“Then who was up in the canyons during the shootout yesterday? Waltz said something unnatural’s been prowling out here. And Will thought—”
“I know what Will thought,” he snaps. Then he swallows, don’t look me quite in the eye. “Let’s just keep moving,” he says.
There’s a slouch to his shoulders as he slaps the burros’ rumps and starts leading the way. It’s the same look of defeat I saw in him last night, a sense of vast hopelessness. I wonder how many people Jesse Colton can bear losing before he won’t be Jesse Colton no more.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The day’s travel ain’t nothing but torture.
For every bit of progress we make, the end goal don’t seem to be getting any closer. The sun is scorching my back, plus a bit of my scalp from where Rose’s bullet stole away some of my Stetson. My burnt arms still ache within my sleeves. I’m grumpy and irritable, and the course is rough: jagged boulders we gotta navigate, cactuses and shrubs throwing up thorns like barbed-wire fencing. Jesse’s doing his best to navigate it with ease, but I catch the truth: a hand pressed to the cut on his chest, a sharp breath drawn now and again.
A buzzard follows us for most of the morning, then gives up midday to scour for other food. We find a scrap of shade beside a tall rock ledge and stop for a quick rest. I drink from my canteen. Jesse chaws on some jerky and passes a bit to me. We don’t say much, which suits me fine ’cus there ain’t nothing to be said. Not till we’re on that rough trail and closing in on Rose.
The afternoon is more of the same: rugged land and careful steps. We use some of Waltz’s gear to descend a steep section of rock we can’t go on foot. Jesse rigs the rope and everything, brow scrunched and focused. By the time we’s done with the descent, the burros’ve found a route that wouldn’t have required all that fancy ropework to begin with. We joke ’bout it, but the laughter between us is weak. We’re tired and thirsty. Jesse’s had too much time to think on Will and what Rose did to him. He’s getting quieter by the minute, his features going dark.
When we stumble outta the worst of our downward climb and into a cactus-filled valley, the sky’s being painted with a mighty fine sunset.
“We should prolly call the day quits,” I says. “We ain’t gonna make progress after dark.”
Jesse just nods.
I do most of the work setting up the camp. I find a nice spot where our bedrolls can lie on more dirt than stone. I unload the gear. I let the burros graze, but never too far. It ain’t worth being spotted, so I forgo a fire for the night. Dinner will be nothing but more jerky.
Jesse eats with his face a blank stone. He don’t bother cleaning his Remingtons or sketching in his notebook. His eyes stay rooted on his boots, but he ain’t really looking at ’em. Pa got taken from me and I turned into a fuming giant, a trap ready to spring. Will gets taken from Jesse and he’s got no drive at all. No fire, no flare.
“Jesse?” I says.
“Hmm?”
“I’m worried ’bout you. You ain’t yerself. You’s been moving like yer brain is elsewhere from yer body.”
He pulls his eyes up to look at me. “Kate, I gotta be nothing till I face Rose, or this anger’s gonna destroy me. I gotta feel nothing till it’s time to feel it all.”
“Yer pacing yerself?”
“Not everybody’s like you—enough fuel to blaze for weeks on end.”
I push a bit of dirt round with my boot toe. “Maybe you should feel some of it. This ain’t you, Jesse, and it’s scaring me a little.”
Will’s story ’bout their mother comes to me, how Jesse quit talking and took to practicing with his pistol after her death like it were the only task that mattered. I feel like he’s drifting again right now and if I don’t pull him back, he’s gonna become a ghost.
“Since when do you know me so well?” he says.
“It’s been a slow thing. You sorta crept up on me when I weren’t looking.”
“Sneaky like Lil?”
There’s a tiny slant to his lips, the shadow of a smile. Maybe I’s just got to keep him talking.
“Nah, more like a rattler. I could hear you the whole damn time and yet I was still shocked when I got bit.”
“I don’t bite,” he says.
“That so? ’Cus my head ain’t been feeling right lately.”
His smile widens. “Kate Thompson, are you saying you fancy me?”
“I ain’t claiming nothing you can use ’gainst me.”
In the moonlight, his grin looks brilliant and sharp. Like a small piece of the Jesse I know come burning back to life.
“Dance with me,” he says, pushing to his feet and extending a hand.
“What, are you crazy?”
“Come on, Kate. I need a distraction. I need my mind elsewhere.” He extends his hand farther. There’s still a small upturn to his lips, and I wanna keep it there. I reach for him and he hauls me up. Or tries to. Soon as he’s bearing some of my weight, he drops my hand and cringes, pressing a palm to the wound on his chest.
“You all right?” I says, scrambling up.
“I’m fine.” He reaches for me again.
“But yer stitches . . . We should sit, make sure you don’t—”
“I wanna dance.”
His arm’s still held out, waiting, and I don’t got the energy to argue no more. I take his hand.
“There’s no music,” I says as we sway beneath the sky.
“Sure there is. Listen.”
Alls I can hear is my own breathing. But then there’s dirt beneath our heels, wind rustling the shrubs, the song of an owl in the distance. With my face so close to Jesse’s chest, I find the drumbeat—his heart pounding between his ribs. Heat radiates off him like a fire. His skin grazing the inside of my wrist is making me warm. His palm pressed surely ’gainst the small of my back is the only thing holding me together. I swear my knees are failing. I swear I’ll crumple and fall if’n he lets go.
“Where’d a wild gal like you ever learn to dance so proper?” he asks.
“Wild? I ain’t wild.”
His brows peak.
“Pa had me stand on his boots when I were young,” I says. “He’d twirl me round the house like that till I were big enough to dance on my own. And by then there were gatherings in Prescott, celebrations and the like.”
“I bet all the boys wanted to dance with you.”
I don’t say naught, ’cus there were a few, Morris included. But none of ’em ever made me feel so unsteady as Jesse. None of ’em made me feel much of nothing, to be honest.
“What ’bout you?” I says. “I didn’t figure there’d be time for dancing while running cattle.”
He spins me away from him, jerky and uneven on account of his injury, then guides me back. His hand presses me closer than I were before. “Not on the range, but we stop in civilization from time to time, and ain’t no one passing up a dancehall on those nights.”
I picture Jesse twirling some young belle round and flashing her squinty smiles. It makes my stomach coil.
“And girls danced with the likes of you?” I tease.
“If I managed to bathe first and put on a clean shirt, I couldn’t fight ’em off.”
“Such a gentleman.”
“All cowboys are.”