2
She hummed. “I can't hold that against you in good conscience. Whether it's right or not, a man being held against his will ain't supposed to be happy about it."
I shrugged. “I suppose. Depends on your definition of right."
"Would you have preferred a hangin'? Because that's what tends to be waitin' for those who run with gangs in these parts. Awfully surprised the sheriff didn't do just that with the lot of you."
"You know, he didn't feel the need to share his thoughts, so I couldn't tell you."
"I can't imagine why he wouldn't. Anyone would be lucky to have you as an advisor."
"See, you understand!"
She laughed. “Maybe it's foolishness that comes with old age, but maybe I'm not too far off the mark."
"Uh...pardon?"
"Sometimes I get these...feelings about people. My mother said that sort of thing happened sometimes in our family, especially with the women, but sometimes with the men, like my granddad. Whoever is like that ends up getting strong feelings about people. Sometimes it's just whether they're good or bad people, but sometimes other feelings like maybe it was more than just knowing grief I could sense in you. But sometimes you also get a sense that they're good with things or what might be going on in their heads."
"By that logic," I said with a raised brow, "I seem to have a touch of that."
"Maybe it's something magical and special, or maybe it's just a skill like riding a horse or hitting a bullseye. I suppose that depends on how you want to look at it."
"It's not about wanting . People see things the way they do because that's just...who they are, how they are. Trying to change someone's views on something, especially something important to them, is like trying to change their nature. You can't."
"Interesting," she said as she began cracking eggs. "I know a certain someone who's been put in charge of your well-being and behavior who thinks much the same thing."
"Is that one of your feelings, or are you just trying to get a reaction from me? Because you got one already, and that's more than most people get when they know me, no need to get greedy."
Hipolita shook her head and began scooping things onto a plate, sliding it to me with utensils. "You hide so much. You hide your pain. You hide what makes you happy. You hide the fact that there might be people you actually like. You hide that you're a good person. You hide yourself, so much of yourself, isn't that exhausting?"
Before my lips could betray me and form the immediate 'yes,' I shoved a piece of fried, salted pork in my mouth and was reminded that it had just come from a ripping hot pan. The melted fat, both salty and delicious, seared my tongue, and tears sprung to my eyes as I tried not to show how much pain I was in. Obviously, that wasn't going to work as Hipolita was staring right at me, and from the amusement on her face, she could tell I’d just hurt myself. My only consolation was that she probably only suspected why I’d hurt myself.
"Hungry," I finally managed to get out as my tongue ached from the burn. "Sorry."
"I see that," she said with a smirk. "Nice to see my cooking can still affect a man."
"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound like I was gasping after swallowing the food. It was delicious, and I eagerly shoved the bread into my mouth and sighed at the taste of the grease she’d cooked it in. "It's good. Really good."
She watched me dip the bread into the egg yolk while pulling apart some salted pork and dropping it on top before shoving it in my mouth, already forgetting about the day's events as the food filled my stomach. My mother had been fond of saying that a good meal could help to make all the woes of the day fade away and so far, I had yet to find anything to prove that wrong.
Which, of course, was promptly ruined when I heard a snarl echoing down the hallway, bringing my head up, and Hipolita snapped around with a frown. I turned to stare at the door. “And what, pray tell, might that have been?"
"Joseph, I believe," she said in an incredibly neutral tone that spoke volumes more than if she had curled her lip and rolled her eyes at saying the name aloud.
The shout was followed by what could only be vigorous arguing, and the skin on my neck prickled when I realized one of the angry voices was Ambrose. I had heard him irritated, I had heard him mad and pissed, but I had yet to hear a man nearing fury, not from him anyway. Without thinking, I pushed up from the counter and out through the door, barely noticing that Hipolita was on my heels.
The brothers had emerged from the office and were standing in the entrance hall, gesturing angrily at one another. Joseph resembled Ambrose and his father in passing, which probably meant he took more after his mother in looks. He was decently built, but it was obvious as I grew close, from his clean-cut, clean clothes, and unblemished hands, that hard work was not his expertise. He clearly thought himself important, though, if the way he stood imperiously, with a well-practiced sneer that lost its haughtiness from how red in the face he was.
"A couple of pieces doesn't mean a thing," Joseph shot at his brother with a hiss. "You're starting trouble for no reason."
"It is not for no reason," Ambrose growled, and I could see he towered over his brother, but there was still something about them that gave the illusion that they were about the same height...or perhaps Ambrose was smaller than his brother. Now I understood what Joseph's effect on Ambrose meant. Even in an argument, madder than hell, something about Ambrose was held back, as if he was too afraid to go too far with his brother. "I told you?—"
"That you found some prints and a rock," Joseph interrupted with a sneer. "That's not exactly what I would call strong proof."
"It's one of their arrowheads," Ambrose rumbled, holding out what he'd found, and I frowned at the sight. It was an arrowhead-shaped rock, completely black as though made from obsidian. "You know that. Even though you spend your time sitting around here and letting other people do the hard work."
My brow arched, and Hipolita sighed, whereas Joseph's face only got redder. "Well, one of us needs to deal with the thinking work, and we know it won't be you. How about you leave the right kind of work to the right kind of people? Leave the thinking to me, tracking skills to people who actually know how to do it, and you can sure as hell leave trying to stir up the law to someone with enough sense to know when to do it."
I could feel the rage rolling off Ambrose. “Or maybe you could try listening to someone else for a chance. I know what I saw, and I know it's worth looking into before we find ourselves right back in the damned mess we were in years ago!"
Joseph waved him off. “A few prints you think were the genuine deal isn't the same as it being the genuine deal."
"Well," I said, interrupting before he could lay on even more derision and spite for...what reason? "There were definitely large paws that came from either wolves or dogs larger than Bear. And there were boot prints as well. Several of them, different sizes."
Joseph spun to face me, his fury returning. "And who the hell do you think you are?"
"Hi, name's and I was out there. I saw it with my own eyes," I said, holding up my hand and wiggling my fingers.
His eyes narrowed, scoffing. "And I'm supposed to believe the man who's only here because he couldn't stay on the right side of the law?"
"Joseph," Ambrose growled, surprising me at his...was that defense? Was he defending me? Strange didn't begin to cover it.
I ignored it for a moment and shrugged. “Well, if you don't want to believe your brother, who has more experience in anything outside the comforts of this house compared to you, maybe you'll listen to someone who's had to survive in the wilds. Or someone different altogether."
I saw his mouth twitch down when he heard the poorly veiled criticism, which told me all I needed to know about his ego and where he was self-conscious. "You'll find I don't place value in the words of a criminal."
"Former, in case you didn't hear, I'm serving my sentence," I said brightly. "I would think a man of...what was it, smarts, right? Someone with so much brains as you apparently have should know the difference."
Joseph blinked slowly, clearly taken aback, before snorting harshly. "This is a private conversation. You have no part in it. Now crawl back to your cabin."
"It's private? You wouldn't know it from how loud you're being," I said, cocking my head and frowning in feigned puzzlement. "I thought it was an open forum."
"A...a what?" he asked, looking even more confused.
"Oh, so sorry. I thought you were the learned one," I said with a chuckle, shaking my head. "A forum was a gathering place back in the Roman era. It was used for public speeches, debates, discussions, and the like. Of course, with it being open, it invited anyone to come in if they so wished. Which is, in case you didn't realize what I was saying, precisely what you were doing when you decided to shout for everyone nearby to hear clearly."
Joseph stared at me like I’d just slapped him in the face and spit on his wife in front of him. Ambrose stared at me like I’d just grown wings and started speaking in tongues. He turned his attention toward his brother for a moment, then looked at me as his brother's face turned redder and redder.
"I mean, are you trying to rally the whole ranch and town to take care of...whatever it is you want taken care of?" I asked Ambrose politely.
"No, just get a couple of people from here and town to check it out. Confirm if it's true," he said, mouth a thin yet twitching line.
"Well, that's hardly what I'd call an overreaction," I said with a shrug. "Now, I might be a lowly reforming criminal, but it seems to me that if this really is a big deal, or even could be a big deal, then it makes sense to get more information. For what reason could you object to it?"
"It's a waste of time and resources and will get people riled up," Joseph shot out in a hurry, but I didn't miss the way his fingers twitched or his eyes darted to mine, away, and back again.
"Ah," I said, clicking my tongue. "A small team of personally picked men to investigate is...scaremongering and wasting resources. Interesting. Fascinating even."
If I didn't know better, I’d swear Ambrose was trying to stop himself from laughing. His eyes were wide, and his lips tried to twitch. Joseph, however, looked like he wanted to strangle me on the spot. I was almost willing to push him further, just to see if he would do it...and a little curious to see how Ambrose would handle it.
Even I hadn't noticed their father standing behind them in the hallway, apparently content to let the two of them have their moment before deciding to let them know he was there. I had to give the older man credit, he could be imposing and somehow blend into the background. It was an uncomfortable combination, and I could understand why Ambrose grew up nervous around his father.
"A select group to look into things isn't unreasonable," he said, his tone soft, but there was a sharpness around the edges, like whips cracking ever so slightly to keep everyone's attention on him. "We certainly don't need to attract too much attention and risk getting people riled up or scared."
For a moment, I thought Joseph would argue from the look in his eyes, which would have been quite the show since I didn't think even he was bold enough to argue with their father. Unsurprisingly, his mouth snapped shut, but the furious look didn't wane as he glared at his brother. It certainly didn't seem to matter that their father had agreed partially with him in making sure a fuss wasn't kicked up...though about what I still didn't know. All that seemed to matter to Joseph was that his father hadn't outright agreed.
"As you say," Joseph said in a voice stiff enough it wouldn't have bent in a storm. "You know best."
We watched him for a moment, and it was obvious to me Joseph was fighting like hell to keep himself under control. After forcing a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile, he turned and walked off, going deeper into the house and leaving the four of us alone. I could hear his footsteps, heavy and fast, on the other side of a door that I couldn't see. If the man had been bad at hiding his anger while facing everyone, he wasn't even trying to conceal it now no one could see him...though he didn't seem to know or care that he could be heard.
When I turned back, it was to find Ambrose frowning at me in what I was pretty sure was a thoughtful way. I couldn't always be sure with him. Most of his expressions came in the form of a frown, and trying to understand which one required experiencing them all. It didn't feel like he was contemplating knocking my head from my shoulders, mostly because it lacked the thin lips or that weird pulse in his neck that I found oddly attractive when he was especially mad. Mostly, it was in the slight tilt to his head, like a curious child or Bear when he thought he saw some critter scuttling around in the shadows of a barn.
And to think I had accused Hipolita of making comparisons that would piss him off.
After another drawn-out moment, Ambrose sucked in a breath and turned to his father. "Thank you, I'm sure of this."
"You had better be," his father said in an even tone that somehow managed to be foreboding. "Even picking a select few men is a risk. Men will talk given the chance, you know that."
"I know, but?—"
"But what?"
"I-I'm sure of this."
"If I didn't think you capable of making up your mind, I wouldn't be agreeing with you," he said and then turned his eyes on me. Part of me wanted to shrink into myself under his harsh gaze while the rest rebelled at the idea. I settled on beaming as he stared at me, to which he, of course, had no reaction. "I thought you were planning on getting this one under control."
"What am I, an unruly stallion?" I muttered to Hipolita, knowing I could be heard by the other two.
Ambrose cleared his throat, and I glanced at him, suddenly wondering what he was going to say to his father. " is...doing what we wanted. We wanted him to work, and he's working. We wanted him not to try to leave the ranch, and he managed that. If he really wanted to escape, he would have done so by now."
His father's eyes stayed on me. “And that...mouth?"
I watched as Ambrose's expression froze for a moment, but I caught it all the same. I knew right then what he was thinking about in the face of his father's question, and I couldn't contain the snort that burst out of me. My suspicions were confirmed when Ambrose turned around, his cheeks coloring as he widened his eyes and stared furiously at me.
"Sorry," I said with a little laugh. "But that's just how the good Lord made me. Plenty of folks, some a lot meaner than you, have tried and failed. So it's funny to think you might believe there's a chance of it happening."
It was, at least in my estimation, a fairly good save, and although Ambrose still gave me a look of warning, I could see him relax a little as he turned back to his father. "You always said it's a fool who tries to change the things about a man that make him him. As much as I don't like it, that's just who is and how he is. If he hasn't tried to shut his mouth before, I don't see why he'd change it anytime soon."
His father turned his head slowly to stare at him with that same unyielding expression that spoke volumes. There was the pervading sense that he was weighing Ambrose's words and everything else he knew about his son. Considering he wasn't known for being gentle, I could again understand why Ambrose would hate that. I squashed any discomfort I felt because I didn't care what this stranger had to say or what he believed about me...because he wasn't my father.
After the silence stretched for far too long, he turned to me. "My son might be willing to tolerate your behavior for reasons of his own, but tread carefully when you interrupt a family discussion."
I shrugged. “I stand by what I said."
His eyes searched my face slowly. “Every one of them?"
"Completely," I said with what felt like utter confidence. I meant it, of course, but what made me wonder was what exactly he wanted me to renew my confidence in. He wasn't someone to waste words, so if he was asking that exact question, he was thinking of something specific. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of having said something that might have had a greater meaning than I intended. My words were as much tools and weapons as my mind, not being the one in control of them was...unsettling.
He stared again, but before it went on too long, Hipolita cleared her throat. "Mr. Isaiah, I know you didn't eat supper earlier. Why don't you let me bring you something? Otherwise, you'll end up going all day without a bite to eat."
"Are you trying to save them, Hipolita?" he asked, and for the first time, I thought there might be an attempt at a smile on his face as he gazed at her.
"These two are grown men who don't need saving," she said with a huff. "You, however, are prone to not eating when you get caught up in that office of yours. So why don't you let me bring you some coffee and food so you only have to go without much sleep tonight instead of food and sleep."
"I've never been one to turn down an offer like that from you," he said, returning to his office. "There's no rush, thank you, Hipolita."
"Of course, Mr. Isaiah," she said, sounding pleased.
There was another pause before we heard the office door click, and Ambrose let out a breath that I wasn't even sure he knew he'd been holding. We both glanced at Hipolita, who was smiling at the two of us before gesturing for us to follow her. Neither of us hesitated, following her back toward the kitchen at the opposite end of the house from Mr. Isaiah. The smell of the food was still in the air, and I sat back down at the counter to resume my meal, even though it had sadly lost most of its heat, it was still delicious.
"You could give her some thanks," Ambrose grumbled at me as we entered.
"For what?" I wondered. "You heard her. We're grown men who don't need any saving, after all. Or, maybe you needed saving, but I sure didn't."
"He was ready to take your head off before she got between the two of you," he said with a shake of his head.
"Are you kidding me? If he wanted to have my head, all he'd have to do is tell you to get it. Or someone else, for that matter. I'm literally here because the sheriff handed me over as your responsibility, which means you all get to decide what happens to me. So if he wants me dead, really wants it, he's just got to give the order, and it'll happen without anything I say or do to change it."
"Well, ya certainly know how to push him to order that."
"No, he's...I'm not quite sure what he thinks of me, but he doesn't want me dead, which is why I'm still alive. But he's...I'm not sure...curious?"
Hipolita set a kettle on the stove over the fire. “He's watching you, measuring you. If you think you're good at taking the measure of another person, you still have a long way to go before you're anything like Mr. Isaiah. I don't want to guess what he wants to find, but there is certainly something about you that has his attention."
"Well, that certainly is...fun," I said, nibbling on the last bit of toast. The eggs might be no good now they were cold, but bread toasted in pork fat was delicious no matter what the temperature, especially since it was still firm and crunchy.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Ambrose said with a roll of his eyes. "My dad being interested isn't always a good thing."
"Well...that's the fun in life, the gambles you have to take," I said with a shrug.
His brow arched. “You don't gamble."
I had forgotten I’d given him that little speech about my views on risk-taking. Thankfully, I was much better at hiding my reactions than Ambrose, and I rolled my eyes and came up with a proper response. "I said I don't gamble, and I'm not gambling now. But since I already have his attention by virtue of being myself, I might as well accept it as gracefully as possible."
"There is nothing virtuous or graceful about you," he said with a roll of his eyes, snatching the last bit of bread from my plate and popping it into his mouth.
"And some dare accuse me of being a thief," I said, not begrudging him a piece of bread. He had eaten no more than I had today, and arguing with his brother and defending his opinion to his father had to be hungry work. Still...it had been tasty.
"Sit down," Hipolita said, pointing at Ambrose with a utensil. "You haven't eaten either, and you're not leaving this house until you do."
Ambrose opened his mouth, sighed, and sat down next to me. I could see the shadow on his brow as he bent over the counter and stared into its clean but marked surface. It was hard to tell what was bothering him the most, his argument with his brother, defending himself—and me, for that matter—to his father, or if perhaps it was what he found out in the desert that was getting to him.
"So," I said, leaning back in my chair against the wall to face Ambrose. "Is your brother always that charming?"
"Charming?" Ambrose asked, nose wrinkling as he frowned at me.
"Sarcasm," Hipolita piped up from the stove, and I pointed at her to indicate she had the right of it.
"Oh," he said, shaking his head and snorting like an angry bull. "Joseph has...always been like that. But today is...he was?—"
"Pissed off?" I offered until Hipolita turned to stare at me. I grinned apologetically and winced. "Furious."
"Better," she said and turned back to the stove, where a pan heated alongside the kettle.
"He's never been very good at controlling his temper," Ambrose said, frowning at the table. "But he normally doesn't...go after me so hard, not in front of our father, at least. He usually saves that for when he's not around."
"He did seem particularly on edge," I admitted. "Especially when I piped up."
At that, Ambrose rolled his eyes. "I won't hold that against him. So far, the only two people who have dealt with you for longer than two minutes who don't want to strangle you are Hipolita and my father."
"Then clearly, they’re the only ones on this ranch who have good taste in people," I said with a shrug. "It's okay. Not everyone can be as discerning as they are."
Ambrose sighed. “Why did you interrupt in the first place?"
It wasn't so much the question that made me hesitate, but the way Hipolita turned slightly as if trying to see us that made me wonder. The question was understandable and innocuous, but now I suddenly felt like I was being put on the spot. I didn't want to say that watching Joseph use every nasty tool at his disposal to browbeat his brother irritated me because that could give the wrong idea about how I felt about Ambrose. But a dismissive answer didn't feel right either.
I shrugged. “He clearly wasn't going to listen to you, and even though your dad was right there, he wasn't going to interfere. Your brother is an asshole and a shit person from the looks of it. Maybe he irritated me, or I thought he deserved to have someone get on his nerves instead of him getting on everyone else's. Plus, it's not like you were getting through to him."
Ambrose raised his brow. “And you did?"
"No, I don't think anything gets through that thick skull. Any sense or logic is bound to bounce right off it. But he's got skin thinner than yours, so I had a little fun getting him all twisted up in knots because his 'lesser' dared to speak to him. And seriously? Who acts like that?"
"What do you mean?"
"No offense, but you're all living and working on a ranch in the middle of the desert, but he acts like he's strolling down the halls of Versailles or Buckingham Palace. You might be rich by the standards of this area and others around it. I don't know your finances, but he acts like he comes from a long line of royals."
Hipolita chuckled at that. “I always said that boy put on airs, and yes, he has always been like that."
"I'm not sure if that's helping," Ambrose said, frowning. It didn't hold, though, and he let out a sigh. “But yes, my brother has always been...like that. My sister always tried to paint it as Joseph simply trying to have what's best in life for all of us."
"He wants what is best for him," I told him with a roll of my eyes. "And you can't tell me it wasn't funny to watch him get twisted and riled up because I was messing with him. If only because it wasn't you I was messing with."
His lip twitched. “I'm admitting to no such thing."
"Well, you're certainly thinking it right now, that much I can tell."
"I admit to nothing."
I glanced at Hipolita. “He's amused."
"He is," she agreed, winking at me.
Ambrose sighed. “Look, I'm not sure if it's necessary to give you the details, but I'm sure you have questions."
"Well, considering you were digging around in the dirt for a minute, jumped up like you'd found a snake, and all but dragged the horses and me back here at top speed...you could say I’m more than a little curious as to what’s going on."
"About...fifteen years ago, there was a group of outlaws that were...well, terrorizing, I think is the word. They'd attack anyone if they looked like they had stuff worth stealing, and sometimes, they did it for fun. They also kept going into Rapture to raise hell and burned half of it down once."
"Mmm," I said, thinking of some of the gangs I’d been forced to run with temporarily. Some were actually decent people, for the most part, closer on the morality spectrum to me than the type he was describing. But there were also plenty of them who salivated like a dog in front of a steak at the idea of hurting people and spreading misery wherever they went. "At the risk of getting more accusations from you, I'm familiar with the type."