Clint followed Harry into the house, which was very warm from the heat of the cast iron stove. On top of the stove were several steaming pots and pans.
“Mr. Adams,” Ben Ballard said. He rose from the chair he was sitting in and approached Clint with his hand out. “Welcome to our home.”
Clint shook his head. “Thanks for having me.”
Beth Ballard turned from the stove, wiped her hands on an apron she wore around her waist. Clint hadn’t noticed till now that her hair was the color of honey. It was mostly pinned up – mostly, because several tendrils had come loose and were hanging down around her face.
“Yes, welcome,” she said, smiling. “I hope you brought your appetite.”
“Oh yeah,” Clint said. “Harry’s been telling me what a great cook you are. I’m starving.”
“Good, then you go and wash up, Harry. Supper’s about ready to be put on the table.”
“Have a seat, Clint,” Ben said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’ll just have some water with supper, thanks,” Clint said, sitting at the table.
“I have some coffee made,” Beth said.
“Then that would be even better.”
He sat at the table and Beth brought him a cup of coffee. Ben sat across from him, and Harry came running into the room and sat on his right.
Beth set several pots and bowls down on the table, and then sat on his left.
“Dig in,” she said. “Help yourself.”
“I’ll wait till Harry has his,” Clint said.
Beth dished out meat and vegetables into Harry’s plate, passing each bowl and pot to Clint after each. When they all had food on their plates they started eating.
“Did the sheriff give you a hard time?” Beth asked.
“He tried,” Clint said. “Seems I promised him I’d stay out of trouble when I first came to town.”
“Why would you have to do that?” Harry asked.
“Well, Harry,” Clint said, “some people are just followed around by trouble.”
“And you’re one of those people?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said, “but we don’t even know your name.”
“His name is Clint,” Harry said. “He said I can call him Clint.”
“Clint?” Beth said.
“That’s right.”
“Those gunmen,” Ben said, “they backed off. It was as if they … recognized you. And the way you made Restin apologize …”
“My name is Clint Adams.”
Beth and Ben looked at each other across the table. Clint knew they recognized the name.
“Then that explains it,” Ben said. “They were afraid of you.”
“Why were they afraid of Clint?” Harry asked.
“Just eat your supper, Harry,” Beth said. “Let the grown-ups talk.”
“Aw, you always say that,” he complained, but continued to eat.
They all ate for a few minutes in silence before Beth spoke again.
“W-why would a man like you – why did you help us?” she asked.
“I don’t like seeing people pushed around,” he said. “And I don’t like people like Restin, who think they’re entitled to treat people any way they want.”
“He hasn’t always been like that,” Ben said. “We used to be …” he trailed off.
“What?” Clint asked, urging him to go on. “You used to be what?”
“Ben is under the impression that he and Vance Restin used to be friends.”
“Is that right?” Clint looked at Ben.
“It was a long time ago,” Ben said. “Before he got so …”
“Rich?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About eight years,” Ben said.
“And he’s gotten worse ever since,” Beth said.
“Beth—” Ben started.
“You can’t defend him anymore, Ben!” she snapped. “Look at how he treated you today. Like a perfect stranger.”
“Beth …” Ben said again, but she wasn’t listening.
“How is the pot roast?” she asked, turning to look at Clint.
“It’s great,” he said. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long time. This is … wonderful.”
“I told you!” Harry said, proudly.
“Yes, you did.”
“Take some more,” Beth said.
“I think I will.”
She passed him the platter with the meat on it, and there was no more talk of Vance Restin for the rest of the meal.