Free Crane by Stacey Rourke Page B

immediately snapped it shut. While his own parents had died years ago, the memories of the loving, nurturing upbringing they’d bestowed on him still lived on. He couldn’t imagine being in a family where weakness couldn’t be displayed. Wasn’t the whole purpose of a family to support one another?
    Before Ichabod could decide on a proper response , the front door of the inn flew open. Irv stomped inside, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the wall. He stood in the foyer, framed by the gathering room doorjamb. Globs of stringy orange sludge mixed with tear-shaped seeds hung from his shoulders, dripped from his hair, and swung from the frames of his glasses.
    Katrina gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth .
    Ichabod tried with little success to suppress his grin. “What, pray-tell, happened to you?”
    Irv pivoted their way, his posture ramrod straight and nostrils flaring. “I may have suggested that putting up a lookout post, and manning it with glorified vigilantes, may not be the preferable option to the current situation facing the town. And that our resources may be better utilized employing more bodies to patrol the streets as legally hired, paid law enforcement.”
    “I take it the message was not well received?” Ichabod said, biting the insides of his cheeks to stifle a laugh.
    A wad of pumpkin innards fell from Irving’s hair, slapped against the tip of his nose, and landed on the polished wood floor with a wet squish . “Not as well as one would hope. I am going to retire for the night to scrape and bathe this off. Good night.”
    “Night!” Ichabod and Katrina chorused, letting their amusement spring forth in a chorus of giggles.
    As Irving began his march down the hall, Rip and a lovely young brunette with a narrow waist and full hips emerged from that same direction. The brunette’s face instantly flushed, her gaze averting to anywhere but at those who bore witness to her shameful retreat.
    “You smell of pie ,” Rip pointed out to the steaming Irving.
    “I am aware ,” Irving snapped and strode on, leaving a trail of seeds and sludge behind.
    “Thank you, Ichabod Crane, for taking the time to show me your wonderful collection of books and discussing the literary merit of each with me,” the brunette declared loud enough for all to hear as she fluffed the flattened back of her hair. “And now, I bid you good night.”
    Without so much as a glance back , she made her retreat. Ichabod and Katrina exchanged confused glances before turning to the rumpled, yet contently happy, Rip for clarification.
    “Did she just call you Ichabod?” Katrina inquired.
    Rip ran his fingers through his mahogany locks, allowing the motion to continue straight up into a wide-arm stretch over his head. “She did. I figured Ichabod’s name has already been villainized in town, no point in sullying my own name as well! Feel free to go by Rip if you’d like.” After shooting a saucy wink to Katrina, Rip ducked back down the hall to his room.
    “Your friends are … delightful.” Katrina pressed her lips together, her cheeks rosy with laughter.
    “They are more my brothers than friends. We fought beside each other in the war. I don’t know much in life, but I do know that those two men will stand beside me no matter the situation.”
    “You are very— “ Katrina hid a yawn behind the back of her hand, “—fortunate to have them both. Goodness, I am terribly sorry. I didn’t sleep well after yesterday’s events, and it seems to be catching up with me.”
    “Don’t feel you have to stay up on my account. By all means , feel free to retire.” Ichabod waved his hand in the direction of the rooms.
    Katrina’s narrow shoulders sagged. “I would if I were able. However , the room Rosa gave me is right beside her late husband’s barn where she is allowing the men to construct the lookout post. I’m a light sleeper and won’t be able to rest until they do.”
    “Then , let me offer another