“Mostly you. She’s her steady self around people she knows, like Ben and the doc. Mrs. Springer can set her teeth on edge but that’s because Ma knows her too well, if you take my meaning.”
Roen refrained from saying that he understood perfectly. Instead he asked, “Does she need Dr. Madison to visit her?”
“She says not.”
“All right. Careful, you’re crushing that map. Here. Let me have it.”
Clay gave it over. “I’m sorry.”
“No harm done. Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.”
“But—”
“I heard everything you said. I don’t have to go inside. I’ll stop at the door. I’m not promising that I’ll always do that or that I’ll walk to the opposite side of the street if I see your mother coming. I’d like to hear this from your mother, but I’ll respect your wishes for now.”
“They’re Hannah’s wishes, too.”
Roen nodded and placed his hand at Clay’s back and gave him a nudge. “And I had such hopes that my noble profile would carry the day.”
“Show it off to Miss Fletcher,” said Clay. “Bet she twitches.”
Chapter Nine
Deputy Hitchcock Springer entered the Butterworth’s kitchen by the back door. He made sure that Mrs. Vandergrift saw him wipe his muddy boots on the mat. She was as particular about her kitchen floor as she was about her pastries. Grinning at her, he tipped his hat. A steady stream of water poured from the brim. “Sorry. It’s raining bulls and bears out there this morning.”
The cook waggled a pancake turner at him. “Isn’t the expression ‘cats and dogs’?”
“Cats and dogs is a cliché. I aim to use my own phraseology.”
Ellie Butterworth came into the kitchen through the swinging dining room door. She looked Hitch over head to toe and shook her head. He was as lean and ropy as a steer after a two-hundred-mile cattle drive, but she knew for a fact that he ate three square meals a day because he took at least two of them at the hotel. She pointed to a stool at the heavy butcher block table. “Take off that hat and slicker, Deputy, and sit. You’re as wet as a pair of knickers after a good drubbing.”
Hitch wasn’t sure he cared for the comparison, but there was no denying he was wet through and through. He hung the slicker and his hat on a peg by the door, where they dripped water in an alternating tattoo. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair to settle the spikes and then took out a handkerchief and wiped his damp brow.
“Breakfast?” asked Ellie, seeing him eyeing the flapjacks Mrs. Vandergrift was expertly turning on the griddle.
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m here on jail business. Need a breakfast for Billy Nelson. He got himself in another tussle at the Songbird. Sheriff put him in a cell for drunk anddisorderly so he could sleep it off, and he’s going to let him go after he’s fed. Pancakes and molasses would be just the thing. Maybe a couple strips of bacon to go with it.”
Mrs. Vandergrift took a militant stance, setting one fist on the ample curve of her hip while she continued to flip pancakes. “If you ask me, seems like the sheriff is operating a hotel for wastrels. George Hotchkiss has a lie-in there a couple or three times a month. About time Ben got wise to it.”
Ellie began plating pancakes and bacon to take into the dining room. “You know better than to criticize my boy in my hearing, or you should. Leave him be. I’m not the only one saying he’s doing a fine job, and breakfast for the prisoners isn’t charity. Ben has a fund for that.”
The cook harrumphed her disapproval and left it at that.
Ellie started to excuse herself to take out the filled plates when Fedora Chen rushed in from the dining room. Hitch jumped to his feet, but in his eagerness to greet her, he knocked Ellie’s tray out of her hands. To his credit, he stretched both arms and tried to corral the tray, the plates, and one of the flying flapjacks. His feet tangled. The stool at his back wobbled and fell, landing with a thump at Mrs. Vandergrift’s feet. She jumped out of the way but not so far that she couldn’t swipe at his bony ass with her turner. He yelped because the hit surprisedandstung, and it was at that point he knew all was lost. He stopped flailing and braced himself for a fall. The tray landed with a dull thud, but the china crashed and clattered. The flapjacks did nothing to cushion his fall while the crispy bacon crackled as he crushed it.
As near as Hitch could tell, it was a full ten count before anyone spoke. That was ten long seconds of complete humiliation at the feet of Fedora Chen, when all he’d meant to do was make a good impression.
Fedora’s glossy black braid fell forward over her shoulder as she dropped to her knees beside the deputy. “Mr. Hitch?” His head was turned away from her. She touched him lightly on the arm when he didn’t stir. “Mr. Hitch? Are you all right?”
Hitch groaned. He didn’t want to face her, but he didn’t have an alternative. The flapjack under his nose was suffocating him.
“This is your fault, Chen,” Mrs. Vandergrift said in harshtones. “You came in here like your hair was on fire, and you can see what came of that. The boy was trying to show you some manners, though I can’t say he knows them or that you deserve them.”
Ellie had been watching and listening in openmouthed astonishment. Now her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “That is enough, Mrs. Vandergrift. This is no one’s fault. It was an accident. I dare you to tell Amanda Springer her son doesn’t know his manners.” She put a hand on Fedora’s shoulder. “Pick up what you can and then fetch a broom and mop. I’ll help Hitch.”
“I can get to my own damn feet.”
“Language,” Ellie said mildly. “You’re still representing the sheriff’s office. Here. Take my hand.”
