A Town Called Fury

Megan looked up. “No Indians?”

Jason said, “Nope,” and she looked satisfied when he did. He continued, “Jenny, we’re here for some of your world-famous dessert!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t toss it out,” she said as she stood up.

“Miss Jenny,” Rafe interjected, “seems to me that you got a lot of attitude for somebody who made her brother ride out there on some fool’s errand. Jason, if I was you, I think a visit to the woodshed would be in order.”

Well, that shut Jenny up! Not only did she not utter a word while serving them dessert, but she gave them extra-large portions of what turned out to be apple crumb cake. Jason reminded himself to buy even more dried apples come fall. She worked magic with them!

However, Megan made up for Jenny’s silence by asking questions. She particularly enjoyed the part about Rafe shooting the snake and her brother vaulting the three steps up to the porch. In fact, she laughed until tears were rolling down her cheeks, and Jason, caught up in her infectious laughter, was roaring, too.

“Hell!” marveled Rafe. “Didn’t think it was that funny.”

“Oh, you would if you knew Matt,” Megan managed to blurt out.

She wiped at her eyes, then fell back into laughter.

Jenny spoke for the first time since Rafe had embarrassed her. “I think you’re all too hard on him,” she scolded. “He’s just trying to protect what’s his, that’s all. And you, Megan! You’re his sister! I’d be ashamed if I were you.”

Rafe’s mouth quirked up as he listened. He said, “I think it’s healthy for at least one person in a family to have a sense’a humor. That was sure a fine dessert, Miss Jenny. Hope you’ll invite me again sometime.” He wiped the last traces of apple crumb cake from his mouth, then smoothed his napkin out on the table.

He pushed back his chair, but before he could get all the way up, Jason said, “Coffee, Rafe?”

Jenny glared daggers at him.

But Rafe said, “I thank you for the offer, Jason, but I’d best be gettin’ back to my no-good ways, which means playin’ cards and drinkin’ up to the saloon.” Both men had taken off their hats when they entered the house, and now Rafe took his from the hat rack, swept the hand holding his hat wide and to the side, and said, “Ladies, Marshal, it’s been a pleasure.”

Jason called after him, “Best take the back way, Rafe. And tell Salmon that everything’s all right out at the Double M.”

Rafe’s reply was another bow, then a swing of his hat to the top of his head, with a tip of the brim to the ladies.

Jason closed the door behind him and went back to the kitchen. Slouching in his chair, he said, “What’s wrong with you tonight, Jen?”

“Me?! What’s wrong with me?” she fairly snarled at him.

He could only stare at her, blinking.

“You’re the one who wanted to kill him just a few days ago. You’re the one who was all het up just because Megan and I just talked to him at Abigail’s! You’re the one who—”

Jason held up his hands, palms toward her. “If you’re gonna get up a lynch mob, just do it and quit jabberin’ at me. I’m the marshal, you know, and I had a right to be concerned about that little meeting, not only as a lawman, but as your brother. And I didn’t want to kill him so much as I just wanted him out of my town. We still don’t know what element he’ll attract, though we’ve got one gunslinger after him already.”

Jenny just stood there with her arms folded, practically the definition, Jason thought, of the word “resolute.”

“It’s why I told him to take the back way to the saloon.”

Jenny still didn’t speak. He glanced at Megan, who was fiddling with her coffee cup (just to keep out of it, he figured) and didn’t look up.

Jason shoved back his chair and stood up. “I’ll take my leave of you ladies, then. Good night.” He turned on his heel and without another word, headed for his bedroom.

Solomon came up the stairs, having closed the store and locked the doors for the night. “Did you hear what Jason did, Rachael?” he asked when his head came level with the second floor. “Oy, this is rich!”

He heard her quietly say, “Hush, Solomon. You’ll wake the children.” His two oldest boys were still awake, noses buried in the dime novels he’d gotten for them yesterday. But the youngest boy and, of course, baby Sarah were sleeping soundly. And so, it seemed, was Sampson Davis. He half-sat, half-lay on Solomon’s favorite chair, his head on his barrel chest, black hair hanging in his eyes, roweled spurs digging angled holes into Solomon’s ottoman.

“This, I will not have!” Solomon said under his breath, and continued his climb up the staircase. But by the time he reached the landing, his hospitable sense was taking over. Perhaps this was how they behaved in Sampson’s family. Maybe they all went to sleep in chairs and put their boots up on the furniture, with their spurs on, no less!

He greeted Rachael and the boys before he did anything else. He dutifully admired Abraham’s school project—a catapult—and helped David with a mathematics problem. And then he turned toward Sampson.

And discovered that Sampson was not only awake, but on his feet and standing in the kitchen.

Solomon started. “My goodness, Sampson! You scared me to death!”

The faintest hint of a smile showed briefly on Sampson’s face, then vanished. “What’s the time?” he asked, although he was standing right next to the clock.

Solomon scowled, then said, “Eight-thirty. Why?”

The big man said, “I have an errand to run. Can I get a key to the store so’s I can let myself back in?”