A Stable Conversation

“Is there a reason why you’re asking me if I’m familiar with the name?”

“Well Half-pint,” Johnny stood behind Kinsey with a leaden jawline slanted to his chest. He had also caught the little cousin’s poker tell for a bluff. “Considerin’ a man rode in this mornin’ talkin’ like a brass-balled roo might be a reason.”

Keep your damn mouth shut, brother. Scott aimed what Winnie called a shite eye at the confronting comment. Odds favored nothing would be accomplished by making Kinsey walk the carpet for denying any knowledge of Godfrey Mannheim.

“Well John, how does a brass-balled roo speak? Is it similar to a pissin-pud prairie dog?”

Good odds indeed. An eye roll ensued.

“Enough.” Murdoch’s continued judgment on wisecracks silenced the room. “Mr. Mannheim stated he was from Melbourne. I’m guessing that’s what John was trying to convey, which he did a poor job of and will now hold his tongue… along with you, young lady, who will clean-up her mouth.”

“Yesssss.” Scott’s word skipper-skimmed over the room’s rippled waters. “The gentleman’s from Melbourne and he’s politely requesting a moment of your time.”

“Regarding?”

“Godfrey Mannheim stated he represents the Yarra family, however, when asked, he fell a bit short of offering tangible confirmation that instilled any confidence.” Observing his cousin’s stiffening posture, a continued casualness was deemed crucial. “Having just met the gent and uncertain of his intentions, we’ve asked Sheriff Crawford to handle the matter. Simply a precaution, Freckles. So, until it’s resolved, Val has kindly asked this man to stay in town so he may be easily reached.”

“I believe Mr. Mannheim’s intentions are rather clear. He has questions seeking my answers. Tomorrow I’ll travel -”

“No.” Although spoken firmly, yet calmly, Scott’s response increased in volume with two forceful simultaneous no’s chiming in.

The result proved not surprising.

“I see.” Kinsey collected her illustrations of feathered hats accessorizing elegant gowns. “Then I shall wait until one of you men fills up a tub, walks on water and makes an intelligent decision for me… which I’m incapable of doing, evidently.” The young lady rose and left the room.

A tsk’d tongue of disapproval turned Scott’s head to meet the scorching glare of Teresa O’Brien. “Honestly!” Winnie would have been proud of the girl’s shite eye, which was admirably bestowed on the other Lancer males before exiting.

A slow deflate of puffed cheeks slumped Scott back into the couch. “I’d like to thank all still present for their concise and unfortunately effective contributions to the previous conversation.”

A father’s grunt called the tune of slight regret and offered a gesture of contrition. “I’ll go talk to Jelly.” The sound of a popping knee signaled the patriarch’s standing movement. “Then tell the boys to keep an eye open when in town for anyone appearing out of step with the usual day-to-day.”

The Great Room clock’s rhythmic cadence ushered Murdoch out as Johnny’s inner clock spring finally sprung. “That little girl’s lyin’, Scott.”

“She’s not being completely truthful.”

“Is that we’re callin’ it now, brother?” A raised thumb and forefinger hung each word separately in the air. “Not. Completely. Truthful.” An exclamation point was added. “Bullshit.”

“It’s what I’m calling it until I get the opportunity to talk to her.” Scott countered with his own verbal punctuation of emphasis. “Alone.”

“Not how I’d be dealin’ with it.”

Scott stood to bird-dog some fresh air, halting briefly at his brother’s side. “Oh, I know how you’d be dealin’ with it.”

********

Speaking of not being completely truthful… Scott picked up a stone, allowing his frustration to side-arm it between corral rails which created puffs of displaced dust in its bouncing journey.

… he’s politely requesting a moment of your time…

… fell a bit short of offering tangible confirmation…

… having just met the gent and uncertain of his intentions…

… simply a precaution…

And the proverbial chocolate icing on the yellow cake: Val has kindly asked this man to stay in town so he may be easily reached.

Kindly? With another thrown stone joining the first, a self-evaluation verbalized. “Lancer, you dumbass.”

Ho-ho, sir! You won’t be hearing an argument from me on that one!

Not now, George.

I’d have to say the sugar-coated cock ‘n bull you handed your cousin far succeeded in calling Tillie the Tassel an ‘Interpretive Coryphée.’

Shut up, MacCallister.

Harlan damned near shipped your backside to Borneo that night. Although, if memory serves me correctly, the constable was amused by your adolescent perspective. Well now, what have we here?

Scott’s eyes drifted to the bunkhouse, settling on his father and Jelly entering.

I must say, old boy, you make it difficult to offer assistance. Right flank, Lieutenant.

Following orders brought into view Kinsey heading toward the stables, the limp from her fall nearly undetectable. Scott smiled at the scene. Not dressed in her riding britches meant the little cousin had no thoughts of taking flight and the apple in her hand for Buck would provide a convenient prop for a conversation. “Thank you, George.”

You are most welcome… dumbass.

A murmuring one-sided discussion suggested Buck, the best listener in the San Joaquin Valley, was getting an ear full. The crunching gravel of a visitor’s approach halted Kinsey’s equine consultation.

Scott settled his backside on a small table reserved for a few folded saddle blankets which earned him an expression of unabashed vexation from his cousin. Too bad, little one, I’m in for the stay. An index finger pointed to the horse’s treat. “Maria’s apple pies have been less frequent since your arrival at the ranch.” An open palm ushered in a stern directive. “Hand it over.”

As Kinsey relinquished the pilfered apple, her confidant’s muzzle followed its path, his indignation expressed with a snort. “Hold on, fella.” Grinning, Scott fished out a pocket knife and carved a slice. “Don’t rush to judgment, Buck. That’s our job.” The offered piece of fruit, once destined for a pie, quickly found its way into the horse’s mouth.

“It’s rather easy to rush to judgment when no one is being forthrightfulnessly.”

A pondering frown halted the knife blade’s task. “Not certain that’s a word, Freckles.”

“It is now.”

The dubious term was added to Webster’s dictionary with a pout-lipped nod of approval while another piece of apple was carved. “All right. Agreed. Our earlier conversation lacked forthright-fullness-lee. I’d like to try again.”

Waiting for him to proceed, two sets of brown eyes silently challenged Scott in a stare down, although, chances were Buck’s interest rested solely on the treat and not the try again.

Scrutiny of the fruit in his hand presented a fact: whittles replacing words would only leave Scott with an apple core and not a resolve. They had to start somewhere. “What was that handle you knighted me with some time ago?”

“Exasperating. Impossible. Stubborn. Pain in the-”

“No. Not my list of outstanding attributes. My title.”

“Overzealous Protector of the Universe.”

“Right.” Smile. “I always took great pride in wearing that moniker. Still do. However I’ll admit, at times, it does cloud my view of the young woman standing in front of me.” Slice. “I forget just how determined, independent and strong-minded she is.” An eyebrow raised.

“I only ask for less sweet stirred into the tart lemonade.” Kinsey plucked the piece of apple from Scott’s hand and offered it to Buck.

Chomp.

“Granted.” Scott studied what was left of the horse’s treat. I might be in need of a bigger apple. “Johnny's description of Godfrey Mannheim as a brass-balled roo was rather accurate. The man arrived this morning claiming he represented the Yarra family.”

“You’ve already mentioned that fact.”

“I felt it was worth repeating.” Slice.

“And this man seeks information regarding Thomas’s death?” Pluck.

Chomp.

“Yes. He believed a moment of your time could shed some light on Yarra’s untimely demise.” Slice.

Pluck. “Be careful, sir. You’re loosening the lid on a sugar jar.”

Chomp.

“Fine.” Scott set the imaginary jar back on the shelf and grabbed a couple of lemons. “Godfrey Mannheim had no problem sharing his opinions of Kinsey Rose Furlong.” Fingers ticked off the list. “Questionable morals. Promiscuous behavior. Inappropriate relationships. Gold-digging social climbing. His biased insinuations confirmed my initial decision when first meeting the man: he will never come near you, let alone conduct an interrogation.” Slice.

“Bloody hell.”

“The bastard’s lucky I didn’t break his jaw.”

Pluck. “And where does Sheriff Crawford stand in all of this?”

Chomp.

“Pleased he’s on your wedding guest list.”

“Sugar jar.”

“Noted.” Slice. “Until Mannheim can produce more than hot air accusations, Green River’s constable has instructed the pompous Aussie snot nose -”

“Pompous Aussie snot nose?”

“You asked for Val’s thoughts on the subject.”

“I did.” A slight smile danced across Kinsey’s face, suggesting Crawford’s humor was far-reaching. “Please continue.”

“Mannheim is not to step one foot on Lancer land. Doing so will result in a charge of trespassing and an accommodating jail cell.”

Pluck. “Isn’t there a strong possibility this Melbourne gentleman will eventually accomplish the necessary legal steps to ask his questions?”

Chomp.

“Yes.” Slice. “Which is why you need to be truthful regarding your knowledge of Godfrey Mannheim.”

“I told you.”

“And you lied.” A brow cocked at his cousin’s silence. “Did the lemonade get too tart for your taste, young lady?” Scott wagged the apple slice in front of his little cousin’s sheepish demeanor. “Best not let Buck suffer while you dig yourself out of a hole.”

Pluck. Chomp.

“All right. I may have heard the last name Mannheim…. once. The men at the Melbourne stables always referred to him as Manny the Mark.”