"Here we are!" Isaac yelled happily, gesturing around at the small, broken house.
"You've said that phrase about a million times. When we reached the 50-mile marker, when we pulled into the town, when we turned down the street, when we drove onto the driveway..." Sarah replied, walking up behind him with a small cardboard box. As she went to go set down the box, there was a short rap on the door. She went to go answer it, but Isaac got there before her.
“Are you… Sarah and Isaac Torres?” a man, about fifty years old, asked, holding a piece of paper in one hand, and twisting the end of his grey mustache in the other.
“Yeah,” Isaac replied, running his pale-skinned hands through his sandy blond hair. Fredrick stepped in the house, making Isaac slightly nervous. He began to fidget with the collar of his blue button-down shirt.
“I only came here to warn you,” the man said solemnly.
“Excuse me?” Sarah asked, flipping her white-blond hair, then pulling at the strap of her pink sundress, which was hiding the impending bump of a baby girl. The man cracked a smile.
“I was just kiddin’ around with y’all,” he laughed. “I brought your land title and I also was wantin’ to introduce myself. I’m Fredrick Garcia, but y’all can call me Fred, of course.”
“So, what exactly are you to this town?” Isaac questioned suspiciously, eyeing Fred’s belly, which was slightly hanging over his belt.
“Hey there, I’m only the sheriff. No need to get ants in your pants around me!” Fred pointed at the small, rusty badge clipped to his belt.
“Are those revolvers?” Isaac asked, pointing to the small handguns attached to each side of Fred’s belt.
“You bet they are!” Fred answered happily. “Well, I ‘ought to be going. Y’all have a nice evenin’.”
“Okay,” Isaac replied, then closed the door. “I don’t like him.”
“You only just met him, Isaac, why is that?”
“He’s just...I don’t know, honestly. There just isn’t something right about him.”
“You’ve always been suspicious of people, remember San Francisco, when you pulled a gun on that poor man?” Sarah replied pointedly. Isaac sighed in annoyance.
“He looked like someone I had to arrest when I was in the military,” he told her, response automatic because of how many times they had the now ad nauseum conversation. “He had that big overcoat, and that beard…”
“I know, but this time, I’m sure there’s something up. Think about it, that way-too-cutesy southern accent─”
“That way you’re being too suspicious…” Sarah interrupted teasingly.
“Why don’t we go check out the town once we’re done unloading boxes?” Isaac asked, changing the subject.
“Fine. C’mon, we’ve got a lot to do.”