Cypress shrugs, his head lifting slightly before he drops it back down and stares once more at the roof. His horse barely seems to notice the change as he continues to nose around his feed bucket, not at all bothered by his rider treating him like a feather bed. Thief or not, he must, at least, take good care of the horse for him to be so trusting.
“It’s raining,” Cypress finally says in answer to my question, making it sound more like an observation than an explanation for why he hasn’t left. “You hear it?”
“Course I can,” I reply, glancing up too as I listen to the raindrops pinging against the roof. “What’s wrong? You afraid a little water won’t agree with the fancy clothes?”
“Can’t see it on the clothes,” he replies, sounding strangely far away as his thumb starts to once again tap out his tell against his thigh.Tap. Tap. Tap.Over and over. “Can’t see it. But it makes it hard to sleep…”
“Cypress.” His hand stills at the sound of his name, those blue eyes finding mine in the dim light. “You really should…” I lean against the stall wall as the tiredness from the day begins to set in. “You should really know if you keep me up snoring, I’ll have to kill you.”
He smiles, softer this time. “You know, wolf, I think I’d let you.”
I’m waiting in the front parlor for him when he finally comes down the stairs in the very late morning, a nearly frigid cup of coffee in my left hand and a newspaper in my right. I pretend I don’t see him, but I know he sees me and, by the looks of it, has half a mind to turn back around before he decides to descend the last few stairs.
Based on the bags under his eyes and the several nicks on his chin from his morning shave, I’m guessing he could have used a few more hours of sleep. And, honestly, I would be happy to help him sleep forever if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still needed. Apparently.
“Good morning,” I say cheerily as Maddock approaches. My mood lighter without me even having to pretend, because last night, unlike him, I had one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a very long while. “You want some coffee? It’s strong stuff.”
“No,” he says, still looking a bit green under the collar. “Think I’ll wait.”
“Perhaps a seat then?” I offer, gesturing toward the extremely uncomfortable-looking wingback chair across from me. “To catch your breath?”
Maddock frowns, but he sits, though I suspect it’s mainly because he’s not sure he can keep his feet. “Appreciate you…” he starts, then takes a deep inhale through his nose. “Appreciate you helping me to my room last night. I think…I think the bartender might have been pouring a bit too liberally there toward the end.”
I shake my head, clicking my tongue in sympathy, even though we both know the most liberal pours last night came directly from the flask inside his coat. “Sore head?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Maddock closes his eyes, but opens them again to see my expression as he adds, “Can hardly remember a thing from the last few hands.”
“Ah, well,” I say with a shrug, not at all surprised he’s choosing to plead his ignorance rather than admit his responsibility. “Might be a blessing. I’m not sure there is much you’dwantto recall.”
There it is. That twitch of his eye. That tiny little indication that he very muchdoesrecall.
“Had me wondering if we were going to make the papers,” I continue with a laugh. “Can see the headlines now…” I raise a hand, pretending to place the letters in the air. “The Bad Draw: How Maddock Douglas Was—”
“Would’ve been fine,” Maddock interrupts, abandoning his amnesia alibi with alarming speed. “Wasn’t planning on actually shooting.”
“I know,” I say, making my voice soothing. “Iknow your character, but some peopledotend to jump to conclusions. Especially when weapons get involved. And add a famous gunslinger to the mix?” I shake my head. “I believe you were right, though. Plenty of people in the bar probably would’veliked to see him in action.”
“Of course they would,” he says, brushing off his pants while he sits as though he can brush the thought away, too. However, I know I successfully baited him when he says, “Especially when it would be one of the only times he actually had a fitting opponent. Someone to truly test him shot for shot.”
“Of course,” I say, repeating his words back to him, because in the end, that’s all he really wants. “Not that you were actually planning to shoot…”
“No, no. Not then,” Maddock agrees, and I don’t miss the way he doesn’t deny the scenario so much as the timing. “But as you said, people get overexcited over nothing. Clayton calling for the sheriff…I won’t forget it, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Did he?” I ask, playing ignorant while knowing that even if Clayton had given the directive, Arty had been the one to make a go for the jail. He’d divulged as much to me after Maddock was back in his room, wondering if he should come clean. I’d told him that he should take it to his grave and that I’d make sure Clayton did the same. And I will, though I doubt I’ll have to do much convincing. Seems a good man…
“There’s one thing I can’t figure out though,” Maddock continues. “No matter how many times I think about it.”
“Oh?” I ask, taking another sip of cold coffee and immediately regretting it, though I’m careful not to let it show on my face. “And what might that be?”
“My gun,” he says, frowning and staring down at his folded hands in his lap before he looks back at me. “I’m certain I had it on me when I walked in. But then all of a sudden…it’s nowhere to be found.”
“Was in your room, wasn’t it?” I supply, reacquainting myself with the familiar sensation of trying to balance on an exceptionally narrow line. “Last night when you got back, you found it on your desk. Or don’t you remember?”
“I remember all right,” he says simply. “I remember having it on me in the saloon.”
“How strange.” I lean back in my chair, hands resting over my chest as I mirror his posture. “But surely you don’t think someone took it, do you? Would be extremely polite of them to then leave it in your room for you if they did.”
His forehead creases in frustrated thought. “Suppose it would. But I think I’ll ask Arty about it in any case.”