“Climbing out of our holes. Well, Mannheim, tell me more. Considering my current state of immobility, I can honestly say…” Scott feigned a smile. “I’m all ears.”
Godfrey’s laughter fell short of fitting in with the surroundings. “Did you catch that, Merritt? All ears. Your humor, Mr. Lancer has what I call A Back East Edge. Were you a Yale chap, by chance?”
“Harvard.”
“Pity. Our paths might have crossed under more pleasing circumstances.” Mannheim scrutinized Scott’s face. “Do I detect a bit of confusion reflected in your eyes? Let me clear that up for you. Merritt isn’t the only one who has fallen from grace in his family legacy.”
“Birds of a feather.” Scott did his own scrutiny by refusing to be the first to break eye contact.
“Get to the goddamn point, Godfrey.” Yarra, rubbing the back of his neck, paced about as fresh sweat stained his shirt.
“Yes, dear Godfrey, best hurry along.” Kinsey’s taunting tone gathered the room’s attention. “It appears the laudanum is losing its battle in satisfying Merritt’s needs.”
Sighing, Mannheim executed his own worthy eye roll. “Mr. Lancer, your cousin… I implore you for a solution to stifle her disrespectful nature.” The man lowered his voice in confidentiality. “Merritt is masterful with his fists, however, he’s pure poetry in motion with a leather strap. A consideration to ponder.”
Scott quietly spoke in his own baritone inflection of decisive discretion. “Harm comes to her in any way and the devil will be shaking your hand in Hades while shoving a pitchfork up your ass. Also a consideration to ponder.” Glancing at his cousin, Scott gifted her with a wink.
As the wink painted a confident countenance on Kinsey’s face, it erased the one on Mannheim’s. “Yes, Merritt, I believe it’s time to get to the point.” Godfrey cleared his throat. “A man’s reputation, once tarnished, is difficult to polish to its original splendor. Finances dry up - greener pastures need to be sought - a different path is required.” Mannheim’s arm swept toward Johnny. “Here sits a shining example: a notorious pistolero, once hunted, but now a successful rancher.”
Johnny raised his head at the comment, causing Yarra to chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself thinking you have a notable reputation. Your hired man runs at the mouth while playing cards.” Merritt hunched to study his bloody handiwork. “Notorious pistolero? Obviously the bloke embellishes when telling a tall tale.”
“You're baiting him with an empty hook, Yarra.” Scott hoped his words carried the intended message: be patient, little brother.
“Maybe.” Merritt stood, paused and then spat on a pink embroidered shirt.
Scott released a held breath while watching Johnny’s split lip manage a subtle, lopsided grin. Message received.
Mannheim shook his head at what appeared to be disapproval of his associate’s inappropriate behavior of aimed spittle. “Merritt, your aristocratic bloodline suffers. Speaking of purebred, Miss Furlong, you’ll be pleased to know Garrett’s Gallop continues to capture blue ribbons at the races and you remain a favorite topic of the stable scuttlebutt. In fact, news of your inherited financial windfall couldn’t have arrived at a better time.”
And there it was. Scott closed his eyes at the frustrating confirmation. From the day his cousin received final word she was the sole heir to Fletcher Garrett’s estate, Scott had taken on the role of her protector. He’d gone toe-to-toe with Harlan and his lawyers over controlling Fletcher’s finances. A keen eye was kept on any correspondence from a bitter daughter cut from her father’s will. Scott had steered the young lady from suitors more interested in money than affection until the day Seth Westcott captured Kinsey’s heart and the shielding vigilance had relaxed.
“Now let’s discuss these bothersome holes, Mr. Lancer. First, your father denied me access to the girl which in turn dug her hole. Green River’s sheriff only deepened that hole with his ignorant backwoods rhetoric.” Godfrey rubbed his temple as if the conversation with Val still inspired a headache. “Second, we have Merritt digging his hole time and again with poor judgment and lack of restraint, the latest being an ill-timed poker game.” Mannheim stood and walked behind Johnny. “Which brings us to your brother and the hole he presently sits in, dug by ego’s blinders to impress. A cocked head queried. “How do those dime novels put it?” A smile responded. “Oh yes. We got the drop on him.”
“And what dug your hole, Mannheim?”
“Insufficient foresight on a crucial detail.” Godfrey reseated himself in front of Scott. “The requirement of a trustee to be precise. I never considered it until Miss Furlong informed me she alone cannot withdraw her money from the bank. An older cousin in his role as executor must be present for approval. You can imagine my disappointment when hearing this turn of events.” The man stood, bowed and mockingly addressed his audience. “Thank you, kind sir, for knocking on our humble dwelling’s front door with the offer of salvation from spending eternity sitting in our deep, dank holes.”
“Your theatrical delivery of this dilemma demands a stage.” Scott shot a nod over his shoulder. “I hope you aren’t expecting my applause.”
“What I’m expecting is your cooperation.” Mannheim sat back down with crossed arms. “You will accompany me and Miss Furlong to Green River’s bank and oversee the closing of her account. I don’t care what story you give the teller as long as it’s convincing. Mr. Yarra will remain here - keeping your brother company to ensure a smooth transaction of funds and our timely return.”
“And if I say no?”
“Well, I’ll be forced to deliver to your father a calling card of sorts: the trigger finger of a notorious pistolero. I’m certain a lucrative deal can be struck with a wealthy rancher wishing not to receive further severed appendages of his loved ones.” Mannheim’s tone reflected determination. “You see, one way or another, Mr. Yarra and I will leave the San Joaquin Valley financially secure.”
********
Setting boots on the rotting boards of the cabin’s porch, Scott stood behind his cousin as Mannheim firmly grasped her upper arm while in his other hand he held his pistol.
“Your carriage awaits, my lady, but first… ” Godfrey roughly guided his entourage toward the Lancer buckboard once destined for the Westcott vineyards. A waved gun pointed to one of Kinsey’s valises. “Empty it.”
Seeing his little cousin’s eyes seeking approval, Scott nodded. “Go ahead, Freckles. The man needs a way to carry his bankroll and what could be better - a carpetbag for a carpetbagger.”
With the flip of a brass clasp, Kinsey opened the valise and dumped to the ground a soft, floating cascade of lace and silk. Stooping, Mannheim gathered a handful of female undergarments, brought them to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Ah, lavender. Is this the scent that greeted Merritt’s brother as he laid on top of you?”
Scott stepped forward in time with the slap Kinsey delivered to Godfrey’s face. The click of Mannheim’s cocked pistol brought all to a halt. “I do deserve this woman’s scorn. My apologies. No hard feelings. Shall we proceed to town?”
With each bump, a gun’s barrel dug into the shoulder blades of Kinsey’s protector as he guided the buggy down an overgrown path leading to the main road. Now it was up to Val to play his part in Scott’s plan of Divide and Rule.
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