A Hard Ride Home (10 page)

Jesse shook his head. He twisted his fingers into his shirt. "I couldn't get a good look."

"We can take in one of his men, interrogate him," Emmett said quickly.

"No," Ira said. "Word will get out if you've got one of the mayor's boys. If we go straight for the stockpile, we can catch them unawares."

Charley tapped the table with his fist. "You're right. We need the map."

"I can get it." Jesse went pale, like he'd startled himself with the idea.

Evelyn shook her head immediately. "No."

"She's right," Roscoe echoed, his knuckles white around a glass of watered-down whiskey. Though he'd declined to fight alongside Emmett, he had a clear stake in the Willow and a keen ear for gossip, and Emmett appreciated his quiet presence in the dim room. "It's too dangerous."

"But I know right where it is," Jesse said, feverishly earnest. "He keeps it in his safe."

Emmett stared at him, his throat dry. "He wears the key to the safe around his neck."

"I know."

The silence prickled. Jesse looked down, flushing. Likely everyone in the room knew what Warren did with Jesse up at the big house, but that didn't make it any more natural to discuss. Emmett's fingers ached. He wanted to cover Jesse, gather him up and hide him from all this.

But he knew that Warren kept three or four armed men on his property at all times, standing guard and patrolling the fences. There was no way they could take the key by force when they were short on ammunition.

"You'll have to drug him," Emmett said. "You hear? He's got to be asleep, drugged."

"I can do that." Jesse nodded eagerly. "He has whiskey every—at night. I can do that."

Evelyn exhaled sharply. "I don't like this."

"It's the only way. I go over there in two days. I'll get the map. And it'll lead you to the mine." Jesse looked at Emmett, eyes bright. "And you'll go after Willie's gang. Clear them out. You'll go after them first, right?"

Roscoe shook his head, but the others watched Emmett closely, waiting.

"It's the only way." Jesse's chest heaved as he took a deep breath. "We can do it."

Emmett felt like Jesse was only talking to him, that he wasn't talking about maps or keys or safes or Warren. "All right," Emmett said, watching a tiny, hopeful smile dimple Jesse's pale face.

*~*~*

Emmett lay awake in bed for three or four hours before he finally gave up and locked up the jailhouse to go for a walk down the moonlit main street of Silver Creek. The storefronts and houses were silent, like overgrown wooden toys with chipped paint and sagging porches. It was hot, but a faint breeze stirred the fine hairs on his forearms and licked at the sweat on his throat.

By the time he neared the Weeping Willow, he knew that was where he'd been going all along, before his sleep-deprived mind had caught up to the momentum of his shuffling feet.

He wasn't surprised to find Jesse sitting on the front steps, barefoot.

"Evening," he said.

Jesse huffed a breath. "Near morning."

"I couldn't sleep."

"You look like it," Jesse said, shifting over to make room on the step beside him.

Emmett didn't move. He looked up at the sky, where thin, wispy clouds moved on some unseen, high wind. "Pretty night," he said, the hair on his arms prickling up as he realized Jesse was watching him and not the sky. He met Jesse's eye, and looked away quickly, his insides jumping around.

"What?" Jesse asked.

Emmett shook his head. It was nothing. He'd be leading men into a fight soon. He couldn't afford to be thrown off guard just looking into another man's eyes.

"You angry?" Jesse asked quietly, scratching his ankle and looking out at the empty street.

Emmett didn't figure Jesse for the perceptive type. "Yeah," he said with a shrug. He was angry at his father, at the tangle of falsehoods this town wore like a cloak. He was angry at Evelyn for waiting so long to tell him the truth.

"I'll make it up to you. I'll get the map. I swear it."

Emmett's ears rang as it struck him that Jesse thought he was angry with him. So much for perceptive. "Are you addled?"

Jesse scrambled to stand and got up in Emmett's face, eyes wild. In this light, he was as pale as bleached bone. "I told you I'll make it up, what else do you want, Sheriff?"

"Make what up?" Emmett asked, exasperated. It occurred to him that Jesse was just a little taller than he was. He'd never noticed.

Jesse's shoulders slumped as he looked down, his lashes fluttering like moths. "Not telling you about your—about the mayor. And me. And everything."

The answer caught in Emmett's throat. He curled his fingers tightly to keep from reaching out and grabbing Jesse, to keep from taking what he wanted. They were so close. He could lean in, could pull Jesse against him, could claim his mouth.

"Shut up," Emmett said carefully. "I didn't say I was angry at you."

Jesse stared at him, brow furrowed like he didn't understand a simple, clear statement. Emmett grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up onto the porch, where the shadows were heavier. He ached with want and wondered if this was how men coupled—if it always felt like the cusp of a fight, heart pounding, hands cramping up with the desire to strike and grasp.

He pushed Jesse to sit on the bench below the curtained window. Jesse watched him suspiciously, but didn't seem afraid.

"Your ear." Emmett frowned and touched the dark scab that marred Jesse's lobe. It was rough and out of place against the soft feel of the skin there.

"What are you doing?" Jesse ducked away from the touch.

"Trying to talk to you."

"No. You're pawing on me. There's nothing to talk about, I—"

Emmett sank to kneel on the dusty boards between Jesse's bare feet. It was enough to quiet Jesse, who blinked at him, lips parted.

"I want to touch you more," Emmett started.

"Well I can't." Jesse interrupted in a flustered hurry, backing away from Emmett stiffly until his shoulders knocked against the wall. "He can tell when—and it's not like he thinks he's the only one—but he gets—"

"Not like that!" Emmett barely managed to wrestle his voice down from a bellow to a growl. "I want to touch you, all the time. Not here, not… for money."

"So, for free."

"Not. Damn it, Jesse." Emmett took Jesse's wrists and held them. They were easy to hold. Thin and light, like they might crumble to dust if he squeezed too hard. He looked down at the contrast between the sunspots and freckles on his hands and the pale skin and fine dusting of dark hair at Jesse's wrists. "I'm…" He swallowed. "I like you."

"Plenty of people like me," Jesse said unsteadily, his breath stirring Emmett's hair.

"I don't—I don't know how to court a man, but I intend to find out. I intend to court you properly, until you'll have me of your own volition, and if you won't, then—well I swear, I won't ever lay a hand on you again."

"Don't," Jesse said in a wretched whisper, his arms trembling with the strain of trying to pull out of Emmett's grip.

"Aren't you listening to me?"

"You don't know me. You think what we did was something special? It wasn't."

"It was." Emmett might not have had much experience with whores, but he knew the difference between Jesse's soused flouncing and the way they'd kissed out in the barn in the warm shadows.

"It wasn't!" Jesse got his arms free and pressed his palms against the bench, his shoulders going tight and angular, like bony wings. "You think you can tell me this? You think you can court me?" He spat the words out like they were foul.

"I mean it."

"What do you think I'm gonna do come morning when I walk up to your daddy's house?"

"No." Emmett swallowed at the sourness in his throat and shook his head. "It's only this once more, you said it. If you want to take it back, we'll find another way."

"Don't matter if I drug him, we'll still fuck. Just like every time."

Emmett breathed through the anger that seared along his spine. "You're trying to rile me."

Jesse's jaw tightened. He looked away stubbornly, throat bobbing, nostrils flaring. When he reached with a jerky, clumsy motion to scrub his palm at his eyes, his fingers trembled.

"You're as bad as your—"

"I am not my father!" Emmett heaved a breath and rested his hands on Jesse's thighs, staying close so Jesse couldn't look away without feeling Emmett near and knowing he wasn't going to back down.

Jesse's eyes were bright as he looked at Emmett and touched his cold, clammy fingers to the tops of Emmett's hands. "I don't know what you want from me. I don't have anything."

"What? No—I don't—"

"I know you can beat him. I didn't mean it that you're like him," Jesse said, drawing in on himself. "When he finds out all you know he's gonna kill me and you have to go for Willie's gang first, you have to help my ma."

"No, Jesse—"

"You have to! He'll—"

Emmett plastered his palm to Jesse's mouth, muffling the next stream of moist, hot words that tried to burst out of him. "Stop it," he hissed. "You calm yourself right now before I take you out in the street and let you fight it out. Do you want to fight me?"

Jesse shook his head, wide-eyed, and stopped humming against Emmett's fingers.

"Prick," he said softly, eyes wet, when Emmett drew his hand away.

"I don't abide by hysterics," Emmett said, wiping his hand off on his shirt. "Are you settled?"

"Yes," Jesse said with a wet laugh, before his expression crumbled and he hurriedly covered his face with both hands. "No. Damn you, Sheriff."

"Emmett."

"Damn you, Emmett." Jesse's shoulders shook, but not for long. He wiped his eyes again and stared at his lap, his breath hitching like ripped paper. "I'd fight you, but not barefoot. Makes the odds uneven, you know."

"You fight with your feet?"

"I could."

Emmett touched Jesse's face carefully, cupping the sharp hook of his jaw and thumbing across his wet cheek. It made Jesse go still and soft, his whole body wilting into the touch.

"What do you want from me, Emmett? I meant what I said. There's nothing."

"Do you think I want something in exchange for upholding the law?"

"Well… well, no."

"Do you think I'm riding against my father and his men just for you?"

Jesse flushed. "No."

"I said I intend to court you, not burn down half of the world for you," Emmett said ruefully, leaning in to kiss Jesse's damp lips.

Maybe he would, he thought, as Jesse's tongue nudged hesitantly against his own and the kiss opened, and deepened. Maybe he'd burn everything for this.

Doc Milton spent half an hour mixing the drug for Jesse to take up to the big house. Milton had known the Gradys since before Emmett was born, and Jesse'd never figured him for a man who would turn on the mayor, but Milton's fingers were steady and sure as he hunched over his work table.

"What you're trying to do is very dangerous," Milton said, handing Jesse a small vial. "I don't much like sending you off with this."

"I know. Thank you."

"He'll kill you if he finds out what you're doing."

Jesse nodded. "I know." He pushed the vial deep into his pocket. "You've always been good to me, Doc, and—"

"None of that now. Remember, use the whole thing. It won't have a taste or odor. When you get back to town, send a couple of the girls by to help me make dressings."

"I will." Jesse gave Milton a quick embrace. Milton was solid for all his years, and squeezed back hard.

It wasn't until Jesse was well up the hill that he thought about Milton mentioning dressings. He hadn't considered much beyond getting the map and Emmett and his men riding out and filling Willie's gang full of holes.

Now, as he dragged his feet, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, he thought about Emmett full of holes, and his stomach ached.

Miss Catherine was in the kitchen kneading when Jesse arrived. He stood in the doorway, watching her strong, thick arms roll and fold the pale yellow dough.

"You're early," she said without looking.

"Didn't have much to do this morning."

"The mayor's out at the stables with the new foal. Go on up there and see if he needs a hand."

Jesse sighed. "Yes ma'am."

As he walked away, Catherine called out, "Don't be getting up to anything funny now, boy."

*~*~*

The mayor's stables had always been Jesse's favorite place, aside from his little bedroom. Unlike the ramshackle barn behind the Willow, Warren's structure was sturdy, with huge beams as thick as tree trunks and a roof that didn't leak even when it rained fit to wash the town away. No matter how hot the summers grew, it remained comfortable in the stables. Jesse figured the mayor's horses had it better than most folks trying to make a life in the west.

"Jesse, here." Warren beckoned with a smile and a wave of his hand. He wore his work clothes, and with sawdust on his trousers and mud on his boots, he didn't look so much like a man who would kill without blinking—like a man who had shot down a couple of homesteaders to show Jesse he meant business the first time he'd told Jesse he'd best do whatever Warren said. They'd been the first dead bodies Jesse had ever seen, but far from the last.

Jesse walked into the open stall slowly, careful not to startle the little black foal. With the smells of fresh hay and horse shit ripe in his nostrils, Jesse almost forgot what he was here to do. He sank to the straw beside the foal and ran his hands across her wet flanks, crooning to watch her velvety ears perk and twitch.

"She'll take after her sire," Warren said, stroking her approvingly. His hands brushed across Jesse's briefly, and Jesse's breath hitched.

"I'm surprised to see you here before noon, boy."

"You scared me down at the saloon. Figured I'd come meet the trouble head on instead of waiting all day and working myself up," Jesse said. It was half true, at least.

"Are you prepared?"

Jesse's skin washed over with a chill. He hadn't prepared, his mind on riding and the stables and keys and maps and the sleep tincture in his pocket. "No. I forgot."