Chapter Twenty-one
Faith had taken onlya few steps away from the post and telegraph office when she met Sheriff Darcy, with the stage driver Clarence Jones immediately behind him. She almost collapsed in relief. Beau looked far too injured to prevent any further attack from Mr. Lyon. Faith had prayed the guns would keep the man sitting in that chair and Beau safe, but she’d planned to run as fast as she could all the way down the Stage Coach Road to the Darcys’ home just in case.
“Jones came to get me. Folks outside the hotel said they heard gunshots from your place,” the sheriff said as he closed the distance between them.
“Yes, I’m so glad you’re here. All is well now, but you’ll have a guest in your jail tonight.” Faith led both him and Mr. Jones inside, where, thankfully, Beau still held Mr. Lyon at gunpoint. “This man forced his way into my home and threatened to kidnap me. He then fought my husband when Beau arrived and tried to make him leave.”
“That’s the fellow I brought in on the stage yesterday,” Mr. Jones said from where he stood by the door.
Sheriff Darcy put Mr. Lyon in handcuffs, as the man sputtered in protest with incoherent words about New Orleans and a friend shot dead. Faith ignored him and went to Beau. She took the guns from him and urged him to sit, which he did, slowly and with his eyes closed.
“I should fetch the doctor,” Faith said, settling herself on the settee next to Beau.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
Faith doubted that last part, given how much pain he appeared to be in now. She looked to Sheriff Darcy. “Sheriff, is it all right if we come to speak with you tomorrow morning?”
The sheriff’s eyes went to the state of Beau’s face and his dirty, rumpled clothing. “Of course.”
“You can’t keep me locked up for no reason,” Mr. Lyon protested as Sheriff Darcy led him to the door.
“I have reason enough, given the state of Mr. Landry here in his own home. You can tell me your side in the morning too.”
Faith bid the sheriff good night and then, after reassuring Mr. Jones that he could come see Beau tomorrow and seeing him off to get home to his wife, she made Beau as comfortable as he could be on the settee. Then she hastened to gather clean rags, water, and bandages. She’d lied when she told Mr. Lyon she had no spirits in the house, because in fact, she had a small bottle of whiskey that was given to Aaron upon the occasion of their wedding. She pried the bottle open now and poured just enough into a small glass for Beau.
She carried it all back to the front room and handed Beau the glass. He shook his head but Faith insisted. “It’ll dull the pain. Drink it or I’ll fetch the doctor.”
He finally relented, and after she set the empty glass on the table, Faith went to work cleaning the cuts on Beau’s face. To his credit, he only flinched once, when she first addressed the largest cut on his cheekbone.
“I imagine I’ll look particularly handsome tomorrow,” he said.
Faith smiled, glad he felt well enough to make a joke. “The bruising will be especially attractive. I’ll have to fight off the remaining widows at the door.”
He turned his head then, looking at her, his amber eyes serious. “I can leave tomorrow, if you like. I’ll find a judge in Kearney and ask him to annul our marriage.”
Faith’s heart pinched, and she dropped the hand she still held up with the wet rag into her lap. “I don’t wish for that to happen.”
