Chapter 3
“All right, boys, get yourselves something to eat and meet at the saloon in an hour, ya hear?”
Maddock Douglas makes his announcement out in front of Main Street Hotel to resounding hollers and shouts from the four men that arrived in town with him this afternoon—his current favorites among the company of nine that set off months ago from El Paso bound for the Kansas railheads.
As I understand the rumors, Maddock’s mama is an heiress to one of the largest ranches in the country, and after she and his daddy got fed up with dragging their darling son out of parties by his ear, they sent him out here to run the drive as a way to build his knowledge of the family business.
Presumably, as a way to build his character, too.
To be honest, I’m not really sure how watching other people work hard is supposed to fix the fact that he’s a complete shithead. Seems to me like a fault in the logic there. But I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to point it out.
Even the two men left behind this morning, the same ones currently at the bottom of Maddock’s pecking order, knew better than to kick up much of a fuss.
Likely recognizing that they’re better off being stuck with the herd than ending up like the man stuck in a shallow grave after a disagreement got out of hand before we even cleared San Antonio.
They’re also likely better off than me, since I still have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. Though I suspect I’m about to find out…
“Aiden,” Maddock says with a smile as the others head inside, the kid happily tagging along at the back of the pack as I ride up to the front steps.
The closer I get the easier it is to see our trail boss is already all shined back to his preferred luster.
His brown hair slicked back, his thin beard shaved close, and his gray vest and slacks freshly pressed. “So good of you to come join us.”
“Well, seeing as how you asked me so nicely,” I respond, choosing to keep my seat until I have a better idea of what I’m in for here. Beneath me, the mustang shifts from side to side, seemingly as uneasy at being summoned as I am.
Around us, the town of Soldana is buzzing, using the very same cattle route we’re on to grow busier by the month.
Everywhere you look there’s new construction.
Houses and shops, a wealth of places to stay and places to eat for anyone passing on through or planning on settling.
A bustling example of the new western frontier.
Too fuckin’ crowded if you ask me. Especially now that it’s past suppertime and people are out and about looking for entertainment.
I direct the mustang a bit nearer to the hotel just to keep out of the way of the carriages, all of them going by at what feels like an unwise speed for a street full of pedestrians.
“Well?” I prompt Maddock after another loaded wagon passes by too close. Likely a bit too obvious with my irritation as I add, “You told me to be here, I’m here. Tell me what you want so I can be on my way.”
My employer tilts his head, still looking amiable enough, but I can hear the warning in his words when he says, “You know, I can’t seem to figure you out, Aiden. You’re quite the puzzle.”
I shrug, having no doubt that he’s the kind of person who would happily force together any pieces that didn’t seem to fit in his puzzle. Nor do I doubt that his bootlickers in the hotel would help him do it without so much as blinking an eye.
I should never have taken this job. I should have made my way back to Arizona. Would’ve been the smart thing…but given that there isn’t really anything there needing me, it had seemed smart to take a contract that would keep me occupied for a while.
“Are you a betting man?” Maddock asks, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I almost laugh at the timeliness of his question.
“No,” I tell him. “Can’t say that I am.”
“Really?” He appears genuinely surprised. “I would think, given your history, you’d love to test your luck.”
“Don’t believe in luck,” I say, ignoring the comment about my past as I glance up and down the street, calculating the best path of escape should it come to it. However, I’m looking at Maddock again by the time I add, “Don’t tend to trust things that can turn so easy.”
His smile widens but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “How pragmatic of you. All the more reason for you to help me over the course of this next week, yes?”
This next week? I reposition myself in the saddle, just to have an excuse to move as an anxious feeling crawls up my spine. “Don’t you think that’s a long time to be delayed? We’re due in Kansas.”
“Months from now,” Maddock interjects, waving me off. “Plenty of time. In fact, we’re ahead of schedule.”
“We’ve been fortunate so far. But we won’t be if we keep stopping at every town within spitting distance,” I counter.
“If we end up having to push the herd too hard later, we could lose more than a few head to injury. They’re fine animals, but I’ve had some experience with this trail, and my advice is—”
“We’re not following your advice,” he snaps, civility abruptly gone. “I am in charge on this drive. My cattle. My authority. My decisions. Understood?”
“Your decisions,” I repeat, silently tacking on a May God help us all.
“Excellent,” he replies, all smiles again as he claps his hands. “Now, as I was saying, while you don’t claim to be a gambler, given your experience, I know you’ll understand how important it is to have the conditions weighed in your favor. How advantageous it can be?”
I don’t reply, something he must interpret as a need for clarity rather than an indication that he should fuckin’ steer clear of this topic. Something he always seems incapable of doing.
“Come now…” Maddock chuckles. “I’m giving you an opportunity to be a wealthy man. Well,” he amends, frowning slightly as he looks at me, “wealthier than you are now. And all I’m asking is for you to use your considerable talents to help me in return.”
My fingers tighten around the reins in my left hand, but I keep my right resting against the worn leather chaps that cover my thigh.
“As we’ve already discussed many times, Maddock, you hired a cattleman.
Not a gunman. If you’re needing the former, then I’m happy to put my talents to use.
However, if you’re needing the latter, then you’ve got the wrong man.
No matter if you’ve told the rest of the crew something different. ”
He laughs again in a way that makes me grind my teeth. God, I really fuckin’ hate him.
“I didn’t have to tell them anything,” he says, when he’s finally contained his amusement.
“You do realize that your reputation spans more than one territory?” When I don’t respond, he shakes his head.
“Well, no matter. Cattleman. Gunman. Call yourself whatever you like, so long as you’re at our table at the saloon every night by eight. ”
“I already told you I don’t play.”
“I don’t need you to. What I need is for you to be there to prevent things from…getting out of hand.” He frowns and I notice him covertly pressing the skin beneath his left eye with his fingertips. Undoubtedly remembering the shiner he came back with after his last trip into town.
Never did get a believable retelling on how he ended up with it, but given that his ego seemed to be just as bruised as his face, my guess is that it isn’t a story he wants told. And that he likely gave instructions saying as much.
“I’m not finishing your fights for you, Maddock,” I tell him in no uncertain terms. “And I’m sure as hell not starting them.”
“Of course not.” He holds up his hands in an attempt to placate me, though his tone remains unyielding. “However, should a situation arise, and as a condition of your ongoing employment, I will need to know that you can be trusted to do as I require to protect my interests. Is that understood?”
I squeeze my left leg against the mustang’s side, guiding him to turn.
“Stop,” Maddock immediately orders, stepping forward as if he intends to prevent me from leaving. “Where are you going?”
“To protect your interests,” I tell him, continuing on while looking back over my shoulder at him. “Don’t worry, if rustlers come for the cattle while you’re gone, I’ll let them know that any conclusions on how many they can steal will have to wait until you get back and decide.”
“Damn it, Aiden. You will stop,” Maddock calls after me, although his impending tantrum is blessedly interrupted when he is forced to step aside to avoid a man in a fine black coat and hat who is looking to get inside.
Place must be nice, I think, taking in the tall, well-tailored expanse of his disappearing back. Really nice.
“This opportunity will not come again. I’m offering you a potential windfall if you stay, a better quality of life. Better…lodgings,” Maddock tempts, apparently believing I’ve now taken an interest in the building. “You’ll get your cut of the earnings from the poker table. Same as the others.”
I roll my eyes, immediately thinking back to the rest of the crew disappearing inside a few minutes ago.
Of course, they’ve all got rooms here. Don’t know better than to be spending money they don’t have yet.
And likely still won’t after spending a whole week at the poker table.
Awful hard to pay a hotel bill with empty pockets.
When I keep going, Maddock starts up again. “Fine. As part of our bargain, I’ll give you that horse, too,” he adds begrudgingly. “As a sign of my immense appreciation.”
That actually does make me pause. Not only because the mustang is one of his preferred chips to play in our ongoing arrangement, but also because my biggest obstacle to simply getting gone is my lack of means to do so.
I’d spent most of what I had just making it to this job, which means my allowance for practicing free will is alarmingly slim until I get paid more than promises at the end of this drive.
However, if the mustang were mine, my options for new employment would improve significantly, as would my ability to cut loose and run without serious repercussions.
Skipping out and taking a loss on a bad job is one thing. Being branded a horse thief is another. And I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I end up on a wanted poster.
“I get the horse regardless of your performance at the table. Win or lose,” I counter. “And I want it in writing.”
“If that will make you feel more at ease.” He smiles again, more believably this time since he’s close to getting what he wants. “I’ll draft it out on my personal stationary and give it to you tonight.”
Personal stationary. Christ. The things people find to spend money on.
I must be silent for too long, thinking about the pointlessness of expensive paper, because Maddock lets out a huff and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do we have a deal then?”
I consider one more time if I’m making a mistake here, if I’m allowing myself to be too swayed by the sudden surge of possibility. Or even more foolish, by the spark of hope that the very luck I just said I don’t believe in might be about to change.
“All right, Maddock. We’ve got a deal.”