Arty looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his head still low. “I’m sorry if—”
I shake my head to stop him. “No need. My troubles are my own.”
A hesitant smile begins to appear on his face, but it vanishes as soon as Maddock adds, “Kind of you to say.” He pauses briefly to play his turn, his voice cool and casual as he raises the bet again. “Although, for all you know, he could be counting on your kindness to try to cheat you.”
“To—tocheat? No, boss, I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that,” Arty stammers, his distress growing as he looks around the table to the other men in his group for support. But no one is brave enough to offer any. “We really were just talkin’—”
“Oh?” Maddock smirks, apparently still finding the torture of the young man to be incredibly amusing. “What is there to even discuss? What could you possibly have in common?”
“Nothing really,” Arty says, his hands beginning to twist in his lap. “Was nothin’.”
“Always is when it comes to you,” Maddock sneers. “Not sure cards are the thing you need to be learning after all. Would be far better off learning your place before—”
“That’senough, Maddock,” I bite out, unable to listen to it anymore, and I see the brief flash of anger on my opponent’s face at the lapse in my loyalties. Before I can cover for it, Arty diverts him with a misfired shot of his own.
“Was about him,” he blurts, also having reached the limit for what he can endure as he gestures toward the bar. “Was about Aiden is all. We were talking about if it was all true. What theysay about him.”
“I see.” Maddock’s eyes shift from Arty to me, an attempt at a smile back on his face. “Seems to be a particular interest for you today, Cypress. My apologies that this seems to be taking up so much of your focus.”
“If I recall correctly,” I say, identifying the test as it’s given and tilting my head as if carefully considering my response, “the topic was by your introduction this morning.”
“Suppose it was.” He’s staring at me, and though I’m rarely an advocate for dishonesty, I really wouldn’t mind right now if Arty took up the practice. “Still, you’ll have to let me know if you want me to make introductions.”
I smile. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Who is it we’re talking about now?” Clayton asks, kindly inserting himself into the conversation while grabbing another cigar. “Feel I’ve missed something.”
Instead of answering, Arty wavers between the miner and a severely irritated Maddock, unsure of what to do. Unfortunately, the dart of his eyes toward the bar proves to be plenty.
Poor young man. It’s a wonder he’s survived more than a day out here.
“Is that…” Clayton starts to say, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline as he follows Arty’s gaze precisely to where I’d prefer it not to go. “God, it looks like him, doesn’t it?”
“Could we get back to the damn game?” Charley asks, as bristly as I feel. “Barely going to make it through two rounds at this rate.”
“Great idea,” I say, turning to my left. “Clayton, my friend, I think it’s your—”
He’s already up, stubbing out the cigar he just lit in the ashtray before brushing his hands over his suit. “Never thought I’d… Why, the man’s a damn hero.”
Maddock scoffs. “A hero? Not sure I would—”
“I would,” Clayton argues, a firm set to his expression as he becomes the third person at the table to give Maddock’s ego a well-deserved kick tonight. “What he did for the McHenrys…” Clayton clears his throat. “Excuse me.”
With that, he’s off, and I at least have the cover of not being the only one staring as I watch the proceedings, though I’d wager I feel the worst about it when I see Aiden startle at the sound of his name. He quickly looks in my direction as if to confirm I haven’t moved before he stands and shakes the hand of the man who has appeared in front of him.
Whatever Clayton tells him next, he tries to keep it between them, his head bent as he mutters something that has Aiden glaring at the floor this time instead of the bartop. The exchange looking so tense I nearly get up when Clayton grabs him by the shoulder, squeezing as he finishes saying his piece while Aiden shakes his head as if to disagree. Only when Clayton seems unwilling to take no for an answer does Aiden finally nod, receiving a hearty backslap from the older man before he leaves and allows him to retake his seat.
“Imagine that,” Clayton is muttering as he returns to the table and reclaims his own chair. “Seeing him here of all places. I wonder what brings him.”
“Employment,” Maddock responds, pretending to sound politely disinterested when it’s obvious to anyone who’s paying attention that he’s actually enraged. “He’s one of mine.”
Not yours, I think, still watching Aiden as he goes back to staring at his hands, although I’d swear he first took something black and silver out of his left pocket.
Beside me, Clayton picks up his cigar again, relighting it with a match from his vest and a few deep puffs. “An honor for you, then. Few finer men in my book.”
“An honor? Him?” Maddock sneers, making an attempt at a laugh as he reaches for his drink. “He’s practically worthlessnow. Your book must be missing a few pages.”
“Must be,” I agree, pleased to see Maddock looking smug before I say, “Need to save a few for…what was it? The fastest man in town?”