Reece
Come morning, Kate starts suffering what Vaughn calls false labors. Basically, her body’s practicing for what’s to come. Vaughn’s ma being a midwife and Vaughn herself knowing a bit ’bout birthing might come in handy, seeing as the Coltons are far from their Prescott claim, and Kate’s midwife ain’t gonna be here when they need her most. Vaughn insists she don’t know how to deliver no child, but seeing as she knows what false labors are, Jesse and me remain convinced she’ll be a heck of a lot more help than the two of us.
Vaughn starts doing a lot of Kate’s chores so the woman can rest—from milking the cows to gathering the eggs to churning the milk so there’s butter for later in the week. It’s keeping her busy, and I’m grateful ’cus she called me by my name yesterday—my real name—and I ain’t sure what to make of it. Maybe it was outta guilt, or a slip in the wake of shock from what happened with Parker. Prolly it is for any reason but the thing I keep hoping: that she’s seen I’m something more complicated and human than the monster stories have made of me.
I throw my attention into checking the snares that afternoon, happy for a distraction. I aim to ride for the rails early tomorrow. I weren’t lying when I told the Coltons I could do this, nor when I claimed it were the best course. But that don’t mean it’s gonna be easy, and the waiting is damn near killing me. The snares yield two hares, but I’m still anxious and jittery as I hike back.
In the clearing, Vaughn’s hauling a bucket of water from the tank. She straightens, waving when she sees me approaching, her other hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she smiles. My stomach twists like a wrung-out dishtowel, and I duck inside without waving back.
The Coltons and Vaughn spend dinner assaulting me with questions, pretending to be Boss and seeing how quickly and convincingly I can spit out a response. It ain’t doing nothing but making me overthink things, and I don’t wanna rehearse this. I gotta sound sure and honest tomorrow. Confident. I retire to bed early, and when they utter protests at my back, I close the bedroom door decidedly.
I don’t hear Vaughn come in later, and ’bout an hour before dawn, when I wake, she’s still sleeping.
I creep out to the stables and saddle Kate’s horse, Silver—the palomino that tried to nip my fingers the day we arrived at this clearing. Kate said she’s a good steed, will follow my lead once saddled. I cinch the billet strap and mount the mare.
It’s a cold morning. Clouds are hanging thick and heavy in the sky, threatening snow, and a sharp wind bites at the back of my neck. I flip up my jacket collar. From a towering pine, a horned owl hoots eerily, watching me move through the trees.
When I meander outta the worst of the mountains, the sun’s just beginning to crest the distant horizon. I scan ’long the valley, but there ain’t a sign of no one nearby. It’s good news for me. I wanna be wandering the rail, with no hint at where I done come from, by the time Boss shows up. If he shows up.
You better bet I’m coming, he whispers. Did ya ever truly think I’d let you go?
I look over my shoulder, tense in the saddle. I ain’t heard him in so long, and now ain’t the moment I want him back in my head. I heel Silver and fly into the valley. I keep her going at a good clip and don’t see a soul the whole way to Banghart’s, where I linger on the outskirts of town, worried ’bout the wrong type of folk recognizing me and alerting the Law. I chew on a bit of jerky I brought in Silver’s saddlebags, drink some water.
Maybe they ain’t gonna show.
Maybe the talk of Vaughn’s mishap with the bounty hunter never reached ’em.
I glance at the sun, high in the sky. If’n the gang ain’t here, I gotta get moving. Last thing I want is to be navigating the mountains back to the Coltons’ at dark.
Grabbing Silver’s reins, I turn her ’round, and once again, we’re riding hard.
’Bout a mile or two from town I get an uneasy feeling someone’s watching me.
Ahead, the land is flat as far as I can see, and ash white beneath the winter sun ’cept for a small smudge of black beside the tracks. It’s moving. A man on horseback.
The skin on the back of my neck bristles. I glance over my shoulder, and my heart damn near drops to my feet.
Three more men have appeared ’bout a half mile behind me, too far off to recognize. But then one of ’em raises a hand to his mouth, whistling, and I know it ain’t the Law that’s done surrounded me in this pinch. It’s them—the Rose Riders. Maybe they been holed up in Banghart’s, snooping ’round for word of me. Maybe they been camping out here on the plains. It don’t matter ’cus they’ve found me, and while this were exactly what I were planning on—hoping for, even—that whistle strikes fear.
The three horses behind me surge to life. They gain on me easy ’cus I’ve brought Silver to a trot so’s to make it clear that I ain’t meaning to run.
I recognize ’em as they close in. Diaz at my rear. Crawford to the left and Barrera to the right. They all got the reins in one hand and a drawn pistol in the other, their mouths curled into snarls. To the south, the dark figure is taking shape—Luther Rose, waiting atop his horse, a hand resting on the butt of his pistol.
“Boss!” I call out, the other boys closing in on me. “Thank God. I been looking for you guys all week and—”
Hands clench the front of my jacket and things tip sidewise as I’m dragged from Silver. I hit the hard plains, gasping, and find Diaz towering over me. He strips my pistol from my belt and tosses it aside.
“Diaz,” I begin, hands held in surrender, but he just cracks me between the eyes with a fist. The world goes starry and crisscrossed as he throttles me again and again and again. I sputter, gulp down air, but Diaz goes right on attacking. Fists and boots, no regard for where he hits. The fleshier, the better. I curl—the only defense I got—but my face is already wet with blood, and Diaz shows no signs of stopping. Things go fuzzy. Darkness tugs at the corner of my vision.
“That’s enough!” Boss shouts. “I wanna talk to a man, not a corpse. Bring him over.”
Diaz hauls me to my feet. “There’s a special place in Hell for traitors,” he says, and spits in my face.
I don’t even feel the saliva connect with my skin. My whole body’s on fire, and I can barely keep my head up. I count to ten to keep from fainting, stumbling over my feet as Diaz drags me toward Boss.
With a shove, I fall to all fours before his horse. I don’t got the energy to stand or look at him, so I stay there on the ground. A crunch of hard earth tells me he’s dismounted.
“Leave us,” he says.
“But Boss—” Diaz argues.
“I said fall back!”
He does.
A moment later, my chin is pushed up by a pistol and I find myself staring into Luther Rose’s eyes. They’re blue-green, like a reservoir reflecting the sky, cold as frozen ice.