“Or a man could leave another man alone so he can do his job.”
Herod reached over and snagged the untouched whiskey, then leaned back in his chair and sipped. “I voted for you in the election.”
Isaac kept his eye on the group of men tromping through the door. “The other sheriff was dead, and I was the only name on the ballot. Everybody voted for me.”
“No, even if you’d been running against Jenkins, I would have…”
The commotion near the door grew louder. The lumberjacks dressed in red and black plaid mackinaw coats were being crowded by the two burly guards that patrolled the brothel.
Herod jutted his head in the shanty boys’ direction, then turned to him. “Have you run into much trouble with the new loggers?”
“Broke up two fights at The Wagon last week.” Isaac crossed his arms. “They said you wouldn’t let them into The Penny anymore.”
“I can’t figure out where they’re staying or what logging camp they’re working. If it’s close enough for them to come to town every night, you’d think someone would know about it.”
“Probably a haywire camp they don’t want you to find.” Though most haywire camps didn’t bother hiding. There wasn’t anything illegal about felling trees without proper equipment. Men who valued their lives knew not to work at such places, and those who didn’t, well, they were also the type to come into town and make trouble in their time off.
“Probably.” Herod fiddled with his whiskey glass, but didn’t sip. “While everyone was sick with diphtheria, they gave me enough trouble that I kicked them out.”
Which explained why they’d taken up at The Rusty Wagon. Since that bar was across the street from his apartment, it was easy enough to keep an eye on things there. But it didn’t look like he’d be getting a lot of calm, peaceful nights this winter either.
“Do you want me to remind them they’re not allowed in?” Maybe they’d listen to a man with a star on his chest better than the brutes that worked here. Isaac scooted his chair back, but Herod’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from rising.
“I’ve got it handled. Though I can’t promise you won’t have trouble with them when they leave.”
One of the guards approached their table and stopped near Herod. “The leader wants to know if a couple of them can come in and use the women.”
The sickening sensation twined through Isaac’s stomach again. What would Herod think if the town sheriff grabbed the empty whiskey glass and emptied his stomach into it?
“Two at a time, and no service at the bar.” Herod leaned back in his chair, surveying the shanty boys. “If they prove they can behave with those rules, then we’ll discuss opening the bar to them. They need to understand I run a tight establishment. I don’t want trouble here, and neither does the sheriff.”
“I don’t want trouble anywhere, Herod, including a brawl on the street right outside your door.”
The other man shrugged, evidently not concerned as long as none of his glassware or tables would be ruined in a fight.
“All right.” The guard turned and headed back for the door, his slow plod causing the other patrons to quiet and watch as he passed.
A few moments later, whoops and hollers sounded from the loggers. Then one of them made a big production of stepping forward and heading toward a waitress. He tipped her head back and kissed her on the lips, causing more hollers to follow. Then he grabbed the woman’s hand and tugged her toward the staircase. She didn’t seem to mind in the least, even turned back to the room, winked, and blew everyone a kiss before she disappeared up the stairs.
Isaac nearly reached for the empty whiskey glass.
“Daisy was a good choice.” Herod drained the last of his swill. Did the man sense that he might need to empty the contents of his stomach into two of the cups? “Men always leave her bed happy. If you change your mind about my offer, I’d recommend Star for you. She’s the quieter type. Won’t mind your brooding.”
Star and Daisy. What kind of names were those? And what kind of man found enjoyment in letting an entire brothel know he was taking a woman to bed? Isaac pushed back from the table and stood. “There doesn’t seem to be much trouble in here tonight. I’ll be either at The Wagon or my office if you need me.”
Herod’s loud, bawdy laugh followed him across the room.
If he had a choice, this would be the last time he ever darkened the door of The Pretty Penny. But Eagle Harbor had two bars, one of which had a brothel upstairs, and most of the trouble in town broke out where the drinking took place. If he wasn’t seen a couple times a week in those two places, then he was going to have a hard time maintaining order.
He grabbed his coat from one of the guards at the door, who’d taken it off its peg when the man had seen him coming. He shoved his arms through the sleeves before stepping out into the November night. The cold blade of wind off the lake sucked the air from his lungs. He stood in the road for a moment, looking east toward where the drive to his family’s cabin lay a quarter mile down the road. Elijah would be there, alive and well despite the dangerous rescue he’d made yesterday. The lout was probably sitting by the woodstove with Victoria this very second, and Victoria just might have one of the O’Byrne children snuggled in her lap.
But instead of turning toward the warmth of his childhood home, he headed down North Street toward The Rusty Wagon. He supposed this was what a man got when he decided to run for town sheriff while on his death bed. Did it matter his mind hadonly been half working when he’d agreed to such a thing, and that the working part had been convinced he was going to die?
Now that he’d been out of quarantine and wearing a star on his chest for two weeks, it was becoming more and more apparent that he didn’t have the first clue what he was doing.
Isaac dug into his pockets for his gloves, then slipped them on. Ahead, the lights from The Rusty Wagon poured out the bar’s windows. And across the street, a dimmer light filtered through the downstairs window of Jessalyn’s seamstress shop, just like it always did this time of night. It seemed the woman never slept, always staying up until the wee hours of the morning to finish her mending after her girls had gone to bed.
Would that change with Thomas here? Maybe yes and maybe no, but one thing had already changed concerning Jessalyn—his help was no longer needed.
