“That ain’t making me feel better.”
She smiles so wide I worry a piece of me’s broken, ’cus I don’t think I’ll ever smile like that again. Them Rose Riders taking Pa destroyed the only bright bits of me. I ain’t been nothing but rage and black, bubbling anger since. Killing that bastard in the outhouse and the one ’long the river didn’t bother me none. They both felt like nothing—bottles on a fence. It’s like they weren’t lives. Like I ain’t got a conscience left to remind me that while they might deserve it, they were still men. They were still someone’s baby once. If it weren’t for Tom outside Walnut Grove—the regret that stings when I think of him—I’d worry I’m as crooked as the Riders I’m hunting.
“Ready?” Evelyn says.
No, but I weren’t ready when they took Pa neither. I’m only doing what I gotta do.
I can feel my Colt strapped to my leg beneath the dress. I pull the shawl tight and look in the mirror one last time. My hair’s been drawn back at my nape and pinned in place—Evelyn’s work, and all she was able to do with the short length. Even now a few pieces hang free, framing my face. It’s clean of dirt and sweat, my cheeks flushed. I don’t recognize my reflection. This girl looks softer than the one I know, and older, too. She don’t show the vengeance I feel burning in my core.
Evelyn pulls open the door. “I expect y’all back within a few hours, without a speck of blood on any of yer persons,” she says. “’Specially that pretty dress.”
I think this is her way of wishing us luck.
The Colton brothers are waiting at the bar, backs to me. Will spots me coming down the stairs first.
“By God, Kate,” he says, grinning sly. “You make a much prettier girl than boy.”
“Make another comment like that, and you’ll regret it.”
“It’s like I ain’t giving her a compliment,” Will mutters to his brother. “I mean, don’t she look nice?”
Jesse finishes paying for his drinks and turns. It takes only half a second, but his eyes burn a trail from my dress’s neckline to its hem and back again.
“The dress’ll do,” he says.
It’ll do?
It was his blasted idea! Least when I’s pretending to be a boy, all he ever judged were my goal of tracking Rose and my less-than-stellar ability with a pistol. Now I ain’t up to standards and I’s done nothing but stand here drowning in fabric.
I can’t wait to be done with this—Rose, the Riders, this dress. I’m regretting my deal with the Coltons already.
I wanna go home.
I wanna never see the Colton brothers again in my life.
“Are we going or not?” I says.
“We’re going,” Jesse says, and leads the way onto the street.
Chapter Eleven
Will goes in ahead of us as planned.
When Jesse and I enter, it’s with me leading and him hollering after me loud enough for most to hear.
“I told you I ain’t got time for this!”
He grabs me at the wrist hard enough to yank me to a stop. It hurts more than it should, only ’cus I feel the tug all the way up in my injured shoulder.
“I’ll do what I please, thank you.”
“You’ll do what I say,” he hollers back. “I’m a paying customer, and I asked for you.”
“And I’m busy!” I snap. “There’s other girls there now. I’m sure there’s some here too if a walk to the parlor’s too much on yer sorry legs.”
“Why you . . .”
Jesse raises an arm like he means to backhand me, then pretends to notice all the folks watching and considers otherwise.
“Yer outta yer damn mind,” Jesse growls. “Playing casually with the other girls don’t mean yer fit to sit at a table here.”
These words catch the attention of a man nearby, who sits a little taller. One glance at his jacket—aged leather with a bit of fringe ’long the seams—and I recognize him as the Rider who got away at the Agua Fria. He sure don’t seem to recognize us, though. Maybe ’cus I look very unlike a boy at the moment.
I tug my shawl tighter. Squaring my shoulders to Jesse, I jangle Pa’s leather pouch, which me and the Coltons filled with nearly all the coins we got left between us.
“I wanna play,” I says as the coins clink. “They wouldn’t turn away a man with a loaded purse, so why’s it matter that I’m a woman?”
“You should stick to what yer good at,” Jesse mutters.
But the interested Rider’s heard enough. His eyes sparkle as he stands. He thinks I’ll be an easy match, a sure win for his boss. And more money in Rose’s pocket prolly means more for the rest of the crew.
“Let the lady play,” he says to Jesse. “I think you might have a problem if you don’t.” He puts his hand on the grip of his pistol. Behind him, and stretched through the room, a few others stand taller, shove off the wall, toss their jackets and coats open to show off their pieces. I look ’em over quick, counting five—six with the man right before us.
And just like that, we know where they’re standing. Every last Rider ’cept Rose himself. Assuming he’s already seated, playing cards. The saloon’s too full of patrons to see the tables in the back. And I certainly can’t sweep faces for one matching Rose’s description without drawing suspicion.
Jesse holds a forefinger an inch from my nose. “A few hands, and that’s it. Soon as you’s lost a couple dollars, I want what I came for.”
Even though it’s part of our plan, my cheeks go hot at what his words imply. He don’t see it, thankfully. He’s already stalking off toward the bar.
It’s a mighty regal one—all solid, shining oak. Instead of a mirror behind it, there’s only more wood, but it’s engraved with a roaring tiger and towering bears. The ceiling of the saloon is lofted, making the place feel too open. The upstairs rooms share a hallway that overlooks the tables. There’s a bunch of girls up there now, leaning on the banister, shawls dangling and skin gleaming by the light of oil lamps.
“Lemme show you to an open table, miss,” the Rider says. He touches my elbow, and for a moment I think real hard ’bout the satisfaction I’d get from drawing the pistol from beneath my dress and shooting him through the heart. But I force my face calm and let him lead me toward the game.
As we move away from the doors the stench of days-old sweat hits. It ain’t regal folk in here, not no matter what the craftsmanship of the bar lets on. Tobacco smoke wafts in clouds between the shoulders of men from all walks of life—businessmen and farmers and miners and more. The only thing I don’t see is any type of law, and that’d be useful on a night like this.
My boot toe catches on something and I go tumbling forward, jerked to a halt only ’cus the Rider’s still holding my elbow. If it weren’t for him, I’d’ve fallen flat on my face. Damn dress.
He turns and kicks what tripped me—an Apache girl on all fours scrubbing the floorboards. She hisses as his boot connects with her gut.