“We have a nodding acquaintance. Isn’t that right? Doyle? Willet?” When neither man spoke, the judge added, “I know their daddy a mite better, but these two have passed in front of my bench now and again. Just passed, mind you. Slippery. The pair of them. What was it last time, boys? Something about welshing on a bet. Or was it about a missing side of beef? I had to throw it out because the man who brought the complaint didn’t show for court.”
“Interesting,” said Brewer. “So, Doyle, do you see your gun on the table or not?”
Doyle shifted his weight from side to side. “No, sir, I guess I don’t see it. Come to think of it, I left my gun behind.”
Judge Miner nodded. “There you go, Sheriff. No gun. What about you, Willet? Were you carrying?”
Willet pointed to a scarred brown leather belt with an ivory grip six-shooter in the holster. “That’s mine.”
Sheriff Brewer picked it up, examined it, and returned it to the table. “I’m not comfortable passing it to you right now, but if no one else claims it by the end of the night, I’ll have it for you tomorrow in my office. You can come by and pick it up. How’s that suit?”
“That’d be fine,” said Willet.
“Excellent.” Judge Miner removed his arm from around Willet’s shoulders and patted him on the back. “You boys go along now, and make sure you’re riding out on what you rode in.”
Jackson watched them go. “Is it my imagination, or do they look like they’re struggling not to run?”
“Probably not your imagination. They have what you’d call a natural inhibition when it comes to the law.”
“You sure? Doyle Putty talked to me for quite a spell earlier.”
“Huh. First I heard of a Putty doing that. Mostly they try to steer clear. I probably only see them a quarter of the time I should, but on the other hand, they’re probably only guilty of about half the things folks credit them with. You’ll have to figure out how that adds up. I was never good with fractions.”
• • •
Inside the barn, Remington and Phoebe were making no headway against the fire. They extinguished flames blanketing two of the bales, but while they worked, the fire spread to more stalls.
Remington circled Phoebe’s waist with an arm and dragged her away from the heat and billowing smoke. When they were close to the door, he released her waist and set his hands on her shoulders. Her face was streaked with soot and beaded with sweat. Her eyes were awash in bitterly angry tears. She held the smoldering blanket she had been using to fight the fire in front her, one corner in each blackened fist.
Remington lowered his head, met her eyes. “Listen to me. We can’t win this. We’re going to lose the barn, but that’s all we’ve been fighting to save. The fire is our escape, Phoebe. We just have to keep it from reaching us until someone on the outside recognizes what’s happened. We’ll be in the most danger after they remove the bar and open the door. The fire will leap this way. We won’t be able to stop it. It will beat our rescuers back, and you and I will have to move quickly and be ready to take Ellie and Ben with us.”
“Mr. Shoulders?”
“Ellie and Ben first.”
Phoebe nodded. “I can drag Ellie out.”
Remington took the blanket from her hands. “You get under the smoke. Stay beside the door, not in front of it. It won’t be long.” He pointed to the loft. Floating embers hadignited some of the bales forming the barricade. “The roof’s next. We want the fire to break through there.”
Remington waited until Phoebe crouched below the smoke before he left her side. He wrapped the blanket he took from her around his shoulders and grabbed a second one to pull over his head. Without a word of his intentions, Remington ran headlong into the wall of fire. He heard Phoebe cry out and recognized it as a cry for him not as sign that she was in danger. He ignored it.
His goal was the ladder on the other side of the dancing, crackling flames. He threw off his blankets, grabbed hold of a slat, and began to climb. When he reached the loft, he shoved several of the burning bales out of his way, and then raised the ladder to use like a battering ram against the roof. He struck again and again. His arms trembled with the weight of the ladder and the jarring force he was using to punch a hole. Wood cracked and creaked but it was impossible to know if the cause was his relentless effort or the work of the equally insistent fire.
None of it was as welcome to his ears as the sound of Phoebe heaping curses on his head. Apparently she had a list of them.
• • •
Thaddeus opened his arms to Fiona and invited her to sit on his lap. He expelled a breath when she collapsed heavily on the seat he made for her.
“Did you justoof?” she asked, leaning backward to get a better look at his face.
He pretended ignorance. Sometimes it was a husband’s only defense. “Hmm?”
Fiona patted his cheek. “I’m going to let that go.” She slipped off his lap and onto the bench beside him and promptly rested her head against his shoulder. “I am exhausted, Thaddeus, and replete, and I cannot remember when I have enjoyed myself more. Judge Miner would not release me. I had to beg him for a drink so I could sneak away.”
Thaddeus chuckled. “He was resting his legs under a poker table most of the day.”
“Ah, so that’s where he disappeared after the ceremony. Have you seen Remington? Phoebe? They shouldn’t leave without saying farewell to their guests.”
