wearing a pert navy blue hat. Her coat, a matching blue, was edged with black fur.
“Where are you traveling to?”
“Paradise.”
“You’re on the right road. You’ll come to a fork in another mile or so. Take the one on the left. It’ll lead you straight into town.”
“Thank you.” He looked her up and down. The speculative gleam in his eye gave the impression that he liked what he’d seen. “May I ask you a question?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Are there many of your kind here?”
“My kind, meaning women?”
He chuckled. “No, I—I mean Coloreds?”
“Will the answer alter why you’re going to Paradise?”
Her serious tone seemed to give him pause. “Well, no. I just . . . You’re a very striking woman and I’m wondering if you ever entertain—”
“Remember to take the left fork.”
His thin lips tightened, and the gleam was replaced by what may have been anger or embarrassment. “Thank you, miss.”
He left the porch. She closed the door and returned to the kitchen.
Chapter Five
Touring Paradise with the sheriff didn’t take long but proved helpful in meeting some of the other townspeople. After the saloon the first stop had been Miller’s grocer. Garrett was surprised by the establishment’s large interior, and how well-stocked it was. He spied everything from farm implements and children’s clothing, to back-East newspapers and a few Singer sewing machines. The Millers were middle-aged. The gray-haired wife, Lacy, had a twinkle in her blue eyes when Lambert introduced Garrett. Her husband, Chauncey, with his black-framed spectacles, was standoffish, and eyed him suspiciously. Next, he and the sheriff walked to the town’s lone bank, owned by Glenda Cale’s husband, Arnold, who appeared years older than his wife. Cale boasted about the bank’s large deposits on hand, and told Garrett, “Too bad you won’t be staying. I’d have some sure-fire investments for you to consider.”
Their final stop—the undertaker’s, where he shook the cold hand of owner, Lyman Beck. And throughout it all, his thoughts were dominated by the encounter witnessed at the saloon.
“So who was the man Spring was arguing with?” he asked the sheriff as they finished up their lunch in Dovie’s small dining room.
“Name’s Matt Ketchum. Spring worked for his father, Mitch, when she was younger.”
“In the house as a cook or a maid?”
“No, as a ranch hand and the only woman on the place.”
Garrett paused over his coffee and studied him. “Really?”
“Yes. She was pretty wild back then. Arrested her regularly for disturbing the peace, public intoxication, shoplifting. Colt and I were afraid we’d find her dead somewhere.”
Garrett’s lips tightened in response to Lambert’s description and concerned tone.
“But as soon as she got her own place, she settled down,” the sheriff continued, “or as settled down as Spring can be.”
“Do you think Ketchum will harm her?”
“He may try, but he’ll have a helluva time doing so, and he knows it. He doesn’t have his father to make things smooth for him anymore. Man’s basically a coward. Always has been.”
That made Garrett feel somewhat better. He was still trying to reconcile the Spring he’d met a few days ago with the one Whit had regularly arrested. Granted, she’d admitted patronizing saloons. It never occurred to him that she’d also run afoul of the law.
“Some people still judge her for her past, others don’t, but just about everyone points at Ben Lee for sending her life off the rails. Ben, and Mitch Ketchum. Both deserved to be horsewhipped for the parts they played.”
Garrett wanted to know the full story but didn’t see himself asking Spring about what had to have been a difficult time in her life. He couldn’t claim to respect her one minute, then turn around and casually ask, “Oh by the way, I heard you called a whore and were arrested for public drunkenness. Can you share the details with me—a stranger?” If she shot him with her Colt, he’d deserve it.
Whit drained the last of his coffee and stood. “I have to get back to my office. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to show me around.”
“You’re welcome.”
The tall lawman departed and Garrett’s thoughts slid back to Spring. His entering the saloon just in time to hear Ketchum brag about Spring being on her knees had been shocking. Her withering retort referencing something he’d never heard another woman say in his life still had him reeling. Rather than judge her as some might, Garrett considered the life she’d led. It had to have been challenging being the