Walkers Creek - A Western

'I was thinking of taking a room.' He says brusquely, not liking the man's manner. 'Who do I speak to about that?'

'That'll be me.' He smiles. A gold tooth glints. 'I'm the owner. My name is Renault. Marcel Renault.' He pronounces the name with an ostentatiously French accent.

Logan suspects that he is no more French than the dust on his boots.

'Let me go and have a look for you to see if we have anything suitable. How long were you planning to stay?' Renault looks him up and down, probably assessing his ability to pay.

It is as well that his clothes are a little dirty. This odious little man would probably be charging him a lot more for the room otherwise.

'I'm only planning on a couple of days to start with. But who knows, I might like it here.'

Renault flashed his gold tooth again.

'While you're checking,' he calls him back, 'can you tell me if Miss Nixon is here? I have something for her.' He brandishes the ribbon-wrapped box.

'Of course, she's at her customary table over there by the stairs.'

'Miss Nixon? Mr. Mannion asked me to bring you this.'

He holds out the dress box. She doesn't take it but looks up at him suspiciously.

'Sorry.' He takes off his hat. 'I don't mean to be rude.'

'No, no.' she laughs, 'I didn't recognize you with the new hat. It's a great improvement.'

'Thank you.' She still hasn't taken the box from him.

'White? An interesting choice. It says a lot about a man the color that he chooses for his hat.'

'It's white for the moment, but I don't put too much store in your color theory. They all end up the same color in the end.'

She raises an eyebrow at that remark.

'Please, sit down won't you?'

For the first time he realizes that she is the only person here who is sat alone. There are groups of three or four sat round several tables and a pair of old ladies sat at a table by the window passing comment on the goings on in the street. But Miss Nixon is sat drinking coffee on her own. He pulls up a chair.

'Aren't you worried that people will talk, seeing you sat drinking coffee with a strange man.'

'But you're not a strange man are you? You work for Mr. Humby. And even if you didn't,' she ignores his attempt to interrupt, 'I owe you something for helping me with that dog.' She smiles. The smile distracts him. He was about to tell her that he didn't work for Humby, that it was all a misunderstanding. But she smiles and he is lost for a moment in the way she looks. It takes him by surprise, he is used to being in control of his emotions, so he ends up saying nothing.

'Perhaps we should order you some coffee.' she says, 'Otherwise people really will think that this is odd.'

'I wondered,' she says as they wait for the coffee, 'how you came to be so good with animals.'

'You mean with the dog earlier? I was brought up on a farm. I was an orphan and I was basically brought up by the dogs.'

'Really? So you're basically a dog?'

'No, not exactly, but my mother was ill most of the time and we were five brothers so what little energy she had was spread so thin that I ended up spending more time with the dogs.'

'Your mother was ill? I thought you said you were an orphan?'

'Did I say orphan?' he asks with a chuckle. 'You see through my tall tales so quickly. I've just been spinning tall tales to the barber and his friend and they didn't seem to cotton on at all.'

'Don't spoil it, let me pretend it's true. Tell me about your farm.' She sits forward in her seat.

Should he try to correct her misunderstanding about him working for Humby or or should he go on with the fanciful story? She looks so interested, the moment will be lost if he mentions Humby again.

He spins the tale on further. The fanciful farm is described in detail. He tries all the while not to remember his real home and his real family. He isn't lying completely when he says that he spent his childhood with horses and dogs.

'So you see, I could ride before I could walk.'

'And learned how to get what you want from a woman with the sparkle in your eye?' she teases.

'Exactly!' They laugh. He notices her touch his arm briefly as she laughs and he feels comfortable and happy.

'It sounds like you'd be ideal for working on my ranch.'

'Your ranch? You own it?'

'Why not?' she sits back and crosses her arms. 'Why shouldn't I run a ranch?'

'Okay. You believed my tale, I'll believe yours. So how did you come to be running a ranch? You have to admit that's a rather unusual occupation for a lady of your youth?'

'Well, if we're telling tall tales, mine is as much about a troubled family as yours. I have a brother you see, and it was always expected that he would take over the ranch when our father got too old. My brother always took the love his father for granted and I always strained to please my father more and rarely succeeded. But my brother took things too far and he upset my father, upset him so much that he disowned my brother. He never acknowledged him ever again and when my father died he left the ranch to me.'

'Did you disown your brother as well?'

'If my father wouldn't recognize his own son and I loved my father then I would have to disown my brother too wouldn't I?'

'So once your father died you'd be able to speak to your brother again, or do you not want to do that in case he wants his share of the ranch?'

'Hey, stop trying to pick holes in my story.' She laughs.

'I think your brother must have done something really terrible to have been completely cut off like that. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd been hanged for it.'

As they talk he notices Mr. Humby's mustache make an entrance, accompanied by the sheriff. Renault fawns over them, attempting to brush the dust from their jackets but they ignore him and seat themselves at a table near the door.

'I think you might have it all back to front, don't you think it's possible that my father was the bad man and that my brother was too good? Don't you think? You're not listening to me now are you Mr. Tanner?'

She has him there. He is completely distracted by the arrival of a grimy cowhand who drunkenly staggers over to the table where the mayor and the sheriff are sat. They wave away Renault. After a brief conversation the man heads towards the bar and Logan can see that, rather than being drunk, the man simply has a pronounced limp.

'I'm sorry.' He says. 'I can see why you come here, there are so many interesting customers to watch.'

The limping man intercepts the barman carrying their coffee and takes the tray from him. This man stands out as one of the few that Logan has seen in town wearing a gun. He senses trouble and tenses up, gently moving his chair so that he can get clear of the table more easily. It alarms him that this appears to be one of Humby's men. Why have they sent him over? This town that seemed so charming and naively welcoming is showing itself to have a nasty underside.

The coffee tray crashes onto the table.

'Is this man bothering you Miss?' the man says, spraying spit with last word.

Logan stands, brushing spilled coffee from his pants.

'Go away Frank.' she says quietly.

'You're interrupting, take a hike.' says Logan calmly. It's an old game, picking on the new guy in town, finding out if he can handle himself. The man who backs down in this sort of situation is going to find himself robbed and bullied at every turn. He knows he has to make a good first impression. He doesn't need to look to know that Humby and half the room are watching.

'I ain't talkin' to you.' says Frank. 'I was talkin' to the woman.'

'I don't care who you were talking at mister. You spilled my coffee. Now you're crowding me when I want to drink it. Perhaps you came over here with something to say? Spit it out and go or I'll make you leave.' He needs to put on a show, which isn't going to work if he gives Frank a chance to get away with his pride intact. An idle threat should be enough to sucker in a man like this.