Chapter 5 #2
Flynn got a late-night text from Jessie saying that she wanted to canvass in four days, which was when her campaign signs were going to be ready.
He didn’t care for texting. It seemed a lot of fuss when they could just talk.
So he pushed the call button on the phone. When she picked up, she sounded crabby.
“I could’ve called you if I wanted to talk,” she said, and it was way too easy for him to imagine her dressed in one of her low-cut tank tops, leaning indolently against the nearest wall or countertop as she looked at him through hooded eyes.
“I didn’t want to text,” he said. “I think it’s annoying. You want to put signs all around town, huh?”
“I need to. I’m coming into this race behind. And I have ninety days to really get some traction.”
“Yeah. And I assume you want me with you because …”
“Exactly. Optics.”
“What do you know about optics?”
She was the most uncivilized, feral person he had ever known, and she was talking about appearances? It was very nearly hilarious. He paced the length of his bedroom, looked down at the floor. Then into the mirror above his dresser.
It surprised him sometimes that he wasn’t a gangly teenage boy. He still felt like one half the time. Maybe playing games of revenge wasn’t exactly helping him feel like an adult.
Or maybe it’s that she makes you feel like a teenage boy on the edge of control …
“A surprising amount,” she said. “I know you Wilders have strong opinions about our business, but you realize we have to be pretty damned good to keep a niche place like that going.”
“Maybe I am not seeing it clearly,” he said, and he was a little bit chagrined to admit that, because he wasn’t being facetious.
It was true that he probably didn’t fully see the Hancock family the way other people did.
It galled him to know that in this respect, he and his family weren’t so different from the people who had given him guff his entire life.
The Wilders judged the Hancocks based on their ancestry.
Well, and the way that the Hancocks exploited that ancestry.
But Flynn himself had always enjoyed trading on the idea that he was a bit of a bad boy.
How was it different really, for the Hancock family to trade on the sensational notion of outlaws, shoot-outs in the street, and other feats of the Wild West?
Maybe not so different.
“All right. So you’re saying that other people like you.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “You’re the only one who gets scratchy whenever I ask you about taking bets. Honestly, how do you think I do things in this town?”
He felt his perspective had been turned on its head. Couldn’t say that he cared for it, in all honesty.
“Okay,” he said. “So … you’re not worried about all that.”
“It’s going to be interesting.”
“I guess so.” He paused for a moment. “Do people like your family better than they like mine?”
Her laugh was a loud crack of sound against his ear.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m serious. I would like to know what people think of us.”
“People who like coming down to The Watering Hole sure enjoy bad boys. But then I think Austin actually has stepped into the realm of respectability. Plus, Carson married Perry, and she has a business on Main Street. So … really, are you even outlaws anymore?”
“What about me? What’s my reputation?”
“You probably don’t want to go there.”
“I do.”
“Okay,” she said. “You have a reputation as a charmer. A ladies’ man.”
“So, similar to yours.”
“I don’t think people see me as a ladies’ man,” she said.
“You know what I mean.”
“All right. I guess so. So we’re the same, basically, and us getting together is going to seem almost logical, which I find funny.”
“I’m sure you do.” It hit him then that he and Jessie had never really talked.
Yes, they exchanged a little banter when they saw each other out at The Watering Hole, but otherwise they didn’t have conversations.
They had been forced to start talking over the past couple of days.
It was a weird thing to realize that he knew her, but didn’t especially know her.
Because yes, he knew her reputation. He knew what people assumed about her.
He knew the Jessie Jane of lore and legend, just as she knew that version of him.
And now they had talked about family and fairness and Rustler Mountain, and he’d said things to her he otherwise would have only said to Austin or Carson or Cassidy.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said.
“Just thinking. But yeah, I can help you canvass in four days. It’s just … It feels an awful lot like one of those cheesy made-for-TV movies, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe not enough,” she said. “Maybe we should have cider and cookies. Flynn, we have to have a booth.”
“With … what?”
“I know how to bake,” she said.
“You … you bake?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I like it.”
“I don’t know what to do with that information.”
“Be excited. Because we are going to post signs, and then we’re going to set up at the library.”
“I’m not sure we’re allowed to do that.”
“I’ll talk to Millie.”
That made him feel unaccountably nervous. “You’re going to talk to my sister-in-law.”
“Yes. I am. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll follow up on the details.”
“I’m sure you will.”
When they got off the phone, he wasn’t even entirely sure what had happened to him.
Because she was like a whole herd of wild horses that couldn’t be contained or denied.
He was beginning to think that maybe Austin’s concerns were valid.
Because he had been so certain that he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. But did he?
He sat down on the edge of his bed and rubbed his hand over his chin, his whiskers scraping his palm. Well, he had made a deal with the devil. Now he was going to have to see it through.