The band was godawful. Speirs didn't even bother to try and hide the disgust on his face. With crossed arms, he stood glaring at the men producing such offensive sounds.
No one should ever be allowed to so blatantly butcher 'Battle Hymn of the Republic'. Yet here was living proof. Maybe if they were relieved of their instruments, the people of Bluewater could be spared such atrocity in the future. The brass would probably have a nice resale value.
A sharp elbow caught him purposefully in the side, as if knowing his train of thoughts. Winters. The man had an uncanny ability to call Speirs out when he was being particularly unsociable. He supposed tonight was no exception, but Winters only had himself to blame. He was the only reason Speirs was here at the annual Bluewater Fourth of July Festival. That and, well. There was something brighter in Lily's smile tonight that was well worth observing. Something that threatened to undo his usual self-discipline and made him want to keep her only for himself.
A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck, soaking into his collar with an irritation that resonated in his gut on such thoughts. With a welcome distraction, the song drew to a close on the last pitiful collection of notes and the crowd offered up a polite applause. Yes, cheering the end of such an abomination was indeed a worthy cause.
"You should try smiling." Winters' voice was soft over the clapping. "This is supposed to be fun, and you wouldn't want to scare anyone."
"I think people might be more scared if I was smiling."
Winters' chuckle was warm with amusement. "You might be right."
The sorry group of brass players stepped aside, making way for a selection of fiddles and guitars to take the stage. A lively tune struck up, and couples broke off for the open space near the bandstand while others started to mill about in search of conversation, drink and sweet treats.
"I forget how big Bluewater is." Lip said, glancing around.
"Oh, I'm sure the Citizen's Chamber spared no expense in spreading the word far and wide." Nixon said. "Why, just last week, they approached us to provide patronage for this event."
"Which I did – well, we did." Dick said.
Nixon sighed with put-upon annoyance. "No wonder Mr. Ross thanked me so profusely earlier."
Dick shrugged with an amused smile. "It was the least we could do. This celebration is always well done, and we can do our part."
"Not that I disagree. But that's how it starts – you give one contribution and they keep coming back for more. You listen – first, it's Mr. Ross asking for, uh, a toe for this celebration. Next time, it'll be a Mr. Smith and he's asking for a foot to support this other venture."
Speirs fixed Nixon with a look. "I think Dick did the right thing. For what it's worth."
"Same here." Lip agreed.
Dick turned back to Nixon with a proud smile. "Afraid you're outvoted, Nix."
"Hmm. In that case, I suppose I better go and avail myself of the amenities that our money has bought." He turned from the group, heading in the direction of the sweets table.
Dick had to laugh just a little at the man's retreating form. "He already knew that we made a contribution."
Speirs nodded, short and succinct. "Even more of a prudent reason to put an end to his dramatic show."
Lip chuckled. "I think you might have just spoiled the night for him."
"Nah," Dick agreed with a matching laugh, "there's plenty for him to console himself."
"Good evening, Mr. Winters." The prim, dainty voice could only belong to Sally May Brown. Speirs had seen her buzzing around Dick at every social gathering enough to recognize it.
"Good evening, Miss Brown." Dick tipped his hat in polite greeting as Lip and Speirs offered up similar acknowledgements.
She nodded around the group, but only had eyes for Dick, her smile bright. "It's such a grand evening for the festival, don't you think?"
"Indeed." Dick agreed. "It has cooled off quite pleasantly since this afternoon."
"That was my thought on it, too." She eyed him with a hopeful – painfully obvious by Speirs' way of thinking – smile. "Have you yet been to the sweets table?"
"I have not."
"Oh, then you'll have to go soon! You simply must have a slice of my strawberry pie. It's the best in the county."
"If I recall right, it took a prize at the fair last year." Lip said.
"That's right. Yes, sir, it did indeed." A bashful smile lit the young woman's face despite the pride in her eyes.
Dick nodded. "Then, I'll have to be sure to grab a piece."
Speirs fought to hide his look of disgust. "Perhaps before treating yourself, you would care to treat Miss Brown to a dance." He watched Dick turn towards him with a flash of shocked surprise. But the former military man was too good at catching his reactions and swiftly brought the pleasant smile back to his face.
"Uh, yes. Of course. Miss Brown, would you care to dance?"
"Oh, I'd absolutely love to!" Miss Brown's eyes lit up, clearly achieving her end goal. Dick held his arm out for her, nodding quickly at both men before moving off for the dance area. Speirs bit back a smirk at the spark in Dick's eyes the promised retribution.
Lip chuckled with a vague shake of his head. "You ever worry he's going to have enough of your charming personality one day and give you the boot?"
"No."
xxx
"Would you look at Sally May's dress!" Alice sighed a giddy, envious sound. "She is so lucky her mama's so good with a needle and thread - better'n I could hope to ever be."
From across the way, Lily could see pale pink fabric neatly tailored to the prim form of the banker's daughter, the white ruffled trim fluttering as she moved around the dancefloor in Dick's arms.
Elmira snorted. "And so shameless the way she's making starry eyes at Mr. Winters."
"No more shameless than how she looks at him during the Sunday service." Alice said, shaking her head, wide smile still in place. "But her mama simply won't have it. No matter how much of a gentleman he is."
Lily shook her head, amused. "Yet there she is, dancing with him still." The longer she watched the couple dancing about, intermixed with the others, the more a sense of jealous envy started to grow. Over what exactly she couldn't say. By no means was she besotted with Dick, nor did she particularly want to be in Sally May's shoes. But something about the position in life to freely dance with a handsome suitor at the town's Fourth of July Festival was immensely appealing.
"If you want my thinkin'," Alice started to say, "I'm sure Sally May pushed him into that dance. Mr. Winters is just too much of a gentleman to refuse. Even more so if her pa was there. Her pa has been after Mr. Winters to support the bank cause he sees the money that Mr. Winters puts to the church."
"Now that is truly shameless." Lily agreed.
Ginny giggled quietly. "If he's that needy, Mr. Brown should talk to Mr. Nixon. He seems like a man who doesn't know how to live without money."
"That's my thinkin'," Elmira added. "Mr. Nixon is the money man, but either he doesn't trust himself or he's done wrong by Mr. Winters in the past, so Mr. Winters gets to say how the money's spent."
"Thick as thieves, those two. No doubt." Ginny said, her face flashing with an idea. "You don't think they'd ever be willing to share? Can you just imagine what the two of them together – that lush dark hair and all them fancy words, going with the other's quiet manners. And two coc-"
"Girls, please!" Lily scolded. "Not in such a public place. Not that the affairs of Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon – money-wise or otherwise – should be any of our concern, but none of us are to go whispering fantasies here that could spread to rumor."
"No one listens to us anyway." Alice sulked, looking around from where they stood off to the side of the festival goers. "The church ladies pitched a fit when Mr. Winters suggested that we could serve at the sweets table, or even help with the washing up."
"Besides, you shouldn't act so prim." Ginny's eyebrows waggled suggestively at Lily. "I know that Mr. Nixon's fucking you. He's not exactly quiet some nights."
"We were never trying to be discreet." Lily didn't see any point to deny it. They really weren't trying to hide.
"How'd you get him to say yes?" Ginny implored.
"You'll have to ask him."
"Fine." Ginny pouted. "But if I'm up against a specialty act that you've been hiding for years, then I'll be very angry."
Elmira rolled her eyes. "Seems you're always angry about something."
"No, I really will be about this one," Ginny continued, undeterred. "There's nothing that makes Lily more special than me, and the other way 'round in this business. Yet, he chooses her only – hell, the others might as well, and we just can't hear them!"
"A lady doesn't speak of her dalliances." Lily said.
"You ain't no lady." Elmira cut in, a sobering dose of reality. "Don't go putting on no airs like you are, either."
"I'm not." Lily tired to keep a defensive note from her voice. "But being around those gentlemen – Mr. Winters and Mr. Lipton, especially – well, it makes me wish I could be…just better."
"I can't ever see those two falling in a bed of sin." Alice said.
"Oh, but it's fun to dream." Ginny said with a big smile. "And try! I almost had Mr. Lipton once, but then Mr. Speirs came up the stairs and ruined it. Now there's a man who looks like he knows how to show a woman a good time."
Elmira shuddered. "He's too scary. All too…hard edges and sharp stares."
Lily smiled privately to herself. Elmira wasn't all wrong, but there was much more to the man. If only she could tell him how she really felt. If only he returned her feelings. She'd scream his name from the rooftops.
"Mmm not at all." Ginny grinned salaciously. "I'd crow sir for him and let him do whatever he wanted."
"I don't think I've ever seen him with a woman." Elmira said. "Suppose he's funny in that way?"
"Oh, stop." Lily reprimanded. "Don't even be whispering such words without proof. It wouldn't take much to upend a man's life with talk like that."
Elmira shook her head. "Can't deny, it doesn't make you curious. Something untrustworthy about a man who doesn't take a woman every now and then."
"Just because you don't see him do it, doesn't mean that he don't." Lily said, warmth welling within her, a small blush on her cheeks. Part of her would love to brag that he frequented her bed and bask in the other girls' envy. But she knew he wouldn't appreciate her loose tongue.
"Good evening, ladies." Lew's pleasant greeting was a welcome distraction from the current conversation, a return chorus of greetings rising up on his arrival.
"Good evening, Mr. Nixon." Lily said, nodding up at the dance space in front. "We were just watching the couples take a turn. Including Mr. Winters. He's a good dancer."
"Well, he should be. He learned from the best." He took a quick pull from his flask before screwing the lid back on. "And even he's allowed to have his fun. When he lets himself." He looked up at her with a playful smile. "And why should he be the only one? Miss Martin, would you do me the honor of a dance?"
"Well...um. I'd...I'd be delighted." He held his arm out, the true picture of proper decorum and she couldn't stop the schoolgirl flutter in her chest. Looping her arm through his, they bid their farewells to the other girls and moved for the dance area, but she couldn't deny the awkward pull of anxiety in her gut. What was Lew trying to do? If she wasn't allowed to serve at the festival tables, was she even allowed to even set foot in the dance area? She turned to face him as his hand fell naturally to her back, taking her other hand and falling seamlessly into step with the music. As they moved, she couldn't help but notice the questionable smiles, the judgmental gazes from the other dancing couples.
She lowered her head. "You know how much we're being stared at? Glared at, more like. What you're doing ain't respectable."
"I never claimed to be respectable."
"You don't have to claim anything. You wear your eastern breeding so plainly, I don't think you could ever make folks think different."
"Good thing I'm not trying to."
A soft, affectionate laugh bubbled in her throat as they continued to move. His movements were well practiced and so fluid. It perfectly matched the image of the man that he presented when everyone was looking. She couldn't help but smile as it was something she had always envied.
"How can you be so….?" She struggled for the words. "So…devil may care?"
"If you knew my father, you'd understand." Something haunted flashed across his face and disappeared just as quick. "But you're dressed respectably enough for the both of us. If no one didn't already know your profession, then no one would know from looking at you tonight."
"Profession." She almost choked on the word. "You don't need to make it sound so…"
"But that's not what you are anymore."
"No, but I'm not far removed from it." She wasn't sad about it. It was just a statement of fact.
"Uh-oh." He lightly chuckled. "Looks like we may have to divert on a rescue mission."
"Oh?" She asked, concern tightening her face despite his amused smile.
"Your sweetheart looks ready to go on a murderous rampage."
"He is not my sweetheart!" Embarrassment lit on her face as she thumped him on the back with her hand that rested there. His words hit just a little too close to home, but she couldn't deny that she'd be all for Ron being her sweetheart. Not that she could admit to it out loud, either.
"Would you not agree?" He spun them effortlessly around to where she could now see over his shoulder. Sure enough, Ron was standing alongside Carwood as the latter chatted amicably with the schoolteacher. Maybe a little too amicably given Carwood's warm smile and the answering coquettish grin on the teacher's face. No wonder Ron's face was stiff with irritated, uncomfortable lines.
"He certainly doesn't look like he's at a celebration." She agreed.
"Never known Sparky to be much of a celebrator." He started to move them through the crowd, towards the edge of the dance area.
"Maybe you've just never given him reason enough to celebrate."
Lew leaned in close, his cheek brushing hers. "Then let's see if we can give him a reason."
Inexplicably, she felt a heat bloom in her cheeks as he leaned back, pulling her into a whirling series of graceful spins. She felt her breath become short as the spins continued, dizziness eating at the edges of her vision.
"My goodness." He breathed with an air of showmanship, clearly amused as he brought them to a strategic stop. "I do believe I am quite winded."
"Yes." She agreed, fighting back an embarrassed smile. "Myself, also."
"And look who we have here." Lew interjected effortlessly, drawing the attentions of the smaller group. "Good evening, Miss Cartwright. It's nice to see you again."
"Thank you, Mr. Nixon." The school teacher smiled warmly. "Nice to see you again, as well."
Carwood offered a nod in greeting. "Miss Cartwright was just saying that she plans to extend the town's children's education beyond traditional reading and math. She has a vast interest in astronomy."
"Astronomy." Lew echoed. "The study of the stars. Isn't that truly the way of the future."
"I believe it is." She said with a small smile. "Or, at least, will be some day."
"I would be fascinated to hear more." Lew continued. "But I do fear boring Miss Martin. Say, Mr. Speirs - would you be willing to take Miss Martin for a turn."
The look Ron shot Lew clearly showed that he wasn't buying any of what Lew was selling. "I was rather enjoying hearing what Miss Cartwright had to say." Lily couldn't deny the sting of jealousy that welled up. If he truly was interested in educated conversation - he was so knowledgeable in history, after all - she already knew there was little she could offer in that arena.
"Oh come now, Mr. Speirs. Where's your gentlemanly spirit? You'd really leave Miss Martin to fend for herself?" Lew continued to prod with a warm smile. "Maybe if you saved her from such a fate it might put a smile on your sour mug."
Miss Cartwright audibly gasped at the exchange, a hand rising to her chest in distress.
Carwood looked to her with a warm, comforting smile. "I assure you this won't come to a draw, ma'am."
"On second thought," Lew gently said with a calming smile to the group, "it would probably take more than that to make him smile."
As if to prove a point, Ron smiled in response. In all honesty, it was more a sharp flash of teeth. More predatory than friendly as he moved to step around Lew.
"Just remember," he said, voice low, "I know where you keep your stash of Vat."
"You wouldn't. That's sacred."
Another flash of teeth was all that he received in response as Ron held out a hand to Lily in open invitation. "Miss Martin?"
She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her the few steps back, unable to keep the wide smile from her face. With a causal grace, his hand landed on her shoulder blade and her hand fell into his. Her feet started moving before her mind caught up as he turned them in time with the gentle tune. He was surprisingly confident in his steps and turns, leading her with a gentle pressure. Of all the things, she had never expected him to know how to dance.
She felt a blush start on her cheeks. "I must say – for taking so long to agree - you are a good dancer."
"You can thank my mother for that." He said softly, eyes dutifully over her shoulder. "Was a time she wouldn't have it said her boy wasn't the best in the Boston social circle."
"Boston?" The surprised question showed plainly on her face. "I…I didn't know you were from Boston."
"Is that a problem?"
"No, just surprised is all." Had he really just talked about his past? Out here at the town festival with her in his arms? "I didn't have you figured for an eastern boy. You've…shed that skin very well."
He nodded sharply in response, as if it was obvious. She drew another breath to ask a question, but thought better of it. It only raised more questions for her, rekindling her yearning to know everything about him. But he wouldn't respond well to it now. Not in such a public setting, especially. Well, at least, she didn't think he would. Hell, she honestly still couldn't believe his mention of Boston. What had gotten into him tonight? Whatever it was, she couldn't help but smile wider over it.
Instead, she settled for just looking at him. If she'd ever thought him handsome fresh in from the trail, scruffy and dirty, then he looked positively dashing when he cleaned up.
Yes, she'd had him in her bed – in fact, she hoped that he would follow her there later – but in this moment, dancing with him, it was so easy to just pretend. Pretend that she was nothing more than a woman in the arms of her handsome suitor, dancing at the town festival. Perhaps he had asked her father's permission to escort her tonight, and he'd see her safely home later in the evening. And she'd be the envy of all the local girls to have such a strong, handsome man on her arm. A smile warmed her face on the thought. It was so quaint, so perfect. So pure from anything she could ever hope to be.
Maybe someday she'd be a lawfully wedded woman. All the sins of her past wiped away with a small band of gold.
If only it could be his band of gold.
Four Years Ago
By the time they learned about Ronald Speirs, he was already a legend. Though, he wasn't known by that name exactly. No, in fact, the first stories the members of Easy heard only ever called him by one name.
"I heard a new Killer story today." Luz announced through a bite of meat. "Apparently, he's back in town. Rumored to be, anyway. Looking for the murderer of that Smithville newspaperman. Grant something."
Carwood slathered preserves on his biscuit. "Charles Grant. Shot in the head in the dead of night. The poster put a sizable bounty on the guilty party's head."
Bill chuckled, teasingly. "You thinking of going after it yourself, sarge?"
"I already got a job, Bill."
Luz rolled his eyes. "That's what Killer does anyway. Any man stands between him and his collected bounty ends up...well, from his name - killed." He sent a mocking glare around the table. "Now, does anyone actually want to hear what I have to say?"
"We never want to hear what you have to say." Bill quipped.
"But we hear it anyway." Carwood finished, taking a bite of biscuit as Bill chuckled.
Luz shook his head, always the victim. "If Lily hadn't put such care into this meal, I swear I'd throw it at both of you - so thank you, Lils."
She nodded with a wry smile across the kitchen, listening to the men continue to talk.
Bill smacked a loud bite. "You know what I heard about Killer -"
"I thought I was telling my story -"
"I heard that the man - back in his cavalry days - killed one of his own men for being drunk."
"I don't believe that one," Carwood said, "cavalry officers would not have stood for such behavior. He would have been court martialed, at a minimum."
"You ever consider that's why he collects bounties now?" Bill said with a knowing smirk. "Probably not a lot of work to be found after dishonorable dismissal from military service."
"Well, I heard he killed thirty men at one time." Luz interjected, drawing Bill and Lip's incredulous stares.
Carwood shook his head with a sardonic smile. "Oh come on, George."
"On your head be it if you don't believe me. But he was tracking the gang of vandals that kept sabotaging the telegraph poles - apparently, there was a whole lot more than made the wanted poster. So Killer plays nice, gives smokes around to the whole group, then unloads his Peacemaker and Winchester into all of them."
Bill scoffed around a mouthful. "That's such a load of malarkey. Ain't no way one man can kill that many unanswered without taking a shot."
"Maybe he was getting shot at." Luz shrugged unconcernedly. "No one's said if he was or wasn't dodging bullets."
"Surely, someone was shooting at him - or, he missed killing at least one. Otherwise, where would the story come from?" Carwood asked.
Bill shrugged. "Some folks say that Killer circulates them himself - strike fear into others."
"Yeah, Lip," Luz chimed in, "you scared yet? I'm about to need to start sleeping with my loaded gun just to feel safe from Killer."
"I think it's best just to stay off the wanted posters to stay out of Killer's sights - that goes for the both of you, too."
That conversation between Carwood, Luz and Bill had been four days ago, and she honestly hadn't thought about it much. It really all did seem too fanciful for just one man to do all those things and get away scot-free every time. Honestly, she was kind of surprised none of the men of Easy had investigated the stories or the man. Surely, all that killing had to attract some level of underhanded dealing - or was it all forgiven in the name of bringing known fugitives to account for their crimes? Hell, maybe Dick and Lew should set about recruiting Killer.
She sniffled against the pungent odor of the onion rising up from the cutting board. It was one thing for her to muse on stories, but another thing entirely to think about how Dick and Lew should run their business.
She jumped at a crashing bang from outside. Gripping the cook's knife tighter, she turned with a sharp focus on the backdoor. Another rattling, rummaging sound filtered through the distorted glass and wood. With a nervous swallow, she raised the knife and opened the backdoor to see the storage cabinet wide open, lock broken, and a large, burly man pilfering through the goods.
"Excuse me." She called out. "That cabinet ain't yours."
The man pulled back from the cabinet, grinning wide and salaciously back at her. "Ain't you cute with a knife. You know how to use that, little darlin'?"
"I bet I could figure it out if you don't stop touching what ain't yours."
"All's I need's some grub for the trail, and you look to have just enough."
She tightened her hold on the knife. "I already said stop touching my cabinet."
"Come on, Mr. Item." She jerked her head at the new voice. "Back away."
She stared at the new arrival - a tall, slender man who seemed to have come from nowhere. His radiated calm confidence, his posture ramrod straight and his face stony with intense focus as he stared down the man at the cabinet.
"Say, how's you know my name?"
"Everyone knows your name, Mr. Item. Ever since you shot Charles Grant, it's been plastered from here to Smithville."
"Boy howdy, I'm that famous?"
The tall - handsome, she noticed - stranger continued to pay her no mind. "Come on now, we're going to have a quiet ride back to Smithville."
"I - I ain't going back there."
"Well, you're not going anywhere else." The stranger's hand settled to the gun at his hip.
Mr. Item gulped, suddenly turning a sick shade of white. "It's...it's you, ain't it? The one that done for his own man? The one that killed all them telegraph bandits? Without any fucking mercy!"
"You're not one to talk about compassion, you piece of shit." A deadly resolve darkened the taller man's face. "Now, I'd rather not do this in front of the lady, but we will if you don't step away from that cabinet."
"She ain't no lady." Mr. Item sneered with a dirty laugh. "Just a no good whore at this saloon." He started to pivot around, moving slowly. But then his left shoulder dropped low, indicative of going for his gun.
She jumped, startled as gunfire rang out. Two quick, successive shots and Mr. Item crumpled, slamming hard back against the cabinet on his way down, leaving a spray of blood. With an uncertain glance, she looked back to the taller man, who still stood stiff as a board, his face a tight glare as he re-holstered his revolver.
As if feeling her stare, he turned towards her and she fought the urge to fidget under his piercing gaze.
"Are you gonna shoot me, too?" She asked. "For seeing I what I seen?"
"No." The word was crisp, commanding. "He's not dead. Not yet, anyway" He started over towards Mr. Item as a pained groan sounded.
"How did you…you beat him to the draw." She eyed him warily, gripping the knife tighter.
"No. He was already going for his gun. Tried to feint with the left shoulder, but it didn't work." He toed at the man on the ground with his boot, drawing another pained groan. "Mr. Item here might just as well have been shouting his intentions. And you, with your ridiculous knife."
She bristled. "You would be surprised."
"Not if he shot you." He dropped to kneel beside the wounded man, slinging an arm around the other man's shoulder to drag him staggeringly to his feet. He grunted under the exertion, holding the wounded man close to drag him off.
"Where are you going?" She asked, slowly lowering the knife to her side.
"Smithville."
"You're taking him like that?"
"He deserves worse for what he did." He stopped his labored movements, sparing her a sideways, considering glance. "I suppose I owe you an apology, but you don't look distressed."
"This ain't my first gunfight, nor my first nearly dead man."
"Said without remorse." It sounded like pride on his voice as he reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out a collection of folded bills, holding them out to her. "To replace the soiled goods in your cabinet."
"No need." She couldn't say why she recoiled in offense at his offer, but she didn't need to accept his money.
"I won't stand in your debt for causing unintended offense, and I won't argue with you." He threw the bills to the ground, returning his hand to heft the load of the man slumped against him. Without so much as a farewell, he started off, movements hindered. It was the most perplexing thing, watching him go.
She looked down to the bills laying the dirt, clearly seeing that it was easily more than the contents of the cabinet were worth. Something about that struck her. "Wait." She called out, glancing back up at him as he continued to walk towards the gap between buildings. "What's your name? I can't…very well explain this money to my bosses without a name to go with. Who knows what they'll think."
He turned towards her, something hard and assessing in his gaze. She would almost swear he could see right through her with those unreadable eyes of his. "Speirs."
"Thank you, Mr. Speirs." She met his gaze, really looking at him as something warm burst her chest. "Thank you."
He turned from her without any further acknowledgement, shuffling off between the buildings, dragging his bounty with him. She looked back to the bills in the dirt, walking over to pick them up.
"Lily…what on earth?" Lew's flummoxed words drifted down to her. She glanced back, a guilty look on her face. What for, she couldn't exactly say – she hadn't done anything wrong, but she knew she made quite the picture, kneeling in the dirt to collect cash with a cook's knife in her other hand. And that was to say nothing of the open, blood splattered storage cabinet.
"What happened?" Lew pressed coming out towards her. "I thought we agreed no more knives."
From there, she launched into her account of meeting Mr. Speirs, explaining the presence of the money and offering reassurances that she'd taken no action with the knife. Lew had listened carefully, even if a dubious edge lingered in his expression all the while. In the end, she had simply handed the money over and had gone back inside to resume chopping the half-finished onion.
She knew that Lew and would tell Dick, but she never dreamed that Dick would seek out Mr. Speirs for a conversation. She still didn't know what was said between the two men at that meeting, but three weeks later, Mr. Speirs showed up at the saloon with a small trunk in tow. He even took his first shift at the bar that same night.
The whole scene could have knocked her over with a feather.
But in the weeks and months that followed, there was undeniably something about him. In the manner he conversed – tight lipped, albeit – with the patrons; in the way he accepted and completed his other assignments, riding out with a single-minded focus; in the emotion that swirled in his mercurial eyes that he rarely let show otherwise. She was noticing it – and him – more and more all the time.
His presence around the saloon became a nagging itch, not unlike a mosquito bite that refused to be ignored. And when he was out on the trail, she couldn't help but wonder, anxiously excited and worried, when he would return.
The itch only grew worse she noticed his attention on her in return. He kept himself so tightly reserved as a general rule, but there were some nights she could practically feel his stare across the saloon floor. And if she flirted a little harder with her current trick just to enjoy his subtle tells – the tenser set of his jaw, the harder line of his shoulders. Well, no one had to know.
Until one night. It was a rare occasion where everyone else was out on a job leaving only him to occupy the common room. And after a playful night of flirting with tricks, and casting him sly gazes over the bar – her heart stopped at the end of the night when he headed for his room, hair askew over his forehead, eyes glinting at her in the low light, and left the door ajar behind him. The obvious invitation had her body thrumming before she'd even closed the door behind her.
She had never abandoned herself to a man so completely before. Nor had teeth sucking bruises been so unbelievably pleasurable. And when he graced her with his given name in the stillness that followed, she'd never heard him sound so vulnerable and she spent at least another hour thanking him with all that she had.
After that night, he didn't always visit whenever he was in between assignments. But her nights with Ron were her favorite. Maybe because she finally put a name to the feeling - the yearning warmth, the peaceful contentment, the desire to know him inside out - that consumed her whenever she was around him. Somewhere along the way, she had fallen hopelessly in love with Ron Speirs.
But she hadn't told him and she didn't dare to. It was just easier to lose herself in the taste and smell of him when he visited. He had been gone so long this time and seeing him now in the low lamp light of her room reaffirmed everything she felt for him.
They didn't kiss. He had never kissed her, and she knew better than to initiate. Though, she desperately wanted to. She knew better, but it pained her to know the delicious push and pull of his body, but not the taste of his lips.
Someday, she pleaded silently as they fell into bed. Someday maybe he'll let her know the press of his lips, the nectar of his kiss. But for now, she continued to move with him, uneven breaths coming between them, the pleasured tension building, chests pressed tight as her fingers carded through his hair. God, his hair had always been her favorite.
She cried out, muffled into his shoulder as he continued to move in her. She didn't always find release when she was with him, and tonight was no exception - though, she was so fucking close. His movements stuttered as he peaked, his breathing coming in a low moan.
Her lips pressed against his skin, trying to impart everything she didn't dare to say. I love you. I want you. Don't leave me.
With a sigh, he bussed his lips against her forehead as he moved to sit backagainst the headboard, still in all his glory as he lit up a cigarette. She stretched with a languid, giddy sigh. The summer months were her favorite - when he was generally more prone to linger, when the air was just too warm and sticky to dress right away.
She moved up to join him, shuffling back the corner of her bedsheet to slide against the cool linen. He handed the cigarette over to her and she wrapped her lips around it.
"Will you tell me a Caesar story?" She asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"Which one?"
"Does it matter? They all have the same name."
He chuckled softly as she handed the cigarette back. "Caesar isn't a name. It's the title for the Roman Emperor – it's like saying King for King Arthur."
"Oh. Well, that makes it less confusing."
He took a deep drag on the cigarette. "Have I told you about Septimius Severus?"
Her face scrunched as she tried to recall that name. "I don't think so."
"One of my favorites. Ruled the longest out of his dynasty, and he saw the empire grow to the pinnacle of its spread across Europe. A military man through and through. Beloved of the people and hated by the politicians."
"Poly-tishins?" She stumbled around the unfamiliar word as she took the cigarette back.
"The lawmakers. He took the title of Caesar with a military take-over, so the lawmakers weren't happy to suddenly have him as their boss."
She quirked a wry brow, taking a drag. "And he's one of your favorites?"
"History regards him as a strong, capable ruler. It was noted that 'his daring ambition was never diverted from its steady course by the allurements of pleasure, the apprehension of danger, or the feelings of humanity.' There's something to be learned from that."
She licked her lips, brushing his fingers as he took the cigarette back for a final pull. "That sounds lonely. To forgo pleasure and human feelings."
"He wasn't celibate. Had at least one wife, and several children. He just didn't let himself get distracted and overcome by his desires. Unlike….Oh, unlike Tiberius. Or Elagabalus."
She chuckled, rolling over onto her side and tucking up against the pillow to study his profile in the low light. "Stop pulling my leg - you made that last name up."
"No, ma'am. Elagabalus – self-named after a Syrian god - became emperor when he just 14 years old. But instead of ruling, he much preferred to dress up as a woman, have sex with other men, and prostitute himself out of the imperial palace."
Her brow furrowed, sadness softening the lines of her eyes. "He was ruler of a whole country, right? Like our president?" He nodded silently as she shifted her head against the pillow with a sigh. "Then why would someone like that choose to be a whore?"
"Ruling an empire is a lot to take on, let alone at 14 years old. Perhaps it was just his way of releasing the high demands of the job."
She yawned with another shake of her head. "If that's true, then I'm sad for him."
He huffed a breathy laugh as he shuffled, leaning down closer to her. "Don't lose sleep over it. As emperor, I'm sure he was still comfortable and very well taken care of."
She hummed in response, basking in the gentle press of his lips against her forehead. The rush of disappointment that followed pushed a sigh from her as he swung his feet to the floor and stood up.
"What about the other one? Tibertius?" A yawn followed, opening her eyes to find him gazing down at her as he dressed.
"I'm not sure you'd stay awake long enough. We'll save Tiberius for next time."
She smiled, unashamedly watching him as he righted the last of his clothing and moved for the door. Someday, she told herself as the door closed behind him.
Someday he will fall asleep beside her and she'll say the words she wants most to say. I love you.
