Was kindness the cure?
“I’m lookin’ for work, Sheriff,” Lawton said, taking a quarter from the change he found on Overholt.
“You should’ve killed him,” Doc Martell hissed as he worked on Overholt. “He’ll try to kill you.”
“All right,” the sheriff said. “Go ahead and look for work. If you find any, you just keep your troubles outta town, savvy?”
“I savvy, Sheriff.”
The lawman broke up the crowd and Lawton moved away to a horse trough to splash his face. He was slicking back his hair when a slim woman with fair hair and a warm, friendly face beckoned. He frowned and walked slowly toward her, taking in her plain, high-necked dress and the cardboard cuff-protectors. He thought she was holding a pen in one hand, but she put that hand down to her side, and it was lost in the folds of the brown dress. He stepped up onto the boardwalk and touched his hatbrim politely. Even in her button-up boots with the high heels, the top of her head only came level with his jaw.
“Mr. Lawton, I’m Teresa Mills, attorney-at-law. Would you come into my office, please? I may have a job for you.”