scurlock | oom: green lake, texas

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oom: green lake, texas

The final half hour of the ride into town feels like it takes just a few seconds - not long enough to get his nerves under control - but it isn't long until he's riding into Green Lake with the late afternoon sun. He hadn't pushed the paint too hard, not knowing the conditioning of the horse all that well, yet. Plus, he'd wanted to take his time in making sure that he didn't get there too early.

His plan, as it was, stood simple. Try to blend in - which he knew would be difficult, in a small town - and eventually find a way to figure out where the Barlow ranch was. From what Katherine had told him, she'd grown up somewhere in the county so it would be within riding distance. Hopefully he'd be able to get directions.

And maybe she would be there. The annual Independence Day picnic seemed as if it wasn't some fresh idea for a party they threw together the year she brought him to visit. Tradition and heritage were important.

So were first impressions.

He took the main road, that the stage line used, on his way into own. It was obvious as he neared it that there was indeed a picnic going on. Things looked a little bit different, but he'd expected that. Then again, he looked different too.

This was not the well to-do teacher from New York City stopping in for a visit, this was the soft spoken, slightly worn 'round the edges cowboy who was looking for work and a place to shack up for the night. With a tired horse, and promise of a bit of relaxation on the holiday, it seemed as if Green Lake would fit the bill quite nicely.

Doc leads the paint into town, and tips his hat politely to each person he passes, until he finds a rail with a water trough at it and guides the horse to it. He dismounts the horse easily and ties him to the rail, letting him drink while he tries to figure out just how to go about this, brushing his shirt off to rid it of some of the dust.

Texas in July is warm, which is why his coat is tied to the saddle and his pack, and he could use for a cold drink himself...

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"I've worked with some of his line riders before, but I'm not a part of his company, no," he says. "Been down to his place a time or two, but that was some years back."

He reaches up to pull his hat off and brush his hair back slightly, the long strands going behind his ears a bit, before he replaces it on his head. "Awful nice weather you got, coolin' effect off the lakewater and all. Perfect day for such a fine picnic. Folk do seem to be enjoying themselves."

From what he can see over here, anyways. He figures that once the Mayor tires of questioning him, he'll wander off to go socialize with his loyal citizens, that cigar between his teeth and grin planted on his face.

Doc's just looking for a glass of water, and eventually, for her.

But he's in no rush. It wouldn't be proper.

"You get a lot of folk comin' in from all the surroundin' county, I'd imagine."

Indeed, during their brief conversation passersby have paused for an "Afternoon, Mayor!" or a "Good day, Mayor Walker!"

Charles Walker is good enough to acknowledge each greeting, but for the time 'Jay' holds more of his interest than any of the other townsfolk.

"Yeah, mighty fine weather, to be sure. Mild, for a Texas summer." Which means it's hot, but not unbearable if the gentleman around town rather keep a suit jacket on.

Still, a cold drink wouldn't go amiss, and he can see on Doc's face that the young man is thirsty. His lips quirk briefly.

"We get folk on up from all over, boy. The town, she's a-growin', fairly steady. We do all right, we do all right. Happy citizens mean a happy Mayor!" he laughs, clapping Doc on the shoulder, before tipping his chin over his shoulder to address Jr. "Hey son, why don't you go fetch some refreshments for our gentleman guest, here. First drink's on me."

Charles Jr. glances from face to face, before stepping back respectfully and heading over toward the General Store, where they've been pulling up "cold" drinks from the cellar.

The Mayor and his 'guest' stroll a bit.

"I do appreciate that, Mayor Walker," he says honestly, as they begin to walk again. "And I don't doubt that Green Lake will have any problems with expanding into a right smart town, given the things I've seen so far today already."

Pleasant weather, fresh water, good soil, and friendly people.

(Always find something a person is proud of, and compliment them on it.)

"Awful nice sense'a community feel, that's always important for makin' sure that everyone's happy," he continues.

The mayor answers, of course, keeping that arm around Doc's shoulders and that smile on his face, but another -- female -- voice can easily be heard calling from a few yards off.

"Doc!"

He's not 'Doc', here. But that doesn't mean he doesn't lift his eyes to the voice a few yards away and focus his attention on the young woman calling out.

He knows it's her. It has to be. He could recognize that voice anywhere. Even if it's a little younger than he's used to hearing...

(What if she recognizes him? What if the timeline...)

He tamps down that wave of mild worry, and quickly at that.

Young Miss Barlow comes running from among the crowd around the contest booths, skirts in her hand as her prim little heels kick up dust behind her.

She runs to the waiting arms of Dr. Hawthorn, who's laughing almost as much as she is, hugging her tightly and swinging her around a few times before setting her back to her feet again.

She's holding a blue ribbon in her hand, face positively beaming, and he makes a show of it as they speak in tones too low for 'Jay' to hear this far away, as another middle-aged gentleman slowly strolls up behind them, smile on his weathered face.

Look at her. She's so damn young, can't be more than a teenager...she's so happy.

For awhile, he'd been worried about riding into Green Lake and not seeing Katherine among the crowd at the picnic. What if it was a different Green Lake? What if their worlds weren't the same? What if she didn't exist in his?

But seeing her, the way she practically leaps into Dr. Hawthorn's arms, the infectious smile on her face...the blue ribbon seals it. This is the Katherine he knows. And the man behind her...

Her father.

There's a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but he's grateful that his face shows none of that.

"It seems the young lady's won a contest, if I'm not mistaken," he comments idly, to the Mayor, small smile on his features.

When her father comes close enough, he and Doc Hawthorn smile, firmly shaking hands and ending up in a tight embrace.

"Seems so," Mayor Walker agrees, turning his attention out to the small group. "That would be lil' Miss Barlow, I believe. Won the ribbon last year, too. Dandy of a thing, without a momma to show her around a kitchen."

Because everybody's business is open to criticism in a small town like Green Lake.

Millicent Hawthorn has joined the small group, and she first embraces Katherine, cupping the young girl's face in her hands as she appraises her looks. She then turns to Mr. Barlow, who has to bend down to accept the embrace from the other woman, features softening a good deal as he does so.

"They come down for the picnic, near every year. Just the two of 'em, and one of his hires," the Mayor adds offhandedly.

Doc nods slightly as the Mayor speaks. "Reckon say some womenfolk are just born with a gift for things in the kitchen," he comments.

He will say nothing about the lack of a mother, but will file the detail away in his memory to keep track of what's already happened and what hasn't, yet.

"He have property outside of town, then?" If he's got hires, well, then he must have some sort of outfit for them to work, and he's sure that Mayor Walker knows all about the business of the neighboring folk as well as the business of all those within Green Lake's limits.

Call it a hunch.

A mighty fine hunch, indeed.

There's a hint of the devil in Charles Sr.'s eyes when he looks at 'Jay.' Like a man recognizing his own face in a mirror after several years time.

"Ah-yeah," he answers, cutting the word short and sharp. "Has himself an estate few miles north of here, near Heyser. Pretty good size, too. Can't complain, seein' as how he keeps my family in bacon throughout the winter."

He smirks, razor sharp.

The smile Doc returns could be seen as 'knowning', but not quite. After all, he's new to the area and hasn't made any judgment on the folk that live or work around it.

And he's not really the type to judge.

He nods, slightly, then looks back to the small unit of people, the Barlows and the Hawthorns. They seem to still be in conversation. It's obvious to Doc that they're close. Then again, knowing what she's said about the Hawthorns helping her after her daddy died...he pushes that thought down into his gut and keeps it there.

"Everybody's good at somethin'," he agrees. "Be it land or farmin'."

Or just charming folk to get what you want.

Mayor Walker narrows his eyes at him again, looking as if he's about to ask something, when his son returns with two cool sun teas.

"Thank you, son," he says, taking one and encouraging 'Jay' to have at the other.

He catches the look, but he figures that if the man wants to ask, he'll ask.

Doc accepts the glass of cool tea from the younger Walker with a nod of his head. "Much obliged," he thanks him, and nods at the Mayor as well. "For both the drink and for showing me such fine hospitality. I will be sure to tell folk 'bout your town, maybe get some word of mouth goin', bring more business in."

Business means expansion, which means one thing. Money.

He smiles at the elder Walker once again, then has a drink of tea.

Now Doc is speaking a language Charles Walker Sr. can really get into. His grin broadens, and he nods.

"You do that, son. You do that. You and yours are welcome in our little oasis, any time."

With the games and contests ending with the setting of the sun, the Mayor must excuse himself from Doc's company to oversee the final few awards and prizes. He leaves him to the company of his son, who glances idly at the band as they set up for the evening's dancing, before resettling on Doc.

"That's a nice piece y'got, there," he remarks, inclining his chin to Doc's colt.

Doc finishes his swallow of tea before he shifts the glass to his left hand, and settles his right on the butt of the gun at his hip. "Can't go wrong with a Colt," he admits. "And I wouldn't travel anywhere without it. Too dangerous, if you're near the territories these days. Never know when you might run into trouble."

A nod at the piece at the boy's hip.

"You got yourself a mighty fine piece. What's the length on that barrel?"

Not like Doc has to ask, he knows Colt pistols like the back of his hand, no matter the year or the caliber. But still. Conversation is conversation.

"Seven and three-eighths," he answers smugly, resting his hand on his own ivory hilt. "S'a '73 Peacemaker model, .45."

He nods to Doc's gun once again, an expression on his face that reads somewhere along the lines of 'But yours is cute, too.'

"An' you see a lotta trouble out there, 'mong the territories?" he asks.

"Run into my fair share, time or two, drivin' cattle with the Chisholm boys," he responds, with a short nod of his head. "You go right on up through Indian land, and well, you know how they can get sometimes I'm sure."

Even if you ain't seen a rough day of work in your life.

"Nasty red-skinned devils," Charles Jr. snorts, turning over his shoulder to spit. "Wouldn't mind takin' a scalp or two m'self, teach 'em a thing or two."

Behind him, folk are starting to clear the square, so the dancing can begin. If Doc has been watching the Barlows, he'll notice them among those moving towards the "dance floor."

Doc Hawthorn, however, is not with them.

He has been keeping an eye on the Barlows, which is why he's able to keep from smacking the younger Walker boy upside the head at his comment about scalping natives. He holds his tongue, though his head is full of words for the ignorant little brat.

I'd like to see you try and scalp one, you slimy little tenderfooted prick, you would have gotten nowhere near Chavez 'fore you had a knife stickin' in your spine. I'd like to see you try, Walker.

Instead, he just nods. "Rough county," he says, and has another drink of tea.

It's a very long moment, to be sure, before Doc Hawthorn comes up behind them, placing two gentle hands on each man's back.

"Ah, forgive me, boys. I had a bit of business to tend to, over by the contest booths," he smiles good-humoredly. "Things have been well in my absence?"

Charles Jr. grins, and in the back of his mouth you can just see a glint of gold.

"Just dandy, Doc."

His eyes stay focused on 'Jay.'

"Yes, sir," Doc replies, with a polite and confident nod of his head. "Mayor Walker was kind enough to tell me a bit 'bout Green Lake and some of the folk that live 'round these parts. And then Mr. Walker and I were discussin' workin' as a line rider and such."

Pleasant, normal conversation of course.

Of course.

"Splendid. Now, listen, I know you was worried about that paint of yours, getting him fed and stabled for the evening. Things here will continue on well past sundown. They light fireworks over the lake, and there's dancing and singing.

"You mind lingering a bit? Or I could escort you back to where you'll be staying tonight, git you set up a bit before coming back for the end of the party?"

He glances back in the direction of the horse, as if debating in his head. It doesn't matter to him which they choose...

"It doesn't matter to me, Dr. Hawthorn, but I'm not quite certain how my horse'll handle the idea of fireworks. He can be a bit jumpy from time t'time. If it's not too much of an inconvenience, I think I'd like to get him stabled 'fore it gets too dark, might be easier for all involved."

"No inconvenience, whatsoever," Dr. Hawthorn assures, nodding his head. He turns to Charles Walker Jr. "Would you please excuse us for a moment?"

Charles grins, nodding once to 'Jay.' "Don't mind a bit. Real pleasure, Jay. Doc."

The men part ways, and Doc Hawthorn leads 'Jay' up the broad way to his house, after they stop to retrieve his horse and effects.

Doc chooses to lead the horse and walk on foot alongside the Doctor, rather than ride and have to look down while speaking with the gentleman as they make their way up along the road to his place.

Once the animal is safely tucked away in an empty stall, tack removed, fed, and watered, Doc fetches his coat - a shorter, thigh length, rather than the long duster - and shrugs it onto his shoulders before he and Hawthorn set back out to head down the road to the festivities.

"I do appreciate the kindness, Dr. Hawthorn," he tells the older gentleman, as they walk. "It ain't all too often you can find a place to stay, folks to open their homes, in some of these smaller towns 'long the road."

From his tone, one might gather that there have been nights spent sleeping on the ground under the stairs, and it's obvious that 'Jay' is very grateful for a stable for his horse and bed for his body.

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