Restaurant? They serve a lovely apple pie and I'd like you to share the pleasure with me."
"Now, ma'am, I don't think—"
"I've got a hunger to taste some apple pie. Miss Daphne doesn't allow apples in the house since they trouble her digestion. I would rather not eat alone." There was nothing pathetic about Sarah Davies, but she sounded almost pathetic now.
"Ma'am," Jack said, giving in, "I'd be pleased to escort you to the Demorest." He didn't smile, not with his mouth, but his eyes showed his amusement. This woman wanted something from him—what he couldn't imagine— but at least according to her, it wouldn't be fatal.
The looks they got when he escorted her to a window table in the Demorest almost were.
"Just ignore her," Sarah Davies said out of the side of her mouth. "Emmie Winslow looks at all cowboys that way."
"I'm not a cowboy," he said as he drew out her chair for her.
"You have the look of one. Were one once, I'd guess."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, sliding into his own chair with a lift of his leg. "What'd a cowboy ever do to get her so riled?"
"Drove a few beeves through this very window. It took almost six months to get it fixed proper."
Jack smiled slightly. "Spirits run high at the end of a drive."
Sarah studied him briefly before calling out, "Two apple pies, two coffees, Emmie."
"Now, ma'am...."
"My invitation, my treat," she countered swiftly, closing the subject.
Jack let her have the last word, knowing how women liked that, but he wasn't going to have any woman paying for his feed.
"You ever run a trail into Abilene?" she asked.
He didn't know where this was going, but couldn't see any harm in talking with her. Maybe she was the town eccentric.
"In sixty-eight."
"We saw a lot of cows that year. And a lot of cowboys."
Jack smiled at her as Emmie set down the plates of pie and the mugs of coffee.
"They do tend to run together, ma'am."
"That they do," Sarah said softly. "I miss those days sometimes. Town had more life to it back then."
"It sure did."
Sarah looked up at him at that and smiled her first genuine smile at the soft twang of wistfulness she heard in his voice.
It was in seeing her smile that he knew who she was; she was kin to Anne Ross somehow. No two women could have that smile and not be related.
It was like watching shutters folding over his eyes, the way he withdrew and pulled in. Sarah couldn't help smiling again.
"I would guess that you've met my niece, Anne."
"Wouldn't say I'd met her," he said.
"Seen her then? Folks say there's a likeness between us. I take it as a compliment."
"You should."
"I'll say 'thank you' for us both to that." Sarah took a bite of her pie, tart and crisp, savoring the flavor and the texture before washing it down with coffee. Powell from the livery walked by, teeth clamped on his pipe, shaking his head. Sarah ignored him. "There's ways I don't want her to be like me, though."
"How's that?" He'd stopped eating his pie after two bites and wasn't nursing his half-full coffee. Had to keep his gun hand free, she supposed.
"I've got no man. Neither does Anne."
Anne had no man. Sweet words to hear when he spent too much time thinking about the look of her, the smell of her, and that brief feel when he'd caught her on the stairs. She had no man. She was free. Free to tangle with a bounty hunter.
Right.
"She'll get one," he said, swallowing half the pie in one bite. It wouldn't be him, but she'd get one. Hell, she had Tucker in her pocket now. How many men could a woman use?
"That's the plan," Sarah said simply, pushing her empty plate away from her.
Jack forced coffee over the wedge of pie in his throat and leaned back in his chair, tipping the front legs off the floor.
"Where do I fit into this plan?" he asked, cutting the fat off the conversation.
Sarah smiled and sipped her coffee, thinking carefully how best to say it. Jack Scullard wasn't stupid and he didn't have the look of a brawler; by the cut of his cloth, he made a good dollar
"Now, ma'am, I don't think—"
"I've got a hunger to taste some apple pie. Miss Daphne doesn't allow apples in the house since they trouble her digestion. I would rather not eat alone." There was nothing pathetic about Sarah Davies, but she sounded almost pathetic now.
"Ma'am," Jack said, giving in, "I'd be pleased to escort you to the Demorest." He didn't smile, not with his mouth, but his eyes showed his amusement. This woman wanted something from him—what he couldn't imagine— but at least according to her, it wouldn't be fatal.
The looks they got when he escorted her to a window table in the Demorest almost were.
"Just ignore her," Sarah Davies said out of the side of her mouth. "Emmie Winslow looks at all cowboys that way."
"I'm not a cowboy," he said as he drew out her chair for her.
"You have the look of one. Were one once, I'd guess."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, sliding into his own chair with a lift of his leg. "What'd a cowboy ever do to get her so riled?"
"Drove a few beeves through this very window. It took almost six months to get it fixed proper."
Jack smiled slightly. "Spirits run high at the end of a drive."
Sarah studied him briefly before calling out, "Two apple pies, two coffees, Emmie."
"Now, ma'am...."
"My invitation, my treat," she countered swiftly, closing the subject.
Jack let her have the last word, knowing how women liked that, but he wasn't going to have any woman paying for his feed.
"You ever run a trail into Abilene?" she asked.
He didn't know where this was going, but couldn't see any harm in talking with her. Maybe she was the town eccentric.
"In sixty-eight."
"We saw a lot of cows that year. And a lot of cowboys."
Jack smiled at her as Emmie set down the plates of pie and the mugs of coffee.
"They do tend to run together, ma'am."
"That they do," Sarah said softly. "I miss those days sometimes. Town had more life to it back then."
"It sure did."
Sarah looked up at him at that and smiled her first genuine smile at the soft twang of wistfulness she heard in his voice.
It was in seeing her smile that he knew who she was; she was kin to Anne Ross somehow. No two women could have that smile and not be related.
It was like watching shutters folding over his eyes, the way he withdrew and pulled in. Sarah couldn't help smiling again.
"I would guess that you've met my niece, Anne."
"Wouldn't say I'd met her," he said.
"Seen her then? Folks say there's a likeness between us. I take it as a compliment."
"You should."
"I'll say 'thank you' for us both to that." Sarah took a bite of her pie, tart and crisp, savoring the flavor and the texture before washing it down with coffee. Powell from the livery walked by, teeth clamped on his pipe, shaking his head. Sarah ignored him. "There's ways I don't want her to be like me, though."
"How's that?" He'd stopped eating his pie after two bites and wasn't nursing his half-full coffee. Had to keep his gun hand free, she supposed.
"I've got no man. Neither does Anne."
Anne had no man. Sweet words to hear when he spent too much time thinking about the look of her, the smell of her, and that brief feel when he'd caught her on the stairs. She had no man. She was free. Free to tangle with a bounty hunter.
Right.
"She'll get one," he said, swallowing half the pie in one bite. It wouldn't be him, but she'd get one. Hell, she had Tucker in her pocket now. How many men could a woman use?
"That's the plan," Sarah said simply, pushing her empty plate away from her.
Jack forced coffee over the wedge of pie in his throat and leaned back in his chair, tipping the front legs off the floor.
"Where do I fit into this plan?" he asked, cutting the fat off the conversation.
Sarah smiled and sipped her coffee, thinking carefully how best to say it. Jack Scullard wasn't stupid and he didn't have the look of a brawler; by the cut of his cloth, he made a good dollar
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