THIRTEEN
Clint was still feeling some of the bite from the drink he'd had when he was walking farther into town a half hour later. Westerlake was filled with as many folks in suits as it was with those who followed Mark Ordell's train of thought where clothing was concerned. The streets were crowded with gamblers, ranchers, mountain men and trappers.
It didn't take much to see why so many would be drawn to the place. As he toured the streets, Clint found traders of all kinds and more than enough shops to tickle anyone's fancy. Even though he felt his own spirits rise due to the crisp breeze coming in from the river, Clint caught more than a few locals turning the other way when he tipped his hat to them.
At first, he figured it was because he was a new face in town. After seeing how many others there were that couldn't be locals, Clint guessed it was something else. Before he could get too suspicious, Clint felt the wind change directions and push a pungent smell right into his face.
Unfortunately, that smell was his own.
Clint walked into the first barbershop he could find and tossed his hat onto one of the hooks on the wall. “I need a shave and a bath,” he said.
The barber was a tall man with dark skin and angular features. His clothes appeared to be fresh from the laundry and he spoke with a friendly tone in his voice. “If you get a trim to go with it, you can have the whole thing for two dollars.” Looking up from the broom he was pushing, he added, “I'd recommend you take the bath first.”
“Sounds good to me,” Clint said. “Point me in the right direction.”
The barber pointed him out the back door and to an area behind the building that was sectioned off by a series of walls. There were three stalls sectioned off, each of which had its own metal tub, stool and clothes rack. While Clint hung his clothes on the rack, a few pitchers of hot water were brought out to him to take the edge off the buckets of cold water that were already there.
The cold water felt good enough as Clint eased himself into it. As the hot water was poured in, however, Clint found himself sinking in the tub as deep as he could go. As he washed up, the stench that had caught his attention earlier disappeared amid the fragrance of lavender the barber tossed in for free.
“There now,” the barber said as Clint walked into the shop while drying behind his ears. “That's a whole lot better.”
“It sure is.”
“Now, are you ready for that shave and trim I offered?”
“Why not?” Considering how good it felt to get out from under all that dirt, Clint was in anything but a disagreeable mood.
The barber smiled and showed the way to one of two large chairs facing the front door. After Clint eased himself into that chair, he was covered by a starched white sheet and then cranked back into a reclining position.
“Looks like you've been out hunting,” the barber said.
Clint chuckled as his hair was snipped by the barber's scissors. “That's a polite way of saying I smelled like a wild animal.”
“I always try to be polite.”
“Well, you're right. Although I didn't intend on doing much of any hunting.”
“Really?” the barber asked. “How's that happen?”
“I saw pieces of freshly busted wood on the trail I was riding and then saw a spot where something big had crashed through the bushes. There was a busted wagon not far off the trail, which also caught the eye of a black bear.”
The barber now had a comb in one hand and scissors in the other as he tended to the part on top of Clint's head. “Oh, we've had some troubles with a bear around here recently. There's a reward posted for it.”
“I know. Another trapper was closing in on it when the bear came at us. Between the two of us, we managed to take it down.”
“Is that so? That's a fine bit of hunting. Who was the other man?”
“Mark Ordell. You know him?”
After a few moments, the barber muttered, “Can't say as I do. I know a Lisa Ordell, though. She's lived here in town for a good while.”
“Does she have any children?”
“Actually, yes. Two boys and a daughter.”
“Do you know her very well?” Clint asked.
“Oh, just a little. She comes in here for bath salts and such. I am the finest barber in Westerlake.”
“I can tell.”
“She was awfully worried about her boy, Josh, the last time we talked, though. She was so upset the last time she was in that I meant to check up on her to see how things turned out. I try to keep up on things like that with my customers.”
Clint had no doubt about that, since almost as much gossip was tossed around barbershops as it was around saloons. Rather than point out that fact, however, he kept his eyes closed, his hands folded across his belly and his voice casual. “What was she so upset about?” he asked.
“Seems her boy fancies himself as a hunter, much like plenty other young men around here. You ask me, I'd tell you that hunting is a whole lot better than the other sorts of trouble a man can get himself into with a gun. Actually, I believe I did tell her that much.”
“Makes sense.”
The more the barber talked, the more he seemed to fall into a flow where his hands and mouth worked at an equal pace. All Clint had to do from there was sit back, give the occasional push in the right direction and listen to everything the other man had to say.
“That boy was always into something or other,” the barber said. “It wasn't until lately that I heard he'd started running with another couple of boys that were never up to anything good. I think that's when Miss Ordell started worrying he might get himself killed.”
“Killed?”
“Oh, yes. The way she talked, she felt like she had something to do with the boy's troubles.”
“Mothers are like that.”
“Yes, but she mentioned someone else came along that made things awfully hard. Not long after that, I heard Josh put his nose where it wasn't wanted and that he was practically out running for his life.”
“Was it trouble with the law?” Clint asked.
Grumbling a bit, the barber brushed some stray pieces of clipped hair from Clint's sheet and shook his head. “I don't think so,” he said while stirring up some lather from a mug and then brushing it onto Clint's face. “The sheriff comes here to get his hair cut every other week and he didn't mention it.”
“Maybe he just didn't feel like mentioning it.”
“No, I asked. He didn't know. Miss Ordell looked awfully troubled and I had to know for sure. Whatever trouble that boy was in, it wasn't with the law. Besides, Miss Ordell was usually so friendly when she came in here. Once Josh got into trouble, she walked under a dark cloud that seemed like more trouble than her boy spending a night or two in jail.”
“I'll bet you'd know if he did.”
“I probably would,” the barber admitted. After putting his mug down and picking up his razor, he added, “And he didn't. Near as I can figure, Josh got caught up in something that was more than he could handle. Lord knows that happens to plenty of young men his age.”
Clint had to keep from chuckling as the barber shaved him. “You ever think about becoming a detective?”
“No, sir,” the barber replied. “I do just fine with my shop.”
“The best in town.”
FOURTEEN
After cleaning up, Clint found a place where Eclipse could get brushed and fed before scouting out a good hotel for himself. Clint settled on a place that was closer to the river end of town and was lucky enough to rent the last room overlooking the water. He also got a real good view of the docks used for traders, but wasn't about to complain.
After all that walking around, Clint felt a hunger in his belly that quickly became a rumble in his ears. He changed into some clothes that better suited his freshly cleaned face and then walked down to the little stretch of houses where Allison had told him to be for supper.
As he approached the second house in the row, Clint could smell everything from pies baking to biscuits burning and every last bit of it only made him hungrier. By the time he knocked on the door, he considered begging for scraps in the event he'd gone to the wrong house.
Fortunately, Joseph was the one who pulled open the door.
“Mr. Adams! You came!”
“Of course I came,” Clint said. “I'm hungry.”
Without missing a beat, the boy turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Momma, Clint's hungry!”
Wincing at how bad that sounded, Clint started explaining himself the moment someone else came to the door. “I was just kidding around with Joseph,” he said to a stern-looking old woman with her hair tied up in a bun. “I came to visit, not just eat.”
“You don't want any of our food?” the old lady asked.
“No. I meant . . .”
She broke into a smile that was warmer than the heat coming from her own kitchen. “Come on in, Mr. Adams. We were expecting you.”
Clint took off his hat and walked into the house. It was fairly small and full of chairs, cases and several bookshelves, but had the comforting feel that only organized clutter could bring. His eyes were immediately drawn to the kitchen, which was actually just the rear section of the three-room home. Allison was there, busily tending to several bubbling pots.
“There you are, Clint! I was wondering if you were ever going to show.”
“I didn't want to get here too early,” he said.
“That's partially my fault. I was so anxious after all that happened, I had to keep my hands busy. I've been cooking all day.”
The old woman made her way to where Joseph was tearing a hunk from a loaf of bread and swatted the boy's hand. “And Joey's been eating all day.”
“Have not,” the boy grumbled as he tore off his bread and skulked away.
The old woman smiled even wider as she watched the boy leave. Turning to Clint, she said, “My name is Sophia, by the way. I've heard a lot about you.”
Clint shook the woman's hand. The strength in her grip was hard to miss. “Obviously not enough to prevent you from letting me into your home.”
“Well, I must admit you're cleaner than I would have thought.”
“Mother!” Allison said in a surprised shout that made her seem more like a teenaged girl than a mother, herself. “He's a guest.”
Sophia shrugged and walked over to the stove. “I've seen plenty of hunters and plenty of trappers. They are hardworking men, but usually they're dirty. That's all.”
“Well, thanks to the best barber in town, I'm not so dirty anymore,” Clint said.
It wasn't long before the table was set and the food began filling the plates. Clint sat back and watched as a feast was spread out before him that made him hungry enough to start chewing at the table. Thankfully, dinner was started before he had to resort to such drastic measures.
The night was full of small talk and bad jokes, which went on all the way through dessert. Once he'd had his fill, Joseph darted from the table and shot outside. Sophia insisted on cleaning up, leaving Clint and Allison by themselves. Judging by the sly grin on Sophia's face, that arrangement was no accident.
“The river isn't far from here,” Sophia said. “Just a short walk. You two could use the fresh air.”
“Would you like to take a walk?” Allison asked.
Clint grinned at the way the daughter allowed herself to be not-so-subtly guided by her mother. “Sounds like the perfect end to a perfect dinner.”
As the door shut behind Clint and Allison, Sophia smiled with the satisfaction of a job well done.
FIFTEEN
The sun was just high enough to cast a golden glow on the water as Clint and Allison walked along the lake. It was early enough in the season for the summery warmth to be wiped away almost as soon as the sun started going down. Still, it was late enough for the night to be comforting rather than cold.
“I thought Mark would have come with you,” she said.
Clint shook his head. “The last I saw of him, he was walking back into the woods.”
“Walking? Does that mean he'll be back soon?”
“I doubt it.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned in a little closer to Clint. As soon as she felt his arm drape over her shoulders, she melted against him even more. “That's too bad. I would have liked to see him one more time. Did he sell that bear skin?”
“He sure did. In fact, I'd bet that everyone in town will be seeing plenty of that carcass as soon as those men get it nailed to the side of their store. Things like that can keep a place in business.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course,” Clint said. “How often do you get to look at the hide of a famous bear?”
Clint managed to keep a straight face for a solid thirty seconds. When he started laughing at himself, Allison was quick to join in.
“I'm just glad it's over,” she said.
The silence that followed those words was enough to catch her attention. When she looked at Clint, that silence only grew thicker.
“Aren't you glad it's over?” she asked.
“I just hope it is.”
“What do you mean?”
Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Clint held her tighter and said, “Nothing. Sorry about that.”
“You never got a chance to tell me what happened with those men that met up with you and Mark outside of town. I'd like to hear about it.”
“It wasn't much.”
“I might have been away from you all,” she pointed out, “but I could still hear the gunshots, Clint. I know it was something.” She turned around without breaking his grasp. That way, her body was pressed against him while she looked up directly into his eyes. “You stood between us and those armed men. There's nothing to be ashamed of about that.”