by Hayley Stone
“What would you prefer instead? A train?” She sipped her water, looking thoughtful. “A small two-man team could pull it off, and it is less risky than hitting a bank… but you should know, normally we have to kill the express agent. He’s usually holed up in the express car and rarely goes down without a fight. I can’t imagine that would sit well with you, given that pesky conscience of yours.”
I rubbed my face. Lord above, it was too early for this.
“Come on, Apostle.” Almena scraped the edges of her bowl to get at the last dregs of warm oatmeal. I winced each time the silverware connected with the china. In the short amount of time since we’d sat down to eat, she’d managed to finish her entire bowl. I was still only a few bites into mine. The woman put away food like I couldn’t believe. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about how you’d pull off a robbery. Now’s your chance to see if you’d have any better luck than the men you hunt.”
Times like these made me feel like Almena Guillory and I were on the edge of a steep cliff, and it was only a question of whether I pulled her up before she pulled me over. Worse, I felt myself slipping. Whatever my intentions, already I’d compromised for her—the drinking, what I done to Dempsey. The fact I recognized bank robbing as going too far was a good sign. Less good was the reality in which I found myself actually considering it.
“Innocent people are going to get hurt,” I objected.
“That’s a distinct possibility. But the odds of that happening go way down if you work together with me on this.”
Almena continued aggressively scraping her bowl until finally, I shoved my own over to her, my spoon still buried inside a mound of cooling oats.
“You sure?” she asked me.
“Please.”
She didn’t bother checking again before starting in on the second helping.
“It doesn’t have to get bloody,” she said after another moment. Her eyes were focused on the contents of the bowl, but she sounded sincere.
“You sound confident.”
She shrugged. “I’m good at what I do.”
“So all those times people died in your robberies… that was just, what? Fun?”
Now she looked up at me. “Accidents.”
With lips pressed together, I shook my head. “Why don’t I believe you?”
She used a finger to clean one corner of her mouth, removing a crust of brown sugar. I found it oddly distracting. “Believe this: I never killed anyone the world would miss. At least, not after the war.”
“How would you know? You stop to conduct interviews with your hostages? What about those express agents you mentioned?”
“Wow. You really aren’t friendly in the morning, are you?”
Almena looked more amused by my vinegar than offended. She would. I don’t think that woman has ever reacted normally to a thing in her life.
“Sorry,” I muttered, massaging my temples. “Just feels like someone’s pushing a railroad spike through my head. And now you want to rob a bank, and… I’m not sure what I’m doing here anymore, to be honest.”
“You don’t have a choice. Remember?”
Rather than harassing, her gaze was expectant, almost urging. Like she was trying to get me to put the pieces together. I thought back. Her blackmail, the threat to Lilah. Could it have less to do with controlling me, and more to do with protecting me? Was Almena giving me a way out after this whole thing was over? A way to keep my honor, even if I still lost my badge? I didn’t have a choice, I could say, She was threatening to kill my wife.
But why would she do that?
I must’ve looked as confused as I felt because Almena smiled faintly. She got up, banged around in the cupboards for a while, found whatever she was looking for—some coffee beans, probably as old as the oats—and brewed us both a cup. Then she returned, plunked a mug down in front of me, and swung into the chair across, pursued by a small tether of steam rising from her own cup.
I drank, grateful for the strong and sobering taste.
“Now, I’ll ask you once more. Bank—or train?”
Less than a week later, once all the preliminaries were in place—ammo stocked (though Almena assured me we wouldn’t be using much if things went according to plan), surrounding areas mapped, exits deliberated on, and fresh mounts in the right spots—we set out for the little town of Halverson, just south of Ottawa, posing as man and wife.
Before leaving, Almena produced two rings of modest silver, which she must’ve had stashed away somewhere Bratt didn’t know about—inside another picture frame, perhaps?—though I couldn’t imagine they were worth much more than their sentimental value.
“It’d look strange if we didn’t have wedding bands,” Almena explained, fitting one on herself and handing the other to me without ceremony. I wanted to ask where she’d gotten the bands, if she’d stolen them, but something in the way she twisted her ring back and forth on her finger told me it was a story I was probably better off not inquiring about.
In addition to the jewelry, Almena surprised me with her choice of dress. While I stood waiting near the door, she came down the stairs, her figure an hourglass of dark blue. The riding habit elegantly covered every inch of her skin, including a small collar which closed around her throat, and sleeves that descended all the way to her wrists. She looked up at me from beneath a black lace hat perched at the front of her head. Despite her movement, the hat somehow managed to remain in place, invisibly secured to a high crown of brown hair. Loose ringlets slithered out of the crown and down the nape of her neck, and I felt a familiar—although, in this case, highly inappropriate—urge to interpose my hand between the hair and her neck. The idea parched my mouth.
She smiled, catching my eyes as she slid her hands into a pair of black riding gloves. “Well? How do I look, Marshal?”
“Tell you this much,” I replied, “I’ll never understand how you ladies manage to do all that”—I gestured vaguely toward her hair—“all by yourselves.”
Almena leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. Her breath tickled my ear. “Don’t tell anyone, but most of us make secret pacts with the devil. Saves on time and effort.”
I couldn’t help a smile. “That would explain it.”
As she swept toward the door, I added, “You do, though. Look beautiful, that is.”
Almena reacted to my compliment with a reserved tilt of her head, very ladylike, though as she turned back toward the door, I caught her grinning.
I felt like a pauper in comparison, wearing a few of Lloyd’s things—a collared shirt with a few suspicious stains that might’ve been tobacco or blood, and a grey jacket which covered most of those stains. The shirt was too broad in the shoulders, and pants were a little too long in the legs, but seeing as I hadn’t exactly had a chance to pack before leaving Coffeyville, it wasn’t like I had many options. Still, it was almost worth it for the look Almena gave me when I first emerged from the guest room.
I’d expected maybe a haunted expression, what with me wearing her vanished lover’s clothes, but instead she looked—well, relieved, is the closest word I can think of. I bear much resemblance to your Mr. Bratt? I’d asked whilst stuffing one side of the shirt into the back of my pants, and readjusting my suspenders over my shoulders beneath the coat. She shook her head. Not remotely. And when her eyes moved over me, they seemed to hold new appreciation.
“You always get done up before robbing a bank?” I followed her onto the porch, closing the door behind us.
“No, but if people are looking for a female outlaw, arriving in pants and a holster might tip them off, don’t you think? This dress is as good a disguise as any. No one will think twice.”
“Oh, they’re gonna think twice. Uh, just not about you being an outlaw.”
Another covert smile. “Careful, Apostle. All these compliments… I might start getting to think you like me.”
“I do like you, Almena.” The words just sort of came out, though why it should’ve been a secret�
�or why it felt like one—I wasn’t sure. Her smile faltered. “I just don’t like what you do.”
“Hate the sin, not the sinner. Is that it?”
“Something like that.”
She gave a breathy laugh. “What happens when you find out we’re one and the same?”
“Well… the good Lord didn’t say we were only supposed to love our neighbor’s good side.” I smiled cautiously, hoping it might reassure her I wasn’t judging none.
But Almena only replied, “We’re burning daylight here. Let’s get a move on.”
The day began wet, following a brief rainstorm like the one watered Coffeyville. Thankfully, the mass of sallow clouds moved quickly, always ahead of us on the horizon, and was gone by the time we got to Halverson, though evidence of its visit to the town remained. The main thoroughfare was flooded with mud, and some high winds had removed a few store signs. One man, presumably a business owner, stood on the porch of his store, simply shaking his head, muttering about the damn inconvenience. Other men were hard at work laying down wooden planks to ferry people from one side of the street to the other. Their boots disappeared about an inch into the peat.
“Wait,” I said to Almena, as we reined up outside one of only two inns in town. I hopped down off my horse, immediately sinking into the bog. I lifted one boot free, then the other, and made my way over to her. “Here, I’ll carry you.”
I knew the muck wouldn’t bother her none, given her rough and tumble lifestyle, but it wouldn’t be seemly, a husband allowing his wife to trudge through mud. In her eyes, I saw Almena make the same calculations. After a moment she maneuvered herself from side-saddle to slide down into my arms.
“I knew there was a reason I married you,” she said lightly, affecting a polite accent more suited to the parlors of Northern Virginia.
Under normal circumstances, I might have made some kind of comeback. I enjoyed bantering with her; she had all the makings of a worthy adversary, quick, intelligent. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and I felt tense with the knowledge of what was coming.
Almena squeezed my arm as I set her down on the boardwalk in front of the inn. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like a wife showing affection to her husband.
“Relax,” she urged me, maintaining a smile.
“Yeah.” I fixed my gaze on the bank, just across the way. “I don’t see that happening.”
“Try.”
“I am.”
“Then try harder.”
“Don’t worry about me…”
I felt her hand on my cheek. “I do worry about you,” she said, reminding me of what I’d said earlier. I do like you. The warmth of her hand pressed through her glove.
Was this more play-acting? Or something else? Something… different.
Something dangerous.
At my baffled expression, Almena withdrew with all the speed of a person taking their hand off a hot plate. “I worry you’re going to get us both killed if you don’t toughen up,” she added, and I couldn’t help thinking, ahh, there she is. “Let’s get going already.”
We started toward the inn, but I kept thinking about the way she’d looked at me just now, her gaze touched with care, actual doggone concern. The way no criminal should ever look at a lawman. I recalled how she’d felt in my arms as I carried her to the clean safety of the porch: heavier than expected, but not a burden I found I minded any. I also thought about the way I sometimes stared at Almena, like the sun was behind her and I was desperately trying to make out her face. The way no lawman should ever look at a criminal. The way I was looking at her right now, as I turned back without being sure what I was going to do exactly. Something.
Stupid, most like.
Almena glanced up from adjusting a pleat in her dress, and I covered the distance between us in two steps. My hands slid up her neck, cradling her jaw for the briefest moment, thumb darting out over her cheek before I lowered my head. Her expression tensed, seizing like a wild thing that’s just caught the glint of a hunter’s gun, and her gaze slanted sideways, perhaps wondering whether this was for the benefit of an audience. Eventually, her eyes returned to me. Those eyes, which did equal stints of cruel and careful, now dropped every pretense, reduced to an aching grey. The crown rolled off, the armor of her reputation flaking to pieces like dry enamel, and she stood there with the soft body of Eve. An impossible temptation.
I grazed the side of her mouth, asking the question as gently as I could. She turned her head towards me, fitting our lips completely together. Every part of me tightened, my pulse jumping. Without thought to propriety, I dropped one hand to her lower back, pulling her close. Her arms wrapped around my waist, fingers sliding just inside my waistband, and for the first time, I wasn’t thinking so much about my leather. She devoured every thought inside my head, and I happily let her. As we kissed, I felt her holding her breath, and when she finally inhaled, she stole the hot breath from my mouth with a smile…
No.
That’s not what actually happened. Although it might’ve.
A moment passed between us as we stood looking at one another, when I imagined I could’ve kissed her—and she would’ve let me. I saw the same possibility in her eyes, thoughtful with lust. Felt like there was a string tied to each of our chests, pulling taut, nearly to the point of breaking, when it would snap back to catch us both in the face.
With those thoughts, I felt myself inch a little closer to the edge of the cliff. Weight shifting toward Almena’s end. The devil on her side.
No, I didn’t kiss her, but Lord help me, I wanted to.
As I stepped toward Almena, words thick as chaw in my mouth, two men in the middle of the street began arguing about who would step out of the way and let the other pass. Neither fella wanted to forfeit his path on the wooden planks and hop down into the mud for the other. Nor would either make a concession of going back the way he’d come or choose a different avenue. In less than a minute, the argument escalated to fists.
My good sense returned quickly, with all the kindness of a kick to the groin. “Someone should”—a moment to clear my throat—“someone ought probably do something about that.”
“You’re better leaving it alone,” Almena said, and I couldn’t tell whether she meant the fight or whatever had almost passed between us just now. She turned away, lifting her chin with imperial grace. Twisted the ring on her finger again. “But I know you can’t help yourself. So go on. I have a few errands to run before our business with the bank, anyway.”
“Errands?” I asked, already off the boardwalk and two steps into the thoroughfare. The men were cussing up a storm behind me.
“Just meet me back here at the inn when you’re done playing hero.”
That didn’t answer my question, but apparently, it was the only answer I was getting. Almena sauntered off to do… heaven only knew what, and I watched her go.
Fine. So long as she stayed out of trouble. No other marshal with any God-given sense would have left that woman alone for more than two minutes, but I think it was fair to say the horse was out of the barn. Keeping a constant eye on Almena was exhausting, and after a while, it mostly just gave me a headache.
Soon as she was gone, I could think a little clearer. Without the buzzing distraction of her presence, I refocused my attention on the men in the street. By now, their brawl had moved off the wooden planks and into the quagmire they’d been trying to avoid in the first place. The irony seemed lost on the pair as they batted at one another with slippery fists.
“All right, boys,” I said, hoping a voice of reason might be the only thing needed here. “That’s enough of that. Come on, now; you’re making a scene.”
I went to grab hold of the shorter, bulkier man when his arm suddenly broke free and his elbow released right into my nose. I caught sight of a black mustache right before a dull crack resonated in my head, jagged pain spiraling out from my nose. I’d like to say I saw stars, but weren’t anything half so pretty about getting clobb
ered in the face. I reeled back, locked into a vision of the yellow sky above, then pitched forward, watching blood drip into the chewed-up earth.
Dazed, I blinked a couple times, backing out of the way just in time to avoid getting caught in the taller man’s attack. He barreled into the mustachioed man’s back, pushing him to the ground, and then proceeded to drown him, holding his face down in the mud. The other man struggled, arms flailing, still trying to force his opponent off him. Bubbles popped messily around his mouth. The mud muffled his screams.
I quickly seized the taller man beneath the arms, pulling him off with surprising ease. He made like he might come at me, but the iron appearing in my hand, plus the click of the hammer which followed, stopped him cold. Smart man.
“U.S. Marshal. Don’t you move.” I used the title out of habit. Didn’t occur to me until after the fact that I didn’t have a badge to show as proof. Luckily, he didn’t ask to see one.
“He started it!” were the first sensible words past the man’s lips, lathered with grime and fury. He wiped his mouth and spat brown. “Fucking drunk!”
“Did I ask you who started it? Stay there.”
“He attacked me! You hear me, Marshal? It wasn’t my fault…”
The man continued to drone on about his innocence while I holstered my gun and helped the mustachioed man to his feet.
Another voice soon interrupted, asking what in the world was going on out here, followed by, “Bart? That you? What are you doing covered in mud? Boy, don’t you know that’s what the planks are for?”
I looked up into the tired expression of Halverson’s sheriff. He had the face of an old basset hound: long, sad eyes, and loose folds of dark, freckled skin which wobbled every time he turned his head. His gaze swung between us, lazily. No wonder Almena chose Halverson to rob. Didn’t seem like the town saw much action, judging by the sheriff’s relaxed attitude.
“And who might you be?” the sheriff asked me.
Ignoring him for the moment, I thumped the mustachioed man on the back a couple times, helping him cough out viscous street water. He stood bent over, hands on his knees as he hacked and knuckled mud away from his mouth and out of his eyes.
