Guns & Smoke

by Lauren Sevier

  “Leave them alone!” The Kid’s voice, high and clear, rose above the crowd. He shouldered his way past a man in torn jeans to run towards me, flinging his arms around my waist and burying his head in my stomach.

  My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I looked down at him. He hadn’t run to Jesse; he’d run to me. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and twisted my body around, trying to protect him as best I could. Whatever happened, I would do my best to keep him safe.

  “Put the gun down, Bonnie,” the woman said. Panic rose like bile into my throat. I shook violently, lurching away as she stepped forward. Fear coursed in my veins, freezing me from within.

  “I won’t go back,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. My thoughts shattered and reformed, one name pulsing through to the surface. Jones.

  “I was right. It is you,” she said, her words a reverent prayer.

  “No one leaves me, Bonnie. Not unless it’s in a pine box.” Jones’s words were calm as he wiped my blood from his hand. “Isn’t that right?” His pale fingers wrapped slowly around my throat, resting there. So that I could feel the threat in them. He held my neck tenderly, sweetly. The fear in my eyes a drug that calmed his madness for a moment. “What will happen if you try to run from me, Bonnie?” he asked, tobacco on his breath.

  “You’ll kill me.”

  The words he spoke that night resounded through me, a truth I would never be able to escape. No matter how far or how fast I ran, he was there. He was always there. He was so deep inside of me that sometimes I wondered if I was even a real person, or just the twisted creation of his fucked-up imagination. Hot tears welled in my eyes, and I gasped in a hot breath.

  “I can’t go back,” I said, turning the M9 and pressing it hard against my temple. The Kid gripped me harder. I squeezed my eyes shut, tightening my grip on the trigger. I took a deep breath, a sense of peace stilling the tremors in my hand. Anything would be better than going back; the sweet release of death was a kinder fate than what Jones had in store for me.

  The woman made a strangled sound. Large hands wrapped around the gun at my head. My eyes shot open to find Jesse, pulling the M9 out of my grasp slowly, his blue eyes dark with concern and shock. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. He handed the gun to the woman before burying his hands in my hair, cradling them on either side of my face. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall, the image of his face wavering in my vision.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. I couldn’t see anything but his eyes, couldn’t feel anything but the warmth of his hands.

  “Bonnie,” I breathed, desperation dimming within me. Bonnie. My name was Bonnie, and I was stronger than this. He nodded softly, a relieved hitch in his breath.

  “What are you?” he asked. My fragile strength flared bright between us, and I swallowed down the urge to fade into the darkness.

  “I’m an outlaw,” I said, my voice stronger. His thumb brushed my jaw, the touch grounding me to this moment, to his unwavering faith in the strength I’d painstakingly gathered from the shards of the broken girl I used to be.

  His hands dropped away, and I stood tall, fingers buried in The Kid’s hair as I turned to face the threat of the townspeople, head held high. The way I did everything.

  “Beck said you were spirited, Little Wolf,” the woman said, eyes crinkled at the edges in kindness. She reached out slowly to touch the raised skin of the scar on my arm. I flinched from the touch, and Jesse was between us in a moment. Little Wolf. Only Beck called me that.

  The whispering I’d noticed earlier grew louder.

  “That’s her, from the poster!”

  “Beck said that she—"

  “She’s way too small to have done all those things.”

  I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the sudden turn of events. The weapons raised against us were lowered or put away. The Kid disentangled himself from me and looked up at the woman. Jesse’s eyes were still hot on me.

  “They mean us no harm,” the woman announced. The townspeople began to move away, curious eyes still trailing me.

  “I’ve wanted to meet the tenacious young woman my old friend told me so much about,” the woman said, her kind eyes warming as respect shone through her dark gaze. I didn’t like that look. It came with expectations I wouldn’t be able to live up to. The innkeeper pressed forward, wiping his bloody temple with a dirty rag.

  “They robbed me, Quanah! I demand you do something,” he said, glaring at me and sucking a sharp breath into his chest to make himself appear larger. I rolled my eyes.

  “Is this true?” Quanah asked.

  “No,” I lied. The innkeeper opened his mouth to argue, but I thrust my chest forward, and he stumbled back on his feet, fear flashing in his eyes. Grinning, I looked at Quanah. “Well, yes.” I worried my bottom lip with my teeth. “But he doesn’t want anything to do with this gun.”

  Quanah raised an eyebrow, clearly asking for an explanation. Glancing at Jesse, whose attention was rapt, I refused to lower my gaze again. The shame of the truth burned the air from my lungs.

  “It’s his gun,” I said. Quanah’s body snapped tight with tension. “It’s Jones’s gun.” The words tasted like ash on my tongue.

  “I see,” she said, understanding weighing down her features. “Well, this is my town. You’ll be safe as long as you choose to stay here. After what you did for Beck, It’s the least I could—"

  “Stop that,” I said. She fixed puzzled eyes on me. “I’m not some hero. Stop talking like that.”

  “Come, there’s food and dancing by the fire. Your friends are welcome too.” She motioned us forward. The Kid, distracted by a stall where a smiling woman painted eager children’s faces, ran off to join the line and get his own markings. “Tonight you’ll stay with me, and in the morning, I’ll arrange for passage on the train to Santa Fe.” I wasn’t sure how to respond, so instead, I followed after her as she kept walking.

  “We’re not friends,” I said, unable to comment on the uncommon generosity she showed us. Quanah turned, fixing me with a knowing stare that forced me to squirm on my feet.

  “No?” she questioned. My eyes swung to Jesse, the shotgun slung over one shoulder, distracted by a pretty girl giggling in his direction.

  “No,” I confirmed.

  “Shame. I’ve been around long enough to know there aren’t many men walking around who can fill out a pair of jeans like he can,” she said, and my mouth dropped open in shock.

  “What?” she asked. “I’m old; I’m not dead.”

  She left me, disappearing into the crowd. Now alone, I spared a glance at Jesse, my eyes trailing the backside of his jeans and realizing she wasn’t wrong. He was still talking to the girl from earlier, so I moved towards the stalls. My fingers trailed along a row of windchimes that tinkled merrily. The woman behind the counter stared for a long time at my exposed arm, and I tugged at the ripped fabric, pulling it up to my shoulder only for it to fall back to my elbow once more.

  “Here.” The woman ducked to the back of her stall and returned with a bundle of fabric. She handed it to me with a soft smile on her mouth. Unfolding it, I found a new shirt. The print was more colorful than what I normally wore. The sleeves were shorter than I preferred; the bottom of my scar would show.

  “You can change behind here.” She indicated the back of her stall, where another brightly patterned piece of fabric hung.

  In moments, I was changed, looking too conspicuous for my comfort. The next stall had beautifully carved pieces of wood, and the one after that was filled with stones and beads of all colors and shapes, etched with trees and animals. Beautiful. My hand reached for a medium-sized bead, so blue it was nearly black. It was carved and etched into an intricate design that reflected the light of the fire as it rolled on my palm.

  “Keep it,” a deep voice said from beside me. I glanced over to see a man staring down at me. He was too skinny, his arms and face gaunt.

  “
I can’t pay for this,” I said, handing it back.

  “I didn’t ask for anything. It’s a gift,” he said, placing it in my palm before turning his back. A gift. I’d never gotten a gift before. Stifling a smile, I carefully placed it in my pocket so I wouldn’t lose it. The sound of Jesse’s laughter carried toward me in the warm night air, and my eyes searched the crowd for him. There were two women near him now. One leaned in close, an insinuating smile curved on her pretty mouth. His grin was wide and bright, an easy confidence relaxed around his shoulders.

  It was clear in this moment how different we really were.

  These people, with their gifts and generosity, welcomed him like a lost friend. Meanwhile, I stood apart, my loneliness driven to lower depths. This happiness, this peace, wasn’t meant for people like me. I longed for the ease and comfort Jesse felt around others. He looked more handsome than I’d ever seen him. Whole and happy.

  The girl who laughed with him whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, pulling her by the hand onto the dancefloor. She folded easily into his arms, as if she were meant to be there. I forced my eyes away from him and to the baskets of fruit at a nearby stall. A crimson berry caught my attention. I pressed a brass bit into the woman’s hand, and she gave me a dozen wrapped in a cloth. As I walked, I popped the first one into my mouth, stopping short as the flavor burst bright in my mouth. I closed my eyes in pleasure as the sweetness coated my tongue.

  My eyes were drawn again to the dance floor; Jesse and his partner transfixed me. I stood and watched them as I finished the berries. They were like birds, twisting and tumbling through the sky. Elegant and perfectly synchronized, as if the steps were predetermined. Jesse’s eyes found mine from over his partner’s shoulder, and my cheeks flushed hot as he caught me staring.

  As the swell of the music crested to an end, Jesse stepped away from his partner and walked to me with purposeful strides. His partner looked after him with disappointment and confusion. I pointed towards her as he crossed the distance between us.

  “What are you doin’? Didn’t you see the way she was lookin’ at you?” I asked, but he didn’t acknowledge my words. Instead, he took my outstretched hand and pulled me forward until I was stumbling after him onto the dance floor.

  “Jesse!” I hissed, trying to tug my hand out of his. He entwined our fingers together and pressed forward. “No. Jesse, no!” But my protests went ignored as he turned to lock his sky-blue eyes on my heated face. Couples swayed around us as we stood still, hearts hammering.

  “You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

  “I get the feeling you haven’t really met that many people,” he said, his hand hot against mine. He stepped closer, and I swallowed my trepidation down.

  “Wait, I can’t do this,” I said, and he stopped, his thumb making a circle on the back of my hand.

  “Do what?” he asked, his words hot. The implication of them lingering in the air around us. I squeezed his hand gently.

  “Dance,” I admitted, feeling even more foolish as the teasing smile spread across his face. His eyes dropped to the dust between us. I thought he would leave me to find his previous partner again. Instead, when his eyes met mine, his smile softened into an expression I’d never seen before.

  “At least you don’t have big feet,” he said. I laughed. His eyes brightened at the sound.

  “Okay. But you can’t laugh at me,” I said, hardening my stare at him. He schooled his features into a stoic expression.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, biting back a grin I saw anyway. He stepped close enough that I could feel the heat from his skin seeping into mine. “I’m going to put my arm around you,” his voice was low in my ear, the breath causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. Swallowing hard, I nodded softly in consent. His arm slid around me, pressing me close to his chest and keeping me trapped in the cage of his strong arms.

  The music changed tempo, and my eyes dropped to our feet as Jesse started to lead us. His hand tipped my chin up so that I was staring into his eyes again. I barely started before I stepped on his foot. Cringing, I tried again, only to stumble backward a step. The heat in my face crept down my neck.

  “This is stupid,” I said. “I don’t even know why people do this.” Jesse was unfazed by my clumsy attempts and clear frustration. Instead, his hand moved to my lower back, and the other caught my free hand.

  “Because it's fun,” he said, his unique brand of conviction clear in his tone.

  “Fun? I look like an idiot,” I retorted sharply. He breathed a laugh into my hair.

  “Yeah, well, you’re pretty terrible,” he admitted, and my flush deepened. I shrugged in response, trying hard to seem as if I didn’t care.

  “When was the last time you did anything fun?” he asked. The question surprised me. I took a moment to think about it. Jesse watched every emotion cross my face as the moment stretched between us.

  “Well, probably when I robbed you,” I said. His answering smile made something warm in my stomach flip. His arm tightened around me, and I suddenly realized how tall he was compared to me. His hand, on the small of my back, was impossibly large as it fanned out on my skin. How had I not realized how big he was until now? I was dizzy with the scent of him, somehow shuffling even closer, our hips pressed tight, and we swayed together.

  I pressed my cheek to his chest and leaned against him, allowing him to lead us through one song and straight into another without breaking.

  “I shouldn’t have traded the gun,” he said quietly. I closed my eyes, not wanting to admit how good it felt for him to hold me.

  “I know,” I said, not forgiving him right away. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m trying to apologize,” he said, a familiar edge to his voice that meant we were about to fight again. I pulled back to look into his eyes.

  “Yeah, you just suck at it,” I said, biting my bottom lip to stifle a grin.

  “Well, you suck at talking to people,” he retorted. I chuckled at the abruptness. “Has anyone ever told you that?” There was a playful lilt in his deep voice.

  “No, actually,” I admitted, pressing my forehead against his chest briefly. “No one’s been brave enough to say it to my face before.” He ducked his head, his arm tightening around me. “Or stupid enough.”

  “You know, you’re kind of nice when you aren’t too busy calling me an idiot,” he said, chuckling into my hair. We rocked softly together to the music. I’d lost track of the song, humming beneath my breath.

  “It was my fault,” I finally admitted. “I shouldn’t have given her to you.”

  “Why did you?” he asked, his words hot in my ear. I shrugged, not sure myself. Why had I trusted him? I’d given him Selene before we left that bar in Vegas, before I even knew him. Like blinking, or breathing, I’d just done it.

  “You told Quanah that it belonged to a man named Jones. He was the man who raised you and gave you your name, wasn’t he?”

  I faltered, stepping on his foot and swearing as my eyes dropped to the dust. He noticed all that? He tipped my chin up to his gaze again, eyes studying my expression and seeming to find something that interested him. Was he remembering what I’d said before pressing the M9 to my temple?

  “Yeah,” I said finally, breaking the intense stare. “He has a habit of naming things he thinks he owns.”

  Jesse made a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat. The song ended, and instead of dancing through to the next one, I dropped my arms and stepped out of Jesse’s embrace. The chill in the air washed over my skin and forced a shiver down my spine.

  “If I get caught and I’m brought back, that gun is the only thing I have to bargain for my life,” I said. The words hit Jesse like a physical blow. Before he could respond, The Kid ran up, face painted brightly and wearing a ceremonial headdress.

  “Guys! I wanna be a Comanche!” he said, excitement alight in his eyes. I dropped to a knee in front of him and turned his face back and forth to admire his
paint. “Quanah said that anyone who wants to join the tribe can. Can I, Jesse?” He bounced on the tips of his toes.

  “Let’s see how you feel about it once we find our uncle,” Jesse said, his voice full of affection. Quanah stood behind The Kid.

  “Sorry to cut your evening short,” she said, her eyes flicking between Jesse and me suggestively. “But I’m an old lady. I can’t stay out as long as I used to. Follow me back to the house so I can get you settled for the night.” She held her arm out for Jesse to help her up the lane. She winked at me over her shoulder and squeezed his arm tight. I tried to stamp down the chuckle, but it escaped anyway. Jesse turned confused eyes on me, but I shook my head.

  “When do I get my gun back?” I asked, but she ignored me for a long moment until The Kid was distracted by a man who came to retrieve the ceremonial headdress.

  “When you arrive in Santa Fe,” she said, eyes hard. “You won’t need it until then, I can assure you.”

  I swallowed the arguments poised on my tongue.

  “Be a dear and help me up these stairs,” she said sweetly to Jesse as we stopped in front of a house. She leaned on him a little too much, which amused me to no end. The old harlot.

  My eyes rose to the wooden two-story house, and my breath caught in my throat. Stone steps led up to a wide porch cocooning a seafoam green exterior, flower boxes overflowing with wildflowers at every window and lanterns twinkling on the front porch and in windows. I didn’t know people could live like this. I didn’t know that a building could look loved. The Kid rushed to me, gripping my hand tight and dragging me forward behind him as we climbed the steps together.

  “C’mon, Bonnie, I wanna hear another story before bed,” he said. I stumbled through the threshold, and everywhere I looked, there were bits of Quanah’s personality on vibrant display. The kitchen had herbs hung and drying from the ceiling, giving the air a sweet, earthy scent. Bits of color in fabric tapestries and pieces of art saved or restored from before the Culling hung in every available inch of space on the walls.