Ambrose
AMbrOSE
"I just don't see the point," Joseph said with a frown because, of course, my brother wouldn't let the subject of our newest workers go. "We could have waited a while and got perfectly good men that would have helped around here."
"And now we do have perfectly good men around here to help," our father said as he took a drink of water.
"What we have is a trio of criminals. We don't even know their crimes," Joseph said, his lip curling. "And you want them on this ranch?"
"Ain't about wanting, it's about needing," came the calm reply. "You were the one saying not long ago that we needed more hands if we were going to think about expanding. Think of this as a way to find out."
Joseph's brow twitched. “Are you...you want me to deal with them?"
"No," our father said, his cool gaze turning toward me. "I expect the work will deal with them...and ."
My stomach clenched, but I fought to keep my expression neutral. “You really think I'm the one to deal with them?"
"I think you'll find a way, or at least I hope you can," he said, watching me carefully. Once more, I knew I was under his strict evaluation and fought all the harder to keep my face from betraying how much I loathed the idea and how much it was putting me off my lunch.
Lizzie spared me from needing to reply immediately as she gave a visible shudder. “I don't like the idea of outlaws working on the ranch. Joseph is right. We don't even know what they've done."
"What they've done before doesn't matter. What matters is what they do from this point forward," came our father's reply as he pushed his plate away. "And if they prove themselves to be better than their past, then good for them. We need more hands out there with these animals, and eventually, we'll need more people to run supplies."
"You can't be seriously considering outlaws on supply runs," Joseph said in shock.
"Kinda makes sense," I said without thinking and then felt my face warm when six pairs of eyes swept toward me, my brother annoyed, my sister shocked, and my father simply curious. Yes, that seemed like a curious tilt to his head as he watched me momentarily before speaking again.
"And what makes you say that?" he asked softly.
I tried my best not to squirm under his attention and instead focus on answering the question. “Not right away, of course. These three men are...unknown and dangerous, and one of them, in particular, is a little too slick for anyone's good, but for now, if they can prove they're willing to work, they free up space for us to move people around. Instead of making people stay here, they might be better moving supply lines and stuff for us."
"And in the future?" he asked, still watching me.
"Well, I don't know how long it would take, but if they prove to be trusted, who better to know an outlaw's mind than someone who used to be one?" I said with a shrug. "They'd know when trouble is likely to be around and what tactics they might use when attacking our caravans. If they can be trusted, that is."
Joseph scoffed, giving me a scowl that told me just how stupid an idea he thought it was. “And when are we supposed to trust an outlaw? Before or after they shove a knife in our backs?"
"I said if they can be trusted, not when," I told my brother, furrowing my brow.
"They can't be trusted, not ever. Once you live a life like that, you can't know anything else."
"Good to know. Then maybe stick to crunching numbers and shaking hands with people since that's all you've known and not questioning what other people do."
Joseph's eyes widened, and his hand fisted on the table, pushing himself up. He froze when our father stood, dabbing at his mustache and clearing his throat. The argument might have ended temporarily, but the furious look in my brother's eyes told me it was far from forgotten. It wasn't often I threw something back in his face, but it was irritating me that he was dismissing the idea without even considering it.
Not that I thought it was a good idea, but I had better sense than to question it with our father sitting right there to hear everything. Just because I didn't agree with our father on how he handled things didn't mean I was stupid enough to believe I was the only one who knew the right way to do things. Our father had been doing things long enough. The least we could do was trust his success hadn't simply been a matter of luck.
"I hope you remember to speak more carefully when you're around Mr. Reed later this week," our father told my brother, stepping away from the table. "You've managed to get the one person who could get in our way in a good mood. I wouldn't want you shooting yourself in the foot because your temper got the better of you."
"No sir," Joseph said, ducking his head to stare at the table.
"Good. , with me," our father said before turning and leaving the room.
Joseph raised his head as I stood, and I knew from the way his gaze burrowed into my skull that he was aching to continue our argument. But he also knew Dad was waiting right outside in the hallway for me to join him, and furious temper or not, he wasn't going to risk showing it. Either he would wait until another time, or he’d find another way to get back at me for my part in the argument...and the not-so-hidden chastisement from our father.
I pushed that from my mind. There was no point in worrying about what my brother would do. He would retaliate, or he wouldn't, and it wasn't worth worrying because, in the end, if my brother did get his revenge, it would be a problem for me rather than life-altering. No matter how much he hated me or how little our father thought of me, I was still blood.
Our family believed in three things, and the importance of blood was one of them. No matter how furious Joseph got, I would let it roll off my shoulders. The next was loyalty, which had been drilled into us. I had to believe my brother had learned the same lessons and would merely throw words at me. The last thing, and the one my brother knew least about, didn’t really apply here—hard work. I could, at least, claim to make up for his deficit and wasn’t shy about pointing that out.
My father was waiting at the end of the hall, standing so he could stare out the window with a thoughtful expression. He didn't hear my approach, and as I got closer, his face screwed up, and his hand flew to his shirt. A moment later, he gave a heavy cough that sounded like it came from the depths of his chest and shoved a handkerchief to his mouth to hold back the spittle. I paused as I watched his shoulders tense and shudder as his back shook with each hacking breath.
The coughing eventually eased, and he took a deep breath that sounded a little too ragged and shaky. I couldn't see the handkerchief, but I could see the way he stared at it for a moment before tucking it back in his shirt. I wasn't sure what to do, and the instinct to back away and make my approach more obvious shot through me as I stepped backward.
The floor beneath my foot creaked, and I winced as my father turned sharply, his brow stitching together when he saw me standing there. I did my best to make sure my face was, if not blank, then at least absent of anything that might give away that I’d witnessed a private moment. Whether I succeeded or not was a mystery as his face slid back to its normal cool, almost blank expression, and he cleared his throat.
"You two done feudin' like little kids?" he asked in his normal gruff way, voice absent of any rasping or weakness that would have heralded something seriously wrong with him. I knew he'd had a couple of doctors come to see him, but honestly, with his life and at his age, that wasn't all that strange. Getting a bad cough out here, what with all the dirt, dust, and grime, wasn't strange either. It was probably better not to think too hard about what might be going on with my dad. He would tell us if it was important.
I bit back a far more scathing reply that involved Joseph's consistently bad attitude, his out-of-control temper, and how blind he could be to things that could help us and left it at "Yes, sir" instead. His eyes lingered on me briefly before drifting back toward the window. The men’s mid-afternoon break was ending from the growing sounds of voices outside, and I spared a thought for the three new ranch additions as of yesterday.
Not one of them struck me as dependable, responsible, or even likable. The only one who seemed to have any sense was the one who seemed so out of it on the way back to the ranch that I was amazed he could string a sentence together. The one he'd calmed down carried his foul temper with him as he kept his horse at a placid pace on the trip back. Those two seemed to know one another, and while camaraderie was all well and good, it could be a problem if they chose to start trouble.
And the third...I didn't like him, not one bit. I'd seen his type a time or two over the two and a half decades I'd been alive. The sort where a smile came way too easily, who were just a little too charming to trust, and who were always hiding things. It was obvious, to me at least, that he was an educated man from how he'd spoken and that he wasn't from around here since his accent stuck out. The real problem was figuring out if he was the slick type who was as smart as he made himself out to be or just another damned fool who would outsmart himself eventually.
I really hoped it was the second because the first could prove trouble, which my father knew. He wasn't the sort to make a decision out of impulse or desperation. He'd always told me that a man who made decisions out of desperation would find himself in even more desperate straits. Real decisions were made with a clear head and a firm heart. That way, you weren't likely to regret them.
Then again, maybe he didn't mind if other people regretted his decisions.
"Good," he grunted after a moment. "We have enough problems around here without the two of you at each other's throats. You two need to figure out a way to work together. I'm not always going to be here to make you behave. And it shouldn't be up to your sister to keep the peace."
"No, sir," I agreed. It felt childish to point out that I wasn't the one who usually picked fights with my brother. There had been numerous times I had let his barbs and spiteful comments pass without so much as a twitch despite wishing I could plant my fist into his smug face. But my father wasn't one to worry about other people's feelings and internal struggles; he wanted to see results and didn't care about the process of getting there.
He nodded. “Now, we need to talk about our three new workers."
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think of them?"
"Sir?" I wondered why my opinion was being asked after when it was generally my role to nod and go along with whatever was happening.
"The idea didn't seem to sit too comfortably with you," he noted, which wasn't an astute observation. "Especially the talkative one."
"He's too slick," I said, hoping that sounded reasonable rather than petulant. "Runs his mouth too much. Probably only providence that's kept him alive this long, though I don't know why the Lord would see fit to protect someone like him."
"The Lord helps those who help themselves."
"Sir?"
He turned to eye me. “I know the Lord gave you a good enough brain to work through things. Think about it. You just said it don't make sense that the Lord would protect someone like him, someone whose mouth should have got them killed a long time ago?—"
His voice trailed off, and he continued to watch me before turning back toward the window, leaving me to figure out the puzzle. The problem was that most of my problem-solving wasn't done actively. What I’d said to my brother had bubbled up from the depths of my mind rather than from any active thinking.
Lizzie had once said my brain was quiet. At the time, I was only a kid and thought she was calling me stupid. It wasn't until much later that the conversation came back to me, and I realized she had meant I wasn't the sort to sit and poke constantly at a problem. I was more content to let things lie where they were and wait until the answer or solution came. That was one way to make myself seem stupid without actually being stupid.
Still, I could actively think through a problem if needed, and it seemed like my father was intent on making me try. At the moment, I could only see the third man's smirk as he made light of everything from his ugly past to his messy situation and even the offer my father had given them. Even the damned horse had been taken in by his charms when he should have been as belligerent and sometimes mean-spirited as he usually was with people he didn't know.
"He sounds pretty smart," I admitted, though it pained me to admit there was anything remotely positive about him.
Dad grunted. “Speaks like he's read a book or two, that's true. But since when have books and real smarts gone hand in hand? I'm sure you haven't forgotten that friend of Elizabeth's from a couple of years ago."
The reminder of the bespectacled man who’d shown up from somewhere far east of here brought a small laugh that I quickly stifled. I suspected my overly eager sister had oversold the wonders of the ranch and undersold the difficulty of living out here in letters to the man. The whole back-and-forth letter sending started with an idea from our governess, who’d always tried to encourage 'cultural expansion,' as she put it. Elizabeth had been the only one to take to the idea. Joseph had sneered at it because the thought of dealing with 'soft men' was abhorrent apparently, and I, well, it hadn't sounded like something for me. I wasn't cultured, and I doubted anyone would gain anything worthwhile from talking to me, especially in a letter.
I remembered his name was Howard, and the original agreement had been for him to stay with us for a few months. Eventually, Elizabeth would have the chance to stay with him and his family for a couple of months. He hadn't lasted a month. Howard left, proclaiming that the ranch was cursed and out to get him. While not true, it had certainly looked that way, considering every animal seemed to hate him. We'd had more dust storms when he'd been around, and honestly, the furniture kept breaking, especially when he was using it.
He left with what few clothes hadn't been torn, his mustache burned off by a reading candle that had fallen on him, his hair in patches from a particularly persistent and bitey horse, and swearing never to return. Lizzie claimed he kept up his correspondence with her, but from the look in her eye, I guessed he wasn't keen on seeing any of us again, even her. It was, after all, well past the time when she should have been in talks about going to Boston, but I'd yet to hear anything about it.
"That man didn't know an udder from an ass," I said with a snort. "But I saw those math equations he'd been showing Lizzie. He was plenty smart."
"And didn't have any sense."
"Guess that's so."
He stared at me again, and the air of expectation weighed heavily on me before he shook his head. “I've got enough on my plate without keeping an eye on those three. Which is why you're going to do it."
I stared at him in shock. “M-me? But...why?"
"Because, like me, you're the one with the most experience dealin' with the ranch and the men. This was a family idea, which means family should take care of it. I won't be able to do it justice with all the stuff I have to do. Your brother don't know one end of a tool from another, and Elizabeth...has her hands full."
Again, it wasn't a secret that Lizzie was probably the sole reason George's business ventures had been as successful as they were. Perhaps another father would have disapproved of his daughter running his son-in-law's business on the sly, either because George should have been doing it or because it wasn't her place. Then again, another father would have perhaps shown a measure of pride and some worry that his only daughter was doing what should be a man's job. Not this father, though; he’d never said a word to me about Lizzie and George's less-than-secret arrangement, but if I was right, he wouldn't say anything so long as results continued to roll in.
I wasn't happy to have my day-to-day affairs trampled over and treated as though they didn't keep me busy. Yet again, however, I knew better than to complain. “And you think I can manage those three?"
"I think you'll figure out the best way to keep them busy and show them the ropes. Even that one who seems thicker than iron or the one with a temper."
"And the mouthy one?"
"Well, you should be able to figure him out too. You got more power than he does. Learn how to use it," he said, his brow creeping up slowly as if daring me to object. Something we both knew I wouldn't dare do even if I hated his plan and had several reasons to back up my objection. "You've got complete power over them."
That brought me up short, and I cocked my head. “Complete power?"
"They were given into our care. That means we have the permission of the law to enforce our own law so long as they are alive and haven't been released from that care. That also means we're responsible for what they do. I hope I don't have to explain what would happen if they managed to escape and caused trouble in Rapture," he added with a raised brow.
"No," I said, resisting the urge to look away from what felt like silent judgment on his part. I wasn't as good with the books as Joseph or good with people like Lizzie, but I wasn't stupid. If even one of the three got away from the ranch, it would look bad. If they turned up in Rapture, we'd look even worse. And if they ended up causing trouble in Rapture, we’d look like fools who couldn't handle their business. Reputation counted for a lot, especially when you depended on the townspeople to ensure your business stayed in business.
"Good," he said, accepting my answer thankfully. The last thing I needed was for him to doubt me. "But that also means you can use whatever you need to keep 'em in line."
"I...don't even know where to begin," I admitted before I could stop to think about how pathetic and incapable that made me sound. Then again, it wasn't like I had any experience with outlaws, at least in the sense of keeping an eye on them or showing them the ropes. There was no getting away from outlaws in this area, but dealing with them involved either shooting them or dragging them to the sheriff in Rapture.
"It ain't the first time you've run into something you didn't know how to handle, and you figured those out. The Lord ain't gonna wait for you to be ready for something before throwing it your way. You've gotta prove you're ready by going through with it."
The Lord or my father? "Of course."
"Right now, they're resting a bit," he said, reaching into his coat and drawing out a metal case and a cigarette. "Might do you some good to see how they're doing. Get a feel for 'em when they're not bound in iron and half-starved. You might get a better version of 'em than what you saw."
"I doubt it," I said and winced when he gave me a sharp look.
"Or maybe you'll figure out how to handle them if you spend a bit more time around them," he said, brow creeping up again. "Between you and me, we might end up with more men like that around this place in the future. Outlaws and gangs have been coming around a lot more, and Rapture don't have the means to hold them for long. You saw that."
"Could always just hang 'em," I said with a shrug. "It's not like most of 'em would do any different if they had one of us in their hands."
"Maybe, maybe not, but it's not up to us to judge. Those men and some women who get caught up in that sort of thing need their chance before the law."
"But they're not before the law. They're here."
"True, true. But perhaps they can make themselves useful rather than rotting away, waiting to see if any other place will claim 'em. And if someone from another town comes along and decides they want them for crimes they've done, we'll hand them over. In the meantime, for those that ain't already been claimed, we have a place for them here," my father said, staring over at me. "And you're gonna be the one to figure out if it can be done."
Which was a massive amount of pressure because what he wasn't saying was that he was ultimately going to see if I could handle it. Not that he didn't believe his idea was doomed, but that I was going to prove myself as much as the three men. I wasn't thrilled to be put on the same level as criminals, especially when I’d spent my whole life working hard to prove I was worth something . And now I was being given babysitting duty and told that if they didn't work out, I wasn't working out.
"I should probably go see how they're doing then," I said, knowing I had lost the discussion the moment he’d started it. Hell, I had lost all battles of will with my father from the moment I began to grow inside my late mother.
"That might be a good idea," he said with a nod. "Get a feel for them like you have with others you've trained. Figure out how they tick, what makes them hot under the collar, and what keeps them calm. Figure out how to make them work with you, not just for ya...understand?"
"Sir," I said because I didn't understand and didn't want to lie and say I did, but I didn't want to look like a fool by admitting I had no idea what he was talking about. All I could do was nod and hope I managed to solve the problem...and the riddle he had given me earlier. I knew he wouldn't forget about it and would bring it up later.
"Good," he grunted, rolling the cigarette between his fingers as he stepped out into the sun.
I waited before following him outside, watching as he strolled down the main path that would take him to the main gates of the ranch. He was probably going to check the back half of the property, as he did twice a week, to make sure the outer boundaries had no damage. Not that it kept determined people out, but he believed that if the boundaries looked well cared for, it was a strong sign to anyone that we cared about what we had and would fight for it.
"Bear," I said aloud as I walked down the steps, not seeing the dog but knowing he was nearby. As far as I could tell, there was never a beast as loyal as Bear. He wouldn't let me get too far from his sight unless it was in the main house, where he wasn't allowed. He would seek shade and stay where he could see or hear me and join me when I left.
I'd taken only a few steps before a familiar furry head pushed against my elbow. It was the smallest touch, but it was his way of signaling he was there. Considering his sheer size and strength, I’d trained him so he didn't accidentally hurt someone while trying to be friendly and jump on them to show his pleasure at their existence. It was still a work in progress with some people, but he was generally well-behaved and gentle as long as I was around.
I hadn't gone with my father yesterday to get the three men settled, instead, taking the horses back to the stables to get them cleaned and fed after a full day of work. I knew what building they were being kept in, though. Originally, it had been intended as housing for ranch hands, but considering we hadn't found anyone to take on the job, it seemed it was a place to keep the outlaws instead.
The only change was a large lock on the outside of the door. That was until I also saw a bar set between two brackets over the windows. Clearly, my father had decided to make a few adjustments before handing the reins over to me. I wasn't sure if that was his way of helping or if he didn't trust my ability to handle things.
After considering whether I should knock, I pushed my way through the door without warning. I could only see two men inside, the angry one and the dazed one. Both men turned toward the sound, the angry one scowling in my direction while the other simply watched me with a vaguely curious expression. It seemed a night's rest on something better than a board had done him some good because there was less fog behind his eyes, but I still didn't think he was completely in control of his mind.
"Where's the other one?" I asked, looking around for the man I was most worried about.
The angry one shrugged. “Out back, I guess. You lot don't tell us much. Just order us around. So we go like good little bitches, right at your heels."
A lovely thought. “What're your names?"
"What?" he sneered. "Don't wanna give us names? Maybe something cute like your mutt there?"
Bear gave a low huff as if he understood the implied threat and didn't think much of it. I, however, scowled. “Because if we're dealing with each other for a while, we might as well know each other's names."
The angry look never faltered. “Right, well, how about we play a game? You guess our names, and I'll tell you when to go fuck yourself. And here's a clue: that's always gonna be my answer. I might be your slave, but that don't mean you need to worry about what our names are, ya hear? So order us around and be done with it."
Well, it seemed we were off to an amazing start. The other man hadn't said anything, though there was a small crease in his brow as he turned to look at his friend. Now I was paying attention, he reminded me of the stable hand who’d taken a kick to the face from an ornery ass about six months back. The stable hand had been lucky to get through the blow alive, and even luckier, he was only knocked a little stupid for a couple of weeks.
I remembered the sheriff had said something about the three of them fighting. Even best friends could throw fists when their backs were against the wall, and being behind bars was a pretty big wall to have at your back. On the other hand, the angry one seemed close to the other one. They looked like they’d come out the worst in a bitter barroom brawl. So either the feud was behind them, or they’d both been fighting the other guy.
Which was...a troubling thought.
After a moment, I decided to try a different tactic. Of the three, one was too angry and bitter to try to talk to me. The next had apparently taken a bad blow to the head that left him dumb for who knew how long, and the third was the one I least wanted to deal with, but at least he was willing. Someone willing to talk was usually willing to give up information...or at least, I might be able to figure out some information.
Giving them an impassive look and a nod, I retreated through the door, gritting my teeth in frustration once I was out of sight. I knew it wouldn't be an easy job. But I figured I could learn their names and go from there. Instead, I had to deal with the least liked of the trio and see what I could glean from him.
The angry man hadn’t lied because the third man was indeed out back, or at least behind the cabin under the shadow of the overhang. One of the newer maids stood off to the side, empty pails stacked at her feet. She gave me a polite smile before looking out to the stables, where the soft nickering of horses could be heard. There was another one of our workers there. Stanley was one of our veterans, and it was nice to see him standing there, hand resting on his holster calmly while he chewed his tobacco.
"Afternoon," he said with a nod.
"Afternoon," I said, letting my eyes drift to the large metal tub between us. The man I'd despised the most was sitting in the tub, the water reflecting the afternoon sunlight enough that I couldn't make out anything but what was above water, namely the middle of his shoulders up. I felt relief, which was unnerving, but I pushed it aside. "Huh, you're blond."
"Such is my fate...or curse, depending on who you ask," he said with a smirk, running a hand through his hair. "You should have seen the first batch of water. That stuff turned blacker than a night in the dead of winter, and I didn't even get the chance to start scrubbing before it was too filthy. Thankfully, Miss Belinda was nice enough to get me some more. Even let me scrub some of it off before I got into the tub the second time so I’d enjoy it."
Without all the dirt caking his skin and hair, I found I disliked him even more. His clean features suited him and somehow made his irritating smile even more charming. The dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced, and his eyes were bright and curious as they gazed at me. Wet strands fell over what was a handsome face. Even the small, jagged scar on his forehead gave him a slightly roguish appearance, enhancing it rather than detracting from it.
My fingers twitched, and to my horror, I realized I was subconsciously resisting the urge to reach down and push the strand of sopping-wet hair off his forehead. “Getting some rest has only made your mouth worse.”
"You could say it's made it better, actually."
"I doubt that very much."
He chuckled, reaching up to push the hair out of his face. “I guess that'll depend on who you ask. Now, in any other circumstance, I'd ask to what I owe the pleasure of your company, but I think it's safe to say you're not here to make nice while I enjoy the first bath I've had in...well, too long."
"What, used to baths?" I wondered, frowning when Bear appeared beside me and sniffed the tub's edge curiously. He'd always shown zero hesitation regarding people, but I would have preferred he showed some reluctance when dealing with an outlaw. Then again, he was a dog, a smart one, to be sure, but a gentle-hearted and friendly dog all the same.
"Why, , are you trying to get a feel for me? Figure me out?" he asked with a wicked smirk. "Because if that's the case, you could just ask the questions instead of trying to be slick. Because I'll be honest, you and slick don't get on well together."
Alright, maybe I had been trying to figure something out about him, but being called on it didn't mean I was going to fess up. Being sly wasn't something I was good at, that was true, but I still had some pride left, and I wasn't going to throw it away just because some silver-tongued ass figured me out quickly.
"Fine," I said, deciding to go for a less invasive question. "What's your name?"
His smile said he didn't believe for a moment that was what I was going to ask. “Samuel."
"Samuel."
"Indeed."
"Just...Samuel?"
A strange light flickered in his eyes before disappearing, replaced by the far more expected amusement. "Out here, for people like me, last names don't count for a whole lot now, do they? You can have my given name. That's it. You'll have to earn anything more than that."
Earn more? As if I was the one who’d been thrown in jail and was at the mercy of other people because I didn't know how to stay on the right side of the law?
His gaze continued to hold mine before he sighed and let his head roll back to rest on the rim of the tub. “Alright, , this is where you tell me what fate you and your daddy have in store for me. Because I don't think this is his idea of a just punishment for the likes of me and my...companions."
At least he didn't try to claim them as friends. “You're going to work."
"I figured that much out on my own."
"Under me."
"Directly?"
"Yes."
He hummed, one eye cracking open to slide over me from my feet to my head. “Interesting idea."
Something inside me bristled at the...appraisal. “It's not an idea. It's what's going to happen. No matter how much you smart mouth or how much your friend gets pissed off about it."
His eyes swept over me again, lip curling in a way that pissed me off and made my stomach twist. “You're educated."
"What?"
"You talk like your dad...but without the forced formality and Jesus talk."
"Is blasphemy considered smart where you come from?"
"Blasphemy is a word that's thrown around as casually or as intensely as people want, in whatever way fits their personal crusade the best where I'm from," he said, finally raising his head to stare at me. "Kind of like how words are used by everyone in this country, and probably the world, in whatever way serves them best."
"Words have meaning," I shot back before thinking.
"And they mean whatever you want them to mean," he said with a shrug. "Just like everyone else."
"Awfully rich, coming from someone like you."
"Someone like me? What, a criminal? An outlaw?” he asked, the last word more a taunt than a statement of fact.
"Like someone who doesn't have respect for the law."
"Which for someone like you means no respect for honor...or probably love and loyalty."
"And?" I asked, feeling myself bristling but unable to stop.
"And that's what those words mean to you," he said with a shrug. "Doesn't mean they mean the same to everyone else. And I bet you're smart enough to know a few people, even in this far away place with only so many people, that have a different idea of things than you."
My mind flashed to my brother, whose idea of family, obedience, and probably loyalty were several shades different from mine. The thought irritated me further, and I snapped. “Tell yourself whatever you want to make yourself feel better. But your different definitions of the law are why you're here. And I'm done listening to you twist the truth."
"I always love how it's twisting the truth when it's something that someone doesn't want to hear," he said with a snort. "But fine, fine, you're very serious, very virtuous, and aren't taking any shit. And now I'm going to work for you."
"Damn right, you are, now get out of that tub and…what the hell are you doing?"
"What you said," he replied blithely as he took to his feet, leaving me stunned at the?—
Water ran down his body, and any idea I had that he might be some God-blessed lucky bastard rather than a survivor, or tough, was gone in an instant. His time in lockup had left him gaunt in the face, but it had drawn the skin over his body to show taut muscles, a flat stomach, and curves of strength. The water sluiced down his naked body, shining in the afternoon sun before dripping into the blond hair of his groin and over the long?—
My head snapped up, and I swallowed hard, glaring at him. "Good, get dressed. Get your friends ready too. You might not be workin' today, but you're going to get the tour. And keep any smart comments to yourself."
"As you say," he said in an almost tired voice, making things even worse by turning around to hunch over the tub. Because, of course, the man's back had to be just as toned, and his ass had to be as thick and tight as?—
"Good," I growled, turning around before my thoughts tried to go even further down a path that was not...well, I didn't need to be distracted by his naked body, no matter how good it looked. "And get moving."