an exasperated look.
Sean pointed to the easel and canvas. "Mind
if I take a look?"
"Not at all, son. Seems I got this talent I
never knew I had. I can paint pretty good." He glared at Molly, "Not
like writing."
She shot back, "We're gonna finish your
memoirs whether you like it or not, old man."
Sean walked around the easel to get a better
look, and damn, Newt was good. Really good. He was painting a portrait
of Molly and it looked just like her.
Molly came up beside Sean. "I keep telling
Newt I don't want him to paint me with wrinkles and look at that. You can hardly
see my features for all the wrinkles."
Newt said, "Dang, Molly, I got wrinkles,
you got wrinkles, and some day this young fella's gonna have 'em, too. What's
the big deal?"
"The big deal is I don't want a painting of
me that's going to become famous showing all my wrinkles. You could at least
make me look like I'm seventy and not pushing a hundred."
Newt didn't back down. "Hell, Molly,
between us, we got almost two centuries. We're old, honey, and I ain't changin'
your painting 'cause you're the most beautiful woman I know just the way you
are."
Molly's face suddenly went all soft and she
replied, "Why didn't you say it like that in the first place?"
Sean, who had been watching the interaction
between them, reaffirmed in his heart that he wanted a relationship with a woman
that was just as open and honest as theirs.
Molly seemed to forget the tussle over the
painting and turned to Sean. "You seen Tessa, yet?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You swap any spit?"
Sean choked and Newt said, "Molly! That's
not a question you ask a strappin' young man."
"I just did, didn't I?"
She studied Sean's face, waiting for an answer.
"Ah, no ma'am to your question."
"Well, I wouldn't wait too long to make a
move. You shoulda' done so before she ran off with that scumbag. Both you and
Preston have always had a hankerin' for her and he might beat you to the punch
if you lollygag this time."
Sean didn't know what to say but it didn't
matter because Molly kept talking. "'Course, sometimes you gotta bite into
a pit and break a tooth before you discover how to eat the sweet stuff. Been
chewin' on pits lately, son?"
He kept a straight face. "Yeah. One too
many."
"Good. Now you've learned some lessons so
you can go for what you really want."
Newt just stood off to the side shaking his
head. But then a grin spread across his ancient face and he started laughing.
Molly joined his laughter and soon Sean did too. Sean decided a good laugh and
a good woman were definitely needed in his life.
Chapter 7: Hired Hand
Sean pulled up to the gate of Dirk Branigan's
ranch. When he'd first come to Paxtonville at the age of fifteen, Dirk had been
getting his ranch going. From the looks of the horses scattered across the
pastures, he had done extremely well.
Over the intercom a male voice said,
"Howdy. Who be ya and what's yer business?"
"My name is Sean Barfield. Sage Tanner was
telling me about a ranch hand job you got advertised."
"Okay. Gate's about to open."
The gate swung wide and Sean drove the short
distance to the Branigan cabin. A short, beefy cowboy waited in front of it and
didn't look particularly impressed by Sean's sports car.
After Sean stepped from the Porsche, the cowboy
scratched his head and said, "You sure you got the right place, son. This
here's Paxtonville, Colorado, not Hollywood, California."
Sean nodded and politely responded. "Yes,
sir. This is just the place I want to be. Mr. Branigan knows me and I'd like to
talk to him about the position he's hiring for."
The cowboy stuck out his hand. "My name is
Charles Trotter, but everyone calls me Flatfoot. And as far as the hirin'
around here goes, I'm the foreman, and I do it all myself. So, I guess you
better start by–"
A deep voice interrupted Flatfoot and Sean
turned to see Dirk walking toward them from the barn. "Hello, Sean. Tessa
mentioned you were back in town."
Sean grinned and stuck out his hand for
Learning to Kill: Stories