“Don’t pay them any mind,” Earl said as he caught me looking. “You know how old men like to share the news.”
I scoffed. “You’re sixty, Earl. Not sure that qualifies as old.”
“Well, Tyler back there was born old, and Nick has to be pushing eighty-five.”
“Eighty-four!” Nick argued.
“And nothing’s wrong with his hearing,” Earl said a little louder over his shoulder.
The men chuckled. I wasn’t stupid. The power of Alba rested in those seats and had for the last fifty years. Maybe not Xander at this time in the morning, but two members of the town council were already here, and there was little doubt in my mind that the other three would join them in the next hour.
“Since when did John Royal step down from the town council?” I asked loud enough for the men in the back to hear.
“Since he got elected to the Historical Society council,” Nick answered. “You know we try not to mix the two. Business and government shouldn’t be shaking hands.”
“Xander sits on both.”
Earl moved to my other side and whistled low.
“Well, now, that couldn’t be helped.” Tyler Williamson set his coffee down on the small table next to him and stared at me openly. “He’s mayor by his own right.”
The men nodded in support.
“And sits on the Historical Society council as your father’s proxy,” he finished.
The nodding continued.
“You gunning for that Historical Society council seat?” Paul Warten asked from his chair next to Tyler.
Every single one of those men leaned forward, and Earl lifted his shears from my head.
“No, sir, I’m not. I wouldn’t presume to know enough about the workings of the historical district to even think about it. I’ve got more than enough on my plate with getting the Rose Rowan up and running, then the mining company building.”
One by one, they relaxed, satisfied with my reply.
Earl started cutting again, shooting me a look that said I’d just escaped the guillotine.
“So that’s not what this whole mess with Art is about?” Nick questioned over his coffee, acting like he didn’t care. The grip he had on that cup said otherwise.
“No, sir. My dad called and asked me to help him take back a little control over his advanced directive. I’m here for his health-care rights, not his council seat. Xander’s welcome to it.”
Earl lifted a side of his mouth in a slight smirk and kept cutting.
“And Willow? Did you come back for her, too?” Tyler asked.
I tensed, and Earl immediately lifted the shears again. “Well,” he started, then glanced up at the clock. “I have a feeling you’ll know the answer to that in about five minutes.” He caught my eye in the mirror and lowered his voice. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into here, Cam?”
“I’m sure.” I was, and as long as I kept my temper in check, this would all be fine.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Owen McGinty said as he walked in from the back of the barbershop. “I’ll take whoever’s next.” His smile died when none of them took the offer.
“They’re waiting for the show to start, Owen,” Earl told him with raised eyebrows.
“Show?” He paled when he spotted me. “Hey, Camden, how’s it going?”
“Can’t complain,” I replied, careful not to move as Earl finished me up. “How are Lisa and the kids?”
“Good, good,” he answered carefully. The heir to the barbershop empire was about ten years older than me and clearly knew what was up when he started watching the clock.
“Grab me a towel, would you, Owen?” Earl asked his son.
Two minutes later, my hair was done, and Owen handed Earl the hot towel with a warning look.
“I know what I’m doing, son,” Earl promised, then reclined my chair so I was nearly horizontal.
“Three minutes,” Nick noted, and the rest mumbled their agreement.
“It’s not an easy thing you’re doing here,” Earl said loudly enough for everyone in the shop to hear. “Taking on a brother isn’t something I’d ever want my boys to do.” He shot a look at Owen. “But I’d hope that my boys would agree to give me the respect of choosing my own path. No one should be forced to surrender control of their own body.”
The men muttered in agreement, and I found my chest heavy with an emotion I was scared to call pride.
“I saw that tattoo, Cam. You’re doing the right thing.” Earl passed his judgment with a smile. “Now, we’ll see if you live through the next few minutes.” He wrapped the towel around my face, both softening my week’s worth of beard growth and disguising my face. “Don’t breathe a word until I tap your foot. Understand?”
I nodded, then resigned myself to breathing in the hot, humid air for the next few minutes.
Right on time, the bell rang as the front door opened.
“Morning, Judge,” Earl called out in greeting.
“Morning, Earl. The usual, please. Oh, you men haven’t been tended to yet?” Noah Bradley’s voice was muffled with the towel so close to my ears, but I made him out just fine.
“Oh, no, you first,” Tyler insisted.
I could only imagine the nods of the other men.
“Here you go, Judge. Let’s get you softened up. Don’t you worry, Owen will catch up with the boys between the tourists who filter in,” Earl added, and I knew he’d just given me a cover without technically lying.
“Tourists first” was the rule of law in Alba, and while most of the commercial establishments that locals frequented weren’t often sought out by tourists, we deferred to them—and their money—whenever they stumbled into any of the nonhistorical sites.
“Good weather today, Judge,” Nick said, breaking the silence.
“So I heard. Highs in the low seventies. Nice and warm for this time of year.”
The towel on my face was cool by the time I heard Earl start on the judge.
“Hold up, Judge. I’m not liking the feel of this blade. Let me get you a fresh one,” Earl said, then bumped my foot as he walked by.
Showtime.
I sat up, then handed my towel to Owen, who muttered, “The windows are really expensive.”
“Relax,” I whispered. Throw one guy through a window, and you’ll still be getting shit for it six years later.