“Johnny, I think we might have a problem.”
Johnny agreed with his big brother as he watched Howard Aspinwall finish his conversation with Mayor William Jenkins and head their way.
“Lancer!”
Scott turned his head away from the crowd of spectators to focus on what his brother was referring to; a very angry, charging bull named Howie making his way through the crowd.
“Lancer, you sonofabitch!”
Scott raised his eyebrows. “It appears the man is upset.”
Johnny frowned. “Which one of us is he calling a sonofabitch?”
Scott pondered. “I'm not sure.”
“Lancer, you lyin' sonofabitch!”
Scott smiled. “Ah, that narrowed it down. He’s referring to you, Johnny.”
“Lancer, you no good cheatin’ sonofabitch!”
Johnny shook his head. “Nope. It's you he’s talkin' to, brother.”
Scott nodded. “I believe you're right.”
Once last year's red-faced, protesting jamboree winner joined Murdoch's two sons, it was clear who he desired to have a discussion with.
“Lancer, you no good, lyin', cheatin', sonofabitch.”
“Johnny, " Scott placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “I was wrong. It’s obvious he wants to speak to both of us. Hello, Howard. Is there a problem?”
The younger brother expressed concern. “Take it easy, Aspinwall. You don't look so good. Maybe I should fetch Doc Jenkins.”
Scott confirmed the diagnosis. “Agreed. Howie, take deep breaths.”
“She's your cousin.”
Scott’s confused expression pleaded ignorance. “Johnny, I'm struggling to understand what Howard is implying.”
“I believe this fella has been in the sun too long, big brother. He’s making no sense.”
“Who’s my cousin, Howie?”
As if on cue, a rifle shot delayed Aspinwall’s response. The three gentlemen’s attentions turned toward the spectators’ cheers as the winner of the women’s event mounted the steps to the podium.
Howard pointed towards the gal in the black hat. “Ricochet Rose. Ricochet Rose is your cousin.”
Scott pushed his hat back on his head. “My cousin? Are you sure? Johnny, were you aware?”
“Saw it in her eyes, Scott.”
“Damn. Why am I always the last to know?”
“Wasn’t sure how to tell ya.”
“Well, I thought she looked familiar.”
The older brother only half listened while Howard Aspinwall continued to express his feelings on being duped. Watching his cousin walk up the platform steps to receive her 1st place ribbon from Will, Scott held his breath and had just one thought. ‘I swear, Kinsey Rose if you kick Jenkins in the shin you’ll need a pillow to sit on at the supper table tonight.’ Scott didn’t believe in the theory of reading someone’s thoughts but he began to smile when it appeared Kinsey had read his. He laughed as he watched her graciously accept the ribbon and pose for a few photographs with Green River’s illustrious mayor. ‘Ah, Freckles. Like your days in Melbourne, you’re back in front of the camera again.’
“You think this is funny Lancer?”
Scott briefly returned his focus to the angry man standing in front of him. “Actually, Aspinwall, I do. You bit on that tall tale hook, line, and sinker.
While Johnny took over pacifying Howard, Scott observed Kinsey leaving the podium to be congratulated by…
“Murdoch.”
Scott shook his head. His guess was correct when he saw Kinsey compete. It was his father who had taken her out for target practice these last few weeks. The old man no doubt had found out what his sons were up to; including the knowledge of the infamous Ricochet Rose. His trip to Sacramento never existed. ‘Henry at the saloon has a big mouth.’
“Look, Scott and I were havin’ a little fun with you. Be a good sport, Howie.”
Howard spit out his words with forced laughter. “Let’s see who has the last laugh. I’ve watched that gal shoot and she’s damn good. Sitting at a desk in San Francisco has hurt my game so I know I won’t be a finalist. So, tell me...which one of you bright boys are going to break that little lady’s heart and outshoot her. Jenkins tells me she has a helluva temper.”
The two cousins stood side by side admiring the Winchester lever action repeating rifle hanging on the wall.
Scott was the first to express his opinion.
“I like it.”
“So do I.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it hanging in your room, Freckles.”
“No. I think it looks better hanging in your room.”
“I must admit, it does bring out the beauty of my Philips Academy for Boys Spelling Bee Third Place trophy.”
“Agreed.”
“Scott?”
“Hmmm?”
“Did you pull your last shot?”
The older cousin raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I let you win?”
“Rule Seven. Don’t answer a question with a question.”
“That’s Murdoch’s rule. Do you see Murdoch standing in this room?”
Silence.
“Kinsey Rose, that is your rifle. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
The smaller hand gave the larger hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
The older cousin grinned. Like he had told his younger brother...sometimes winning isn’t important.
Comentarios