handed the paper back to Odell.
“I’ll send it right out.”
“Thank you.”
Moss asked, “Is working for a newspaper the only thing you do?”
“No. I’m a carpenter by trade.”
Porter James turned and looked him up and down. “How long?”
“Most of my life.”
“You any good?”
“I think I am. Why do you ask?”
“I’m a carpenter, too. Only one within miles. I also own the mill. If you need work while you’re here, me and this busted leg could sure use some help.”
“I’m not planning on staying after I speak with Dr. Lee, but thanks for letting me know I’d have work if I did.”
Garrett spent a few more minutes being quizzed about where he was from and what other places the newspaper business had taken him to.
Odell asked, “So you and Spring getting along?”
Garrett paused and wondered where this might be going. “I’m very grateful that she took me in. I’m concerned about folks thinking I’m courting her. Farthest thing from my mind.”
“Why?” Porter asked.
Garrett studied him. “I doubt Miss Lee is interested in being courted by a man who will be leaving soon.”
Moss asked, “If you weren’t leaving, would you be interested?”
More accustomed to being the nosy questioner, he kept his voice calm. “I think that would be between me and Miss Lee, don’t you?”
Moss smiled. James did, too. Odell said, “See? He’ll do fine, won’t he?”
Garrett was afraid to ask, but did anyway. “Fine as what?”
“As the man Spring needs to court her,” Odell replied as if it was obvious.
Exasperated, Garrett said, “But you don’t know anything about me. Suppose I’m already married or engaged?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then, there you go,” Odell said.
He wondered if the people in Paradise were prone to insanity. As he contemplated that, a tall auburn-haired man entered. There was a brass star pinned to the front of his brown wool coat.
“Name’s Whitman Lambert,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m the sheriff. Call me Whit.”
Thankful to be rescued, Garrett shook the man’s hand. “Garrett McCray. Pleased to meet you.”
Whit explained, “Dovie asked me to show you around.”
“I’d like that.” Anything to get away from Odell and his matchmaking friends.
Garrett turned to them. “Nice meeting you gentlemen.”
Odell said, “Whit, give this to Heath. It came in with this morning’s mail.” He handed the sheriff a small package wrapped in brown paper. “And take real good care of our guest there.”
The sheriff appeared confused by that, but replied, “Sure, Odell.”
Outside, Lambert asked, “What was that all about?”
Garrett said, “You don’t want to know. Where to first?”
“Let’s go take this to Heath Leary over at the saloon.”
Before going home, Spring rode over to the Irish Rose, the town’s local saloon. She’d asked the owner, Irishman Heath Leary, to order a bottle of scotch from a Denver importer, and she wanted to see if it had arrived. Unlike the wild Spring of old, she rarely set foot in saloons anymore. If she wanted to sip, she preferred to do it in the evenings, at home—alone. As she entered the establishment, she scanned the near-empty interior, noting a few men seated here and there. A small group sat together at a table in the far corner. Baxter, the aged piano player, was dressed in his usual threadbare black suit. He was also slumped against the piano, asleep. She walked over to the bar where Leary was stacking glasses. Dark hair and eyes, he was easily one of the most handsome men in the Territory. He was also hopelessly in love with Dovie Denby, who refused to give him the time of day.
“How are you, Spring?”
“I’m okay. Has my scotch come in?”
“Not yet. Any day now though, I’m sure.”
A man called out from across the room. “If it isn’t the most well-used mouth in the Territory. How you doing, Spring?”
She froze. She hadn’t heard Matt Ketchum’s smug voice in years, but her hate rose fresh and raw.
Leary’s dark eyes moved to the speaker and back to her tight face. She saw his concern. Ignoring Ketchum, she said to Leary, “I’ll check back in a couple of days.”
Ketchum stormed, “Don’t try and ignore me, you little whore.”
He’d drawn everyone’s attention. The scrape of his chair as he got to his feet was loud in the silence.
She turned to face him because she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. “No one can ignore your stench, Matt. They probably smell you in Laramie.”
The men seated with him turned around to get a good look at her.
Her sidelong glance showed Whit Lambert entering the saloon with McCray. Great.
Matt boasted in a