Chapter 20
I don’t think I dreamed last night.
I mean, I must have, but…I didn’t have the dream. And it’s almost disorienting waking up not because of the things waiting in the dark but instead because of the sunlight streaming in.
What is waiting, however, is the mustang. Who must decide he’s been patient long enough as soon as he sees me stirring, and who decides to help by tugging at the blanket over me and blowing a big puff of warm air into my face when that doesn’t seem to get me up off the hay bales faster.
“All right,” I tell him, lightly shoving his soft nose. “Give me a minute.”
He grunts in reply, although the shrill whinny piercing the air a moment later from the next stall over is a good indication that apparently, everyone is getting a late start today, and that some of us wake more happy than others. Christ…others.
I sit up, getting to my feet so fast I nearly get tangled up in the blanket that I belatedly realize isn’t mine. An all-black blanket. For fuck’s sake.
“Hey,” I hiss in the direction of the other stall while both horses look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Honestly, it’s really starting to feel like I have. “You over there?”
No response.
I sigh, take a glance around as I listen for the sounds of someone else in the stable, then try again. “Cypress, you over there?”
There’s still no response, and a quick check over the wall does indeed reveal that he has already left to…to do whatever it is that he does during the day.
I let out a relieved breath, glad to have a moment to get my bearings and to brush off the large amount of hay that has fixed itself to my person over the course of the night.
I must have looked a mess when he left earlier, although I’m not sure why I give a damn about what I would have looked like when he saw me.
However, this is also the moment I see the note fastened to the stall wall not two feet from where I’m standing. Right beside the mustang’s feed bucket so I couldn’t help but see it, but also right where no one who was simply passing by would spy it.
I grab the folded-up piece of fancy stationary that has my name on the outside.
Almost surprised the paper isn’t black too, but then I suppose that would make the ink hard to see.
At least he has some degree of practicality even if, when I open the note, I am surprised to find the writing so brief given its author.
“Simon?” I mutter, turning the paper over and then flipping it back when no additional context is revealed. “Who the fuck is Simon?”
“I’m Simon,” replies a small voice, the stablehand suddenly appearing in the aisle as if summoned. “Was comin’ to make sure you weren’t dead. Kinda disappointed you aren’t. Never seen a dead body before.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Appreciate the concern.”
“Your friend—er, your man—”
“Not my man.”
“Right, but you know who I mean?”
“The one that pays better than me?”
“That’s the one. He told me to give you a message.” The boy pulls himself up on the stall wall, swinging a leg over to sit on the edge like a bold mouse. “Said I should make sure you get it. That it’s important, but he didn’t want to wake you.”
“Okay, and it is…?” I prompt, hoping to God it’s not something inappropriate.
“He said to tell you that you ought to start riding No Name down to the saloon.”
I frown, not having expected that to be the message he deemed so important that he’d leave a note and send the boy. “He say why?”
“No, he just said he was going to ride Cerberus down there and you should do the same with your horse. Just in case.”
“Just in case of—wait, did you say Cerberus?”
The boy nods, the black horse also whickering in what I can only assume to be an acknowledgement as he hangs his head over the stall door and starts nudging the boy’s hand in hope of treats.
“Is that…” The name sounds familiar, but I come up empty when I search my brain for information, for any bits of education from the orphanage that I’ve shoved aside because I hadn’t needed it to survive. Until now, possibly. “He named for something?”
The boy shrugs. “I dunno. Neat though, huh?”
“Certainly distinctive.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Hard to ignore.” I drag a hand down my face. “So, that’s all he said? That I ought to ride my horse to the saloon? He didn’t say why?”
“Not really,” the boy says, his face screwing up as he thinks hard. “Just that you should, too, cause then you could ride together after.”
I shake my head as I stare at the ground, regretting letting Cypress stay since it’s apparently given him new ideas. I need to put an end to this. Now. Whatever this is. “Listen, you tell him if you see him that he can do what he wants, but I’m fine walkin’.”
“You sure?” the boy asks. “He really seemed to think it’d be a good idea.”
“I’ll bet he did,” I say, reaching over the stall door for the latch, only to find it once again secured with the quick knot. I roll my eyes before slipping the tail end through the loop and tugging it loose.
“Hey,” the boy says, seeming genuinely excited. “You got the hang of it.”
I let out a laugh, even while discovering my coat and hat to still be damp after hanging out overnight. “Suppose I’m not as dumb as I look.”
“Suppose not.”
Little shit. I turn to the boy, who is currently eye level with me up on his perch. “There something else you need?”
“I’m just waiting for you to take your horse out.”
I sigh. “Because?”
“Because I need to know where to put Cerberus,” he says, looking at me like I’m the one asking stupid questions. “He really wants them to get to know each other.”
I open my mouth to reply, then close it, only willing to try again when I’m sure that the words that come out of it will be suitable for a child’s ears.
“Look, uh—”
“Simon.”
“Right, how much is he paying you?”
“A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
“He gave me a whole dollar for bringing the message.”
“He gave you—”
“So you tell him I did it, okay? When you see him? Please?”
I chuckle. “Why? You afraid of losing your employer if I don’t?”
“Nah.” The boy shrugs. “I mean, I like the money, but he’s also…”
“What?”
“Nice,” he says. “I’d hate to let him down.”
I frown, considering that. “Nice, huh?”
“Yeah,” he replies, but then seems to second-guess himself. “I mean, not that you ain’t…well, not that you are either. Main thing is I like him better.”
“Thanks for your honesty.”
“But maybe if you taught me how to shoo—”
“No.”
“Fine.” He lets out a truly aggrieved sigh. “If you ain’t gonna be dead and you ain’t gonna teach me to shoot, then can you at least move your horse? I want to go get Sally somethin’ with my dollar, but I can’t until I’m done with my chores.”
“Sure, I’ll move him,” I say, reaching for Cypress’s slip of paper along with a pencil from the pocket of my coat. “On one condition.”