Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
T he carriage came to a stop, the horses whinnying in protest. The door was flung open before the footman at the back had a chance to jump down and open it. To Stephen’s horror it wasn’t the duke’s face peering out with gleeful anticipation; it was Anne. “Oh, good Lord,” he muttered.
Just then Anne spotted Stephen. “Oh, drat! I heard Hastings was here alone and fully expected gun play of some kind. Perhaps a near-fatal wound.” She pouted. “I’m exceedingly disappointed at your presence, Stephen.”
“The feeling is mutual, Your Grace,” he said drily. “Dare I hope you were intent on stopping the bloodshed?”
She laughed heartily as she climbed down the steps of the carriage, allowing the footman to help. The crowd had parted and was quietly listening to the exchange. “Oh, I’m sure you know better,” Anne told him. “I find Hastings endlessly amusing, as you know.”
As Stephen watched another lady got out of the carriage. “Really, Mrs. Westridge?” he asked of the redheaded matron.
“Don’t blame me,” she said, hands raised innocently. “I was just there for tea.” Her daughter climbed down then, a beautiful girl of sixteen, as redheaded as her mother.
“Oh, don’t scold, Mr. Matthews,” the girl, Esme Marleston, said. “There isn’t that much to do in Ashton on the Green, you know. Sheriff Hastings is the new entertainment.”
“I do what I can,” Hastings said in mock humiliation, inclining his head, palm to his heart, like an actor taking a bow.
As she stepped down another face appeared in the doorway. “How many of you are in there?” Stephen asked.
“I’m the last, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Sarah North told him. She stepped down gingerly, being several months with child. “You may carry on.”
“See here, Your Grace, ladies,” Tuck said, clearly seeing a new avenue of approach. “I’m just trying to keep this one from stealing my land. You’re from here, you know how it is. My border has always been ten feet over.”
“I know you’ve been fighting over this border for years,” Anne agreed. “But I am not in charge here today. I’m here merely to see how the new sheriff resolves this age-old argument.” She stopped and whispered in the ear of the pubkeeper, and Stephen saw them surreptitiously exchange some coins.
“Anne,” he said, exasperated. “Are you making a wager?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Matthews,” she said haughtily. She motioned the other ladies to follow her to the front of the crowd.
“Have you had to punch anyone yet?” Esme asked eagerly. Several people in the crowd answered no, and she said, “Oh, good,” clearly anticipating what she thought was an inevitable conclusion. Stephen very much feared she was right.
“Oh, I don’t need to punch anyone today,” Hastings said, sounding almost bored. “I’ve already made my decision.” Stephen wasn’t the only one who looked surprised.
“Here now,” Tuck blustered. “You know I’m in the right.”
“Let’s have it then,” Grady said. He seemed impatient with the whole affair. “I want my sheep back.”
“My sheep,” Tuck argued.
“As we all know, possession is eleven points in the law,” Hastings said, quoting an old Scottish proverb. “Since Grady now possesses the land, and the official documentation from the land registrar, the wall stays. Make sure all the titles are in order.” Grady beamed as Tuck started to protest. Hastings held up a hand to quiet them both. “However, the ownership of the sheep is still in question. Since you both claim them, and they have no identifying marks or anything else, we will split them.”
“See here,” Grady blustered. “I don’t want half of my sheep.”
“Yes, well, you get to choose which half,” Hastings said jovially. “Do you want the head, or the ass?”
“What?” Grady said, clearly confused.
“Oh, Hastings,” Stephen said, dawning realization making him shake his head. “No, no, no.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Hastings told him with a mischievous grin. “You didn’t think I was listening when you were practicing your sermon last week, did you? Well, today I’m playing Solomon.”
“You’re going to kill the sheep and cut them in half?” Grady asked in horror.
“Yes,” Hastings told him. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Tuck laughed. “All right then, Sheriff. I’ll take the asses if he’s not going to choose.” He glanced at the restless crowd, satisfied. “More to sell then, isn’t there?”
Stephen’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed his aching forehead. “Tuck, I don’t think you were listening to the story in my sermon last week.”
“Take the sheep,” Grady said, pale. “I’ll not kill off a good herd over it.”
“No?” Hastings asked. He turned to Tuck. “But you will?”
Tuck shrugged. “They’re just sheep, after all. Alive or dead, either way, I get my money.” The crowd was grumbling in disapproval.
Hastings rubbed his hand over his chin as he regarded Tuck. “In that case,” he turned to Grady. “Grady gets the sheep as well.”
“What?” Tuck yelled. “You just said we were to split them.”
“You were willing to kill a herd of sheep, killing off future profits for immediate gain. The rightful owner of the sheep wouldn’t dream of doing that to a herd he’s cared for and nurtured.”
“All right, then,” Grady said. He whistled and his dogs, who’d been obediently sitting by the fence, jumped up and began barking, rounding the sheep up and herding them through the gap in the wall.
“I’ll not stand for this,” Tuck blustered, red-faced.
“You’ll stand for it,” Hastings told him, “or lay down and take it for eternity.”
“Hastings, you can’t openly threaten people,” Stephen told him.
“It’s always worked before,” Hastings said. “Fine,” he grudgingly muttered at Stephen’s glare. He grabbed Tuck by the arm. “Come here.” He moved off to the side, towing a protesting Tuck, and had a whispered conversation with him that left Tuck pale and nodding. “Good,” Hastings said loudly. He turned to Stephen. “He sees the logic of the decision.”
Stephen let it go. The truth was, he was rather proud of Hastings’s decision. Everyone knew Tuck had been stealing Grady’s sheep, but the recently deceased Widow O’Bannon was grandmother to both and had always favored Grady, so Grady had looked the other way, most likely out of pity. When she passed, her fortune went to Grady, which had exacerbated the situation. Perhaps this would get Tuck to stop his foolishness.
“Is that it?” the duchess said, clearly disappointed.
“That’s it, sorry,” Hastings told her. “Stephen wants me to be less violent.” Everyone turned and glared at Stephen.
“That is a good thing,” Stephen told them. “Everyone go home. You too, Your Grace.”
“I think it was a fine decision,” Sarah North said in approval. “And basing it on scripture was inspirational.”
“I think it’s rubbish,” Miss Marleston said. “No one wants to see that.” She turned with a flounce of her curls. “Let’s go.”
“Say goodbye to the parson, Esme,” her mother said. “And the sheriff.”
“Goodbye, Parson,” she said without looking at Stephen. “And goodbye, Sheriff. You are both exceedingly dull today.”
“Hear, hear,” the duchess agreed. “I should have brought the boys.”
“No,” Stephen and Hastings said in unison.
“Don’t be beastly,” the duchess said, making a face at them. “I’m off to drop Sarah back at North’s. Perhaps he will entertain me.”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Marleston said over her shoulder, her excitement rebounding. “Let’s go see Mr. North.”
Mrs. North sighed wearily. “I’m sure he will spar with you,” she assured the duchess. “I am going to nap.”
“Another exciting day in Ashton on the Green,” said Mrs. Westridge. “Let us ride to our next destination.” She reached out a hand to Stephen and when he took it, she squeezed it companionably. “You’ve done an admirable job with that one,” she whispered, tipping her head toward Hastings.
“I’m not so sure I’ve done much of anything,” he confessed.
“Oh, I think you have,” she said with a grin and a wink. “I shall see you on Sunday, Mr. Matthews. Good day, Mr. Hastings,” she called out.
“Just Hastings,” he told her.
The crowd had dispersed, leaving Stephen and Hastings to walk down the hill together. Stephen tried to ignore the warmth coming off Hastings next to him, and the smell of the outdoors that overlay Hastings tangy sandalwood smell. He knew that scent as well as his own cologne. As a matter of fact, it was Stephen’s cologne. But it was different on Hastings because it made him smell like Stephen’s, as if he’d gotten the scent off Stephen himself, and it was quite distracting. The various ways they could share and transfer that scent fueled Stephen’s wayward thoughts. Suddenly Hastings stopped and Stephen did too, turning back to give him a quizzical look. Hastings took his hat off and put it on Stephen.
“There,” Hastings said, sounding satisfied. “Your nose is turning red, and I can tell you have a headache.”
Stephen touched his nose. “Is it?” he asked. He adjusted the hat. “Thank you.” They started walking again, Stephen enjoying the companionability of it. “I expected this situation to go much differently,” he finally admitted.
Hastings just kept walking, not looking at Stephen. “Well, I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he said. “You’ve been trying so hard to turn me into a saint.”
“I don’t think we need worry about that,” Stephen said.
Hastings turned to him then, an enigmatic look on his face. “No, I suppose we don’t,” he agreed. He smiled and Stephen was startled at how handsome he looked, almost boyish.
“You don’t smile enough,” he said without thinking.
“I’ve been considering changing that,” Hastings told him.
“You have?” Stephen asked. How many more surprises did this day have in store for him? “Since when?”
“Since I woke up in your garden.”
“You’ve been drunk since you woke up in my garden,” Stephen said. “I didn’t realize you’d had the time or inclination to do any thinking.”
“Oh, I’ve got the inclination,” Hastings said. “I’m just not sure what to do about it.”
“Smile more, I suppose.”
Hastings laughed at Stephen’s suggestion. “Easier said than done, but I’m working on a plan for…smiling.”
“Why do I always think half of what you mean goes unsaid?” Stephen asked in exasperation. “How does one plan for smiling?”
“You’ll be the first to know when I’ve figured it out,” Hastings told him. He stopped suddenly. “You rode Old Timber?”
“Yes, and don’t start. We got along quite well. Although I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I’m out of apples.”
“Oh, I really want to make some lewd suggestions here,” Hastings said. “I’m really holding back. I want credit for that, Parson.”
Stephen shook his head. “There you are. I was wondering what happened to the old Hastings.”
“A leopard can’t change his spots overnight,” Hastings said with a shrug. “You’ll ride behind me, and we’ll tow that sorry piece of horseflesh home. He should have been glue years ago.”
“I’ve seen you giving him apples,” Stephen said mildly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hastings denied the accusation, but Stephen saw him smile. Hastings wasn’t as tough as he pretended to be.