Serenity

5. Warning Shots

Molly Stockholme blocked the doorway of Frank's canteen. Not only the doorway, as Sheriff Bailey noted, but the daylight behind her as well. That woman commanded your eyes. As middle-aged as she was, and no one knew exactly how middle-aged that happened to be, the lady took the very air from the room.

Bailey glanced around to check the other clients' reaction to her. Some prospectors lowered their gaze to the plates in front of them. Memories of comforting nights in her arms playing havoc with their sense of honour. Probably at the thought of their wives left behind, while they searched for fortune and stability in the foothills of the mountains.

Right and wrong did not necessarily exist in Serenity.

Molly shook back her chestnut tresses behind her bare, smooth shoulders and stepped into the Canteen.

Bailey caught a piece of gristle in between his two bottom teeth and fought to free it with his tongue, all the while his visual attention focused on her next move.

The lady was an enigma. He'd helped her out no end of times with the more physical interactions she'd had to endure. More than once, he'd questioned as to her position in the world of the 'Spirit of the West'. Such a charming, educated lady surely wasted her life away in that establishment.

Something held her there. It had to be the only reason why she stayed. Molly reminded Bailey of his own mother. A woman he'd barely known but who waltzed her way into his life whenever she wanted.

She'd kept her distance after the shooting.

His father had moved the two of them to Serenity. He'd set up their new life after the slaughter of Bailey's brothers. He was the one who'd begun their life again. Not her.

Molly bustled her way to the back of the queue for breakfast. Bailey picked at the final rashers of meat.

The owner of the establishment, Frank, scampered through the line of outstretched plates and slapped on bacon and scrambled eggs. When he finally reached Miss Molly Stockholme's platter he drew in a deep breath and grinned widely.

The Sheriff managed to free the irritating nodule of bacon from between his teeth, perhaps that's what made him grimace rather than the unfolding scene before the breakfast bar?

"Why, Miss Stockholme." Frank's spindly body shook as he addressed the buxom lady in the maroon dress. "It's always a pleasure to serve you."

The lady in question awaited her nourishment then threw her head to the side before striding off.
"I bet."
Her reply came short and sharp.

Bailey watched on. Molly's ankle boots clipped upon the cleanly swept floorboards as she looked for a seat.

Wait. She's coming straight for me.

Quickly lowering his eyes onto the remains on his tin plate, Bailey fought to come up with a reasonable excuse to get the hell out of there.

Too late.

A rustle of taffeta and a solid portion of woman sat down on the small, wooden bench opposite Sheriff Bailey. She banged her dish onto the scratched table and sat, leaning backwards.

She watched him. Sea-blue eyes flooded into his mind.

Bailey's neck began to sting. The itchy sensation of heat made him scratch frantically at the base of his neck.

"Why, Calvin Bailey, are you embarrassed to be seen breakfasting with the likes of me? I would have thought your mamma taught you better. God fearing, true Christian woman that she was." Her smooth voice, trained to a high elocution, washed over his frazzled nerves.