Seated, Murdoch shuffled through the jumble of opened envelopes, papers and hastily written reminders gathered on his desk. “The clover is well established. Let’s move the herd from the north pasture.”
“A good decision.” Standing half turned behind his father, Scott leaned against the frame of the large arched window which dominated the hacienda’s Great Room. Arms crossed and his gaze focused on the ranch’s distant landscape, his appearance was one of reflection - perhaps pondering the well-established clover.
“Cattlemen's Association meeting in Sacramento at the end of this month.” The letter was added to the keep pile.
“Yes, of course.”
Two pieces of paper and a torn envelope landed in the lopsided stack dubbed toss. “It's only a few days. I’ll need you boys to stay close to home.”
“Yes. A good decision.”
Murdoch’s head raised slightly - a faint narrowing of his eyes suggested suspicion. “Upcoming cattle drive - we’ll need to hire extra hands.”
“Of course.”
A pencil was retrieved to tap on the wooden desktop. “I was thinking of signing up Madeline and Maura McGuire. I understand they're top notch wranglers.”
“Yes. A good decision.” Scott’s stance remained unchanged.
The patriarch's narrowed eyes softened as a sly smile took shape. “Why don't you ride into town and see if they're available.”
“Yes, of course.”
Flinging his arm over the back of the chair, Murdoch turned for a better view of his oldest. “If you leave now the three of you could skinny dip in Martin’s Lake at sunset.”
“A good decision.” It took a minute of halted conversation for Scott to sense the heat from his father’s stare and refocus his attention to the room. “I believe I just agreed to hire the McGuire twins for the next cattle run.”
“And then go skinny-dipping. Let’s not forget the incentive.”
A nod of the head accented Scott’s sheepish expression. “I apologize.” Gesturing toward the window, his reasonable explanation struggled to materialize. “I was thinking… looking, actually… I guess my mind -”
“Sit down. They're not due back for another hour.”
Scott opened his mouth to offer a defense - a defense which was stopped before it began.
“Sit down.” Murdoch pointed to the chair in front of the desk.
His father’s index finger didn’t waver as Scott stalled and then begrudgingly moved to settle into the designated seat. Resting his ankle to knee, he scrutinized a drop of pink paint still remaining on one boot. “I'm uncertain if Johnny was the best choice to escort Kinsey to the mission.”
“I understand your concern, son. Although I’m confident it was a lucky punch that little girl landed with her bag. You can stop worrying about your brother’s safety.”
It took a moment for Scott’s reluctant grin to surface while his eyes raised to meet his father’s. “Kinsey once called me an Over-Zealous Protector of the Universe.”
“Quite the title. If you decide to go into politics, I recommend the young lady write your speeches.”
“Or serve as my bodyguard.” Scott’s unwilling smile relaxed to be more genuine. “Kinsey’s the one who would best excel in the political arena. Do you know she’s planning a dedication ceremony once the chicken coop has reached its full pink potential?”
“I'm aware.” Murdoch resumed the excavation of the paper mound. “Which is why my last bottle of fine champagne is under lock and key. Come to think of it -” Selecting a memo, his hand hovered over the growing discard pile. “My next to last bottle of fine champagne was also under lock and key before it vanished.” His eyebrow raised as the released paper floated down to join the others destined for the fireplace. “Perhaps it's time to relocate the liquor cabinet key.”
Scott’s sheepish grin returned. “A good decision.”
Murdoch reclined slightly to rub his eyes before folding his hands across his midsection. “Your plans for Kinsey’s future have changed slightly since she first arrived. If memory serves me correctly, you couldn't decide what would be best for the young lady - fishing in a leaky boat...camping out in coyote country...or an expedition to - where was it again?”
Scott cleared his throat. “The North Pole.”
“Ah, yes.” Murdoch’s voice took on the tone of someone reliving a fond memory. “The North Pole without a compass.”
Nodding and smiling, Scott accepted his father’s good-natured teasing. “Your point has been made, sir.”
“No, son, I don't believe it has.” The seriousness of Murdoch's statement robbed the current conversation of its light-hearted nature. “It goes against my grain to say Fletcher Garrett had the capacity to make a wise decision. But revising his will to remove Harlan and name you as trustee of Kinsey’s inheritance was a wise decision and a good judge of your character.”
“More like the last laugh on Grandfather than a judgment of my character.”
“Whatever Fletcher’s motivation was at the time, his actions were correct. Handling the role of Kinsey's executor is a huge responsibility and I commend you for a job well done, thus far.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The Progression of the Conversation. It's what Scott called speaking with his father. Over time he’d learned Murdoch's opening remarks were not necessarily related to the reason for the discussion. Certain this was one of those talks, Scott patiently waited for his father’s shift from Point A to Point B.
“Over-Zealous Protector of the Universe.” Leaning forward, Murdoch’s folded hands traveled to his desk. “You may question Fletcher Garrett’s ability to judge a man’s character, but it's obvious his granddaughter is rather insightful...and may I add, accurate. You have taken on that role with undying commitment.”
“However.” Scott’s thumbnail scraped across his boot’s pink paint fleck. Point B had arrived.
“However it's time you stepped away from a small piece of that role - the one of father.”
Scott’s eyes abruptly left his boot to meet the patriarch’s. Point B had taken him by surprise.
“Son, you possess every quality required to be an outstanding father. You've proven this time and again dealing with Kinsey’s strong will and stubbornness. It goes without question how fortunate your own children will be.” Murdoch paused to let his words take hold. “Your agenda is long. It's time to shorten it. Wouldn't you agree?”
Wouldn’t I agree? Why ask? Does it matter? All right, yes. Scott agreed it was a role he should have never taken on but did so without regrets. Yes, his agenda was long and complicated. Agreed. And yes, let’s all agree his balking at the suggestion to relinquish some of the responsibility regarding Kinsey was a direct result of Murdoch stepping in without being asked.
Scott caught himself falling victim to his own strong will and stubbornness. He hadn't asked for help but it was obvious he needed it. “Yes, sir. I understand to some degree your reasoning.” Fresh air to clear the mind became a necessary requirement. He needed time to think this through. “If there's nothing else for now…perhaps a later discussion with more details....” Scott rose and addressed the condition of his father’s desk. “I wouldn't want to delay progress.”
Murdoch's snort confirmed progress was another hour of sorting through paperwork. A jesting confession followed. “I miscalculated. We won’t need to hire the McGuire twins after all…but the incentive can still remain on the table.”
An appropriate reply was imperative to return to Point A and exit. “Good decision.”
Scott breathed in the late afternoon air carrying the fragrance of the evening primrose from Teresa’s flower garden. Hauntingly sweet was how she described the aroma. Scott never understood how sweet could be haunting but he took her word for it. Rubbing the back of his neck, he was certain of one thing - hauntingly sweet didn’t do jack squat to clear his mind.
Movement snagged the corner of his peripheral vision. The buckboard he’d searched for earlier kicked up dust as it traveled on the road to the ranch. Well, Scott certainly didn't want to appear to be a worrisome father pacing back and forth while wringing his hands. Flopping on a nearby bench sufficed for a casual appearance.
“Scott, the day was extraordinary!” Like most of her entrances, Kinsey blew in spouting an enthusiastic account of her recent experiences. And staying true to form, the conversation remained one-sided. “We’re going to paint a mural - Sister Rosa is a delight - once she started smiling - which, thank goodness, didn't take long - and the children - what beautiful children - did I mention we're painting?”
Scott didn't try to answer. Dodging the center of a stampede would be easier.
“In the classroom - the mural will be in a small classroom - Sister Rosa agreed to my suggestion and smiled. Did I mention how nice Sister Rosa is? Painting - there's still light - idle hands gather moss -”
Gather moss? Confusion joined their discussion.
“I must change my clothes - the chicken coop is almost finished - did I mention we’ll need champagne? For the coop not the mural - champagne for Sister Rosa? That wouldn't’ make sense.”
The dust devil blew out as quickly as she blew in only to be replaced by her escort rubbing his temples to ward off a headache. “I’ll tell ya what doesn't make sense. That little girl talkin’ all the way back from the mission and not once stopping to take in air.”
“Gills.” Scott pointed to his neck. “Like a fish. Did I mention that's how she breathes?” Looking past his brother, more activity on the road demanded attention.
Following his gaze, Johnny squinted. ‘Isn't that your personal Pony Express ridin’ in?”
“It is.” Scott wasn’t expecting correspondence from his grandfather or any of the lawyers involved in Kinsey's trust. Confusion had decided to prolong its stay.
Johnny’s mention of the Pony Express was an accurate comparison to fourteen-year-old Ben’s entrance. As Jelly would describe it - the boy rode in on a cloud of dust and horse shit.
“Benjamin!” With his younger brother a few steps behind, Scott’s long strides carried him to their visitor as the boy dismounted. “Good to see you. How many letters today?”
Ben reached inside his coat. “Only one, Mr. Lancer.”
“Very good.” Scott held out his hand.
An envelope materialized but stayed guarded against the boy’s chest. “Sorry, sir. It’s addressed to Miss Furlong. She around?”
“Kinsey?” Confusion spread its arms to include Johnny. “The kid’s also running mail for half-pint?”
“The young lad here is quite the businessman.” Scott’s empty hand was offered again. “I’ll see Miss Furlong receives her correspondence.”
“Uh-uh. Can’t do that Mr. Lancer. Miss Furlong said I need to give the letters to her directly.”
“It’s fine Ben. I’m her cousin. You can trust me.”
“Miss Furlong said you would say that. And I wasn’t to be taken in by your smooth talk.”
“Is that a fact?” Scott raised an eyebrow with a side glance to his younger brother. “I talk smooth.”
“That is a fact, Boston.” Johnny swept his hand in front of him to even out any bumps in the air. “You are… smooth.”
“So tell me, Benjamin.” Scott crossed his arms. “What else did Miss Furlong say?”
“Well, she said you and your brother could be artfully devious and it was my moral obligation to uphold the deal we struck.”
“Moral obligation?” Scott concluded Kinsey was not only making this boy rich but also improving his vocabulary.
“Yep. Didn’t need to sign a loyalty paper or nuthin’. A spit handshake was good enough for Miss Furlong. And God’s truth, Mr. Lancer - I ain’t lyin’ - not too many females will settle for a spit handshake from a fella.”
“Rare indeed.” Scott stared up at the sky with the sudden urge to be artfully devious. “Well, Ben, I hate to tell you, but Miss Furlong is indisposed and I don't know how long she’ll be. Riding alone and that sun hanging a bit low on the horizon, you best head out. Of course, leaving empty handed is unfortunate.”
Benjamin’s scowl revealed what Lancer’s Smooth Talker had anticipated - cold hard cash might outweigh moral obligation. “Yeah, I was kinda hopin’ for that silver dollar.”
“A silver dollar?!” Johnny let out his customary low whistle of astonishment.
“Tell you what, Ben.” Scott reached into his pocket to produce a dollar. “I’ll pay you, you give me the envelope and I’ll explain the circumstances to Miss Furlong.” The bait dangled in front of the young courier’s nose.
“I dunno Mr. Lancer. Mayor Jenkins told Sheriff Crawford and Sheriff Crawford told my pa Miss Furlong has a temper. I sure wouldn’t want to see it.”
Scott couldn’t argue that one. “All right, fair enough - I’ll double the going price considering the risk you’re taking.”
“Deal!”
So much for loyalty and obligation. Scott smiled and held out his hand. “Johnny, give me a dollar.”
“Whoa. That’s an expensive request, brother.”
“I think you’ll want to contribute to the worthy cause of helping this faithful servant of the U.S. mail. Trust me, little brother.” A wink of the eye validated the venture.
Money and envelope exchanged hands followed by a quick departure of the Pony Express.
Johnny hooked his thumbs into his now empty pockets and leaned against the archway. “You mind tellin’ me why I’m one dollar poorer than I was five minutes ago?”
Using Kinsey’s letter as a pointer, Scott gestured in the direction of the chicken coop. “Do you know how many coats of whitewash it’s going to take to get that God-awful color covered up?”
Johnny glanced down at his current attire.
“And would you care to make a side bet on which one of us will be the first to find out the answer?”
“Damn.” The opinion of the color pink was no longer important.
Scott presented the envelope for all to admire. “What we have right here, little brother, is reimbursement...one way or another...for our suffering.”
The Chicken Coop Picasso arrived as if summoned - dressed in painting overalls which gave Johnny's shirt serious competition. Scott smiled as he casually held out the letter. “Ben was here.”
“Oh?” Disapproval briefly crossed his cousin's face. “Why… thank you for accepting my correspondence.” Kinsey reached for the envelope.
With little effort from its current owner, the letter hovered out of her reach. “We paid Ben -”
“We?” Kinsey’s eyes drifted to Johnny’s smile.
“You got one expensive business partner there, darlin’.”
“I see. Yes, a silver dollar is rather -”
“Three.” Scott smiled. “The cost is now three silver dollars. You need to add on our handling fee.”
“Three? Bloody hell.” Kinsey’s tirade died abruptly when viewing her letter traveling to Scott’s back pocket. “Wait. Of course.” The envelope reappeared. “I would gladly pay you the full amount but… I'm lacking in finances at this time -”
“Lacking?!” Scott’s amusement waned. “You received your monthly allowance from me right before I left for Boston! What happened?”
“Well, there was the trip to Omaha… first class... and other expenses - that's not the issue.”
“It soon will be.” Artfully devious dissolved to sternfully annoyed.
“Perhaps I could write out an I.O.U.!” The sound of hope graced the air.
Johnny shook his head. “Your I.O.U. can’t buy me a cold beer in town tonight.”
Scott’s smile widened to include dimples. This situation exceeded favorable - it was damn near perfect. Artfully devious was about to pay off. “You know, Johnny, maybe we should look at Kinsey’s dilemma as more of a long term investment.”
Methodically tapping the envelope on his palm, Scott zeroed in to present his proposition to his penniless cousin. “It’s inevitable Murdoch will request one of his sons to restore the chicken coop to its original color. Let’s say you agree to stand beside that lucky individual, paint brush in hand, assisting him in whitewashing away the pink, then I think we could see our way clear to handing over your letter.”
Johnny added clarification. “We would be the judge on what three dollars worth of assistance looks like.”
“Goes without sayin’, little brother. However, considering the circumstances, a point well made.” Scott held up the envelope. “The way I see it, Freckles, your choices are limited.”
“Dodgy rot. Nickin’ from your own cousin.” Kinsey’s Aussie accent surfaced in grand style signaling Scott had hit paydirt.
“You can always wait until next month’s allowance - the amount of which, by the way, I will be reevaluating.’
“Fine.” Kinsey’s jawline possessed the flexibility of granite. “You have a deal.”
Spitting on his palm, Scott extended his hand. “I understand this is how honorable men… and women… presently conclude their business agreements around here.”
Revealing knowledge of the handshake was the final piece of evidence needed to confirm Benjamin’s betrayal. Dissatisfaction plowed Kinsey’s brow. There was no denying. Experiencing the scorn of a woman’s fury and the consequences of financial greed were in the lad’s near future.
Spitting in her own palm followed by a handshake, the cousins’ transaction was completed with the transfer of the letter to its intended recipient.
Kinsey tore open the letter - her eyes hurriedly scanning the words written on the paper. “Extraordinary news! Seth said yes to my invitation! I must tell Murdoch… and Teresa! We only have a few weeks to plan!”
While watching Kinsey disappear back inside the hacienda, Scott braced for his little brother’s predictable question.
“Who the hell is Seth?”
Comments