Jack awoke groggily to the sounds of a rooster crowing and horses trumpeting. Dazed, his head pounding from the blow he'd received two nights before, he moaned and ran his hands over his face. In a flash, he recalled the events that brought him here to this sad, dreadful end in his jail cell at MacFarlane's ranch. His rampage left him with the spirit-crushing figures: he'd killed fifteen people…Edgar Ross was the first, and although that man's death was justified, the other fourteen victims weren't. He rested the crook of his arm over his face and gave a despairing sigh, his hand-cuffs jingling.
"Rise and shine, princess."
He jumped at the feminine voice and sat up in his cell bed. He was confused and a bit disturbed to find the woman who had been haunting his dreams the night before, the woman who single-handedly threw him in his cell, to be sitting before him so calmly. Despite his fright, he sat staring at her. Her long dark hair fell down her shoulders, covering her chest as she leaned forward in her chair with her elbows resting on her knees. She wore the same attire he saw her in from yesterday: dark brown pants and boots, black vest and duster, and a tan shirt. She took her black Stetson hat off her head and ran a hand through her long, lustrous hair. She returned her hat back on her head and looked at Jack through her long eyelashes. Her hat hid her face from him save for her lips that twitched into a bemused smirk.
"So… you're the infamous Jack Marston, son of John and Abigail Marston."
Jack looked her up and down, returning the sardonic countenance. "Yeah. What's it to ya, lady?"
She gave him an unimpressed frown. "Huh. You don't look like much up close. I was expecting as much when I first saw your worthless hide in that jail cell in Armadillo yesterday." She picked up a file folder from the floor beside her chair and sat it on her lap. "And after reading your file from Blackwater, I'm even more positive of my opinion of you."
His eyes snagged on the folder; he swallowed thickly. "You read my file?" He scoffed. "What the hell for?"
Picking up the folder from her lap, she stood up and paced the length of the cell slowly, thoughtfully, in front of him. "A wise man once said "Know thy enemy". Well, that's what I'm doing, Mister Marston. You see, with every scum I've got after, with every bounty I've brought in, I've read their file beforehand. Knowledge is a beautiful, useful thing, Jack, especially in the case of dealing with outlaws like you. I could've easily brought you in myself and gotten the thousand dollars with no harm done and no fussin' about, if it weren't for Bonnie intervening when she saw me pluck your wanted poster off the side of this building. See, she's gotten it in her head that you deserve a second chance at life and all that bullshit. But me? I don't share that sentiment."
Before he could blink, she stopped in front of him, drew her pistol, and pressed the barrel against his forehead. Jack stiffened. His eyes widened a fraction as he stared up at her above the silver barrel of her firearm.
"You see, with your special case, I have half a mind to blow your brains out all over the back wall of this cell right now." Her index caressed the trigger. "But I won't. Bonnie is the boss 'round here, and I respect her wishes, however foolish they may sometimes be." As swiftly as she drew, she holstered her pistol before hefting the file folder in both hands and opening it. Her eyes scanned the pages within.
Jack shook his head. "Who are you, lady?"
She gave him an admonishing glare. "That's no concern of yours, Mister Marston. I like to keep an ambiguous relationship with the men I hunt down and bring in. Hell, I'm even comfortable if you didn't even ask me a damn thing."
"Well, that's bullshit if I ever heard it. So, is this is an interrogation?" He motioned to the file she held. "I don't think that's necessary, seeing as you have my history and all in the palm of your hands."
She ignored his interjections as she resumed pacing. "Let's see," she murmured as she traced her right index finger down the paper. "Horton, Andrew, and Frank Gossler, a father and two sons you've mercilessly shot down…John Cosak, Bill Enderson, Franklin Wesley, Robert Ericson, Bob Kessler, Adam Gregson, and Phillip Masters…all seven of Blackwater's finest upcoming lawmen, now all dead thanks to your reckless gunmanship…and from two nights ago, your lists grows with four more victims, Horace Grace, Eli Mistlemer, and Dick Grainger, three of Armadillo's finest sheriffs now gone, all shot in the head without a second thought. And lastly, the respectable Emily Potters, the only daughter of the Potters family and whom you've killed in a split second."
As she read off the list, she accentuated each name on purpose, making Jack squirm and fidget in his seat. He stared down at his handcuffed hands. The second she finished with the list, the woman closed the folder with a harsh slap and, looking up at him, demanded, "Tell me, Jack, do you enjoy killing men, specifically lawmen and the occasional innocent woman?"
He scoffed. "Well, since I'm under the full force of your interrogation, and since you're so eager to listen to an answer you already know is coming, I suppose I do. But it's not like them lawmen and government agents were any better than me. They see someone like me, a man-"
"A villainous coward."
"-who's been wronged many times over, and they decide to go after him, shooting without question. I've been pursued, lady, make no mistake about that, but Iwasn't the one opening fire and raising hell on my horse."
"So you think your reasoning to kill them was justified?"
Jack threw up his hands up in outrage. "It was self-defense, lady! What else was I supposed to do?"
"You could have stopped and given yourself up to them."
"Like they would've given me the chance! They opened fire on me in the middle of nowhere, around Hennigan's Stead as I was ridin' along minding my own goddamned business!"
"So what about the marshal and two sheriffs that rode up to your house before that?" she demanded sharply. "What about Horton, Andrew, and Frank Gossler? How do you explain your reasoning then? "Self-defense"?"
"I…" He fell silent, bereft of a logical answer.
"Admit it, Marston. You shot them all in cold blood."
"I DID NOT!" he yelled as he stood up. He was taller than her by a foot, but she held her ground and accepted the stare-down he initiated. "They had no business ridin' onto my property like that unannounced! They scared me is all…"
She shoved her face into his, her nose a hands breadth away from his. "So, you're saying you were frightened of these three when all they were doing was investigating the disappearance of Edgar Ross?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they searched his. "What were you so afraid of that made you gun down those men without a second thought?"
His cold-hearted mask kept him from revealing his deepest secret. Oh God, he thought. Does she know? Does anyone know?
"And what about the two sheriffs you assaulted, Jonah and Eli? You shot Jonah, amazingly not killing him for being such a "sharp shooter" you claim to be, and you shot Eli's hand before pistol-whipping him when he tried to apprehend you. What about those two? According to them, it was you who rode up to them and initiated the shooting and-"
"Those two dumb bastards had it coming," Jack interjected. "It's not like they were doin' their jobs anyways."
She cocked an eyebrow. "That's your reasoning? They were stupid, so you attacked them? So, you kill people based on the assumption of one, whether or not they're lawmen, and two, whether or not they're intelligent enough?" She shook her head. "You really are a dumb-shit, Mister Marston."
When his silence left her statement dissipating in the thin space between them, the woman turned and sat back down on her chair. She dropped the file folder on the floor beside her, took off her hat, and ran a hand through her hair in agitation. "You're a tough one to read, Jack. I don't think I've ever met a man as stupid as you." She bowed her head as she put her hat back on.
Jack chortled as he sat back down on his bed. "And I've never met a woman as manly as you." He couldn't help but look her over once again. Despite his gargantuan dislike of her, she was quite nice to look at when she wasn't threatening him at gunpoint.
Suddenly, she jumped back on her feet, drew her pistol, and once again held it to his forehead. Unimpressed, Jack cocked an eyebrow and frowned.
"Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of Edgar Ross?" she hissed down at him.
He kept his mouth shut and stared at her with the same annoyed countenance.
"ANSWER ME! Did you kill him?!"
"No," he lied brilliantly, his voice soft and low. "No, I did not."
With a frustrated growl, she holstered her gun and paced the cell once more, her gait slightly faster. Her lips were pursed tightly, her hair flowing behind her as she kept her eyes to the floor. Her spurs jingled loudly in the enveloping silence.
Jack chuckled as he watched her. "So, are you some sort of bounty hunter or lawwoman, then? I didn't know they let little girls do that sort of shit."
The next thing he realized, he was laying sideways across his bed, his jaw throbbing. He lay there for a solid second, finding it difficult to grasp the idea she'd just punched him, and very hard, too.
"I'm not some 'little girl', Mister Marston, and I'd appreciate it if you never spoke to me like that again. I am not opposed to shooting you, so keep that in mind."
He sat up caressing his jaw and glowering up at her. "Go ahead, lady. Shoot me. It's not like I've got much else left to live for, 'cept rot away in this jail and work my ass off like a slave at this ranch." He spread his arms out in open invitation of ending his suffering.
Surprise crossed her beautiful face for the first time. She cocked her head slightly to the side. "Hmm…You're not afraid of death, I see. Most men cower and give up anything at the threat of death. But you…you're somethin' different." She straightened her head and questioned softly, "What do you fear, Marston? The promise of a life with purpose and responsibility?"
He blinked. "What are you gettin' at here, lady?"
She picked up the file folder once more and leaned back in her chair. "I want to know your motives…or lack thereof." She began thumbing through it.
Jack threw back his head and laughed dryly. "'Motives'. Well, I'd say that if I see a dumb lawman with half a brain and no balls hiding behind a badge, I suppose I get the trigger twitch. Does that count?"
She blinked once, her expression changing into a blank, unimpressed stare. "Very funny, Jack. I'm laughing hysterically."
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "So, what about you? You've asked me my motives and all sort of nonsense, so now it's my turn. What's your story?" He clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop them.
Her brown ovals quickly became dark slits of anger. "We're not talking about my history, criminal or not. And for your information, mister, I have no record of mass murder and robbery like you, if that's what you're playin' at."
He chortled as he threw his hands up in a mock gesture of surprise. "So, it's all for me, huh? The questions, the punches, the threats. Damn! I'm flattered!" Giving her a sly wink and a grin, he folded his arms and sat waiting for some sort of sharp remark.
She sighed and shook her head. "I reckoned you wouldn't be easy to get information out of, but I never would've guessed you'd be as stubborn as a Mexican's jack-ass."
"And I never would've guessed you'd be able to throw that hard of a punch," he confessed with a snort, caressing his jaw and wincing. "I guess we're both in over our heads, aren't we?"
"Sure, Jack. Sure." She crossed her right leg over her left and folded her arms over her chest, sizing him up pound for pound as she did so.
Jack puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. He couldn't help but look her over as well; he couldn't help but like what he saw. She was direct, that was for sure, in her mannerisms and speech, and she acted brutish like that of a man but with all the graces of feminine authority. The fact that she looked damned good in her tailored man's clothing and was able to do her job just as good as any lawman impressed him greatly.
But the bitch still punched me, he thought with a slight scowl. And she sure can be quite annoying, with all her probing and prodding at my business…. But still…She's not bad-lookin'. Not at all. His grin returned as he thought on, I bet I could put a smile on that pretty face.
"You likin' what you see, Marston? Well, stop that shit before I stove your face in with my boot!" She uncrossed her legs and, twisting one of her boots to the side, showed him her shiny, sharp spurs. "You ever heard of a Mexican tattoo, Marston? Well, let me tell you somethin', boy, I'll gladly give one to ya on your neck if you keep gawking at me like that."
Jack cleared his throat and looked out the window as he blushed. He noted it was at least six-thirty by the position of the sun in the morning sky. Outside, he could hear the ranch hands stirring about doing chores, horses blowing and neighing, chickens clucking and crowing, the creaks of wagons and the plodding of horse hooves as travelers passed through. His heart sank as he remembered what was to be expected of him from now on. The pleasure he felt from eyeing the beautiful woman in front of him, and the conversation between them earlier albeit aggressive and odd was dashed and thrown aside as he sighed and accepted his new fate, much to his chagrin.
"So…," he began.
"So," she agreed, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she asked, "So when are you gonna tell me your motives, your story?"
He snorted as he looked back into her captivating brown eyes. "I'll answer that question as soon as you tell me yours."
She scowled at him and stood abruptly. "Get up and get ready, and be quick about it. You've got a lot of work to do today, and we're already cuttin' into your work time. So giddy up, Marston. Hop to it." Quickly, she turned and opened the cell door. She stopped and waited for him by the doorway, not once looking back at him.
Jack watched her leave, perplexed and yet amused: it bothered him how much pleasure he got from seeing her storm away, not because he had beaten her at her own game, but because of watching her leave, especially when the morning breeze caught her duster and tossed it about as she stormed off. With a grin he kept to himself, he followed her outside and toward the start of his new life.
"C'mon, princess! I don't see that fence post movin' any further!"
"Call me that one more time and I'll reconsider not hittin' a woman!"
She had called him "princess", along with a vast assortment of other feminine titles, at least ten times already that morning. Irate at his new nickname and at the fence post that refused to uproot, Jack threw his entire weight forward, locking his elbows and pushing with his whole body. His gloved hands seized the post in a claw-like grip. His handcuffs rattled as he grappled with the post, pushing and pulling as it wobbled up and out of its deep embedment in the rock-hard ground. Sweat, dirt, and manure stained his white shirt; his red neckerchief was drenched. He had abandoned his duster hours ago when his labor began to get the best of him, and he started to sweat like never before. It wasn't just his body odor that plagued his nostrils: he had fed the livestock, milked the cows, collected the chicken eggs out of the coop, mucked the horse stalls and the stable, and now he was tearing down a broken section of the cattle corral. According to the woman, the cattle had broken the fence the day before after they spooked when a small pack of coyotes tried to take down one of the weaker calves. Luckily for him, the cattle had already been driven to pasture while he was mucking stalls. While he assumed Bonnie and the others didn't trust him on horseback yet, he figured they would have him start on a multitudinous list of smaller, dirtier chores. He merely scoffed at it all; he had done it all before, back when Beecher's Hope was running and his parents were alive.
But now, he had his work cut out for him. It was a challenge of his strength, patience, and above all, tolerance of the troublesome woman who constantly shouted obscene names and words at him. As he panted and struggled, she stood beside him, holding her Henry repeater before her as a precaution as she oversaw his work.
"Put some muscle into it, boy!" she chided. A smile was evident in her voice, though it didn't register on her face. "C'mon, WORK!"
Fed up with her "encouragements", Jack gave a mighty roar as he pushed forward. At last, the post uprooted and fell forward, nearly taking him along with it had he not have righted himself and his footing. Straightening up from his bent position, Jack stood glaring homicidally at her, his chest heaving and his skin glistening with sweat. In between gasps, he admonished, "For the last…time…DON'T…call me… "princess"!"
"Oh, but it fits you so well!" She looked him over and motioned at his soiled shirt with a nod. "Oh, but look! Your pretty white shirt has been dirtied up!" She puckered her lips forward in a taunting pout, as if speaking to a toddler before letting slip a bellowing laugh that worsened Jack's mood. "Poor little thing! This work is just too much for you, I reckon!"
"This comin' from the bitch who's been standin' there all day watching me work." It was only his first day, and he was already tempted on adding her name to his list of innocents killed, although he f had a viable reason for her murder. She's so goddamned annoying! he thought with a snarl as he picked up the fence post and carried it over to the gat. He threw on top of the fence post pile and gave a loud, "FUCK!" when the pile tumbled around the ground. Grumbling, he bent over and tidied it up before straightening back up and looking over his shoulder at her.
She strolled over to him, an amused smirk on her face.
"What's so damn funny?"
She nodded to the fence post pile. "You're catching on. Being tidy and organized helps keep a ranch goin', Mister Marston. You're quite the quick learner."
"That's because I've done all this shit growin' up as a kid. I'm a man now and I'm pretty sure I can do this quite well."
She lifted a finger, interjecting his rant. "Yes, but here's the thing: you're still an angry little boy. This is what we're trying to fix, Jack."
He dismissed her theory with a wave of his hand. "Psssh! That's some ridiculous logic if I've ever heard it. Where do you come up with this shit, anyway?"
"I read, Mister Marston, and I'm educated, which is more than can be said of you."
Jack blinked. "You read?"
"Getting to know your enemies through their files requires you to read, idiot." She rolled her eyes. "You are the most unintelligent man I've ever met."
"And you're the most arrogant woman I've ever met." He motioned to her attire and chuckled sardonically. "You may dress like a man, but the way you talk makes me think you need to be wearin' a fancy dress and throwin' dinner parties with some uppity husband."
Her grip on the firearm tightened. "I'm NOT an aristocratic asshole, if that's what you're saying. I like bein' a hard-working cowgirl, thank you very much. At least Iknow the value of hard work, unlike you." She looked him over with a skeptical overview. "Hell, I see you sittin' behind a mahogany desk wearin' some fancy suit, livin' the easy life in a city. Shoot, you've probably wouldn't have to work a day in your life with that way of living."
"I'm not a high-class man."
She locked gazes with him and nodded. "That's right, Jack. You're not some sort of business man. Neither are you a rancher or any sort of honorable working man. You're scum, Jack, an absolute pile of shit to my eyes and everyone else's here. You're a no-good, lying, son of a bitch, and I'll be reminding you of that fact, every second of every day."
"You're right, lady. I am a no-good piece of trash." He stepped closer and pointed down at her. "But I'll be reminding you of the reason why there are men like me, every second of every day. It's people like you—lawmen, lawwomen, government agents—who think you're better than the everyone else. You think that with since you've got a badge and a gun, you can decide whose life to take and have no justification for it other than the simple fact that you're an officer of the law. And you're sittin' on a high little cloud oblivious to what you're really doing. You people don't get off your high horse enough and come down to earth like us regular folks. It doesn't matter if I've killed people, it's whether I choose to live with it or not, whether it comes back to bite me in the ass. And it has, thanks to you lawmen. You all have everything, absolutely EVERYTHING in documents, in folders, like you have all of us alphabetized and sorted and thinkin' you've got control over us. But you don't! And that's why I'mhere, lady, to keep the law in check."
She struck him across his left cheek with the butt of her repeater. It wasn't enough to knock him off his feet, but just enough to make him stumble backwards and clutch at his face. "And that is why I'm on this earth, boy, to keep you in check."
A tendril of blood trickled down the side of his face from a small gash above his right eyebrow. Jack didn't feel this as he stared at her in a mixture of fascination, rage, and reverence.
"Just for that shit-speech, you won't be gettin' those handcuffs off any time soon, nor any supper tonight. And you can say goodbye to your weapons and hat, for that matter, at least until the time as such when you earn them back." She walked up to him and looked him in the eyes as she swung her repeater around her shoulder. "I know you don't like me, Jack, and I know you'd rather shoot me and be off on your own little merry way like the fairy you are, but while you're under my supervision, you'll be obeying my rules. Rule number one: you are to never disrespect me, or for any other person, for that matter. Rule number two: if you try anything, absolutely anything, I have orders from Bonnie to shoot you dead on the spot, and you know I won't have a problem with that, seeing as you piss me off enough already. If I were to just shoot you like I had originally wanted, it would be said and done and we wouldn't have to go through this bullshit of your supposed recompense, but this is Bonnie's doing, and we all know you need this. So, you will respect her wish of your redemption throughout your stay here at her ranch, and you will work hard, no matter what. Do you understand me?"
He nodded curtly and wiped off the trickle of blood with a less-dirty patch of his white shirt. A throbbing headache began to engulf his head and worsen his mood.
She pointed down to the useless, broken fence posts and commanded, "Now get these over to the campfire by the ranch hands' houses; they'll use 'em for firewood tonight. And be quick about it. You've still got a lot to get done today, including getting this fence fixed, and heaven help ya if it's not all done by sundown, Jack. If that happens, you'll answer to Bonnie, and I reckon she won't take to your inefficiency very well."
Scowling, Jack bent down and began picking up the fence posts. This bitch is gonna drive me insane before this day is over…
By the time Jack carried out his evening chores and finished the fence, it was almost completely dark. His body was completely enervated and slick with sweat. Every couple minutes, beads of the salty liquid would trickle down his brow and into his eyes, making them sting and burn until he wiped his face with his already-drenched neckerchief. He guessed he'd drank a gallon of water that day; he couldn't recall how many times he drank from the well, as well as wash his face and neck off. His limbs quaked; his stomach roared. These made it hard to concentrate on his work as he drove down new fence posts in the holes where the previous ones had stood. When that was finished, he nailed new boards to the posts with the help of his overseer.
At long last, he was finished. He stood back with a relieved sigh and looked over his handiwork, feeling pride blossom slowly in his breast. My God, it's been forever since I've last put up fence, but I guess I'm not too rusty after all. He rested his hands on his hips and looked over at his supervisor. "Well? You gonna bitch about anything, or is this good enough for you, Your Highness?"
She looked over his work with a critical eye. She licked her lips and nodded. "Not too bad, princess. Not too bad at all." She turned to leave.
He caught her shoulder with excessive strength. "STOP CALLING ME "PRINCESS", DAMN IT!"
With her free hand, she seized his wrist with a vice-like grip and threw his hand aside all in one swift motion. "As far as I'm concerned, I can call you whatever the fuck I want! And I told you once already today: you will respect me, otherwise, you'll pay for it in blood."
He threw back his head and gave a sarcastic guffaw. "HA! What are you gonna do, threaten me? Shoot me? C'mon, lady. Need I remind you that threatening to put a bullet in my head isn't gonna work?"
Before he could blink, her semi-automatic pistol was inches from his temple. "Let's test that theory. Last time I had my gun in your face, you nearly shit bricks."
He looked back at her with as much venomous intent. "And last time you did, you didn't have the stomach to. You'd best be respectin' Bonnie's wishes, now."
Her hand shook as she pressed the barrel to his forehead. "Goddamn you, Jack Marston."
He pressed back, letting the barrel dig into his skin. "Go on, lady, do it! Just shoot me and get it over with. I've had enough of this bullshit."
She chuckled darkly. "Oh, you have no idea how bad I want to pull this trigger, Marston."
"THEN DO IT!"
The stare-down lasted a solid minute before the woman sighed and lowered her pistol. Jack straightened up from his stance: he had leaned forward into the barrel, ready to go. So when his death wish wasn't granted, he too sighed with disappointment. He kept his eyes to the ground and put his hands on his hips, wishing nothing more than to be rid of this hell on earth.
With a grumble, the woman holstered her gun. "Look, since I can't just shoot you, we're gonna have to come to an agreement. If we're gonna make this work, we're gonna have to work together here, which is something that neither one of us want to do. I know you don't want to be hearin' this, much less be here, but you have to be. You have to go through this; you and I both know you need it." She shook her head and crossed her arms across her chest. "But by Christ, it's only been one goddamn day, and you're already a stick in the mud."
Jack shot her an incredulous look, his jaw dropping. "Me?! You're the one constantly riding my ass, pushin' me to go faster!"
"Well, someone needs to be telling you that. Someone's gotta keep you in your place."
"That's such bullshit, lady."
"Well, if you keep pitchin' it to me, I'll keep scoopin' it right back. All you do is bitch and moan."
"And all you do is piss me off."
She snorted and inclined her head to him. "Touché, Marston. Touché."
He lifted his chin, proud that he'd won the banter.
A breeze danced across the corral, taunting them with a brief cool-down and playing with their hair with invisible fingers. Quite unexpectedly, the woman's eyes widened and she exclaimed, "My God, Marston, you stink worse than a skunk's ass! You need a bath!"
Jack merely shrugged; a hint of an amused smirk threatened to break his cold-hearted visage. Before he could give her a saucy retort, a sudden yawn escaped his mouth.
Seeing this, the woman punched him lightly on the shoulder and said, "C'mon, princess. It's past your bedtime."
"Fuck you, lady!"
She merely laughed at his tired outburst. "C'mon, I'll show you back to your cell." She started forward, skirting around the gate as the herd of cattle suddenly appeared, spilling into the corral. She and Jack had to climb over the fence and wait by the gate as several ranch hands on horseback drove the herd back into their pen for the night. Once the herd was safely in and the cowboys had ridden out, the woman closed the gate and headed for the sheriff's office.
"There's a wash basin and fresh clothes set up for you back in your cell," she said over her shoulder. "I had a ranch hand ready that for you. I reckoned you'd stink by the end of the day and need a good bath, and my God, was I right!"
"Well, if you wouldn't have pushed me so goddamn hard today, I wouldn't have sweated so much."
She scoffed. "That's the idea, boy."
He grumbled an incoherent curse as he fell into step beside her.
Together, they made their way to the sheriff's office. Jack struggled to keep up with her energetic stride, stumbling and shuffling along. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and he slouched as he shuffled along, worn out and grumpy like an old man.
"You doin' all right back there, princess?" She glanced back at him with a coy smile and stopped, waiting for him to catch up.
"Shut up, I'm comin'."
With a chuckle, she walked on beside him. She looked him over and asked, "You gonna be all right? You're looking a little ragged 'round the edges."
"Why the hell do you care?"
"I don't want my slave dying on me after the first day."
He gave an unimpressed harrumph as they reached the sheriff's office. He walked into his cell without a fuss, where he found a bowl of steaming soup, a neatly-folded pile of ranch hand clothing, and a medium-sized basin full with water. Smiling at the sight of these comforts, Jack sat down and immediately dug into his supper like an emaciated coyote finding the remains of a cow carcass.
The woman stood leaning against the doorframe of his cell, her arms folded across her chest and a disgusted frown spreading across her beautiful face.
He paused in his ravenous eating and looked up at her. "What?"
"You sure are an outlaw. You're just as uncivilized and unmannerly as one, that's for sure." She nodded down to the basin. "You'd best get cleaned up tonight after you finish eating. You need it."
He paused in his frenzied feasting to glare up at her. "I know that, damn it. Why don't you just leave me be already?"
She gave him a cross look and pushed herself off the doorframe. "Be ready by five tomorrow morning, scumbag. There's a lot more work that needs to be done." She closed his cell door and locked it with a skeleton key that she'd fished out of her vest pocket. Her boots thumped and her spurs clinked a rhythm as she walked toward the door.
Finishing his soup, Jack set the bowl down on the floor and called out, "Hey, lady! Wait a second."
She paused in the doorway, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her long dark hair whipped about, making a half-circle in its movement before draping over her right shoulder.
"You haven't told me what your name is."
Her brown eyes narrowed to small slits. "You haven't earned that knowledge yet, princess." With that, she walked out, closing the door behind her rather roughly.