a good choice,” Cole said dryly.
“Well,” she demanded, “what else is it?”
He eased Rhyne back and laid the sheet over her again. “Well, in my case, it’s a proboscis.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “Why in your case?”
“Because it’s prominent.” He gave Rhyne his profile and let her judge for herself.
“It’s noble.”
Cole chuckled softly. “Did that no-account Beatty boy tell you to say that?”
Rhyne shook her head. “No, why would he?”
“That’s a good question.” Cole straightened, placing his palms at the small of his back. “So how did he come by that name? I don’t have an answer for that either.”
“Did you ask Will why folks call him that?”
“No. I thought I’d like to work it out on my own.”
“Then I won’t tell you.”
“You know?”
“Of course I know. I’ve known him all my life.”
Cole folded his arms across his chest as he studied her. She had a kitten-in-the-cream smile turning up the corners of her mouth. In that moment it was difficult to reconcile the fact that she had managed to pass muster as a boy, then as a man. “Is there any chance he was responsible for breaking your nose?”
Rhyne had to clutch her middle to contain the pain as she laughed. “Will Beatty? Lord, no. If there was a fight, he mostly stood in the ring of spectators. His mother taught piano for a lot of years, you know, and Will can play. Ma Beatty would have been plenty disappointed if he broke his hands.”
“Is that so?” Cole didn’t try to check his amusement.
Rhyne nodded. “He’s good, too. I heard him play a couple of times at the Miner Key. He knows songs with words and lots of them that don’t have any.”
Cole’s smile deepened a fraction. “I couldn’t have guessed.”
She shrugged. “I think it depends on where you’re standing to know a thing like that.”
“And I’m still outside looking in.”
“And I’m inside out.” She laughed a little self-consciously. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, but that’s an indication that you need to rest.” A second indicator was that she didn’t argue with him. He picked up the ceramic pot to dispose of the contents and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Johnny Winslow arrived at dusk. He shared a talent with the deputy for making a short story long and a long story dramatic, so Cole was out of patience by the time the youthful Mr. Winslow came to a halt. The gist of the tale was that his horse lost a shoe and Johnny had to turn back to have the blacksmith repair it. He was offered another mount by Joe Redmond, but refused to take Becken because of the stallion’s reputation for recalcitrance and leaving his riders dusting off their britches.
“There’s not much you can do now,” Cole said, looking Johnny over. The young man had a restlessness about him that did not make him a quiet companion even when he wasn’t talking. “Take your roll up to the loft. We can share the space.”
“I don’t mind bunkin’ outdoors. Prefer it, in fact.”
“That’s up to you.”
Johnny nodded. He had to push back a lock of hair that immediately spilled over his forehead. “There’s no rain expected. I checked with Sid. His rheumatism is the same today as it was yesterday.”
Cole had learned that Sid Walker’s joints substituted for a standard barometer in Reidsville. By all accounts, his predictions were reliable. “Well, then, I suppose you can have your pick of places to sleep.”
Johnny set his roll on the floor. “I reckon you’re probably hungry. I can make dinner.” He started walking toward the stove. “What’s your pleasure? Will told me that Runt had everything I’d need.”
“You can cook?” Cole hadn’t expected that. He’d only ever observed Johnny in the completion of routine chores at Longabach’s restaurant.
“Sure. I’ve been watching Estella and Henry for years. Lately, Estella’s been letting me have a turn. You haven’t been at the restaurant much, I noticed.”
“Whitley likes to cook for me.” Cole refrained from confiding that his sister wasn’t particularly adept at it. “She should be doing other things. I’m thinking of hiring a housekeeper that would also cook for us.”
“Doc Diggins did,” Johnny said. “So what do you want for dinner? Should I ask Runt?”
“No, Runt’s resting. I saw ham in the curing shed. Start there and surprise me with the rest.”
Johnny paused as he was checking the stove’s ash pan. “Now you know the Longabachs’ serve plain fare, not that fancy food you get at the Commodore.”
“Plain is fine, Johnny. And I haven’t been to the Commodore except to attend to a guest’s appendicitis. I can promise you that after a day of doing Runt’s chores, I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”
“Then we’ll be fine, Doc. I’m good at this.”
Cole didn’t allow Johnny to take the meal he prepared to Runt. He carried it in instead, settling the tray on her lap after she sat up. “How do you feel about seeing Mr.
Winslow?”
Unsure, Rhyne slowly picked up her fork. “Does he know about me?”
“I can’t say. He asked how you were getting on and seemed satisfied with my answers. He didn’t show more curiosity than that.”
“Maybe Will didn’t tell him.”
“Maybe not. Maybe he left it up to you.” Her uncertainty was palpable, and Cole let her wrestle with it. “You don’t have to decide this minute. I can hold him off tonight, but know this, Rhyne, I’m not getting you a rub of tobacco to pouch in your cheek or letting you apply dirt and sweat like you were making an entrance from stage right.”
She didn’t reply. She didn’t think she could make him understand how naked she felt.
“Eat what you can,” he said, rising. He was all too aware that he’d spoiled her appetite. “I’ll come back to get the tray.”
Johnny Winslow entertained Cole with a series of circular tales about the denizens of Reidsville. Some were funny, like the time Gracie Showalter locked her husband out of the house buck-naked in retaliation for tramping mud all over her clean floors. Some were poignant, like the passing of Wyatt Cooper’s first wife while he was out in the back of beyond making photographs. Still others were cautionary, as when Foster Maddox, heir to the California-and-Colorado railroad line, tried to take over the Calico Spur and the town rallied to take it back.
In spite of his flagging energy, Cole remained interested. While his contract with the town was straightforward, the actual arrangement was unique, and so he gathered the threads of Johnny’s stories as material for the tapestry that explained Reidsville.
The town gave him a home for which he did not have to pay rent. Moreover, at the end of a year, the house would be his outright if he and the committee agreed upon his continued stay. If he left after that, he could sell the house back to the town and was guaranteed a fair price for it. He arrived with his own instruments and a few medical journals, but a reference library, surgery, and examining office were all provided for him. Mrs. Easter had taken great pride, as well she should have, in pointing out the new microscope on his desk.
“Doc Diggins had one like it,” she’d told him. “For show, mostly, because I never saw him look in it, but one