As much as it might chafe me to admit, the plain reality is that outside of a physical confrontation, I currently pose little threat to him—certainly not enough to necessitate something so extravagant as this peace offering. And hemustknow that. Not to mention, when it comes down to it, he doesn’t seem to be that put off by gettingphysicalwith me either.
Though a memory pulled from last night’s argument in the alley would have made the most sense for my mind to supply this train of thought, it chooses this moment to take an unexpected route. Briefly fixating on an entirely different type of activity that involves an entirely different type of closeness than me holdingmy knife to his throat.
“Fuck’ssake,” I mutter, immediately pushing the picture away and pulling the mustang out of his gallop as we get near to town once more. Not trusting myself to control a breakneck speed if I can’t even control myself.
I should seek out some company soon. Or take myself to mass. Perhaps both, if I’m so overdue that I’m finding myself drifting into these types of considerations.
Notthat Iamconsidering it. I’m not considering himat allbeyond figuring out why he seems so opposed to the idea of me having a moment of goddamn peace.
With hopes of finding one, I make the abrupt decision to divert toward the river before I return to the barn. Based on the way the sun is hanging over the horizon, I still have plenty of time before I need to head over to the saloon anyway. Plus, after riding all the way out to the herd, I’m not the only one who could use a cooldown.
It’s no small mercy that everything looked to be going all right out there in our absence. Animals were good and the two men left behind were fine, if bored out of their minds. Can never remember their names… Tommy? Duke? Dutch? Put a gun to my head and I’m not sure I could tell you, though it seems far too late to ask ‘em and they’re hardly worth learning even if I did. Not like I’ll be around long…
I dismount once I make it close to the bank, take off the mustang’s tack, and turn him loose before I move to stand in the shade beneath a nearby oak tree, watching the water run by slowly while I just as slowly catch my breath. Still, my pulse picks right back up when I finally let myself reach for the piece of black fabric and its contents in my pocket.
What Ishoulddo is march right into town and sell it. Make myself enough money to cut loose.Except…
I look to where the mustang is grazing close by, and I know Ican’t just leave him behind. Not after he’s refused to leave me more than once. And especially not when I know Maddock and his men would do nothing but make his life hard.
He doesn’t deserve that. None of their animals do.
If I sold the watch, Icouldbuy him outright. But then Maddock would wonder where I acquired the sudden influx of funds. Start asking questions that I wouldn’t care to answer even if I could.
No, best thing is to finish out the week as planned, take the mustang and whatever portion (if any) of the winnings that Maddock ends up passing over. Then once I’ve put some distance between us,thenI could sell it.
Examining it closer, I brush my thumb across the top of the three intricate rings of flowers in the polished silver, admiring the differences between the blooms, and frowning when I notice the smudge of dust that I accidentally leave behind. Without thinking twice about it, I move the pocket watch to my left palm before using the hem of my shirt to polish the dirt away with my right.
That’s when I’m struck so violently by the recollection of my father doing the exact same thing that the force of it is strong enough to make me stumble back. To make me put out a hand to steady myself against the tree trunk as I close my eyes—not to chase away the memory, but to try to make it the only thing I can see.
Panic overcomes me when it disappears as quickly as it arrived, no matter how many times I repeat the motion. Again. Again.Again.
“Come on.” Nothing happens. No matter how long I stand there and try, I can’t get it back. “Come on,please.”
I open my eyes again. But there’s still nothing. There’s still no one.
No one but me. And all the consequences of the things I’ve done.
Aiden looks rattled. Far more so than he did this morning.
Watching him through the window earlier, he’d looked annoyed. Aggravated, even. But now…he seemsupset. Spending almost the entirety of the evening staring at his clasped hands on the bar and not even pretending to reach for the whiskey in front of him.
When he does glance up, it’s always in my direction, a deep crease in his brow as he studies me before he notices me watching him back. Then he returns to trying to pull apart the wood grain beneath his fingers through sheer concentration alone.
I think I preferred when he looked like he wanted to lunge for my throat. No, Idefinitelydid. That was far, far better than this.
Did I overstep with the pocket watch? What if I ruined things? I still have the other one if he wants it. He can have it back this instant. I only thought—
“Cypress, are you in this game or not?” someone asks, and Imomentarily pull my attention back to the table and my cards, smiling a bit at my three of a kind before putting my hand down to a series of groans from around the table.
“Having a rough go tonight, aren’t you, son?” asks the older man to my left, the pile of cash and coins in front of him a good indication that his luck is treating him as well tonight as it does on plenty of other occasions.
According to Clayton himself, he was barely getting by before he struck gold out in California a few years ago, enough that he got to come back to Texas as a newly minted heir to the aristocracy. Although not enough to have men like Maddock want to count him among their ranks.
New money, I’ve heard Maddock sneer to his men more than once. An apparent insult that they all nod along with as if they themselves are displaced members of the elite rather than working men and women’s sons with barely any money of their own. Thanks in large parttothe elite. New and old.
Only more proof that misplaced loyalty can be as dangerous as calculated hostility.
Not that I need more.