trespassing only to kill a farm animal?"
"To send a message," James stated.
"A message? What message?"
He ignored me. "From now on, ya'll carry your guns all the time, even inside the house. And no one leaves to town alone, ya hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Peter and Kitty answered. I still couldn't understand what was happening.
"Logan, what message?"
"Later, Jean," he said and retreated to the distillery.
Once again, I was left wondering what kind of ugly secrets James Howlett kept.
The summer holidays eventually came to an end, and on the following Monday, Katherine returned to school. Since she was not allowed to walk the roads alone, Logan would give her a ride in the morning and either he or Peter would pick her up in the afternoon.
I was busy preparing lunch when James came in from the distillery. He set his cowboy hat on the hook behind the door and sniffed the air.
"Whatcha cookin', Red?"
"Brisked beef with gravy and vegetables," I told him as I stirred the sauce.
"Hum… It smells damn good!"
Logan hadn't spoken much to me since the incident with the pig, but I had attributed it to him being concerned and simply ill-mannered. That morning, however, he had been hovering around me like a bee around the honeypot. I couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling guilty for the way he had been treating me lately.
Distracted by what I was doing, I didn't sense him approaching me. All of a sudden, he was spying the pots on the stove over my right shoulder, his masculine scent of sweat and spices invading my nostrils. I froze on the spot, my heart racing.
"Somethin' wrong, Red?" he whispered very slowly next to my ear, not one inch of his skin touching mine. We hadn't been this close since the last time we had gone shooting; like that day, his breath against my cheek was enough to send goosebumps all over my body.
Feeling my throat dry, I gulped. "No-no, I uh-"
"Excuse me," someone said from behind us. Logan and I whipped around at once, his hand rapidly reaching for the revolver in his holster.
"Summers!" James narrowed his eyes and strode like a mad cowboy towards the man standing in our doorway. He halted inches from his face. "What the hell are ya doin' in my house?"
Sheriff Summers was clad in his full lawman outfit, the star badge shining proudly on his chest. This was an official visit, I concluded.
"I'm sorry, Logan, but the door was ajar. I knocked first, though," he let us know.
James responded with a couple of insults that seemed to amuse the sheriff. I used the opportunity to take a deep breath and pull myself together. I had been very, very careless. Stupidly careless. Had the sheriff seen me and James together? If so, did he suspect we weren't related? And more important, why was he here?
Logan almost barked the next words. "What d'ya want with me?"
Sheriff Summers removed his hat and timidly held it down in his two hands. "Actually, I came to talk to your sister," he informed us, his caramel brown eyes diverting from my 'brother' to rest on my face.
"M-Me?" I stammered nervously. A thousand thoughts crossed my mind in that moment. Did he know about me killing Shaw? Had Selene or Jason sent him to arrest me? Did they want me dead or alive? Was there a bounty on my head? I suddenly regretted not having ever kissed James.
Before Logan had time to protest, the sheriff gave two steps in my direction. "Miss Howlett, I'm Scott Summers," he began, his tone very soft. "I heard from Miss Frost that you're a schoolteacher. I was wondering if you'd be interested in homeschooling a difficult nine-year-old."
"W-What?" I stammered again.
"My boy, Nathan Christopher. He can't attend school with other kids due to an illness, so I thought that maybe, as a certified teacher, you'd be interested in tutoring him," the sheriff clarified, and added, "You say the price, ma'am, and I'll pay it."
Relief washed over me as I realized that he suspected nothing about me being the fugitive Mrs. Wyngarde. Perhaps I had been paranoic in the previous months and my husband wasn't even searching for me.
I studied Scott Summers for a moment. There was so much fatherly love and hope in his eyes! It made me want to help his son, even more because I knew that his wife had abandoned them. The problem was, I wasn't really a teacher; I had exactly zero experience with children. Therefore, I didn't know how to answer to his offer.
Logan broke the silence for me. "Why can't ya teach him? Ya went to school."
The sheriff sighed. "Because Nate would never listen to me. Madelyne used to tutor him, and now…" his words trailed off, and a sorrowful look impregnated his features for a second but he quickly recomposed himself. "Besides, I've been too busy with work since Marshall Lehnsherr arrived in Fredericksburg."
"And why's he here?" my 'brother' inquired.
Summers eyed him sharply. "That's classified."
James shrugged his shoulders. "Then good luck findin' a tutor, bub."
"Logan…" I began, but he motioned with his palm for me to be quiet. I trusted him, so I acquiesced.
"That's unfair, Logan. Even for your standards," the sheriff countered.
James sat on one of the chairs and lit up a cigarette, taking one lazy drag. "Ya scratch my back, I scratch yours… sheriff."
I had never witnessed this coercive side of Logan, and I had no idea what he planned to attain with that conversation; but suddenly Summers pulled a chair and sat opposite of him. "Fine. We play it your way, you bastard," he retorted, earning a pleased chuckle from James. "Some red-haired lady assaulted a rich fella up in Springfield and torched his house. The local authorities have searched all over Missouri and now there's an arrest warrant for her in other states. Marshall Lehnsherr's demanded my aid in the case."
I felt all color leaving my face and my knees going weak; I had to hold onto the kitchen table to avoid collapsing on the floor. Logan, on the other hand, remained impassive.
"Redhead, huh? And how big's the bounty on this broad again?" he asked with interest.
"One thousand dollars," Summers revealed. My grip on the table tightened.
"One grand? Wow! She must be somethin', this lady ya're lookin' for," James stated, turning to me at last. "Ya hear it, Laura? One grand!" he chortled before addressing the sheriff again. "Unfortunately, the last redhead I saw was your wife, and I heard she ain't around anymore. But I'll let ya know if I see one."
Summers's jaw tightened, and I had to wonder how clever it was for Logan to keep provoking the man. Yet, in an immense display of self-control, the sheriff ignored James's bait and looked at me instead.
"About my son… will you help me, Miss Howlett?"
I hesitated. "I-I…"
"Please."
"My sister will think about it," James butted in, eyes fixed on the lawman.
The sheriff stood up abruptly. "Think about it? Logan, we've just agreed that-"
"We haven't agreed shi-"
"I'll do it."
Both quitted with the stare contest to look at me. Sheriff Summers appeared to be grateful, but James seemed irritated.
"Laura, darlin', we need to discuss it first. Ya've got duties in this ranch," he reminded me.
"But teaching children is what I love to do, Logan," I replied, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He was the one who had made up that story, after all. "Besides, the sheriff says he'll compensate me. We can use the money to hire more help."
"Does four dollars a week sound fair to you? I can pay in advance," the sheriff offered, and I nodded. "Great. When can you start?"
"How about tomorrow morning?"
"Perfect!" he exclaimed, smiling at me. I decided that he had a nice smile. Truth be told, Scott Summers didn't look bad when he wasn't desperately storming into a pharmacy or completely inebriated. His deep voice woke me from my daydream. "Nathan will be ready at nine. This is our address," he said as he jotted down a street name and number on a piece of paper. "Thank you, Miss Howlett. I'll see you tomorrow."
Sheriff Summers bowed to me, then put on his hat and left. As soon as we heard his horse speeding away, Logan started to yell at me.
"What the hell d'ya think ya just did? In case ya haven't heard, Red, that man's lookin' for ya!"
"I know!" I shouted back, dropping myself on the chair the sheriff had just vacated. "God, Logan, why did you let him think I'd help him if he told you why the Marshall was in town?"
"It's called bluffin', Jean, ya weren't supposed to agree to it! Jesus!" he put out his cigarette on the wooden table, fiercely smashing the butt. I glared at him, because how in the Lord's name was I supposed to know what he had in mind? He eyed me and sighed. "Look, I heard Bishop -he's Summer's second in command- sayin' somethin' about a fugitive woman yesterday. I needed to know if it was ya."
"And you didn't think about telling me sooner?" I yelled.
"What good would that have done, huh? I needed to be sure first," he reasoned.
"Oh God!" I put my head in my hands and began to sob. "One thousand dollars, Logan! Jason is offering one thousand dollars for my head!"
"I heard it."
"That means he won't stop until he finds me."
"He won't find ya," he said, but that only made me cry harder. "Hey. Look at me," he reached for my hands over the table, forcing me to meet his gaze. "He won't find ya. I promise."
"But…"
"No buts," James squeezed my hands encouragingly. "Listen, maybe it's a good thing ya'll be teachin' that boy. Ya do this job right, and Summers will have no reason to be suspicious of ya."
I snorted. "No pressure, huh?"
He stood up to kneel beside me. "Ya're smart, Red. Ya can pull this off," he assured me. Then he reached out with his calloused thumbs and wiped my tears away.
"Thank you," I said, giving him a small smile. Logan could have turned me over to the sheriff right there and become one of the richest men in town. But he hadn't, and I doubted that thought had even crossed his mind. Ororo had been right – the Lone Wolf was a good man. "I'll prepare lunch each morning before leaving, okay? That's still my job, and I don't want you or Peter worrying about it."
He raised one eyebrow. "Ya're gonna burn lunch every mornin'?"
I suddenly remembered the pots on the fire. "Damn!" I cursed, sprinting to the iron stove to try to save my gravy.
Logan chuckled behind me. "Ya know what, Red? One grand is peanuts for ya."