narrow, with second-floor balconies hanging over the wooden sidewalks. Iron shutters stood ready on either side of the windows of the oldest buildings - the best fireproofing from a time when fire was a common, deadly enemy.
Her roots on these streets went all the way back to 1849, when men were pulling a pound of gold a day out of Piney Creek. They'd named their camp Hot Water for the steaming spring that bubbled to the surface in the crotch of the nearby hills. Unlike many boomtowns, though, after the gold panned out, prosperity didn't.
Thanks to its central location, the early residents of Hot Water had made their fortunes the way most successful people in the Gold Rush times did - by selling goods and services to the thousands of miners who came chasing a dream. The profit on the sales of provisions, picks, pans, and, yes, sex had built a small but thriving community.
But maybe now was the time for Kitty to yank up her over one-hundred-fifty-year-old roots. Right now. Instead of waiting until summer's end, she could pack in the middle of the night and go, avoiding Dylan and -
"Kitty?" Spenser's silver brows connected over a nose that had convinced her years ago that some features of a person never stopped growing. "Is something the matter?"
Kitty sighed, her hopefulness dying. Leaving right away was no solution at all. Creeping out of Hot Water at midnight would leave the Hot Water Preservation Society in a lurch, right at the height of a less-than-stellar tourist season. People she cared for deeply, like Spenser, like Aunt Cat, would be not only hurt but affected financially. Spenser's part-time work as assay officer paid for his cherished visits to his granddaughter in Oregon. The money Kitty made at The Burning Rose would repay the college debt she owed Aunt Cat, something she'd vowed to do by summer's end.
She sighed again. "Everything's fine, Spenser."
As if Beau agreed, he let out a loud, bullfrog-worthy belch. Then he grinned proudly, his eyes focusing somewhere around Mrs. Shea's knees. "Wherz Kitty?" he asked. "Here, kitty kitty kitty kitty."
"I'm here, Beau," Kitty said.
He swigged another gulp from his beer can. "Kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty," he called again.
"What is it, Beau?" she said more loudly. "I'm right here."
He looked up, blinking as if dazzled. "I'm no good," he replied morosely. "No-good sher'ff, kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty."
"No, Beau, you're good," Kitty corrected hastily. "You're a good sheriff." Not strictly true, because he was actually better at beer drinking than he was at anything else.
"Kitty - " Mrs. Shea began.
"A fine sheriff." Kitty spoke over the other woman. On the weekends, it was the lawman's mock arrests that really drew the crowds, and the bottom line was there wasn't anyone besides Beau to do the job.
"Wanna drink. When I drink I don' remember. Don' wanna remember they're coming back."
Mrs. Shea made a disgusted sound and Kitty sighed. A month ago a roaring-drunk Beau had visited the real county sheriff's office with a garbled story about a flying saucer and his temporary abduction by aliens. They were coming back, he'd insisted.
He'd struggled even harder with staying sober since.
Kitty sighed again. "Beau, we need you to stop this behavior if you're going to be the Old Town sheriff."
Beau held up his beer can, eyeing it with love. "Don' wanna be sher'ff no more."
"Aha!" Mrs. Shea smiled triumphantly.
"No, Beau - "
"He quit, Kitty," the older woman interrupted. "You can't ignore it."
"He's going to change his mind," Kitty countered. "Right this minute. Aren't you, Beau?"
The clatter of Beau's empty beer can hitting the wooden sidewalk made it clear he'd changed his mind, all right. About remaining conscious. As the drained can rolled toward Kitty's toes, Beau's eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest.
"He's through," Mrs. Shea declared.
"No, no." Kitty nudged him with her foot, managing only to awaken a series of rumbling snores.
"Through," Spenser agreed.
Kitty looked at Jeremy, but even he just shrugged in apology.
Accepting defeat, Kitty recruited the young man to help her half drag, half carry Beau back inside the jail. Spenser followed with Beau's hat, and after debating, they left him sleeping in the middle of the floor. Tsking for all she was worth, Mrs. Shea draped his clothes over him. Kitty took his car keys; Spenser, the rest of the beer. Then the four let themselves out and locked the jail behind them.
By the time they'd finished with Beau, it was well past the hour of closing