Well, I ain’t falling for it.
This ain’t a bad setup—the house and the stable and the reservoir tank. I could hole up here a few months, carry on once the Riders’ve quit searching for me and the papers believe me to be dead.
I unhitch the wagon from the two quarters that pulled it. The bay is agreeable, but the palomino nips at me like I ain’t doing things quick enough, her silver mane flouncing. Figures Kate’d have a horse as ornery as herself.
I grab the leads and walk the horses in a wide arc, turning for the stable. Vaughn’s standing but a few paces off, blocking my way. Jones’s pistol is clutched in her hand.
“I don’t care what Kate says about firing bullets. If you lay a finger on me, I will shoot you.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
Vaughn frowns. I don’t think she expected that answer. I know what she anticipates from a person like me, but it ain’t like I’m gonna hurt her. Not now or ever. There’s some lines I just ain’t gonna cross, and if I don’t stay honest to ’em, then I really am gonna end up just like Boss and the boys.
Vaughn don’t seem to believe any of it, not no matter what I say, so maybe this is the way I start trying to communicate. Maybe ’stead of telling her the truth, I just let her discover it.
“I’m gonna walk in front of you now,” I say, nodding toward the stable. “That all right?”
She nods.
“You could bring the other horse.”
She glances at her sorrel, tethered to the rear of the wagon.
“Or you can just follow with the pistol. Don’t matter much to me.”
She stands there as I walk past, staring like I done shucked my clothing and started dancing naked in the snow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
* * *
Charlotte
Despite his promises and the I-mean-you-no-harm act, I’m not comfortable being alone with the Rose Kid. But seeing as Kate all but chased me from the house, I’m left with no choice but to help with the animals. I try rounding up the pigs, but they’ll have none of it. They find the mud most inviting, and after I slip in the freezing muck on account of my too-big boots, I give up on the creatures and head to the wagon instead. Seeing to the sorrel will bring me near the Kid, but the chickens . . . I lug three crates from the wagon bed and bring them to the coop.
As I set them free, the chickens squawk and ruffle their feathers. I imagine Kate intends to gather their eggs, but depending on how long she remains in these mountains, a couple of the birds will likely become food, too. I hope I’m long gone before it comes to that. I’ve wasted too much time already, on account of Kate’s trickery, and I suppose it would be foolish to not even consider the role the Rose Kid could play in liberating our family from Uncle Gerald’s grasp.
I grab the pistol from where I left it on a fence post. It was used to do unspeakable things, and I hate the way it feels in my hand, but until I’m able to speak to Kate and request a trade for Father’s Colt, I refuse to approach the Rose Kid unarmed.
I find him at the stable, moving the palomino into the final stall.
“What in the hell happened to you?” he asks, gaze locked on the muddied state of my dress.
“I fell.”
He raises his brows. His lips don’t curl into a smile, but I can spot the amusement in his eyes.
“Trying to get the pigs to the sty,” I explain, not sure why I’m defending myself. I could not care less what he thinks.
“Them hogs don’t need to be penned up till later. Let ’em have their mud bath.”
“I did. They’re still down at . . . Never mind that, I have a proposition for you.”
“Ain’t interested.” He turns his attention to the horse.
“But I didn’t even make it yet!”
“Don’t care.” He picks up a brush and begins grooming the palomino’s coat. “Still ain’t interested.”
“Allow me to propose it, at least.”
“It’s yer breath to waste.”
“All right. My uncle is a bad man, and my mother and I will not live freely until he is relieved of his position.”
“All the fancy speech in the world don’t make the deed less vile,” he says as he moves the brush in long, smooth strokes.
“How is it vile? I simply need someone to scare him honest, convince him to abandon his cause or face disastrous consequences.”
“And if he don’t listen, what might those consequences be, exactly? A bullet?” He glances at me over his shoulder. “That’s a thing yer comfortable with, admit it. You’d be fine with someone murdering yer uncle.”
“That’s not true! I only want—”
He gives me a look so condescending that the words die in my mouth.
I cross my arms. “Will you or won’t you take the job?”
“So you can turn me in before his body’s even cold? No, thanks.”
“I wouldn’t turn you in.”
“If you say so, Vaughn.”
All I hear is, You’re a bad liar, Vaughn.
The Rose Kid continues to tend to the horse’s coat. He’s good with the animal, deliberate with his strokes. When he spreads a blanket over the steed’s back, he calls her girl and runs a palm down her neck several times. It is almost as if he has forgotten my presence.
“Look, you’re the Rose Kid. For what reason would you not do this? I can pay you, once it’s done.”
“I got no reason to do this for you, coin or not.”
“Then what do you aim to do instead, live here forever? You think Kate’s going to provide a permanent room for you once her baby arrives? Or her husband returns? You can’t run from your past. Do this, and I’ll tell your story, let the Territory know how you changed your ways.”
He turns to face me. “If the world does not believe my own words, why would they believe yers?”
“For one, because I am not an outlaw. Second, because I am a reporter with the Morning Courier.”
“In the coach, you said you were aspiring.”
“I haven’t had my big break yet.” A truth. “But I can print your tale.”
“Right.” He scoffs. “’Cus all printed word is true. ’Cus the tales they wrote ’bout me years earlier and’ve been telling ever since can be washed away with a single article.”
I can see the doubt in his eyes, but also the hope: that I could really offer such a solution. Wipe his slate clean. Give him a fresh horizon.
“You really write for the paper?” he prods. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and I can make out that half-finished rose scar on his arm.
If everything he’s told me is true, his predicament is far from favorable. But the Rose Kid has also done horrid things to save himself, to secure a future, so I cannot be faulted for telling a small lie for the same reasons. To save Mother, to secure our future . . .
“Yes,” I answer before I lose my nerve. “I write for the paper.”
A pause.
“Let me think on it,” he says finally.