Leaning against the post that supported the overhang which provided a spot for the Green River Gazette and Mayor’s Office sign to swing slightly in the breeze, Val Crawford smiled. The sheriff's pleasant disposition was due primarily to his current view of a happy, boisterous crowd. Who would have guessed letting a few females shoot at a paper target could gather so much attention?
“Good morning, Sheriff. Lovely day for the Jamboree.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Val tipped his hat. “Ordered it special just for you ladies.”
The sheriff of Green River could not deny he had benefited greatly from the official decision to allow the fairer sex admittance to the second annual Sharpshooters Jamboree. First, there were Mrs. Larson’s blueberry muffins kissed by the morning dew and delivered to his office by the cooking goddess herself. The chicken pot pie made a glorious appearance to his humble abode courtesy of widow Patterson. His sudden status as a crusader for women's rights was certainly a positive experience for Val Crawford. Of course, there were a few old duffers who said he had sold his soul to the devil. Val smiled. He was certain those bastards weren't dining on blueberry muffins or chicken pot pie.
And then there was Scott Lancer’s cousin, Kinsey Rose. There was a time he wanted to lock up that little lady and throw away the key.
“Sheriff Crawford, I left you a freshly baked apple pie on your desk.”
Beaming, Val removed his hat and placed it over his heart. “The angels in heaven should be so fortunate for a slice of your apple pie, Mrs. Monroe.”
Reluctantly, Val admired the girl’s feistiness, even though rumor had it she hardly kicked him. Yes, the sheriff had to admit it; Kinsey was the reason for today’s success and his newly found popularity. All in all, the Jamboree had all the makings to be perfect.
Except…
Like a horsefly buzzin’ in his ear on a hot summer day, something was bothering Val and he found it downright annoying. Crawford couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was fairly confident it involved the two young gentlemen presently crossing the street and heading his way. Fishing around in his shirt pocket, the sheriff of Green River retrieved a matchstick and parked it in the corner of his mouth.
“Great turnout! Wouldn’t you say, Val?”
The sheriff nodded to the younger brother on his right. “Yep.”
“Looks like the crowd has doubled...maybe tripled over last year’s.”
The sheriff’s eyes shifted to the older brother on his left. “Uh-huh.” Val removed the matchstick and examined it closely as if his next question was written on it. “Where’s your pa keepin’ himself?”
Johnny crossed his arms and sighed. “Not here. The old man went to Sacramento.”
Val squinted. “Sacramento, you say.”
Scott placed his hands on his hips and observed a passing cloud. “Couldn’t be helped. Cattlemen’s Association.”
The sheriff returned the matchstick to its rightful place. “Bet you boys are mighty disappointed.”
The blonde-haired young man nodded. “Goes without saying, Val.”
Before Crawford could enlighten the two brothers on the exact location of their father, the conversation abruptly headed in a different direction.
“Is she here?”
Howie Aspinwall’s eyes were darting about as he wiped his sweaty hands on the front of his shirt. It was obvious the seed of doubt the boys had planted a few days ago had produced a nice crop of panic.
“What’s wrong with you, Aspinwall? You’re actin’ like a jackrabbit on a hot patch of ground.” Val began to scan the crowd. “Is who here?”
Johnny pointed. “You mean your wife, Howard? She’s right over there; signing up for the competition.”
“Looks like she’s holding a shotgun, Howie.” Scott grinned. “Is that the one her father toted while escorting you to the church on your wedding day?”
“Hell, big brother. No wonder Aspinwall’s a bit jumpy. I would be too if I saw that gun again.”
It was Howard Aspinwall’s turn to single out a young lady from the group of competitors. “I bet that’s her. The one in the black hat.”
Sheriff Val Crawford peered in the same direction as his three companions until his eyes settled on one black hat. “Just who do you think that is Aspinwall?”
With great reverence, last year’s grand prize winner spoke the name.
“Ricochet Rose.”
Johnny turned his back on the announcement as Scott rolled his eyes. “Howie, I thought we had agreed to keep this to ourselves.”
“Sure, Scott. Sorry sheriff. Not another word. You can depend on me. Hey, the ladies are startin’ soon. I need to snag a good vantage point to assess Ricochet...I mean...my competition for the shoot-off.”
Watching Aspinwall make his way towards the roped off area for the spectators, the brothers silently waited for the inevitable.
“Well now.” The matchstick worked its way to the opposite corner of the sheriff’s mouth. “Let me decide which one of you I want explaining why that there little gal is all dressed up to rob a train and Aspinwall is convinced she is capable of doing so.”
Silence.
“John, I believe I can spot your swaggerin’ bull easier than your brother’s so I’m going to let you begin.”
Johnny’s drawl made the matchstick quiver. “Aw, Val. We were just havin’ some fun with old Howie.”
Crawford held up his hand. “Bad start there, boy. Scott, why don’t you give it a try.”
The older brother sighed. “Well, Val, we thought it might be helpful to give Kinsey an edge. You know, let her look a little intimidating.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, Johnny and I helped her get an outfit together which evidently is working rather nicely. Don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh. Mighty kind of you to be lookin’ out for your little cousin and all; not worried about your own competition. And that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve heard in some time. Johnny, why don't you take another stab at it?”
Johnny recrossed his arms and looked down at the ground. “Well, we did run into Howie the other day and we may have...Scott, what’s that word?”
“Embellished.”
“Yeah, we may have embellished when it came to talkin’ about Kinsey.”
Val pushed his hat back on his head. “Let me guess. Ricochet Rose.”
Scott grinned. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“You see me, smilin’ son?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then I’m thinkin’ you shouldn’t be either.”
The good sheriff of Green River removed the matchstick and placed it back in his shirt pocket. “I’m guessin’ you embellished Howie right into believin’ Ricochet Rose will embarrass him in the shoot-off.”
Silence.
“Uh-huh. Kinsey know about this? What about your old man?”
Silence.
“Thought so. Now, wouldn’t it be a shame if poor Howie had trouble concentrating when it came time to compete against you two? Could throw his aim off a hair, sweatin’ like he is. Damn shame. And it would be a damn shame if I kicked both of your sorry behinds out of this contest.”
Johnny didn’t get far in his protest. “Come on, Val we were just…”
“Havin’ yourselves some fun. So you said.” Val glanced at Scott. “Let me guess...couldn’t be helped. Listen up. Aspinwall is more annoying than our good mayor of Green River and I think we can all agree to that, which is why I’m not going to disqualify you two from the competition.”
Scott nodded. “We appreciate your understanding sheriff.”
“Don’t appreciate it too much, Scott.”
Johnny slung his arm around the neck of his old friend. “Thanks, Val, for keeping this under your hat.”
“My hat ain’t that big, son.”
As the sheriff of Green River watched the two brothers work their way back across the street, the older one turned around smiling. “We owe you one, Val!”
Crawford removed the matchstick from his shirt pocket and poked it in the corner of his grin. Considering the unknowing entertainment the Lancer boys were going to provide him today, they didn't owe him a damn thing.
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