Dorothy Garlock by High on a Hill Page B

and buttered it. “The oldest one, I think. He had blond hair and wasn’t … too bad-looking. He’d been to the barbershop and reeked of hair tonic.”
    Boone dropped his fork beside his plate. “Ya … didn’t … ?”
    “Didn’t what? Talk to him? How could I help it?”
    “That ain’t what I meant. Ya ain’t goin’, and that’s that.”
    “Flitter, Boone. I never said I was going. I thought it downright funny that he told me to be ready at sundown.”
    “The stinkin’ polecat! I’ll bust his damn head!”
    “Why are you getting riled up? You know that I’d not go out with him.” She laughed a little. “He was mad as a drunk hoot owl when he left.”
    Corbin could see that she was enjoying baiting Boone and he could also see the man was as protective of her as a she-bear with one cub.
    “Them Carters ain’t nothin’ but trash and ya know it.”
    “You didn’t seem to think Tess was trash. You were looking her over pretty well the day she came to the house.” There was a teasing light in her eyes and her mouth tilted at the corners as she tried to suppress a smile.
    “She’s different. Them brothers of hers is no good. Why’d ya even talk to him?”
    “He came in the store while I was there.”
    “Follered ya in, did he?”
    “How would I know? Stop this. Mr. Appleby will get the idea that you’re my keeper.”
    “That’s what I am.” Boone looked directly at Corbin. “When her pa ain’t here, I’m her keeper.”
    “Her pa must put a heap of trust in you.”
    “He does. I been lookin’ out for her nigh on ten years.”
    “Eight.” Annabel grinned at him.
    “Ten,” Boone said stubbornly.
    “It’s been eight years, Mr. Appleby. He’s known Papa ten years, but I hardly saw him for the first two years. Boone, you are like my second papa … but you are prone to be overprotective and to exaggerate at times.”
    Corbin’s eyes went from one to the other and he realized that the source of their bantering was the affection they held for each other.
    “And yo’re headstrong and as stubborn as yore pa.”
    “Thank you, Boone. I like you too,” she said sweetly, then turned to Corbin. “This has been a delicious meal. I’ll have to cook dinner for you to pay you back.”
    Corbin saw the quick way Boone looked at the girl and how his shoulders stiffened.
    “Please. There’s no need. As soon as we’ve finished, they’ll serve pie. We have a choice between raisin cream and custard.”
    Corbin stood on the porch of the hotel and watched the truck head out of town. One thing was certain, he thought: Boone didn’t want him to get too friendly with Miss Donovan. What was he afraid of? Did he want her for himself? Corbin didn’t think so. His interest didn’t appear to be romantic, just protective. But from what was he protecting her?
    Leaning more heavily than necessary on the cane he had borrowed from the hotel, Corbin limped down the street to the barbershop. He considered it an even better place than the newspaper to find out what was going on in town.
    BOB’S BARBER SHOP—SHAVE AND HAIRCUT FOUR BITS. The sign was printed in gold script on the glass window.
    Corbin opened the door and went inside. It was a two-chair shop and both were occupied. A mirror covered the wall behind the barber chairs. In front of it was a shelf of shaving mugs marked with their users’ names.
    “Howdy. Hang your hat and have a seat,” one of the barbers invited. He was using the clippers on the sideburns of a dark-haired man. He stopped clipping to speak and give Corbin a careful scrutiny.
    Corbin hung his hat on the rack on the hall tree and eased himself down in a wooden armchair. Several newspapers and a copy of the
Saturday Evening Post
lay nearby. Corbin picked up the magazine and glanced through it. His ears were attuned to the conversation between the barber and his customer.
    “He acted halfway decent for a change. He wanted the works.”
    “A bath too?”
    “Yeah. I told him it was