I dream about them. I think maybe I’vebeendreaming about them, only last night was so vivid that, now that I’m awake, I’m having trouble distinguishing reality from the dream.
One thing I know for certain is that I’d seen Aiden and Cypress collide last night while I was hiding in the dark. Seen the hunger, but also the immediate meeting of need, letting me know that hadn’t been the first time they’d reached for each other like that.
Not the first. Nor would it be the last.
The way Aiden’s hand grasped Cypress’s arm. The way Cypress’s fingers tangled in Aiden’s shirt. The way their mouths met… I see it every time I close my eyes. Remember the way it made me feel.
I’d never seen two people kiss like that. Any affection between my parents had been limited to my mother’s begrudging acceptance of my father’s appeasing peck to her cheek. Any experience I’d had with boys my age had been limited to holding hands in secret on the walk home. A momentary and nervousbrush of fingers that ended almost as soon as it started.
This was nothing like that.
All I keep thinking is that I want to know what it felt like. That I want to be the one Aiden grabbed for. To be the one Cypress pulled closer. To be caught in the middle of that storm. To figure out what it would do to that hum in my blood that I feel whenever I am near them.
And I am likely to go on wanting…
At my side, Cypress is once again riding with me into town, not a hair out of place on his pretty head, not a suggestion on his calm face that anything is amiss. Or that Aiden never came back last night.
Not long after I’d returned, I crawled into the wagon and into my bed. Unable to sleep as I listened for them, and it was nearly morning when I finally did hear someone approach, a single set of footsteps and a deep sigh signaling their arrival before the figure sank down by the spent campfire.
I don’t think either of us slept, although neither of us would admit it when I emerged a few hours later, circled round, and climbed up to sit beside Cypress on the wagon bench. Leaning our shoulders against one another with our eyes on the horizon, and for the first time leaving so much left unsaid.
It’s why I wasn’t surprised when Cypress eventually suggested that afternoon that we go into town, apparently tired of pacing the same path in the dirt when entertainment could be found elsewhere. Needing the same, I’d been dressed and ready with Tess tacked in less than an hour.
As we arrive this time, I am certain that wearing my new green dress again makes me look more the part at Cypress’s side, but after what I’d seen, I am even less convinced that the part is mine to play. Obviously, there is something between Aiden and Cypress, something that runs even deeper than the years-long partnership that I’d thought tethered them to one another. Itisn’t something I want to harm, to risk tarnishing when it clearly means so much to both of them…and when one of them alsoclearlydoes not want me around.
Nor, I’m fairly certain, does he want me in this saloon.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I mutter to Cypress as he leads me inside through the front doors, my hand tight on his arm.
“No,” he says, bending to talk in my ear as the first wave of sound hits us. “I’m not sure it is.”
“Then what are we doing?”
“Hoping history repeats,” he says cryptically, inclining his head to people as we pass. “Stay close to me.”
I tuck myself into his side, partly because it’s what I want to do and partly because there’s no other option. Inside, the tables are packed tight, a constant rotation of people coming and going from their seats as they find new sources of amusement, and I can understand now why Mrs. Jensen believed I would only find trouble in a place like this.
It’s intoxicating. The lively music. The girls dancing in their bright dresses and flying skirts. The shouts and calls of people playing at cards and conversation.
“What do you think?” Cypress asks, undoubtedly sensing my excitement as I crane my neck this way and that for a better look.
“I like it,” I say, smiling up at him.
He grins back. “I always have, too.”
He finds us a table right in the center of all the activity, and he gives me the seat with the best view while positioning his own chair near to touching, his body leaning over mine in a way that feels as protective as it is practical. “Shall we go hunting, little bird?” he murmurs in my ear, and I nod, feeling my stomach tighten. “Tell me what you see.”
I look everywhere at once, too easily swayed by a burst of movement to focus on any single detail. “I don’t know,” I say.“There’s so much happening.”
“Take it a piece at a time. A table at a time.”
I start at the table nearest us, the group of friends there exchanging stories as well as laughs over drinks. Then I move to the next, to the smaller gathering of three gentlemen who look far more focused on business than pleasure. To the next, where an argument appears to be getting a little too animated. Sure enough, they’re escorted out a few moments later when the first glass breaks.
It’s while I’m following their exit that I see him. Tall, light gray hair, a bandana around his neck, and dark eyes under the wide brim of a hat that looks brand new. He’s already engaged in a game of cards at his table, and given the large pile of money in front of him, I’d guess he’s winning. Not that it seems to be improving his mood.
“Stupid girl,” he’s snapping at a young woman who is offering him a whiskey on a tray. “I said I wanted two fingers of whiskey. Does that look like two fingers to you? You trying to fucking cheat me?” She shakes her head, clearly apologetic as she backs away, but he yanks her back and smacks her thigh before loudly telling her that she’ll have to make it up to him later. As soon as he lets her go, she hurries away.
“Him,” I say, directing Cypress’s gaze. “That one.”