Chapter 12
I don’t sleep again, still too busy mulling over everything that happened in the alley. Debating with myself precisely where I lost control of the conversation as well as the situation as a whole. It’s better than the things that usually keep me awake, but even so…
There’s something about Cypress that makes me feel off-kilter, and it’s not simply his irritating tendency to share every stray thought that crosses through his head.
It’s also that he never responds in the way I think he will.
It’s that I’ve threatened him twice (with varying degrees of success) and in both standoffs, he’s made no attempt to retaliate or to defend himself. Even with the watch…
But would I have robbed you if you hadn’t called me a thief? There is a question that will keep you up at night.
I really hate that he gets to be right, because it fuckin’ did. That question had kept me up last night, but not nearly as much as another one had.
Why was he so afraid of the knife?
My pistol he’d walked right up to, practically lined himself up in its sights for me, which is why I’d thought to try a different approach. But the knife—that had scared him. Enough to make him not just nervous but afraid. Really, truly afraid.
In those few moments when I first held my knife to his throat, I’d seen it in him.
Sure, I’d felt it in his heartbeat thundering beneath my palm, in the crescent-moon cuts he left in my skin, but more than anything, I’d seen it in his eyes.
I’d seen a man who not only knew of death but also knew precisely what he looked like when he came to collect.
I’d seen the weakness, and just like I’d been taught to do, just like I had taught myself to do, I’d exploited it. Or at least, I’d tried to. But the more I attempted to throw him, the more he’d dug into me.
Then he’d fucking flirted with me, and I’d jumped back as if he’d scalded me with a red-hot branding iron.
God, why does he keep doing that? Can’t be normal, can he? Surely it’s a sign of some severe imbalance to make advances at the person trying to kill you, regardless of if that person actually means them and regardless of how effective—
Not that his advances are effective. Entirely ineffective, I’d say. Goes without saying that Cypress is not the type of individual I would ever take an interest in. He’s…well, he’s a fucking thief, and that’s more than enough reason.
It’s been a while for me is all. That’s what this is. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone, and undeniably, he is attractive. Charismatic. Sharp-witted. Could even say funny…in a way that is really fuckin’ irritating.
Anyone would react the same way. My reaction is normal, even if his isn’t. I am fine. Even if he isn’t. I am not the problem here, and there is—
There is a handkerchief that isn’t mine on my bedroll. To be specific, there is a black, silk handkerchief tied up like wrapping for a goddamn Christmas present on my goddamn bedroll.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but when I open them, it’s still fucking there. Somehow having appeared in the span of the five minutes I had just spent walking the mustang out to his paddock for the morning.
Rather than go right for the parcel, I first look over my shoulder, then peer up and down the aisle around the corner of the stall, expecting to see the only person who could be the owner of the abandoned fabric lurking in the darkened corners, as he is so very fond of doing.
When he remains suspiciously absent, I direct my inquiry to the next best thing.
“I know that’s his. And so are you,” I say, pointing an accusatory finger at the black horse in the next stall, who is once again hanging his head over the wall to keep an eye on everything I’m doing and appearing decidedly morose now that I’ve led his reluctant companion away for a little while.
“Of course you’re his. Neither of you know how to keep a boundary, and clearly, he knows where I’m staying.
Christ, he probably has that boy spyin—”
“You need something, mister?” calls a small voice from down the aisle. “Them knots giving you problems again?”
“No,” I shout back but hear his footsteps coming closer anyway. Without thinking, I reach down, grab the small parcel, and shove it in my coat pocket right as the boy pops up at the stall door.
“You sure you’re okay? Thought I heard you talkin’ to somebody.”
“No. I was just…” I drag a hand down my face, preparing to ask a question that I’m not completely certain I want to hear the answer to. “You can be honest with me, all right? You’re not in trouble. And you won’t be if you tell me the truth.”
The boy considers me for a moment, debating if I’m trustworthy before he eventually nods, and I continue, pointing once more at the black horse, “You took him out yesterday. Are you also the one who put him in that stall?”
He nods.
“Someone ask you to?”
Nod.
“A man?”
Nod.
“Wears a lot of black?”
Another nod.
“Fuck’s sake.” The boy’s eyes widen. “Sorry.” I grit my teeth, taking another steadying breath before I ask, “Did he tell you why he wanted him in that stall?”
The boy nods one more time, but seems to realize after a beat of silence that I’d like more of an answer. “He said that it’d be more, uh…what’s the word he used? Oh, covenant?”
I stare at him. “Covenant? Or convenient?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Convenient.”
I exhale. “He also tell you which paddock to put him in?”
“Yes, sir. The one next to whichever one you put your horse in.” He scrunches his face in thought. “Say, what’s that word mean? Convenient?”
“In this case?”
One more nod.
“A fuckin’ problem.”
“Oh.” He frowns. “How come you say that? Isn’t he a pal of yours?”
“No,” I tell him, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Did he tell you he was?”
“Guess not. I just figured since he wanted to be by you…” The boy frowns again.
“There’s this girl at my school named Sally, and I really like to be by her.
But she is my friend. She’s real smart. And pretty.
” He leans against the stall door, folding his arms. “Sometimes she makes me kinda nervous. But like in a nice way. You know how I mean?”
“No,” I repeat without spending much time considering if I do know what he means. Can’t say I do, but then, I’m not very good at talkin’ to children. Didn’t spend enough time being one, maybe.
“What else did he say?” I ask, attempting to quickly move us on from this change of topic. “Was there more than where he wants you to keep his horse?”
“Nothin’ else,” the boy says.
For some reason, the idea that Cypress could have had such a brief conversation is harder for me to swallow than the idea that he’s been watching me more than I thought. “You swear?”
“Yes, sir.”
I sigh, adjusting my hat after I drag my fingers through my hair, and the boy’s expression lightens, perhaps sensing his testimony is over. “You sure you don’t need help? I was thinkin’, if you need to, you can use my targets.”
“Your targets?” I ask, not following this second subject change any better than the first.
“Yeah, you know…to practice for your gunfights.”
As usual, the reminder of who I’d been hits me like a punch in the gut, and my right fist clenches in my pocket, reminding me of the parcel. “I told you I’m not him.”
“If you say so…” he says back, looking away and rolling his eyes before he tries something else. “Well, even if you ain’t him, could you still give me some pointers?”
“Sure,” I say, and he perks up right until I offer, “Stay out of trouble.”
He rolls his eyes again, this time giving me an exasperated huff, too. “You sound like my ma,” he mumbles.
“You ought to listen to her,” I tell him, getting the words out even though my heart constricts in my chest. I reach into my other pocket to grab a few pennies, and apparently expecting the gesture, the boy holds out his hand for me to drop them in his palm.
“If he says anything else, you’ll tell me? ”
To my surprise, he shrugs, but still pockets the money. “Might not. Now that I know you’re not pals.”
My brow furrows. I really don’t know a damn thing about children. “What’s that got to do with it?”
The boy shrugs again. “He pays better than you.”