My glare shifts from him to one of the figures around the campfire, and I can tell from the tilt of his hat while he sips on his personal flask that Maddock is watching the exchange between me and the kid.
How very like him to send someone else instead of getting up and doing the job himself. HeknowsI don’t do town. Nor shouldhe, when it’s barely been a hundred miles since the last one.
“Listen…” I look at the kid again from beneath the brim of my hat and take a stab in the dark. “Bucky?”
“Arty,” he corrects, but then seems to regret it. “I mean, youcancall me Bucky, if you want.” Suddenly, he seems almost excited. “Could be a nickname or somethin’.”
“Arty isn’t bad enough?”
His shoulders sag, and I almost feel bad, but me being soft with him won’t help him none out here.
“Listen,Arty, you tell the boss I’ll pass. Someone needs to mind things with the herd.”
“Well, uh…he said you’d say that.”
“Good.” I reach for the watch again. “Glad we’re in agreement.”
“So he also told me to tell you that if you don’t come, he’ll dock your pay.”
I snort, shaking my head a little at this latest attempt to extort me. “He can certainly try. That all?”
The kid shakes his head, too, so fast that the smudges of dirt on his face blur into streaks, his unkempt blond hair flying out in a way that would be comical if not for the next words that come out of his mouth. “He said if that didn’t convince you, then I should remind you of, um…” He twists the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “That you ought to recall why he hired you. And that he still owns the horse.” He pauses, chews at his bottom lip. “Say, is it true you—”
“Probably not,” I tell him, not needing to hear the rest of the question to know I won’t want to give him the answer. Especially since it’s not just Maddock’s first reminder but also his second that is making my jaw tick.
I glance at the young buckskin mustang grazing a few feet to my right. Making his way through the best patches of grass I could find for him as a reward for being the only reason my close call remained no more thanclose.
With a mean streak as dark as the stripe running down his back, the stallion had been passed to me initially as a means of welcome once all the other cowhands had declared himunrideable. As well asnot even worth the cost of the bullet to put him down. Their way of saying welcome, I guess. And of trying to put me in my place in the herd.
Unfortunately for them, however, that horse and I have always gotten along just fine. And, fortunately for me, he’s undoubtedly the best in the lot. Quick, solid, smart, and just the right amount of crazy to see a bull charging and think it might be a good idea to send hooves flying rather than running.
There’s not a chance I’m about to let him go easy. Not after today, and especially not when I know how the rest of this crew tends to treat their own horses. Not a chance…and Maddock knows it.
“So then,” the kid mutters, clearly ready to finish this conversation as he looks back longingly toward the fire, “should I tell him you’re comin’ or…?”
“If you think you need to,” I reply, pulling a knife from my belt to pry the watch open and seeing him take a cautious step back.Maybe not as stupid as I thought. Or as brave.
“Got it,” he says with his eyes on the blade. “Is that a yes, then? Sorry, I’m not sure if you’re sayin’ you will or you—”
I sigh and stand, which sends him stumbling back this time, fast and unsteady enough that his backside hits the dirt when he trips on his own feet. In response, a round of laughter breaks out from the direction of the campfire, but it dies off into quiet coughs the moment I turn my head their way.Once I’m certain I’ve gotten my point across, I slip my knife back into my belt and stash the watch in my pocket before I reach down, grabbing hold of the kid’s forearm as he does the same with mine.
“I’ll go,” I clarify, letting him loose as soon as he’s back up. “You can tell him that I’ll meet them in town tomorrow.”
“Oh.” For one horrifying moment, he acts like he’s going to tail after me as I start to walk away. “He was thinkin’ that you’d ride there with them.”
“Then maybe he’s the one who got kicked in the head today,” I say back, striding past the mustang who thankfully does turn to follow me as I move away from camp and out into the valley.
“Wait, don’t you want to eat?” he calls after me. “Lunch should be ‘bout done.”
Already past my limit for conversation for the day, I don’t reply. I’m more than fine with another serving of hard tack from my saddlebags if it means a bit of peace. Sure, a rogue bull or a protective cow may decide they want to kill you every once in a while, but at least they don’t talk your fuckin’ ear off with questions in the process.
Before I get too far, I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s really gone, and I’m just in time to see him get welcomed back to the fire as a returning hero—Maddock giving him a pat on the shoulder and gesturing for the bottle to be passed his way. The kid takes a seat at the right hand of the king, an unknowing pawn that, for a brief moment, gets to look like a knight.
Only for an instant, my steps slow, but then I’m moving again. I don’t need to be gettinginvolved. He’s not my responsibility. No one is.
And that’s precisely how I want to keep it.
“All right, boys, get yourselves something to eat and meet at the saloon in an hour, ya hear?”