Page 31 of Brian and Cora
Truth be told, Brian had wanted that too, once. But betrayal made him ice over those wishes, turning the longing as brittle as the bones Buck described. He didn’t say anything to Buck, though, not wanting to discourage the man. Seth and Trudy proved such love and trust was possible.
But not for me. Brian pulled his attention back to the present.
Boys ran alongside the wagon, pelting them with questions. Between flirting with the womenfolk, since Brian wasn’t inclined to do more than grunt “no” or “yes,” Buck gave quick answers of actual words.
Not part of the parade, K.C. Granger perched on Big Red, observing the spectacle, a hint of amusement softening her normally cool expression. Next to her, the blacksmith and her frequent deputy, Chogan Redwolf, watched from atop his Appaloosa. Between them, Walter McCurdy sat on a pony.
She leaned down with her forearm across the horn of her saddle, a wry grin crossing her face. He’d bet his next book advance that she was grateful not to be part of the circus parade. But even she hadn’t quite escaped floral attention. A wreath was draped around the gelding’s neck and his mane and tail braided with colorful ribbons.
Brian wondered what the sheriff said when she discovered her bedecked horse. Probably not something repeatable in polite company.
The sheriff nodded at Brian and Buck, giving them a quick salute.
Brian sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his leg. Earning the respect of the sheriff, a lawwoman to the bone, meant more than any medal of honor.
A girl ran up to the sheriff, handing her a bouquet of marigolds.
To his surprise, the sheriff’s expression softened, and she smiled at the child, taking the flowers. Then she leaned and gestured toward Walter, obviously introducing them.
Brian gaped. He’d never seen the lawwoman looking so relaxed and friendly.
Buck, apparently, also noticed the sheriff talking to the girl. “That’s Kayleigh Gentry, the goose girl.”
After waving at an admirer, Buck leaned back with a wince. “Sheriff Granger saved Kaylee, when she ran away from home to keep her goose from becoming Christmas dinner.”
“Heard something about that.”
“Kaylee was almost captured by a murderous outlaw. Holmes was the survivor of a gang who robbed the bank back in Grant Hills, Wyoming, murdering K.C.’s father and fiancé. Her father, the sheriff, killed the other two before he went down, and our sheriff tracked him to Sweetwater Springs and captured him. Then, after taking him back for a trial and hanging, she returned, us being in need of a sheriff.”
He couldn’t help staring at the lawwoman, smiling and chatting with the children, while also noting that Chogan Redwolf’s normally stoic expression sported a wide grin.
Hank leaned closer. “After they hit town—” he said, amusement in his tone “—our sheriff and our blacksmith tied the knot.”
Didn’t see that coming.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“What’s with you and monkeys, Buck?”
The man ignored him, too busy blowing kisses at the saloon girls clustered in front of Hardy’s.
In retrospect, when Brian reviewed what he’d witnessed between the two, he realized there was more depth to their relationship than he’d considered at the time. Chogan’s a married man now, still on his honeymoon. Of course, he’s grinning.
Brian had no doubt the two would make a good match. Not like… He cut off the thought.
A buxom woman in burgundy velvet blew a kiss to them. He wanted to sink down out of sight and pretend he didn’t see her. But since his buddy-in-heroic-injury blew a kiss back, Brian spared the lady enough energy for a partial smile and a nod.
Hank chuckled. “The heroes of Sweetwater Springs will have their pick of the ladies—what few available ones we have.”
Traitor. He’s enjoying my discomfiture all too much. “I’m not a damn hero,” he snapped. “I got shot. I didn’t open the gate.”
His friend raised an eyebrow. “You’re a damn hero because you put yourself—” he emphasized each word “—in a position to be shot.”
“Well,” Brian grumbled, fed up with the whole spectacle, “that makes you a damn hero, too.”
The wheels hit a rut, and agony stabbed his leg. He grunted, tightening his hand on the side of the wagon, breathing through the pain.
“Get me out of here,” he begged Hank. “I need me some peace and quiet.” And a bed that’s not moving. “I want to be home, away from people. Although, I might tolerate you and Torin and Jewel.” He glanced at Elsie, so patently full of joy he could imagine her filling up like a balloon and floating away. “Elsie, too,” he added.
