To Reap and to Sow (10 page)

The room Clint was given was smaller than the one Lynn had used to patch him up. It had all the comforts, but not enough for someone to get too comfortable. The bed was a cot. The chair was straight-backed and without any padding. The only thing hanging from the wall was a circular shaving mirror over an old, empty basin.

If the other room was a reflection of Tina's sensibilities, this one was Wes all the way down to the bare floor.

Clint was able to size the room up in less time than it took for Wes to leave and let him settle in. For Clint, settling in was a simple enough matter. He was finished once he took the saddlebag off his shoulder and draped it over the back of the chair.

Testing the bed with the palm of his hand, Clint pushed on the mattress and heard several squeaks. Only one of them came from the bed frame, while the others came from the floor and door hinges. Clint turned around to find Tina opening the door and looking inside.

“You're staying?” she asked.

Clint didn't answer right away. For a few seconds, he was distracted by how much different she looked in comparison to how she'd looked before. Tina never did look bad, but she looked even better now that she'd changed into a long nightgown and allowed her hair to flow freely over both shoulders.

Tina's hair was slightly shorter than Lynn's and much darker. In fact, her hair was so dark that it made Tina's skin look almost luminescent. The only things to stand out more than her eyes were her full, red lips.

Before staring at her any longer, Clint shook himself out of his state and tried to pass it off with a half yawn. “Sorry about that,” he said. “It's been a long day.”

“Yeah,” she said, obviously not buying his poorly attempted explanation for staring at her. “It has been a long day. So, you're staying on for a while?”

“Just for a little while. Your father asked me to.”

Tina had started to turn away from him and took hold of the door frame with one hand. Pausing to give Clint a lingering look at the way the light passed through her nightgown to show the generous curves beneath it, she said, “Good. Because I would have asked if he didn't. It's much too late to push you out into the cold.”

“Well, I sure do appreciate it.”

Tina was poised with one foot in Clint's room and one foot out of it. She kept one hand resting upon the door frame, while slowly running the other hand up and down a stretch of polished wood.

The longer she stood there, the easier it was for Clint to pick out another subtle detail in the way her nightgown clung to her. After her arm brushed down along her front, her nipples became just erect enough to poke through the single layer of material that was covering her.

“How long will you be staying on?” she asked.

“Well, your father has some work that needs to be done, so I'll probably stay around until that's done.”

“You don't look like a farmhand,” she said as her eyes worked their way slowly up and down his body. “And you sure don't look like just another cowboy. By the way you handled yourself earlier, I'd say you're some sort of gunman.”

“Gunsmith, actually. It's my trade.”

“And that's why you're staying?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not exactly.”

Tina nodded and slowly turned her back to him. Her hips moved beneath the clean cotton of her nightgown in a way that made Clint want nothing more than to grab hold of them and pull her close.

When she looked over her shoulder once again, Tina's expression made it seem that she could read his thoughts like a book.

“Do you need some blankets?” she asked. “Or anything else to keep you warm tonight?”

Tina may not have been much for understatement, but she was doing a hell of a job on Clint's nerves. Mainly, it was getting more and more difficult for him to keep from grabbing hold of her right then and there. If he hadn't just talked to Wes about what a cute little girl she'd been, Clint wouldn't have had that much control.

“Some blankets would be nice,” he said.

She smiled even wider and walked away. A few seconds later, Tina delivered the blankets and gave him a quick “Good night, Clint” before leaving him in peace.

Whether or not anyone else showed up to take a shot at him or steal the gold, Clint knew the next couple of nights would be very interesting.

There was a gentle knock on Mark's door around eight in the morning. He started to roll over, but found he couldn't move. As much as he wanted to kick his feet over the side of the bed and open the door, he simply couldn't do it.

The bed was too damn comfortable.

After sleeping on the ground or on a wooden rack covered in stinking rags for so long, Mark had forgotten what it was like to have proper comforts. Since the best he could do was lift his head an inch or so from his pillow, Mark screamed loud enough to make up for his lack of motion.

“What?!” he hollered.

After a brief pause, a meek voice came from the other side of the door. “You said you wanted to know when breakfast was being served,” the voice said. “It's being served right now.”

Mark grunted a few times and waved off the young woman as if she could see him. When he pulled open the door, he saw a slender woman with short black hair walking away from the door. Once she got a look at him, she hustled even more quickly away from his door.

Still grunting to himself, Mark slammed the door shut and pulled on some clothes. From there, he stepped outside and stomped down the stairs as if he was trying to punish each and every one of them. When he got to the little dining room on the first floor, Mark had to look twice to make sure he was seeing things properly.

“Howdy,” Joey said as he waved at him from one of the tables. He wore a sloppy grin on his face and had to break away from one of the three women who were tending to him.

The women might not have been pretty as pictures, but they were all good enough to spark some jealousy when Mark saw how they fluttered attentively around Joey. Jealousy hit even harder when he saw the smiles on the women's faces disappear once they got a look at him.

“I've been up for a while,” Joey announced. “You should try the bacon and eggs. They're great.”

The shorter of the three women must have also been the cook, because she looked flattered by Joey's words. She even blushed a bit as she reached out to pinch one of his cheeks.

“In case you forgot,” Mark grunted as he plopped down onto a chair at Joey's table, “we've got work to do. Or did one of your new lady friends help you out with that too?”

“Not as such, but Katie did tell me which saloon we should stay away from if we wanted to avoid trouble. I think we should try that one first.”

“You think so, huh?”

Since Joey was too chipper to pick up on sarcasm, Mark stopped piling it on and turned his glare toward the table. “What the fuck do I need to do to get some breakfast?”

The short woman who before had been so flattered now looked as if she was about to faint dead away. She'd been standing at Mark's left and was just about to introduce herself when he'd let that obscenity fly. After steeling herself with a deep breath, she asked, “What can I get for you?”

“Whatever he's having,” Mark grunted. “And be quick about it.”

The woman mumbled to herself as she walked away. Although she was careful to keep her voice low, a few choice words managed to drift through the air. If Mark had been listening to her in the slightest, he might have been upset to hear what she had to say. As it was, he was too busy stealing a dirty cup from another table and filling it from the pot of coffee sitting in the middle of his own table.

“Where's that saloon?” Mark asked.

“On the other side of town. It's called the Triple Diamond. If we don't find someone there to suit our needs, we might be out of luck. This is a pretty quiet town.”

Mark let out something that was part chuckle and part snort. “I'll say it is. Any place with women who like the looks of you must be backward as all hell.”

Joey started to get annoyed, but caught the other two women looking his way. That cheered him up quickly enough and he dug back into his breakfast.

A few minutes later, the short woman came out with the plate holding Mark's breakfast. When she saw him dive right in and start devouring the eggs, the woman smirked and walked away.

“I don't know what the hell you're thinking,” Mark said through a mouthful of food. “This tastes like someone wiped the floor with it.”

Clint had been up since the first of the sun's rays had poked over the horizon. According to Wes, he was allowed to sleep late due to all the commotion from the night before. Oddly enough, Clint didn't feel as if he'd had so much rest.

The first thing Clint thought he'd do was get a look at the gold and try to figure out a better spot to hide it. It was either that, he figured, or try to hatch a good plan for what should come next regarding the windfall. But Wes had other ideas.

Clint's feet had barely touched the floor when he was dragged out by the farmer.

“There's work to be done,” Wes had announced.

“I know. If those men decide to come back, we should—”

“Not that kind of work,” the farmer interrupted. “Real work. Or have you spent too much time in saloons to remember what that is?”

When he'd pulled in a breath, Clint caught the strong scents of ham, coffee and potatoes. “Smells like breakfast's about ready.”

“And it'll be even better once we've worked up an appetite.”

Before Clint could let the farmer know that his appetite was just fine, he was catching the clothes thrown at him and being pulled outside.

“Are you serious?” Clint asked. “Those men might not be crack shots, but they could be coming back.”

Wes nodded and kept walking. “Yep.”

“They might get some help.”

“Could be. They also might be long gone,” the farmer pointed out.

“You want to take that chance?”

Wes stopped and turned around with his hands propped on his hips. “Look here, Clint. If I've learned anything, it's that there's a time to reap and a time to sow. If those killers come back, it'll be time to reap. Until then, it won't do nobody any good us just waiting around twiddling our thumbs. Now's the time to sow. That needs doing too, you know.”

Within seconds, Clint had an ax in his hand and was chopping firewood. That was fine. He'd done that plenty of times before.

Next, he had to milk the cows. That wasn't too bad. Clint was vaguely familiar with the basics.

Then, there were chicken coops to be mended, more wood to be cut, a fence that needed patching and a plow blade that needed sharpening. None of these things were out of Clint's range, but it had been awhile since he'd had so much thrown at him at such an early hour.

“Don't you fend for yerself when you're out there riding?” Wes asked while tossing the ax into Clint's hands for the third time.

“Sure,” Clint replied.

“And you seemed to be plenty able when it came to fighting. Put some of that gumption into honest work.”

Clint found himself glaring at the old man. “It's a whole lot easier to get moving when someone's shooting at you. If you'd like to see what I mean, I'd be happy to oblige.”

For a second, Wes stood there as if he was too shocked to move. Some anger flickered across his face, but it was soon replaced by plain old surprise. Then, he started to laugh.

“Aw, hell, Clint. You're funny. You want to go and have something to eat?”

“That would be great.”

“You wearing your pistol?”

“No, sir,” Clint replied. The absence of that familiar weight at his side had been bothering him all morning.

“Good,” Wes said. “Chop that wood first and then you can eat.”

 

Once Clint had gotten some food in his belly, his spirits brightened considerably. Conversation around the table didn't stray too far from the subject of breakfast itself. That, combined with the hard work he'd already done, had a soothing effect on Clint's thoughts. The few words said were cordial. Apart from that, everyone was focused on what they were eating or what chores needed to be done immediately afterward.

One foot in front of the other.

All in all, it was a good way to live.

Eventually, however, the rest of the world barged in and made short work of the peaceful respite they'd been enjoying.

“Come on, Clint,” Wes said as he got to his feet. “Let's do that work in the barn I was talking about.”

“Did Mark shoot up the barn too?” Lynn asked.

“That's what we aim to find out,” Wes replied.

Clint saw Lynn glance nervously at him, but he simply nodded and walked toward the door. She obviously knew there was more to it than that. The anxiousness on her face made that much clear as day. Since there was other work to be done, Clint left her in the house and followed Wes out to the barn.

A time to reap and a time to sow.

Once he caught up to Wes, Clint was inside the barn. The old farmer had a way of moving with his back hunched and his knees buckled while still covering plenty of ground in a short amount of time. When he got a look at the back wall inside the barn, Wes moved even faster.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“What's wrong?” Clint asked.

“Were you messing with these rags?”

“I told you what I did. I nudged them with my boot, got a quick look underneath and then straightened them again. Why?”

Wes was hunkered down over the pile and fussing with it without disturbing much of anything. “These ain't the way I left 'em is why. They're pushed to one side.”

“Are you sure? They look the same to me.”

“I know how I left 'em and this ain't it. It's not even close. Hell, you can see some of…” Reflexively looking around, Wes straightened the rags and lowered his voice. “I checked on 'em the night before last. Did you poke around here after that first time?”

Clint shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Then that means that fella that was in here got a look at this gold.”

Recalling that Mark had bolted out of the barn through the back door, which was only a few paces from the rags, Clint felt his gut tighten. “If that's so, then there could be a lot more trouble coming a lot sooner than we thought.”