“Have a room?” I asked. His gaze trailed the length of my body, eyes narrowed when he looked back up at me.
“Have payment?” he asked.
“Of course. Depends on if the room is worth it.” Which I highly doubted, by the look of this place. I was tired, thirsty, hungry, and not in the mood to tolerate bullshit. What little money I had, I needed to save. We had a long way to Roswell. The thought of parting with the brass and copper bits in the bag before we got there filled me with dread.
“We just need a place to shower.” I turned to look out the window, watching as Bonnie and my brother talked near the horses.
“That’s a nice ring,” the innkeeper said.
“No.” I balled my hand into a fist and released the tension a second later.
“What about that little pistol you have in your pants?” he suggested. My jaw dropped at the man’s words. What did he just say? Was he propositioning me? The innkeeper eyed me up and down, before letting out a booming chuckle.
“The other pistol?” he asked.
I reached to my waistband, pulling the gun from its spot.
“I’ll let ya shower. Just give me the gun.” I stared down at the ornamental details of the handle. It wasn’t much of anything, really. If I squeezed it too hard, I bet it would fall apart anyway. I glanced toward the window once more, where Bonnie was smiling at something Harry said. The gun was of little use to us with the M9 she carried. She would understand bartering for a shower, right?
“Fine. But don’t tell the woman outside.” I placed the gun down on the countertop. He slid a key over to me, instructing me on where to find the shower. Without thanking him, I went back outside.
We took turns taking showers. My brother first, then Bonnie. As she walked out of the bathroom, I couldn’t help but notice the flush in her cheeks. It reminded me of the fire, when I’d had my hands all over her. She’d come to life beneath me that night, her skin soft and supple, her body mine to consume. Droplets of water dripped from her long, dark hair, sliding down the curve of her neck, a neck I’d tasted. I averted my gaze, brushing past her to take my turn. The cold water did nothing to stifle the image of Bonnie’s body writhing beneath my touch by firelight. It was only then that I realized I was alone for the first time in months.
Wrangling a ten-year-old through the wilderness allowed very little personal time. The memory of Bonnie’s lips, hot on mine sent my heart pounding. My skin flushed, remembering her nails scratching across my skin. The mirth in her eyes sent my skin burning through the spray of the cold water. Goddamn it. Why did she have to be so fucking sexy? Water sprayed over my face. If I didn’t get a handle on this, I was sure it would turn to steam. I reached down, determined to take control of myself. What must have been nearly an hour later, I dressed in my change of clothes and shaved the scratchy beard from my face.
Refreshed, I made my way back to Harry and Bonnie. As I approached, the most beautiful sound trilled on the stale air. Laughter. Her voice wasn’t hard like I was used to. In contrast to the harsh lines of her face and normal condescension in her tone, Bonnie laughed. My brother removed the towel from his head, and his hair stood on end.
Stifling a smile, I pulled out our broken comb and helped him fix it. My eyes met Bonnie’s. For the first time, hers were tranquil. There wasn’t a scowl on her face or any of the normal sarcasm behind her expression. She looked as beautiful as her laughter sounded. I wondered if she realized how gorgeous she was.
Bonnie opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by shouting outside. Immediately, my guard went up. What now? We rushed outside. Night had fallen, but the town hadn’t gone to sleep. Throngs of people, more than we’d seen earlier, passed us, heading in a single direction. I glanced toward my companions. Bonnie had the usual suspicion on her face, but my brother’s eyes were alight with wonder.
Might as well join them and see what the excitement was about, right?
From far off, a banjo sounded, along with singing and cheering. We rounded a bend in the trees, which opened up to a large field surrounding a bonfire that shot straight into the sky. The faint outline of a nearby mountain framed my view; the sky glittered overhead with stars.
Flagstaff was better than any of the other settlements we’d traveled through since leaving home.
We found a tree to tie off the horses and wandered toward the bonfire, eventually settling down in an empty space. Bonnie rationed out what little dried meat and cheese we had. I waited to see that she actually ate before digging into my own meager portions. Vaguely, I thought that we needed to make plans for the next leg of our journey, but my attention was stolen by the performers. Men and women in ceremonial Native headdresses danced around the fire. They chanted in a language I didn’t recognize.
The smell of roasting meat wafted over on the breeze. People walked and talked and danced. They celebrated. What it was, I didn’t know. I just knew that I hadn’t felt a sense of community in a very long time. These people knew how to live.
It was such a contrast to my recent travels that my senses were in shock. The music hurt my ears at first, reminding me of when Pop would play the piano off-key. Bonnie hummed along beneath her breath. She probably didn’t realize I could hear her. Her eyes were bright with unfettered joy; I recognized that feeling within my chest. Harry broke the moment, suddenly peppering Bonnie with questions again.
The crowd around us cheered, and the music stopped. The performers took a bow and exited the scene.
A woman sitting nearby leaned toward us. “You’re such a lovely young couple,” she said over the crackle of the fire.
“We’re not a couple,” I said quickly, my eyes wide.
“Where are you from?” the woman asked.
“Montana,” I said.
“You’re a long way from home. Where are you heading?” The woman’s kind eyes and quiet voice lent a sense of comfort to me. She reminded me of the older women at the market. The ones that would smile at you like they knew more than you did but didn’t want to hurt your feelings for saying so.
“Roswell. Just gotta make sure our horses can hold out that long,” I said.
“You should take the train. It’s not as fast as the electric trains when I was young, but they travel well enough. It stops in Santa Fe. You can ride south to Roswell from there.” I turned to Bonnie as the woman excused herself and wandered away.
“What did she say?” she asked me.
“That we should take the train. There’s a stop north of Roswell.” I watched as Harry wandered toward the musicians, who started a new, livelier tune. Like my parents, Harry got all of the musical talent. Even before he could reach the keys, Pop would set Harry in his lap, pressing the pedals while my brother beat out a tune. Pop loved it. With time, Harry could play dozens of songs from memory, without missing a single note.
Even Montana didn’t have this sense of community. Everyone was so spread out that it was hard to gather. During the winter months, the weather could be harsh, so we were always inside. During the spring and summer, there was always work to do. But for a moment, I allowed myself to wonder what life could be like, being surrounded by dozens of people, everyone taking part in the work so you didn’t have to do it by yourself.
“What do you think?” I asked Bonnie after a moment. She shrugged noncommittally, watching the couples that floated toward the fire to dance.
It was nice not being at odds with her. It was nice not being on edge every second. Silently, I compared Bonnie to the image of Clara in my head. Sure, there were the physical differences. Clara was tall, blonde, and delicate. Bonnie was soft and small, with dark hair and mystery swirling around her. I always thought Clara was my type. But she wasn’t, not really. She was the type everyone else thought I should be with.
It wasn’t until Vegas that I knew I’d been wrong all along.
“So how do you know what burning flesh smells like?” Bonnie asked, finally looking at me.
I knew it was only a matter of
time before she asked. I stared at the fire, not wanting to answer. It would have been easy to lie, but I couldn’t find the words. Instead, I saw the charred remains of my parents. I stared toward the bonfire, willing the lead ball of grief in my stomach to go away. She shifted more in my direction. One of her hands inched toward mine on the grass.
“It’s not a smell you forget,” she said.
Why couldn’t she get the hint and leave it alone?
Bonnie’s hand moved across the short distance. Our fingers tangled, and the contact almost undid me. It wasn’t hard or rough, it was almost... sweet.
“I was twelve when a fever struck a town near our camp. It spread fast, mostly killing children and the elderly. It wasn’t safe for me, but that didn’t matter much to anyone back then. Four days. It took us four days to drag them all out and burn them,” she said.
My stomach flipped at the thought of having to make the decision to burn the bodies. I understood now why it was necessary to stamp out the disease before it spread.
Bonnie fidgeted beside me. As usual, she couldn’t keep still. She pulled her hand out of mine. She looked up at me, her mouth slightly open with an unasked question resting on her lips.
“Can I have Selene?” she finally asked.
Selene? Who was Selene?
“The gun, farm boy. Every good outlaw names their gun.” A smile found its way to her pouty lips.
Selene. The gun that I no longer had. Her brows furrowed at my hesitation. It was sad. Because we’d been getting along for once. We were just two people, enjoying music and the company of others.
“I’d give it to you... if I still had it.”
Chapter Seven - Bonnie
I like this song. The music distracted me enough that I chuckled at Jesse, holding out a flat palm for Selene. When, a moment later, he still hadn’t given her back, I glanced at his face, and my heart stopped. There was no hint of humor in his expression. My breath stilled. My demons raged towards me, setting my hands and body to trembling.
He couldn’t be serious.
My hand dropped, and so did any fragile sense of safety that’d enveloped me since entering this town. I shook my head disbelievingly, refusing to meet his eyes. This is what you get for trusting him. The unkind thoughts echoed endlessly. I knew better. I’d allowed myself to believe Jesse was decent. That he wouldn’t use me like every other man in my life. That he didn’t have it in his poor little farm boy heart.
I was a fucking idiot.
Shoving onto my feet, I stared at him and hardened my heart to his handsome face.
“How could you do that?” I asked, cringing at the desperate edge to my voice. I trusted you. The words froze on the tip of my tongue, desperate to tumble from my lips. Instead, I turned towards the horses, unbuckling a saddle bag and pulling out the M9. I tried to control the fear settling deep in my stomach. It thrashed, threatening to spill what little I’d eaten. Jesse moved to my side in a moment, the familiar heat from his eyes burning against my skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice strained. I chambered a bullet, fixing him with a dull stare. There was only one thing to do now, and Jesse had no part in it anymore.
“Where is she?” I asked, a hard command. Jesse’s eyes fell to my gun, taking a tentative step back. “You have no idea what you’ve done. Now, I don’t want to, but I’ll make you talk.” My eyes hardened to ice as I raised the M9 to his chest. His face fell, hurt flashing in his eyes before confusion replaced the emotion.
“I traded it for the showers. It’s just a gun,” he said, hands raised and shoulders tense. I dropped the M9 and shook my head, my lips pressed into a hard line.
“Just a gun?” I asked, eyebrows knitting together. “Just a gun?”
“Yes, a gun. It’s barely even functional. There’s nothing that special about it,” he said, incredulity driving the dagger of his words deeper. I didn’t know why it felt like he was talking about me, but I clenched my teeth against the surge of emotion. I didn’t have time for this.
“A gun I trusted you with,” I said, and he stilled. His hands dropped to his sides. He moved as if to take a step towards me. No. I needed to put distance between us. I turned on my heel and marched back up the lane towards the inn. He trailed behind me, but I didn’t acknowledge him. Gritting my teeth, I pushed my hair behind my ear and took a steadying breath. Why did I feel like this? Disappointment, anger, betrayal, they all roiled in my gut, clawing up the back of my throat until...
At the steps to the inn, I whirled to face him once more.
“That gun belonged to the man who raised me,” I said, shoulders tight as I braced myself for the confrontation. “Not that it matters, right? You know, congratulations, farm boy, you conned the con artist.” A derisive laugh bubbled up from my chest. “You had me convinced that you were decent. That there were actually decent people left. I’m so stupid.”
“Bonnie, slow down,” he said, hands extended as if he wanted to touch me, but I shook my head to deter the action. “Just help me understand—”
“What’s to understand? I trusted you, and you fucked up. Just like everyone else,” I said, turning and taking the steps two at a time before kicking the door in, M9 extended. The innkeeper shouted as I crossed the room in three long strides. I pressed my forearm against his throat, shoving him hard against the back wall and placing the barrel of the M9 to his temple. His eyes widened, his face turning a ruddy purple that accompanied his lack of oxygen. Jesse barreled through the door, swearing and running angry hands through his hair.
“Where’s my gun?” I said, a snarl ripped from somewhere dark within me. The man’s mouth opened and closed. I pressed my forearm harder against his windpipe. “You can tell me and live, or I can kill you and find it myself. Your choice.” He smacked a desperate hand against my forearm, but I used my body weight to anchor myself to the ground, and he couldn’t budge me. Just like I was taught.
Tossing his head back and forth, he finally pointed a shaking hand to a drawer below the counter. I dropped my arm, watching as he fell heavily to the floor, gasping in relief. I slammed open the drawer, yanking Selene out and shoving her into my waistband. Sweet relief pulsed through me now that she was where she belonged.
“Bonnie, look out!” Jesse shouted as the innkeeper swung the butt of a shotgun at my head. I ducked, and the strength of the swing knocked the innkeeper off-balance enough that I was able to change my grip on the M9 and bring it down on his temple. Hard. The blow forced a shock of pain up my arm. The man crumpled to the dirty floor in a heap, and I shook the pain off my knuckles, swearing. Pulling the shotgun out from beneath the innkeeper’s prone form, I tossed it to Jesse, watching as he caught it easily. Confusion and unasked questions were dark like storm clouds in his eyes.
“You’ll need that to get to Roswell,” I said. Promise or not, I was done helping Jesse. I turned my back on him and walked outside. I made my way quickly down the front steps. The familiar need to run burned through my veins; my past clawed against what little sanity I had left. The news of this incident would get back to Jones eventually. He’d come here, to this happy place, and he’d raze it to the ground. Heat pricked in the corners of my eyes, but I clenched my jaw tight, forcing myself to ignore Jesse bursting through the door behind me.
“You can’t leave us like this,” he said, catching up to me more easily than I thought he would. I’d forgotten how fast he was, like how he’d caught me back in Vegas. He stalked beside me, his long strides easily keeping up. Even if he didn’t reach out to me, I felt the desperate thud of his feet like a plea at my back.
“Oh, yeah? Watch me. I need supplies, but I’ve done without them before,” I said, refusing to meet his eyes. Tension rippled in the air, crowding between us, around us. I refused to acknowledge the promise I would be breaking. Conflict snapped tight between us as he blocked my path, his composure threatening to break like storm clouds as angry words dangled on the tip of his tongue. My hand clenched tight as the urge to
slap him flooded through me.
“Stop them! They robbed me! Don’t let them get away!” the innkeeper shouted, holding his hand to his bloody temple. Whatever we’d been about to scream at each other died in our throats as we moved in a synchronized sprint towards the horses. Before we knew it, the seemingly friendly townspeople were leveling weapons at us from every direction. Jesse, unused to staring down the barrels of dozens of guns, stopped cold. I ducked below the arm of one pursuer and kept running.
My heart hammered against my ribs as a man grabbed my shoulder, his hands bruising me in his grip. I slammed my elbow into the soft part of his torso. He bent over, gasping for air, before I forced my feet forward again. As soon as I’d twisted out of his grip, another man slammed into me from the side, his hand grappling against me as I tried to get the M9 high enough to get off a shot. His scrambling hands gripped my shirt tight, and the sound of fabric ripping was punctuated by my inhuman growl of desperation.
A shot rang out, the M9 pointed high in the air. My would-be captor stilled, and I leveled the gun at his head.
“That one was a warning,” I said, bearing down on the man. “Don’t fucking touch me.” My voice was too raw, too small. My sleeve was ripped so badly the fabric bunched around my elbow, exposing the scarred, knotted flesh from my shoulder to nearly my forearm. It felt like it’d exposed more than that, more than what I wanted to show anyone. It took me too long to notice the dozens of guns trained on me. My breath came sharp, and I bit my lip to stop myself from letting out the pitiful sound building in the back of my throat.
I kept my weight on the balls of my toes, ready to change direction or sprint at the faintest opportunity. I scanned the faces of the crowd. None of them were familiar, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t get caught now.
The crowd stilled. A woman whispered to a man holding a Ruger on me; she pointed, and his grip wavered. The crowd parted, and another woman walked into the circle of weapons, her back hunched by the weight of her advanced age. She seemed unconcerned as I leveled the M9 in her direction to stop her.
Guns & Smoke Page 9
