Chapter 4
I leave the boss standing on the steps before he can add any additional stipulations, like requirements that I stay at the hotel, since not only the price but also the close quarters are far more than I am able to afford. Being stuck on the drive with this lot is bad enough.
Instead, I spend a few cents on a stall near the end of the aisle at the stable down the road, close to the back doors and big enough that I can comfortably set myself up in the corner with little fuss.
The mustang doesn’t seem to mind sharing.
At least, not right now when he’s got a full belly and a warm place to hunker down, and I can’t say I feel much different once I have a chance to sit on a nearby bench with another meal assembled from my saddle bags.
I’d be all too content to linger here versus heading back out a few hours later had it not been obligatory.
At least, I think it’s about that long.
I’m fiddling with my broken watch again when I walk into the saloon, pausing once I’m through the slatted, wooden doors to slip it back in my front vest pocket and to brush the worst of the dirt off my clothes.
Something I probably should’ve done outside based on the amount of trail dust that billows from my coat and hat.
I hadn’t really bothered getting fancy. For one, I already cleaned up in the river this morning.
For two, I’m already wearing one of my nicer dark red button-up shirts underneath my vest, along with my minimally-patched brown wool pants.
It’s the extent of effort on my part that this outing warrants and, regardless of the occasion, I’m not about to go around looking like some stuck-up snob when I ain’t one.
“Aiden.” Maddock calls my name from a nearby table, raising his hand to beckon me over when I look in his direction, and I nod to show I’ve seen him so he won’t say it again before I head his way.
“You have our agreement?” I ask as soon as I reach the table, and it’s obvious he’s not pleased with me being so curt by how he takes a quick look around to see if any of his other men heard. Can’t be letting them get any ideas about the respect he’s due.
“After,” he mutters quietly before raising his volume and saying, “Glad to have you with us. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Now,” I retort. “Or I’m gone.”
I get more than a little bit of enjoyment seeing his whole face turn a deeper shade of crimson in his anger, a sharp reply most definitely on the tip of his tongue before I’m spared by the sound of chair legs scraping against the wood floor as someone else prepares to take their place in the game.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” greets a smooth, low voice that would be enough to make me turn if I didn’t know better than to put my back to Maddock right now.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious for a game to begin.
” There’s a smattering of laughs in response. “Nor so enthused by the players.”
Their laughter shifts into encouragement as more than one man at the table starts calling for the owner of the voice to join them.
The ruckus is enough that I almost do look to see who it is anyway before Maddock reclaims my attention by reaching inside his coat to take hold of a document that he then slaps against my chest.
I grab it from him, unfolding it to glance at the contents and confirm he’s not completely full of it before I take the subsequently offered pen and lean over the table to add my signature below his.
“Everything to your satisfaction?” Maddock asks as I finish, clearly irked by my distrust as well as my disobedience. “You’ll have a seat now?”
“Of course,” I tell him, the corner of my mouth ticking up just to piss him off more as I stash the agreement in my pocketbook and sidestep him for the bar.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him almost think to go after me again like he did outside the hotel before he changes his mind, likely not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he’s already losing.
One week, I tell myself after the bartender sets a tumbler of whiskey in front of me a few minutes later.
I’ll have to make the half-full glass last all night if I want an excuse to be taking up space, especially on a night when the noise around me is growing at the same pace as the crowd. One week and then you’re out.
When I finally look back at Maddock’s game, I wonder if his dissatisfaction has lessened given that his table is already full even without me there, each seat claimed by either him, his men, the dealer, or one of the other poor souls that they roped into playing with them.
If Maddock were as smart as he prefers to think he is, he’d spread his posse out a bit.
Have a few different games going at once to improve their chances of making it big, but that might interfere with Maddock’s desire to want to feel big by dominating the table.
No matter how unnecessary that effort appears to be at first glance.
Of the three unfamiliar faces in the game, one is an older man who seems at ease enough I’d presume him to be local. Although it could also be that he simply isn’t concerned about any money he might lose tonight since the cigar he’s chewing probably cost more than some people make in a year.
The second is a grizzled cowhand, who very much looks like he’s lived his entire life on the trail and is tough enough to still be here to talk about it.
The calluses on his hands are so thick that the cards catch on them when he tries to shuffle them around, and something tells me that he won’t throw away his survival streak on a bad hand.
All in all, a pair that is unlikely to cause Maddock, and therefore me, much trouble. Although, I’m not sure I can say the same about the last one…
He’s harder to make out, yet I immediately identify him as the same man I caught a glimpse of walking into the hotel earlier, even though his face is still hidden from me beneath the brim of his pristine black hat that matches his coat, his vest, his pants, and…
fuck’s sake, his shirt. The man is head to toe in black, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s a preacher or a devil.
Suppose he could be both.
As if he can feel my attention on him, he looks up, his gaze connecting with mine just as the dealer passes a card his way, and I could swear the breath gets chased right out of my lungs.
It’s his eyes. I’m sure that’s what it is. Light blue in a way I’ve never seen before, but also calculating in a way that I definitely have. Shit.
Seeming equally caught off guard by me, his hand stalls over his new card for a few moments too long before he grins, then swings his focus back to the table as the players start placing their bets.
Maybe I imagined it. Or maybe I didn’t…
No, I can feel it. Can see it in that half second between his losing hands, in that fleeting look of triumph that shouldn’t be on his face but is when no one else is looking, in the way he tap, tap, taps his fingers on the table when Maddock is talking and he’s feeling impatient.
No one seems to notice but me. Not remotely concerned enough to pick up on his tells when they don’t believe they need to know them to win. However, the longer the game goes on, the more convinced I am that their faith is misplaced.
I’m also convinced he knows I’m watching, because every now and again, I catch him watching me, too. Those fucking eyes. Every time they turn in my direction, something crackles beneath my skin. An awareness. Christ, practically a fucking premonition that tells me to keep a wise distance.
“Well, it really has been thrilling, gentlemen, but I’m afraid I must depart.
” The man in black’s voice carries over to me again after a few long hours have passed, the reach of his words helped by the fact that he’s now standing, bracing himself over the table as he gathers the small amount he has left after finally winning the last hand.
“My heart simply isn’t at the table this evening. ”
I roll my eyes, shift in my seat, listen to the round of protests from the other men at the table, the pleas even from the old cowboy that he stay for one more game or, at the very least, join them again tomorrow.
He kindly waves them off as he takes his coat from the back of his chair, making a good show of putting up a fight until he, of course, gives in and agrees.
“Whether it’s heart or luck,” Maddock says, standing too with a broad smile and extending his hand with a laugh. “For your sake, I hope you get your hands on at least one of them by tomorrow.”
Without hesitating, the man clasps Maddock’s palm in his, but his eyes flick my way once more, finding me and holding my gaze as he hesitates near the door. “You know,” he says back, “I’m still hoping for both.”