“Looks wonderful,” he says, watching me and waiting again for me to take a bite before he does the same. Thinking he must also be hungry this late in the day, I skip saying grace and go straight for the bacon, wondering if perhaps I could save half the plate and take it with me as Mrs. Jensen had done. Something about that feels like stealing, though, even if I can’t be sure where the line of distinction is while I am currently eating at her table. It is being eaten either way, but here at least I can tell myself it is in service of her guest’s overall wellbeing versus my own selfish desire not to starve.
My twisting thoughts must show on my face, because when I glance at my table companion between bites, he asks, “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” I say, quickly putting a smile back in place before recollecting the line of questioning I had intended to ask when I first walked in here. “So, how have you found Preston?”
“Full of surprises,” he says, still studying me. “Has that been your experience as well?”
“Not until recently.” He grins, prompting me to continue. “I spoke with Mrs. Jensen yesterday, and she said you had business last night at the saloon?”
“That I did.”
“And how did that go?” This really seemed less awkward last night when I had practiced in the hayloft. A lot more like casual conversation than an ill-conceived and intrusive interrogation. “Any, um, trouble?”
The corners of his eyes crease in consideration as he swallows his food. “I suppose it would depend on whom you asked.”
“What if I asked you?”
“I thought it was great fun,” he says with a smile and a note of mischief in his voice. “Hopefully my adversaries felt the same.”
“Youradversaries?” I smile, too, his good humor infectious. “Can I ask what line of business you are in that you haveadversaries?”
“These days? I gamble,” he says with a small shrug. “Cards mainly.”
“You play cards for your living?” Of all the answers I could have guessed, that one hadn’t been on my list, and not only because my mother taught me to think of gambling as a sinful affliction rather than an occupation. But given his fine clothes and his ability to rent out an entire boarding house, I suppose, “You must be good.”
“Very good,” he replies with not an ounce of false humility, but then he turns more thoughtful. “Does it bother you? That I make money that way?”
“No,” I reply, but then realize that I’m frowning again, although perhaps not for the reason I should be. Is it strange to be almost disappointed? That it’s not something more…outlandish? More dangerous? “Why should it bother me?”
“Some people might consider it to be a dishonest line of work. Might believe that the type of person who does it is dishonest, too.”
“Are you?”
“On the rare occasion.” He clasps his hands over his chest and leans back in his chair, making himself at home in this conversation in a way that is admittedly mystifying. “It’s not my preference, and fortunately, it’s not often a necessity.”
“Why’s that?”
“People see what they want to see. Craft tall tales more convincingly than I ever could. Most often, all that is required of me is to reinforce that the lies they’ve told themselves are the truth. Not very difficult, especially in places like this. Hardlyanything to do in a small town but lie. Fabrications are one of the few forms of entertainment.”
I laugh, trying to think about what the people of Preston would have to lie about. “I suppose everyone has their secrets.”
“Indeed they do.” As if he knows I need the nudge to continue, he asks, “Would you like me to tell you one of mine?”
I nod, and he patiently waits for me to request the one I want rather than one of his choosing. “I met a man at the stable two nights ago. Saw him again last night…” I think of how to phrase my question for a moment before finally landing on, “Is he one of your adversaries?”
“Sometimes,” he responds, seeming to know precisely who I mean. “Depends on the day.”
“He knows my name.”
“He does.”
“Because you gave it to him.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“It’s simple.” I shrug. “You’re the only one in this town who’s asked for it.” His blue eyes never leave mine as I add softly, “See? Pretty simple.”
He searches my face, and I wonder if he’s trying to figure out how he could have mistaken me for someone important now that he knows I’m no one.