John
The old black model T was a bumpy ride with a finicky brake but it handled the rough, rock and dirt roads that connected the town of Briar Ridge and its neighboring areas with relative ease. The contraption wasn't much for giving up or breaking down, sputtered when she had a complaint, carried what was necessary, and kept the bugs off Noah's face while they were puttering along. It was all he could ask for. 

Man and car rolled to a slow stop in the lumberyard he'd never before set foot in and he left her idle for a moment before cutting the engine and hopping down to wander through towering leans of lumber and what seemed more like makeshift homesteading than much else. 

It was not, however, wood or a project he was.After today. Not for the most part and certainly not by appearance. What he was after was the proprietor of the establishment and he was loath to surprise him too rudely by calling aloud blind amongst the clutter.

Lucky for him, didn't have to look long. He was met with the sight of his impromptu meeting companion not moments after he'd set for on the property and he offered the other man something tight-lipped and smile adjacent as he approached with a nod.

"Dallas Sinclair?" He waited a moment to be acknowledged before stepping forward and offering his hand for a brief, firm shake. "Noah Rowe. I'm the sheriff - don't believe we've had occasion to meet before." Which was just as well. It meant Dallas kept to himself and minded his own. 

"I'd a couple things I wanted to talk about. First's business, if you got a moment. I need some doors."
William
When the Sinclairs had rolled into town a few years ago, Dallas had been only a few months shy of twenty-two. He'd been working his ass off on the farm back in Tennessee since he was able to walk upright, and he was used to hard work. So, when he'd seen the opportunity to take over the old, run-down lumber yard... Well, he'd jumped at the chance. Carpentry had been a specialty of his back home, and he'd made himself good pocket money fixing doors and patching up fences. Making it his main source of income hadn't been the plan, but here he was, nearly five years later. Hard to believe it has been that damn long since they'd gotten here. Sometimes it felt like they'd been here forever. Sometimes it felt like he'd been here a day. 

He was used to people coming to call for him, as much as he disliked the drop-ins, there wasn't much to do about it. Thankfully, when the sheriff rolled up, he hadn't been in the middle of anything too strenuous; he'd been loading up some plywood for a job across town, fixing up someone's front porch. He sucked his teeth as that old truck rattled over and parked, and he chose to pretend it wasn't there until the last moment. Making conversation wasn't his best skill— even if it was business. 

He was sweating through his shirt, skin tinged red from the August sun on his nose and ears. "That's right," He said to the sheriff as he approached, eyeing the hand before returning the firm shake. "Can't say we've met, naw." He pulled his hand back and leaned back on his heels a bit, eyeing him over twice. 

"I got doors," He said, tilting his head. He was short and sweet with words in most situations like this. "When and where." A statement more than a question. 

He wasn't sure what else the sheriff could wanna talk about, but he was sure he'd find out. Noah Rowe was an interesting looking fella, he noted off hand as he stood there. Sorta classically handsome, not much what he pictured when someone said Sheriff, but all the same. Hm.
John
Noah would have been sorry for dropping in unannounced, maybe, if the circumstances were skewed a little different. He wasn't much for surprise visitors either. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the nature of both their businesses. Folks who had problems rarely had the time to send up a courtesy message ahead of their arrival. 

"Usually best that way. Just means we keep to ourselves." The corner of his lip quirked in wry amusement. "April Baker's. Front door and basement door. I'd like a look at her storm doors too, if you can. Soon as you're able. She's a sweetheart, out there on her own with her little boys and I'd like a little reassurance they're safe considering how things have been. It'll be on my dime. I'll tell her you're comin' "

His head tilted a little more subtly with his inspection. He hardly begrudged the once over when he was doing the same, inventorying him from the sweat-soaked clothes clinging to a firm working man's body in the summer sun to the stiffness in his jaw when he answered Noah's questions. *Dally.*

"Which brings me to my next bit," He drawled, stepping aside to lure the younger man into the shade. That sun was gonna roast him to hell. "I'm thinkin' folks are gonna get real restless real soon about these damn attacks... You want a hand loadin' up while we talk?"
William
"I seen her and the little'uns at church before," He said. He'd seen her face, knew her vaguely as a woman of good faith and always was one of the first to drop a few coins on the collection plate. She was always kind, too, and smiled at him sometimes when she passed him by. Not a woman who stuck out too much, but kind all the same. Typical motherly type. 

"Yeah, I can go on and take a look later today," He said, looking towards the boards that lay on the ground by the bed of his truck. He gave a jerk of his head in lieu of verbal response, and resumed picking up a board to chuck it in the back. "I'll take a gander at her stuff, make sure she's fixed and safe," He assured the sheriff. He was proud of his work— besides, how bad could the damage really be? 

He could feel Noah's eyes burning into him, and he wasn't sure *Why*. Was he picking him apart, analyzing him? Was he sizing him up? No matter— maybe he was imagining it. 

"I heard from Max that Yer fixin' to go tramplin' around the woods on a hunting party. Am I right on that?" He asked, grunting as he picked up three boards to put in the back at once. "...Your professional opinion, sheriff... What do you think we got running around here? Certainly ain't no Fuckin' bear, 'scuse my language."