A Wolf in the Fold

“Do I call you Miss Calista or Miss Modine?”

“Either is fine,” she answered. Then, as if unsure whether I had heard her, she stressed, “Yes, sir, a lot of ill will. If things keep up as they are, it won’t be long before men shoot each other right out in the street.”

“Is that so?” The bare essentials were in the letter I had been sent, but here was a chance to learn more from someone not directly involved. “Care to explain, my dear?” Inwardly, I chuckled. Being a parson had its benefits, such as calling a pretty woman I barely knew “dear” and getting away with it.

“It’s the usual,” Calista said. “A falling out over cattle. The LT Ranch has been losing cows and its owners blame a certain family who deny they have had anything to do with it.”

Metal rang on china as Carson slammed his fork down. “I heard that! Why don’t you come right out and tell him? The Tanners blame us. The Butchers. They’ve made that plain enough.”

The younger one, Sam, looked up. “We haven’t taken any of their mangy cows, Miss Calista. Honest we haven’t.”

“I believe you, Sam.”

Carson speared another potato and waved it in the air. “Then you’re about the only one who does. We’ve seen how people look at us. We’ve heard the whispers behind our backs.” He glared at the mother and her daughter. “Town folks. A bunch of biddy hens is what they are.”

“Behave,” Calista cautioned. “I won’t have you mistreat my customers.” She smiled at the pretty mother. “Please forgive him, Mrs. Almont. He didn’t mean to insult you.”

Carson grumbled something I couldn’t quite catch.

“That’s quite enough out of you,” Calista warned him, then faced me. “Now then. What would you like?”

“I hear tell you rent rooms.”

She brightened and set down the tray. “That I do. I have eight boarders in five rooms at the moment, with two rooms empty.”

“It is a bit off the beaten path,” I allowed. Removing my hat, I placed it on the table. I had shaved and greased my hair. It felt strange not to have a woolly caterpillar on my upper lip and not to have hair hanging down my brow. “I could do with a cup of coffee. Hot and black, if you please.”

“Right away.” Calista took several steps, and paused. “I didn’t catch your name, Parson.”

“Luke Storm, ma’am.” I always picked names with the same first letters as my own. It made them easier to recollect.

“Reverend Storm,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not rightly sure,” I replied. It depended on how long it took to finish the job.

“I hope you will conduct a few services while you are with us. I’ll even let you hold them here, if you want.”

“That’s mighty gracious,” I praised her.

“Be right back with that coffee.” Calista gave a little curtsy and whisked out of the room.

I liked how her dress clung to her long legs, but since it wouldn’t do for a parson to ogle a pretty woman, I tore my gaze from her and acknowledged the presence of the Butcher boys with a nod. “Would you attend services if I held them?”

Sam was sawing at a hunk of beef. “Most likely we wouldn’t have any choice, Parson. Our ma would drag us by the ears.”

I grinned, and he misunderstood.

“Don’t get me wrong. She’s the best ma anyone ever had, but she doesn’t abide sass. When she wants us to do something, we do it or else.”

Carson glumly forked a carrot. “That’s all I need. I’ve got better things to do with my time than have religion crammed down my throat.”

“I try not to cram if I can help it,” I remarked.

“Even so. No offense, Parson, but all that ‘do unto others’ stuff is just a bunch of bunkum to me.”

Sam glanced at the front door. “Be careful, brother! If ma should walk in and hear you, she’d take a board to your backside.”

The image of a grown man being spanked brought another grin. “You’re a little old for that, aren’t you?”

“Ma likes to say that we’re never too old to have some sense beat into us,” Sam said.

“And she beats it into us every chance she gets,” Carson amended.

“Is she religious, your ma?” I inquired. When pretending to be a preacher, it’s smart to find out who might know more about the subject.

“Is she ever!” Sam exclaimed. “She reads from the Bible every evening right after supper. And she’s always going on about how the Good Book says this and the Good Book says that.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

Carson nearly choked on the carrot. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to live with her. Don’t get me wrong, mister. I love my ma. But she can be a powerful nuisance at times.”

“Tarnation!” Sam chided. “You shouldn’t talk about her that way.”

“Well, she is,” Carson sulked, and focused on me. “He’s the youngest, so he tends to overlook her faults. He’ll change when he’s older. We all do.”

Calista returned bearing a tray with a cup and saucer and the coffeepot. As she bent over my table I felt a puff of warm air and heard spurs jangle.