“It surely is capable of that,” Beulah yelled next.
“Areyoucapable of that?” the man called back.
Recognition finally set in and had Camilla pushing the drapery aside, but before she could yell to Beulah to stand down, Beulah shifted her stance, took aim, and fired.
A second later, a blast resounded through the air right before the hat one of the gentlemen was wearing went skittering off his head—a gentleman who just happened to be Mr. Leopold Pendleton, a dear friend of hers. He was in the company of Mr. Charles Wetzel, another friend, and obviously neither man was a threat to her, but both men were now facing imminent danger because every person in possession of a weapon, save herself, was now pointing those weapons Leopold and Charles’s way.
Fifteen
The first inkling Owen had that something might be amiss was the sight of four of the men he’d hired to guard Camilla milling about the front lawn of his country house, all of them toting rifles.
He urged George into a gallop, then swung from the saddle as he reached the closest man, Andy Sklenicka, who’d worked for Chesterfield Nails for over ten years, but more importantly, knew his way around a weapon.
“What happened?” Owen demanded, earning a shake of the head from Andy in return.
“There was a titch of a situation.”
Trepidation was immediate. “A ... titch?”
“It was the darndest thing.”
As far as responses went, that was hardly informative.
“What was?” Owen asked.
Andy gave a jaw that sported at least a week’s worth of stubble a scratch. “Well, you see, there was these two riders comin’ upon the house real quick-like. But they must’ve not seen all of us streamin’ out of the woods and roundin’ ’bout the house to confront them, cuz they just kept a-comin’—until your meemaw started hollerin’.”
“Meemaw didn’t have the good sense to stay out of sight and let all of you who’ve been hired to protect the house do your job?”
“I ain’t touchin’ the subject of whether your meemaw has good sense or not, Owen. You know she terrifies everyone half to death. Don’t reckon I wanna get on her bad side.”
“A fair point, but what happened after Meemaw started hollering?”
“The men pulled up their horses, one of them asked something about the rifle your meemaw was aimin’ at him, and then...” Andy gave his chin another scratch. “Your meemaw went’n shot the hat clean off that man’s head.”
“I knew I never should’ve stopped at the factory instead of escorting Camilla here.”
Andy waved that aside. “Now, no need to start all that frettin’. You ’bout have an army hired to see after that little lady, and she’s well-protected. Ain’t no one would’ve gotten near her, not with Nems, Miss Luella, and your meemaw keepin’ watch over her. Everyone done knows that Nems is a better shot than even Luella, and that’s sayin’ something. And ’fore you forget, your little lady was ridin’ in a wagon with that surly pig. Ain’t no one with any sense a’tall gets close to that beast, although...” Andy frowned. “Seein’ as how your meemaw keeps company with the sow, well, it might be sayin’ somethin’ about her sense after all.”
Owen stifled a sigh because, as was often the case when trying to get to the crux of a story being told by a man who preferred meandering his way around a tale instead of spitting out the most pertinent details, he still had no idea what had actually transpired.
“Can I assume the men who came after Camilla have now been secured?”
“Secured? Why’d we want to do somethin’ like that? Turns out them men are personally acquainted with your little lady. The situation was just a hellacious misunderstandin’, and your meemaw is feelin’ somethin’ awful ’bout ruinin’ that man’s fine hat.” Andy smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. “I think that’s why she’s cookin’ upa storm, makin’ chicken and apple dumplings.” He tilted his head. “There was some bone of contention between your meemaw and the little lady about an apple pie. Not sure what all the ruckus was about, but from what me and the boys could figure, the little lady didn’t want to get nowhere near that there recipe. She did, at one point—odd as I was thinkin’ this was—suggest your meemaw give it to Mr. Leopold Pender-Something-or-Other, and that left your meemaw mutterin’ about matchmakers being bona fide menaces.”
Owen didn’t know whether to laugh or get back on his horse and ride to saner pastures.
“I think it’s past time I get my hands on that particular recipe and hide it before it causes a full-out war between Meemaw and Camilla,” he said.
“A man’s got ta do what a man’s got ta do,” Andy said as he shifted his rifle to his other shoulder. “I’m off to patrol the perimeter again, but don’t you be worryin’ none that if any real trouble shows up that me and the boys ain’t up for taking care of it. That little lady is in fine hands with us around.”
“I’m sure she is,” Owen said before he strode into motion, slowing to look over his shoulder a second later. “Would you see George settled in the stable before you head out on patrol, and ... a word of advice. You might want to stop calling Miss Pierpont a ‘little lady.’ Turns out that particular phrase is considered an insult to the feminine set.”
“Huh, and here I thought I was makin’ progress understandin’ ladies in general, seeing as how I recently started callin’ on Miss Annabelle Stuckley, and she done tuckin’ told me that I was a real ladies’ man.”
Owen frowned. “Are you sure she meant that as a compliment?”
“Hard to say since Miss Annabelle seems ta have a full-up schedule and hasn’t been able to find any spare time for me to get down to the business of any courtin’.”
