The Bride's Prerogative (82 page)

“Even in the West? I thought it was different here.”

“Not so different as you might think,” Ted said from behind Griffin. “Especially when we’ve got a sheriff who takes the law seriously.”

“That’s right,” Hannah Sue said. “So he went to get your uncle. Now, he could have gone for the sheriff and got you tossed out and your uncle charged with child neglect or some such tomfoolery, but he’s a nice man. So instead of getting you and Mr. Bane in trouble, he just fetched your uncle, and it’s up to you to play the man’s part. Go on home, and don’t come back here until you’re older.”

Justin’s frown had returned. He looked down at the glass on the bar. “But you poured me a drink.”

“Honey, that ain’t whiskey. Go ahead and drink it if you want. On the house. Then you go on home with Uncle Griff and behave yourself. In a couple of years, I’ll see you back in here.” She winked at Justin, a little more provocatively than Griff thought seemly, but then, nothing about the Nugget was seemly. “Go on, now.”

Justin picked up the glass and sniffed it. He set it down with a thud that slopped sarsaparilla over the edge. His shoulders slumped, and he turned toward the door without another word, shrinking back as he passed Griffin.

“Thanks, Hannah Sue,” Griffin said. He knew she and Ted had both stretched it a little about the law. Most folks wouldn’t have cared whether or not a fifteen-year-old boy was served liquor in a frontier town. But in Fergus, people had ideas about decency and helping friends, and he figured they’d done it for him as much as for Justin.

“No trouble,” Hannah Sue said.

Griffin fished in his pocket and found a lone dime. He handed it to her and nodded at Ted. “Thank you, too. If he comes here again …”

“He won’t.”

Griff allowed that was probably true. He followed Justin out into the thin autumn sunshine. The chill of winter danced in the breeze, and a drink wouldn’t have been unwelcome. But with the boy around …

Yes, with the boy around, Griffin was going to have to consider his habits carefully.

Justin waited at the bottom of the steps with his hands shoved into his pants pockets.

“Where’s your coat?”

“Over to the boardinghouse.” Justin’s eyes still had the sullen cast. “Come on. Let’s go get it.”

“Where are we going after that?”

“You’re coming with me to the smithy.”

Justin’s eyes were slits of brown. “Can’t I just stay in my room?”

“Like you did last time I put you there? Come on, I’ve got four mules to shoe.”

CHAPTER 9

D
usk hovered over Fergus, reaching long, cold fingers of shadows between the buildings, as Vashti hurried down the street toward the smithy. After the feed store, where the boardwalk ended, she lifted her skirts and quickened her pace. Winter surely was on its way.

The sound of Griffin’s hammer told her that he was still at work. It wasn’t the loud, musical ring of his rounding hammer on the anvil, but the
tap-tap-tap
of the smaller nailing hammer he used to fasten horses’ shoes onto their hooves. As she rounded the corner, he turned the hammer’s head toward him and with its claws grabbed the end of a nail protruding from the side of a mule’s hoof. He twisted the pointy end off and went around the hoof, repeating the motion five times, then tossed the hammer into the toolbox. Out came another tool, with which he clinched the jagged ends of the nails he’d broken off. Then came the rasp.

Vashti wasn’t sure how many more tools he needed to use in the process. Shoeing a horse—or a mule—was a lot lengthier and more complicated than she’d realized. She stepped forward and cleared her throat, but the rhythmic humming of the rasp over the clinches drowned out the noise.

“He don’t hear you.”

Vashti whirled toward the open smithy. Inside, Justin sat on a barrel close to the forge, no doubt soaking up its warmth.

She nodded to him, and Justin spoke again.

“You got to yell when he’s working.”

Griffin looked up then, taking in her presence and shooting a glance toward his nephew. He lowered the mule’s foot and stood slowly. “Miss Edwards.”

“Good evening. Bitsy sent me to invite you and Justin to take dinner at the Spur & Saddle tonight. It’s on her and Augie.”

“Well, that’s right nice of her.” Griffin slid the rasp into a special slot on the side of the toolbox. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and mopped his forehead. Even in this cold air, he was sweating.

“Shall I tell her you’ll come?”

Griffin looked toward Justin. “What do you say?”

“Is the food any good?”

Griffin scowled at him. “That’s no way to talk!”

The boy shrugged. “Sorry. I just thought the smells at the boardinghouse were pretty good.”

Griffin nodded at Vashti. “Tell Bitsy we’ll be there after I clean up. And you, boy.” He sent Justin another glare. “Can I trust you to go and tell Mrs. Thistle you’re eating with me tonight?”

Justin’s mouth went pouty. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, you go, then. If you’re not back by full dark, I’ll come after you, and this time I’ll bring the sheriff.”

His harsh tone took Vashti aback. Then she recalled Ted Hire coming over to fetch Griffin earlier. The episode at the Nugget must not have gone well. She managed to smile at them. “All right. We’ll look for you soon at the Spur & Saddle.”

Griffin carried his toolbox inside the smithy and set it down near the door, where he always left it. A glance at the forge told him the fire had burned down enough so he could safely leave it. He opened the door to his living quarters to let some of the heat in there.

Walking back through the smithy, he shut the outside door and unhitched the mule he’d shod. The mules he’d purchased looked good, if a little thin. And the palomino—he’d show the horse to Hiram next time he came around. If his friend didn’t want it, Griffin could let it out as a livery horse, but he thought Hiram and Libby would both be pleased.

He led the mule around to the corral behind the livery and headed into the barn for a couple of lead ropes. To his surprise, when he came out again Justin was waiting for him.

“Did you get washed?” Griffin growled.

“No, sir.”

“Wash your hands and comb your hair.” He turned toward the smaller enclosure, beyond the corral where he kept the stage teams. He’d put the palomino out there, along with a colt he’d taken in trade last summer.

“I could lead that spotted horse in for you.”

He looked askance at Justin, hardly knowing how to respond to an offer of help. “Whyn’t you take Mrs. Adams’s palomino? I’ll get the colt.”

“I thought that was the horse you just bought.”

“It is.” Griffin opened the gate to the small corral. The palomino walked placidly toward him, and the colt trotted over, swinging his head and snorting. “I bought it for a friend of mine, Hiram Dooley. He’s getting married soon, and he asked me to find a nice horse for his fiancée.”

“So … does the spotted one belong to you?”

“Yup.” Griffin clipped a lead rope to the palomino’s halter and placed the end in Justin’s hands. “Careful, now. Don’t let him step on you. Put him in the first stall on the right.”

The colt tried to duck past Griffin.

“Hold it, buster.” Griffin snagged his halter and pulled his head down. “There we go.” He hooked the snap on the end of the rope to a ring in the halter. “All right, mind your manners.” He walked on the colt’s left, holding back and downward on the rope, forcing the colt to walk beside him. This one had fire.

As he stepped inside the barn, Justin called, “Now what?”

“Hook the chain that’s hitched to the wall to his halter and unhook the rope.” Griffin took the colt into the stall next to the palomino’s. “I’ll get them some feed and roll the doors shut.”

Justin came out of the stall. “Want me to close the front door?”

“Thanks. That would be good.”

By the time he’d fed the two horses, Justin had both big doors closed.

“All right. Now we need to clean up.”

“That paint horse sure is pretty,” Justin said. Griffin grunted and eyed the boy in the dim light. “He’s too young to ride yet.”

“Really? He’s big.”

“He’ll be two in the spring. I’ll start training him then. And until I do, I don’t want anyone messing with him, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Griffin relaxed a little. “Come on.” He opened the rear door just far enough to squeeze through, and he and Justin went out. Darkness had fallen, and he shivered in the chilly breeze. “I thought you didn’t like horses.”

Justin shrugged. “I never been around them much.”

“Guess you saw more of that mule than you wanted to today.”

Justin let out a short laugh.

“You sore?” Griffin asked.

“Some.”

“It’ll be worse in the morning.” They walked over to the smithy. Griffin jerked his head toward the open door. He hated to let the boy see his disorderly living quarters, but he didn’t see a way around it.

“Come on, we’re heating the outdoors.”

Griffin and the boy appeared in the dining room half an hour after Vashti had left them. Both had damp comb marks through their hair, and Griffin had changed his shirt. The hot smell of the forge lingered on him, but Vashti didn’t mind it. She smiled broadly as she led them to a table in the corner near the fireplace. In chilly weather, Augie kept the heater stove ticking, but Bitsy still liked to have a fire on the grate for atmosphere. “People feel warmer when they see the logs burning,” she said.

Justin stumbled a bit as he pulled out his chair. Vashti figured he wouldn’t be so clumsy if he’d quit staring at her. She couldn’t wear her shawl while waiting on tables.

“I’ll bring you water,” she said. “Would you like coffee, Mr. Bane?”

“Lots of it, and strong.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled at Justin. “And you, Mr. Frye?”

Justin glanced at his uncle, then back at her. “The same.”

“Very good. Our dinner special tonight is roast chicken, but we also have a venison stew simmering.”

“Bring me some of both,” Griffin said. “And plenty of biscuits.”

Vashti tucked in her smile and turned her attention to the boy. “And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the chicken, please. And some of those biscuits.”

“I’ll bring a basketful.”

She walked briskly to the kitchen. Bitsy was picking up two full chicken plates for Oscar and Bertha Runnels.

“Mr. Bane and his nephew are here,” Vashti said.

“Oh good. I can’t wait to see the boy.” Bitsy lifted her tray and brushed past her with her taffeta skirts swishing.

“I’ll need a basketful of biscuits for those two,” Vashti said to Augie. “Hope you and Bitsy don’t go broke from your charitable efforts.”

“Giving away samples is good for business. If the boy likes my cookin’, Griff will have him over here at least once a week. Bachelors don’t want to have to cook for kids.”

Vashti chuckled. “That’s true. But he is putting Justin up at the Fennel House.”

“Oh.” Augie’s bald head glistened in the lamplight as he reached to stir the big iron kettle on the stove. “Well, maybe they’ll still come around now and again.”

“Let’s hope so. Two chicken dinners and one stew.”

“Who’s the third person?”

“Griffin.”

Augie laughed. “He always did like my venison stew.”

A few more customers drifted in, and Vashti stayed busy for several minutes. When she got back to Griffin and Justin, both had cleaned their plates.

“That was good food,” Griffin said.

“Yes’m.” Justin looked up at her with a shy smile. “Did you cook it?”

Vashti laughed. “No, not me. That would be Mr. Moore. He’s the finest cook in Fergus.”

“A man?” The boy’s face stretched to new lengths.

Griffin let out a bellow of laughter. “You’ve never seen Augie, kid, or you wouldn’t say that. He could make hash out of you with one hand.”

“Would you like dessert?” Vashti asked Justin. “Mr. Moore makes delicious cakes and pies, too. You had one of his cinnamon buns earlier today.”

“Two,” Griffin said.

She flashed him a smile. So the boss had given one to Marty and eaten one himself and let the boy have the other two. Somehow, that warmed her feelings toward Griffin.

“What have you got for pies?” Justin asked.

She pointed to the bar that Hiram Dooley had remodeled into an efficient serving counter. “Why don’t you step over and see for yourself? There’re several varieties.” She raised her eyebrows at Griffin.

“Just bring me apple pie with a hunk of cheese,” he said. “And more coffee.”

Justin pushed back his chair. “Uh, will you please excuse me, Uncle Griff?”

“To pick out your pie? Why, surely.”

The boy walked away, and Vashti said softly, “Well now, he’s got manners.”

“Yes, when he chooses to dust them off.”