An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter Five

Present Day - Winter 1867

Morning rays shimmered through the cracks in the shutters as Doctor York glanced at the man seated across from her at the breakfast table. He seemed unimpressed by her offer to cut his and Jack's hair, "No offense, Doc, but I don't think I'm going to trust you with scissors around my face."

"Why not?" she questioned as she planted her hands firmly on her hips.

Glancing at his feet, he chuckled, "Well, for one, you're a lady and I doubt you do many haircuts—"

She cut him off, "Well, it might interest you to know that I used to cut both of my brothers' hair for years."

He studied her then glanced at Jack, "You gonna let her cut your hair?"

Jack smiled, "I plan to let her give me a shave too."

Weston smirked, then gave a wink, "Alright, but you'd better have a steady hand, Doc."

She smiled, "The hands of a surgeon."

With a nod from Barlow, things got moving pretty quickly. Rachel wrapped an old sheet around his neck while Jack gathered the necessary tools. Jack sat beside him and had his own haircut and shave first since he was in much less need of one, and then a few minutes later, Weston's long, shoulder length hair was gone and replaced with a nice, short cut. Rachel studied him with crossed arms and tapped the blade of the scissors against her chin.

"Well," Weston questioned, "What's the verdict?"

"It looks good..."

He arched a brow at her, "But?"

"But I think you could still use a shave."

He shook his head and grinned, "Naw, I doubt you'd like me to much without these old whiskers of mine."

She cocked her head, arched her brow and offered him a flirtatious smile, "Oh, you never know...but either way, you still need a bath and a change of clothes. The clothes make a man, so they say. Jack had some old clothes stored away." She unwrapped the sheet and handed him a small pile of clothes. "Here. Put these on after you're finished with your bath; I think they'll work until we are able to get you some new ones."

Jack's old clothes seemed to have been barely worn, but Jack said he had them in an old trunk stored for a raining day...or rather a snowy day, in this case. Jack helped Barlow to the bedroom, his wound still healing, "Don't rush it, son. You don't want to pop those stitches."

Barlow chuckled under his breath; he didn't bother telling him that he had already done so once. Jack was not aware that the lady had sewn him back together twice by now. Barlow sat on the chest at the foot of the bed as Jack informed him, "You can rest awhile if you'd like. I need to tend to the stock, if I can get out to them anyway, and Rachel said she'll draw up some water from the well so you can take a bath. It might take a while so you might as well relax or do some reading."

He gestured to a couple of books laying on the dresser. Weston asked, "Uh, do you mind if I borrow a razor?"

Jack grinned, "I'll fetch it for you."

Within a few minutes, Jack returned with a cup of shaving soap — it was not known as shaving cream at the time —, a shaving brush, a straight steel razor, a leather strap to sharpen the razor— known as a stropping. He laid the items on the vanity beside the Blue Flow water pitcher and wash basin.

With a nod, Jack left the room and Weston stood near the vanity. He poured some water into the basin and sat the pitcher to the side. With a deep sigh, he scrutinized the reflection staring back at him from the mirror and swallowed hard. He hadn't shaved in over two years. Sure, he'd trimmed it up from time to time, but fully shedding the whiskers? Well, that had been years; in fact, he wasn't sure he'd know what to expect when he saw his bare face again.