Chapter 10
I keep out of Soldana until I have no choice but to go back, leaving myself barely enough time to clean up and change my clothes before I head toward the center of town.
As I walk, I can’t help noticing the weather warming up with the onset of spring, that and the briskness of my step more than enough to chase away what remains of the chill from stripping down at the river again.
Not exactly enjoyable but anything has to be better than one of those bath houses.
Paying a whole quarter just to sit in another person’s dirty water?
Doesn’t seem worth it for a bit of warmth, especially since it’s already stifling inside the saloon when I push through the doors.
It’s even more crowded tonight than it was last night, but I still manage to find a spot at the bar after I see Maddock give me a curt nod that almost borders on acceptance. At the very least, he makes no attempt to call me over this time, which is good, since my attention is already elsewhere.
Pushing up my sleeves in an attempt to cool off, I search every face that walks in once I’m settled in the same place again with a whiskey, waiting for a glimpse of stark blue eyes, of a wicked smile, or the sound of that voice.
I’ll be seeing you, wolf.
Why wolf? I’ve turned that part over and over in my mind as much as I have everything else, perhaps more so, because I can’t escape feeling that there was a hint of familiarity in the way he said it. Not just for him but also for me.
Has someone called me that before?
Is it something people started calling me, and I’m only now noticing? Maybe his way of proving he did know who I was…
I’ve been looking for you, too.
What the hell had he meant by that? If he does really know my reputation, either because he recognized me or because Maddock told him during the game, he certainly doesn’t act like it.
Even before I had the gun on him, when he’d seen me watching him, there’d never been a trace of that reverential caution that so many aim at me from what they believe to be a safe distance.
Can’t really be safe, though, if they truly think me to be capable of everything they hear, can they?
Doesn’t matter. There’s no way he actually appears. In fact, I’m certain he’s halfway to hell by now. Except the doors choose that moment to swing open and—
Speak of the devil.
Rather than running for the hills, Cypress walks in as if he owns the place, shaking outstretched hands with a broad smile beneath his hat and calling everyone by name as he moves through the crowd.
As he does, it’s as if everything recenters around him, his long coat constantly sweeping out behind him every time he pivots to greet someone new until it, and him, finally settle at his destination.
“I’m here to try my chances again, gentlemen,” he begins, standing at the head of Maddock’s poker table, though his eyes flick my direction as he adds, “It would seem that I simply cannot stay away.”
As if needling me is all simply a part of the game he’s playing, he fucking winks at me then, and my temper gets up even faster than I do, the barstool I’d been sitting on nearly falling backwards in my wake.
Fortunately, none of the other patrons appear to notice, but he does.
Despite all the activity around him, his focus remains entirely on me, his mouth crooking into that sly grin that pairs so well with the challenge in his blue eyes.
I swear, it’s as if he wants me to come after him, like it’s the whole reason he’s shown himself tonight at all, and I don’t realize how close I am to taking him up on it until I hear Maddock call for him to take his chair.
The tone, more than the demand itself, draws me up short from the step I’d been about to take.
The obvious contrast to the way Maddock always speaks to me versus the way he’s speaking right now. The complete lack of condescension and disdain. Of anything beyond that he’s delighted, pleased as can be that his new acquaintance has made his appearance. Just the same as everyone else is.
The longer Cypress and I hold this silent showdown, the more apparent the difference in our situations becomes.
His offered chair quickly followed by offered drinks, by hearty backslaps, by a goddamn toast to his arrival.
Fuck’s sake. Was there really this much upheaval when he arrived yesterday?
There must have been and I simply hadn’t noticed, because how else would it be possible to become this well connected in the span of a day?
Even if I used my reputation, given that I have not similarly endeared myself, if I were to walk over there right now, Cypress likely wouldn’t even have to lift a finger to have someone try to stop me.
In fact, as the assumed leader of the welcome party, Maddock would probably have his own men toss me out on my ass.
Ironic, considering the whole reason he wants me here in the first place is to protect him from such a character.
And yet, there I’d be, down again without the means to get back up. And without a chance to get him back.
I let out a long exhale, my hand sweeping briefly through the still-damp strands of my hair under my hat. As if tracking the gesture, Cypress cocks his head, a frown flickering over his expression before he arches a brow at me. Well, what’ll it be? he seems to say. Your decision.
My decision… My fingers twitch at my right side, a single second drawing out long enough to feel like hours, a single breath pulled in before I…I do the same thing I’ve been doing for the last several years.
I pull back. Take one step away, then another, each an unmistakable cue to him that the immediate threat has passed, no matter that I rest against the edge of the stool this time rather than fully reclaim the seat.
I watch him while I do, expecting him to look relieved or, even worse, really fuckin’ smug that he’s gotten the upper hand on me not just once but twice now.
Instead, I could swear he almost looks discouraged before he bends his head slightly and takes his seat himself, having no choice then but to break his gaze away and reach for the hand he’s already been dealt.
Minutes tick by as he surveys his cards, shuffles the lot into some new order that he prefers, and calls the bet. All the while, the fingers of his left hand drum against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. Not stilling until his eyes find mine again.
Just as the night before, few moments go by without his gaze flicking my way. Constantly watching, assessing, searching—for what, I don’t fucking know.
But I do know I’m going to find out.