Loaded Guns and Broken Fences [On Hold]

Chapter 21

When Tom's eyes met his father's, the flame of hope he'd awoken with was swallowed, and it made his chest burn. Horace's jaw twitched, shifting to the side then back as if he were physically grinding his thoughts between his worn teeth.

Abby hadn't noticed until she'd sat the cup in front of an empty seat at the table and had to swallow before finding her voice.

"Sit down," she said softly to her younger brother, but Tom didn't move. Instead, Horace stood abruptly.

"Horace," Molly pleaded, her voice frail.

As the man advanced towards Tom, the teen flinched, finding himself retreating backward. He lifted his arms instinctively to shield his face as Horace sent the cup of coffee Abby had retrieved hurling for his face.

The cup missed Tom by several inches and collided with the frame of the kitchen entry. Abby let out a short, startled cry, while their mother repeated her husband's name, this time in a desperate, sharp sob; a plea for him to control himself.

Tom felt his blood pounding in his ears. His face was heated as he left the kitchen, thundering back up the staircase to his room. He snatched the couple of dollars he had saved up in a can under his bed, grabbed his hat, and made sure to slam the front door so hard when he left that he heard it shake the windows in their frames.

He'd managed to keep his composure as he walked at a furious pace to the livery but broke soon after getting inside the barn. He snatched the hat off his head, striking it against one of the gates of an empty stall over and over until he had well past crumpled it.

He used words he'd never uttered in his life. Words he'd never be able to bring himself to repeat to the town's pasture at confession... And when abusing his hat wasn't satisfactory enough, he threw it before giving the gate a few damaging kicks.

When the worst of his temper had finally run its course, a river of tears streaked down his red cheeks as he panted, blurring his vision while he stumbled on to his hands and knees.

"Are you quite done?" The livery manager questioned with disdain, as he eyed his young employee from the front of the barn, shotgun in hand.

Tom choked down a few breaths before wiping his face on his sleeves.

"Yessir," he replied in a humiliated whisper.

"Good." The man nodded, his bushy overgrown brows furrowing together. "Then you can start yer day with fixin' that there door b'for you worry bout the stalls."

"Yes, Sir," Tom gritted out.

By the time Tom had worked through all of his tasks for the day, he was far less cross, and a hell of a lot more exhausted than anything else.

It really hadn't occurred to him what he'd do or where he'd go if he weren't allowed to stay at the livery for the night while he was working. But now as he sauntered aimlessly past the drug store and post office, it was the only thing he was left to think about besides his empty stomach and aching foot.

Surely Bran McGrath hadn't been serious about putting him up for a while...even if he was, Tom couldn't just stroll up on to the McGraths' property. Joseph McGrath was no Robert Shield, but the blonde very much doubted he'd be welcomed there.

Sheriff Atwell's gaze followed the Birch boy from his lofty position on the front porch of his office. From there it was common to see the young sheriff watching the two main cross streets, and the people of the town when he wasn't attending to more pressing matters.

To him, things were well on their way back to normal, but they weren't quite there just yet. All it would take was one hot ember to get this fire going again, and he fully intended to see any stamped out before he had a full-blown war breakout in his town.

"Good day, Sheriff." Faith's voice drew Euell from his vigil of the town down to where she stood at the bottom of the steps.

"Mrs. Hall," he replied with a polite nod.

"Oh please, call me Faith." The nicely dressed woman replied as she climbed the worn wooden steps to join him.

She was a fair bit older than him, though she didn't look it, and Atwell chalked it up to her comfortable life in the city. She definitely stood out. He could pick Faith and her boys out of a crowd quite easily.

"What did ya need, Mrs. Hall?" He wondered, noting that Faith clearly didn't seem pleased by his insistence on addressing her by her late Husband's name.

"I just wanted to thank you, was all." She recovered her pleasant social demeanor quickly, as she took up observing the town with him. "You did right by the lord, which was all anyone could have asked of you."

Euell didn't seem thrilled about the company, or her thanks.

"I reckon there's just as many people that'd disagree with you on that." His words seemed to have caught her off guard, and Faith only managed a small counterfeit laugh when she found herself unsure of how to reply.

"Well, I was only trying to-" She paused, cut short by a stern look from Euell.

"Men died, Mrs. Hall ... I don't think their families or the Lord are pleased by that, and neither am I." With that, the Sheriff tipped his hat to her, signaling he was finished with their conversation as he headed back inside.

Faith took one last look around and huffed before picking her way elegantly back down the steps. She'd been more than shocked by Euell's sour disposition and carried it with her all the way across the street.

"Weren't that aunt Faith?" Brand mention, nudging Allen who was leaning on the wagon next to him.

"Sure was, who else dresses up like that besides fer church?" Allen tossed back.

"Wonder what she was talking to Euell fer..."

"Hell, I don't know..." Allen shrugged carelessly before giving his own nudge in return to his cousin. "There's yer boy," he said, motioning to Tom, which made Brand's attention shift swiftly.

It seemed like the boy in question must have somehow felt their eyes on him. He decided to continue back across the street towards the pair and the bar they had parked their wagon in front of.

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