Rain fell in thick sheets against the jailhouse all night long, adding to the damp chill in the air. It had tapered off for a short while just before dawn, or what she thought should have been dawn. It was disappointing to know that the clouds had denied her the last sunrise she would see. But she tried to focus on other things, other details instead. The sound of the water pattering off the wood exterior, the wet smell that filled the air, the rough wood beneath her fingertips.
The peace of her loneliness passed quickly, and US Marshal Dike descended with Reverend Clark. The soggy smell of rain accompanied them, water dripping and puddling off their slickers.
The minister's eyes were wide and sorrowful as he gazed in at her. "My child." His voice had always been warm and pleasant. "God forgives those who repent and seek his mercy. Do you wish to enter his holy kingdom?"
Dike snorted. "I don't think any words from you will win her that much favor after the noose."
"That is not for you to decide, Norman." Clark scolded with a gentle turn of his head. "God listens to all his children, and I do not believe Miss Martin is so far gone that he has stopped listening to her."
Something about that thought was reassuring, and her lips lifted in a tiny crack of a smile. "Thank you, reverend. But I stopped listening to him years ago. It don't seem right now to impose on him when I've shunned him for so long.
"Even now? At the hour of your death, you will not call to him?" Clark sounded disappointed, clutching his bible tighter.
She swallowed hard, blowing a shaky breath. But that was from hunger. She was too hungry to waste energy on fear and nerves. "No, reverend. I've said my piece, and I'll find my own way – just like I did in this life."
Clark bowed his head, obviously regretful. "I am sorry that you feel that way. I shall pray for you up there today."
"Good. Now with that done," Dike said, boots thumping heavily as he neared her cell, keys jingling. "We got a whole parcel of people out there, standing in the rain, waiting to see you swing. Best not keep them waiting."
She gulped, hands clenched together as the cell door swung open and Dike entered. He reached for her wrists faster than she could think in her starving, muddled state, binding them tight together. A tear leaked from her eye as he pulled her forward by the rope, her stocking-clad feet numb to the cold and sore to move. A shiver raced through her as Clark opened the door to the rain that now fell with a gentle flow.
"May God have mercy on your soul, child." The reverend gave her a nod that held such an air of finality as Dike pulled her forward and out onto the porch. Another shiver shook her limbs, the damp chill biting through her filthy cotton dress as she was lead down the steps into the falling rain.
The street mud soaked through her clothing as she staggered along, ignoring all the faces in the crowd, fixated on the town scaffold. She could vaguely hear Dike answering questions, offering comments to people as they passed, but in her hazy state, her mind couldn't focus on any of it.
Rainwater ran down her face as she looked down to her feet, starting up the stairs. It sounded like a general chorus of boos and hisses were now rising from the crowd. She could certainly hear the slurs yelled out against her – Whore! Harlot! Sinner! Criminal! A tear rolled down her cheek, mixing with the rain as she continued up the slippery stairs, huffing for breath, using the last bit of energy she had. It wouldn't matter soon enough.
She reached the top, not feeling Dike's hold on the rope slacken, stumbling as he pulled her forward. With an ungraceful tumble, she hit the scaffold platform with a wet splat.
"Git up, whore. Come on, now." An unfamiliar nasally voice called out from above, rough hands seizing her shoulders and midsection. "Come on – on yet feet. Can't hang ya lyin' down like that."
She tried to offer a protest, but no words came as the unknown man pushed her forward, her head snapping up to see the dangling noose just in front of her face. With a trembling lip, she turned out to face the crowd, blinking around the raindrops.
Were they really not out there? Did they not know? Had no one really come? It was impossible to tell anyone apart in the rain – too many dark hats and slickers, some umbrellas. A fear she hadn't felt inside the jail pitted in her stomach, bringing more tears to her eyes. Her gaze drifted skyward, eyes dropping closed. Was it too late to make a heavenly plea?
Harsh reality returned as the cold, wet rope brushed against her hair, bumping into her face as it was lowered to settle around her neck. She gasped against the sudden yank that Dike gave before his hands fell to the binding on her hands, pulling her to stand more squarely over the trap door. Her heart slammed in her chest, blood screaming with every survival instinct. This couldn't be it. Surely…surely…
"People! People!" Dike's voice rang out, quieting the general rabble. "You have come here to witness the passing of sentence on Lily Josephine Martin! Found guilty of harboring fugitives of the law and moral indecency of the most abhorrent nature!" The crowd roared their disgust for her crimes and excitement at the justice to be served. Tears stung her eyes.
"The prisoner has declined to hear or accept any of God's last mercy," Dike continued, more guffaws rising from the crowd, "but in her last moments – in your last moments, Lily Josephine Martin." He fixed his eyes on her, doing his best to affect an aura of imposing righteousness. "I pray God's judgement be served on your soul, and if he deems you worthy of mercy, then I shall stand corrected. If you have any last words, say them now."
She licked her lips, thoughts flooding her mind. What words could she make matter here, now at the end? "The man – the men that Dike says are fugitives. They're not – they're just doing their part to help people. The marshal's the crooked one – and that judge!"
"Enough!" Dike roared, stepping forward, hands falling roughly to her shoulders to reign her in.
"They're the ones that should hang for their crimes!" She continued on, emboldened. "The men of Easy saved me, gave me the best life." She struggled against Dike's hold, turning her head to avoid his hand that now held a cloth. "And I love him – Ronmmfph!" Dike forced the cloth between her lips, stuffing her mouth full to stifle any additional words.
A murmur rose from the crowd as Dike stepped back, a hand tight on the back of her head in a clear threat.
"Regrettable that you would use your last words to spread lies, Miss Martin, but it should have been expected from someone of such poor moral fiber." He sighed, a relieved sound. "Hangman? Proceed."
The scaffold shook with heavy footfalls behind her, her eyes searching the crowd pleadingly, screaming muffled words into the cloth that filled her mouth. Would she even have a warning before the trap door opened?
"Marshal Dike! Marshal Dike! Quick!" A voice hollered out from the crowd, clearly panicked. A short, fat man was doing his best to run towards the group, waving and forcing his way through the throng. "They're here! Those criminals! They're – they're robbing the Citizen's Chamber." He pointed animatedly, his face imploring. "I just…they just barely missed shooting me! Please!"
Dike huffed, looking over his shoulder at the hangman, clearly torn on what to do. He looked back to the red-faced little man, his jaw tensing. "Robbing a citizen's chamber doesn't sound like them, Mr. Wilkins."
"Marshal, please! You hung that wanted poster for the one who was wanted for lootin' and theiven'." Wilkins seemed to be getting impossibly redder, more agitated. "Marshal – you have to stop them! Before they rob what the town has!"
"Goddamit." Dike swore under his breath, turning with a murderous glare towards the hangman. "Shoot anyone who lays a hand or foot on this scaffold who isn't me, you hear? This smells like a trap to me."
"I'll just pull the lever, Marshal." The nasally voiced hangman replied. "Then she's done and we're done."
"No," Dike grumbled, starting down the stairs. "They're obviously planning to hold the town money in ransom for her life. She may need to live just a little bit longer. Remember," he turned back up towards the hangman with a pointed glare, "if anyone makes a move on the scaffold – shoot 'em."
"Yes, sir!" The cocking of a shotgun sounded behind her as she frantically searched the crowd, wondering if it really was true.
"Come on, Marshal! Hurry! You, too – come along! Maybe we can outnumber them!" The larger man rallied others to his cause, a small posse forming around Dike as he started to work through the crowd.
"Y'all 'member what he said now," the hangman stepped around her, towards the front end of the scaffold, scanning the crowd with the barrel of the shotgun, "no one even think'a touchin' this here scaffold."
A general rumble rose from the crowd, dismay at the delay, concern at the reported robbery. Her heart pounded with hope to think it could actually be true. Of course, they had to have known! She watched Dike continue his way through the crowd, offering reassurances as he went – until a shot rang out. No, multiple shots. Fast-paced shots.
Dark hats, jackets and umbrellas started running every which way, the air loud with women's screams, and men's hollers, over the continued noise of rapid shots. The hangman started firing his shotgun – at who or what, she couldn't tell in all of the panicked chaos that had erupted without warning. Maybe Dike was yelling out? Trapped as he was in the middle of the rushing, terrified crowd.
The rapid, popping shots continued, adding to the bleary chaos. A woman screamed as the hangman on the scaffold doubled over, falling head first into the crowd. She couldn't believe it as she stared – the sounds of screaming all around here, Dike's cries getting lost in the crowd.
A short, slim, black slicker clad figure charged up the scaffold stairs as another rode up alongside the scaffold on horseback, a riderless horse at his side.
"Come on." Gene's voiced washed over her as he reached for the noose. "Didn't think we'd really let you hang, did you?"
She sobbed with audible relief, her knees going instantly weak as the rope was lifted free and he wrapped an arm around to steer over to the edge of the scaffold, undoing the bond around her wrists with the other. The other man on horseback had turned in the saddle, firing off sharp shots from his Peacemaker. Through the tears in her eyes, she could just make out Ron's handsome features beneath his dark hat. An answering gunshot sounded from the crowd.
"Get on." Gene encouraged, helping her kneel and slide onto the back of Ron's horse.
Ron turned back around, pulling one of her arms around his wet slicker as he holstered his gun. "Can you hold on?"
"For dear life." Her other arm came around his midsection, wrapping around him in a desperate cling.
She slumped against his back as the horse took off in a jarring gallop, the rest of the world falling to a blur.
xxx
She didn't remember much about how they got here, how long they rode. She remembered the painful, jarring movements of the horse; the reassuring warmth of Ron's back; and the boneless relief that overtook her. Maybe there'd been a night in there somewhere? She really couldn't say.
She just knew that Dick, Lew, Ron - all of them - had to know about her. And even better, they had come for her. He came back.
She clung tighter to Ron's side as she hobbled on unstable legs towards…whatever building this way. She could hear Ron and Gene's voices swirling around her, but the words were lost in the overwhelming comfort of their familiar tones. Tears stung at her eyes, overjoyed, and then she hit a wall of heat as the door opened.
"Careful, now." Ron's voice rumbled low in her ear as she felt his hold on her shuffle. "You can't go to sleep just yet."
"Hmm, and why no..." Her head lolled against his shoulder, melting in the warmth of the room. She didn't know where they were, but had she ever felt a place so warm? He lead her over towards another room, another wave of heat bringing a distant smile to her face.
"She needs to get out of those clothes." Gene said, his voice hesitant. "Then, she should drink something warm. I'll, uh…I'll go find something."
She registered the sound of a door closing as Ron guided over to he sit on something soft. A bed. A real bed with quilts.
"Can you…you heard what he said." Ron looked at her hesitantly.
She raised an unsteady hand to the top button of her dress, fumbling as she struggled to pop it loose. His hands came around hers, guiding it free. He dropped to the next button with a tentative exhale that drew her gaze to his face. His hair hung in wet swoops across his forehead, dark circles under his eyes, and a dark covering of facial hair colored his jaw. He looked at least ten years older and utterly exhausted – she just wanted to hold him close, soothe his troubles away.
His fingers fumbled with a button and he bit his lip. She'd never known him to hesitate undressing her before. She didn't think it should be any different now, but it was – this felt too raw. Too exposed.
"Never again."
She couldn't even be sure that he'd spoken, the words were so soft and rushed. She looked up at him, confusion pinching her brow. "What'd you say?"
"Never again." He repeated. "We shouldn't have left you – I shouldn't have left you. I don't want to leave you. Or share you ever again. Not with Nixon. Not with anyone." He met her gaze with a fierce conviction. "Never again."
Her heart caught in her throat, stunned. She stared back at him, every emotion raw on her face as tears wet her eyes. "You really mean that?"
"I'll give you a gold band soon as I can to prove it."
The first tear rolled down her cheek, her smile trembling. "You…you will?"
A soft, crooked smile cracked his face as he brought a hand up to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her wet skin. "Yes." Another tear caught his thumb. "Took me thinking I almost had to live without you to realize that I didn't want to. Whatever I have to do to convince you of that."
She sniffled. "I don't need no convincing, Ron. I've loved you for years – wanted to tell you so many times."
"I know. You were terrible at hiding it towards the end."
"Then why didn't you let me?"
"If you'd said it, how could I keep leaving you for weeks at a time when it's something I want to hear you say every day."
"I love you. I love you – and you can't stop me from saying it now." A weight lifted from her chest as the words poured forth, drowning in the warmth of his gaze, overcome with relief and realized love. "I love you. So fucking much, you – you shitheel, bastard! For not letting me tell you. The one damn that I only ever wanted to tell you! And leaving me in the woods. Scared that I'd never be able to tell you."
His free hand rose to her other cheek, brushing at the falling tears as he gently cradled her face. "You're right – I am a shitheel bastard for all of that, and more. Even so, I can't bring myself to stop loving you, too." He leaned in, slow and deliberate, touching his lips to hers.
She froze under his kiss - so soft, undemanding – as the waves broke over the dam. All at once, she surged forward, kissing him for everything she was worth as she pressed into him, savoring the slide of his lips against hers. She wanted to melt into him, lost in the strokes of his tongue and the strong hold of his arms around her. This was everything she had ever wanted in life, found now as she moaned into his mouth, carding her fingers through his hair.
She broke from his lips with a gasping sob, resting her forehead against his, overcome with happy delirium. The heavy weight of his hand against her back, the reassuring press of his chest to hers, and the panting rush of his breath against her lips built her back up as she continued to fall apart.
"Never again." He promised.
Thinking back on it now, she was pretty sure that she dozed off in Ron's arms. But eventually, they got her out of her soiled dress and into the warm, dry wool trousers and shirt that she wore now. Gene had showed up at some point, bearing a bowl of warm broth with chunks of hardtack floating in it. She had eagerly taken to it, the heat of it seeping through her limbs adding a new lethargy to her wrung-out exhaustion.
She had begged Ron to stay with her. At least until she fell asleep. And, sure enough, the last thing she remembered was the feel of his lips on her forehead, his steady fingers interlaced with hers.
It was morning now, but the thick clouds made it difficult to tell the exact time. She had risen from the bed upon waking, amazed what good the sleep and food had done her. Her limbs still felt a little weak, but all things considered, she was feeling pretty damn good.
She spun the knife lazily against the tabletop, noting the little divot that had started to form in the wood. Upon waking to find that both Gene and Ron were out, she had taken it upon herself to explore their hideout and she still couldn't quite believe where they were.
Everyone said the old abandoned Strothers Brothers mine was exactly that – old and abandoned. Worthless. Dangerous. Both of the boys had died up on this mountain, after all. But this building – the bunkhouse – seemed to be alright. The windows were still largely in place, the roof didn't have any gaping holes. Sure, some of the floorboards looked a little suspect but they had held so far. It had several little bunkrooms and a main room with a large stove. Had this been where the Strothers Brothers slept?
She glanced up, out the window at the main building of the mine. It nestled right up against the bunkhouse, built into the mountainside. The front expanse of the landscape leading up to it was littered with diggings piles and other discarded mining refuse. She wondered where there could possibly be enough grass or hay for horses.
By contrast, the bunkhouse looked to be stocked with plenty of provisions. Stores of tinned food, clothing for all seasons, blankets, weapons, lanterns, various tools. She hadn't heard much hearsay about the mine after the Pueblo Desperadoes were captured. Had all these supplies belonged to them?
Either way, it hadn't stopped her from lifting a knife from the stockpiled goods.
Presumably, Dike was coming for them. He surely couldn't allow such a blatant affront to stand. And if he was coming, then she sure as fucking hell wasn't going back without a fight.
The door squeaked in its hinge as it opened, and she tightened her grip on the knife, raising it in defense.
"Whoa…steady, Lily." Gene smiled reassuringly from under his hat, doing his best to raise a hand in surrender despite the firewood gathered in his arms.
She lowered the knife, doing her best to return his smile. "Sorry, Gene. I thought – I couldn't be sure who it was."
He nodded in understanding as he walked over to the stove. "It's good to see you up. How're you feeling?"
"Alright, actually. The food and sleep really helped."
"To say nothing about the healing power of a whole heart." He looked to her with a small, knowing grin. "He was hurting the whole length of the trail to get to you. Afraid, if we'd been too late, that he'd see the countryside burn in retribution."
Her cheeks started to flush as she met his grin, fingers playing awkwardly over the knife handle. "Well – for both our sakes, then, I'm glad y'all weren't too late."
He looked back to the bucket by the stove, unloading the last of the wood before standing. "Where'd you find the knife?"
"There's a selection of them with the other goods stored in this bunkhouse." She picked it up, dragging the tip along the wood surface. "Wasn't sure where you and Ron had gone, but I wanted to be prepared in case…." She brushed her thumb along the knife's edge as the rest of her words caught in her throat. She may not want to admit to the prospect of Dike finding her, dragging her back to the gallows, but she'd be damned if she was ever caught unaware again.
"And you chose a knife over a gun?"
"I ain't never fired a gun before."
"But you've used a knife?"
"Yes."
Gene drew a breath for another question but the door swung open with a bang as Ron's tall figure breezed through, bringing a cold draft of air to swirl about the main room. "Horses are seen to." He shrugged out of his jacket and hat before looking to her at the table. His gaze instantly fixed on the knife and her thumb dancing along the sharp edge. "Everything alright?"
She nodded. "I…I just wanted some protection while you two were out."
"You should probably reconsider that knife for a shotgun."
"I already told Gene that I ain't never fired a gun before, but I know what to do with a knife."
"One knife won't do much against a hail of bullets."
Her mouth upturned as she shrugged. "Maybe not. But if any of them try to come through that door." She gripped the knife blade tight, squaring her gaze and letting the knife fly. It landed with a hard thunk in the wood wall across the main room, the handle casually protruding out.
Ron looked from the knife to her, suspicious curiosity in his gaze. "That takes practice."
She pushed up from the table. "Yes, it does."
"Lots of practice."
"Yes." She walked over, grunting in effort as she worked the knife out of the wood.
Gene looked between them before settling on Ron, brow furrowed. "You – did you know that she could do that?"
"No." Both sets of eyes were on her as she turned back for the table. "Why didn't you say you were practiced with knives?"
She shrugged, unconcerned. "Dick made me promise not to tell."
X
Six Years Ago
"Don't beat on me, Ed."
"Shut-up and take it, bitch." Ed grunted, thrusting into her again as she grimaced, bracing on the edge of the table. "That's it...goddamn. You're a bad girl, ain't ya? A real bad girl."
She cried out as Ed's hand connected with her face again. This time, his knuckles caught her just beneath her right eye, the skin still tender from his last below. "Don't. Beat. On. Me. Again." She growled through clenched teeth, bracing against the onslaught of his hips.
"Or what, whore?" He snarled on another particularly hard thrust, her back slamming into the wall. "Or nothing. You can't do shit to me." His hand flew before she could register it, another cry of pain on her lips as he smacked her across the face.
She breathed through the screaming agony in her nose, the tang of blood in her mouth as her hands scrambled under the table's edge. The knife slipped free of its hiding place and she drew it up between the pounding movements of his body, slashing blindly at his midsection.
He pulled back with a roaring howl, slipping free of her body as he staggered back with his trousers around his ankles.
"You. Bitch!" He hollered, eyes blazing as he stared down at the blood from the slash across his stomach. "You're gonna fucking pay for that!" He started inching for the door, reaching down to gather his pants, trying to pull them up.
"I said it - said you not to beat on me." She shrugged her shift up over her shoulders, still wielding the knife between them.
"And then you pull a fucking knife on me!"
She lunged as he threw open the door open, clutching his trousers loosely in one hand, the other pressed to his stomach.
"Help! This whore knifed me! She's got a knife!" The general din of the saloon died down, all eyes settling on Ed as he rushed out of her room. It did nothing to deter her as she pursued him, knife brandished and ready. "Someone shoot her, godammit!"
"Oh Lily, Lily…That's quite enough, now." Jimmy, her owner, stepped forward from the crowd, annoyed disappointment darkening his face. "Give me the knife. Now."
"No." She snarled, fixing her gaze back on Ed, jabbing the knife forward, delighting in watching him flinch. "I told him many'a times not to go beatin' on me." She fixed her gaze on Jimmy, sure that she made quite the picture. Blood pouring out of her nose, her right eye threatening to swell shut, and that was to say nothing of her threadbare shift, her disheveled hair. "And he jist went on fucking. Hitting. Me. Well, no more!" She jerked back to look at Ed, smiling at the small pool of blood that had formed at his feet.
A solid force slammed into her back, gripping her wrist in a wrenching hold. She cried out against the assault, struggling against her attacker as the knife was pried from her fingers with brute force. The knife skittered against the wood and she groaned, frustrated to watch Ed relax as she was subdued.
"Oh, Lily...honey, I'd apologize, but you have brought this on yourself." Jimmy stepped up to her, attempting a remorseful look though nothing in his voice supported it. His backhand sent her reeling as her captor threw her across the room, landing chest down against the dirty, sawdust and chewing-wad laden floor. Laughter erupted around her as her vision swam, her head spinning. Her face screamed at the impact and she spit the growing pool of blood in her mouth onto the floor. She struggled to breathe, to regain clarity, just able to hear Jimmy's voice over the rush of blood in her ears.
"Apologies for such a disruption. I assure you - there are no more bad apples in my barrel. And as a good show of my fucking faith on that subject - a round of drinks are on the house. And -"
She ignored the rest of Jimmy's words, focusing instead on the pair of boots closest to her. There was a familiar outline, hidden ever so subtly, in the leather. Her previous knife was out of reach, but this one? This one was right in her face. She glanced up at the man wearing the boots, surprised to see him looking down at her. Him, with his startlingly red hair and blue eyes; and his friend, with dark, thick hair and brows. The concern on both of their faces was staggering.
She spit out another mouthful of blood, dropping her gaze back to the redhead's boot with obvious intent. If he wanted to stop her, she knew he would. She lunged forward, reaching in the leather of his boot and pulling the knife free. She rolled over, easily spotting Ed in the crowd, heaving relieved sighs as he talked with Jimmy.
"She's another knife!" A man in the crowd hollered out as she lined up her shot.
The knife flew from her hand, embedding squarely in Ed's gut. The air punched out of him with a strangled cry as he crumpled to the ground under the force of her blow. Guns flew out of holsters as Jimmy's eyes blazed.
"Gentlemen, don't be rash, please." A voice sounded overhead and she looked back to see the redheaded man standing calmly, his gun drawn. "This woman is under my protection."
"I own that woman." Jimmy sneered. "Just who the fuck are you?"
"You don't want to know." The dark-haired man answered, tipping back his whiskey in a smooth go.
"And why don't I want to fucking know?" She recognized Jimmy's impatient tone.
"Because we're not supposed to say who we are, so we would have to kill you if we say." The dark-haired man sighed dramatically. "And that's more time and mess than we, sadly, have to spare."
"So, we'll be leaving. And this woman is coming with us." The redhead finished, reaching a hand down to her. She couldn't believe her ears. Were they actually serious? Slowly, she reached for his hand, struggling to her feet. She did her best to offer a nod of thanks, pain splitting her skull at the movement.
"What about Ed here?" Jimmy gestured at the man now laying motionless on the floor. "She needs to be brought to account for her murder."
"One look at her face and anyone'll know it was self defense." The dark-haired man stepped alongside the redhead. "Don't you worry - we'll see that she gets what's coming to her."
She stared sharply at him, mouth pursing in betrayal. Were they only rescuing her from this hell to turn her over to the sheriff?
Jimmy sighed, a frustrated, angry sound. "Fine. So fucking be it! Take her! She's more trouble than she's worth! You'd do well to just slit her throat on your way out of town! And she better not come back here. Ever! You hear that?! She's your fucking problem!"
"Yes," the redhead said calmly, as they gently started to move for the door. "She is our problem now."
They pushed through the crowd out into the crisp night air.
"Well, this was certainly more excitement than I bargained for tonight." The dark-haired man sighed, looking her over, concerned. "You're quite a mess."
She shot him a wary glare. "Didn't say you had to help me. Or your friend."
"No, but you did use my knife on that man. I'll have to replace it now." The redhead said, glancing up and down the street. "Come on, we need to keep moving."
The other man sighed wistfully. "Back to the hotel to pack up, hm?"
"Yes."
"You know that I was looking forward to a real bed tonight."
"I know. I'll make it up to you."
She followed behind them, awkwardly pulling her shift tighter around her. "And what'll you do with me?"
"Afraid you'll have to come with us." The redhead simply said. "At least until we clear town and put a few more between us and this place. I'll make you a job offer and you can decide if you want to take it or not."
"Easy as that?" She sniffled, leaning sideways to spit a mouthful of blood into the street. "Does that mean sucking your cocks?"
"No." The redhead answered sharply. "No. And if you work for us, you'll never have to do that again for money."
Had she heard him right? What kind of job was he offering?
They approached the front of the Majestic Hotel which she'd always thought was a ridiculous name for such a shitty place. "I…I can't go in there." She said, slowing her footsteps. "I…I can just be out back, ready for you, if you'd rather."
"Nonsense." The dark-haired man continued ahead, unbothered. "We got to get you cleaned up, and that can't be done in a back alley."
"But the owner – Stephenson." She pulled her shift tighter, protectively. "He's a customer."
The redhead sighed, frustrated. "Oh, for crying out loud."
"You take her. I'll deal with him." The dark-haired one offered, drawing a small smile from the other man.
"Thanks, Nix."
She glanced down as the redhead took her hand, urging her forward.
"Mr. Nixon! And Mr. Winters. Sirs, welcome back so soo –" Stephenson's greeting died as he glared at Winters pulling her into the lobby. "You got this place all wrong – she ain't welcome here!"
"She's not here for that." Nixon said, voice commanding all authority. "We are going to go upstairs, and in 10 minutes, we will all come down and be on our way. We'll pay you in full. No trouble."
"In full? For the three nights that you was supposed to be here?"
"In full." Nothing in Nixon's voice wavered as Winters lead her up the stairs.
"10 minutes." Stephenson's grumble could just be heard from the landing. "Don't think that I ain't counting the time. And if I hear anything untoward -"
"Then, by all means." Nixon's voice carried lazily up the stairs to match his footsteps. "Come break the door down."
Winters opened the door to the room, ushering her inside. "You'll find – uh, clean water in the washbasin. Same with the towel. Clean yourself up, and you'll just have to borrow some of my clothes until we can get you your own."
"This…this ain't right." She said, unable to believe he was just doing all this. What? Out of the goodness of his heart? Everyone always wanted something.
"You should get moving. Nix promised 10 minutes. I'm aiming for less."
She looked from him, rummaging in his leather pack, back towards the washbasin stand. She looked down at her soiled shift, sniffling and stepping forward. The towel material was rough as she picked it up, dipping it in the water.
"What's the deal?" She had to ask, dabbing gingerly at her face, squinting in the mottled mirror. "What's this job -"
"We don't have much time." Nixon's voice cut over hers as the door opened, closing softly.
"Once she's done."
She shrugged down the top of his shift, wiping at the blood that stained her chest. "This job." She said again. "What is it?"
"Wouldn't…wouldn't you rather get dressed first?" She looked behind her in the mirror, seeing both men with their backs steadfastly turned, Winters' arm extended with a shirt and trousers.
She snorted a laugh, reaching out to take the clothes. "Many'a men have seen me naked. It ain't no trouble. You know, y'all're quite a pair of lookers – some of the best I ever laid eyes on."
"Well, that's…that's flattering." The voice she recognized as Nixon stammered.
"Nix," the other man admonished. "That, notwithstanding. We're in the saloon business. En route to our place. And we'll need saloon girls."
"Saloon girls?" She scoffed, running the towel between her legs before adjusting her shift, shrugging into the oversized shirt.
"Yes – create atmosphere. You know, entice the patrons to stay and spend their money." Nixon said.
"Didn't you say I won't be sucking cocks for money with this job?"
"And you won't." Winters called out, resolute. "You don't leave the gaming floor with patrons. You circulate between tables – all look, and only as much touch as you allow. That place you were in…that's not what we're about."
"Never will be." Nixon joined in.
"You mean it?" She stepped into the trousers. "You can turn back now. And you mean, men really go to places where they can't get their prick sucked or brined?"
Winters sighed with a reproachful shake of his head. "We'll have to work on your brothel language.
"Wouldn't want your frail sensibilities to suffer." Nixon teased as a small grin lifted the corner of the other man's lips.
"Well, that…" Honestly, it sounded like heaven – too good to be true. And they were just offering it to her? Like that? They knew nothing about her. "I don't know if y'all are jist crazy or stupid – but working for you has got to be better than working for Jimmy. If, uh, you've suspenders or a rope," she motioned to the pants threatening to slide off her hips. "Then we can go."
"Welcome aboard." Nixon smiled as Winters turned back to his bag. "Lily, was it?"
"Yes, sir – Lily Martin."
"Pleasure, Lily. Lewis Nixon."
"Dick Winters." He held out a pair of suspenders. "Turn around."
She stepped closer, turning around, feeling a tug on the trousers, the movements of his hands deliberately not touching her.
"One more thing," Winters' voice was quiet over her shoulder. "Don't take my knife again. In fact, let's have no more knives – ever. You have a problem, you come to one of us. Understood?"
"Though that was impressive." Nixon added. "Where'd you learn to throw a knife like that?"
"My daddy was a knife thrower for a traveling shitshow. There ain't much I can't do with a knife."
"A specialty act, hmm?" Nixon mused.
"You want a private show?"
"And those facts need go no further than this room." Winters sternly interjected, looping the suspenders up over her shoulders. She took the loose ends fastening them on the waist before turning around. Her head throbbed, and she could barely see out of her right eye, but with this new chance at life – she felt ready for anything.
"Well, Lily Martin," Winters held out his hand. "Welcome to the Easy Saloon."
X
Gene's face pinched tight, incredulous. "Your daddy threw knives?"
"All his life. He was very good."
"And your mama allowed that?"
She smiled suggestively. "More than that, he said. Said it really made her wild for him."
His mouth opened in shocked surprise. "You mean – cutting for pleasure."
"Why not? I had some customers who really liked when I did it to them."
Ron looked from the knife hole in the wall back at her, unfazed by the current direction of the conversation. "So, you're good with knives too. Is what you're trying to say."
"Yes, I'm good with knives. May be a little rusty – it's been six years since I was really allowed to do anything with them. Other than chop food. But I could probably put one through Dike's belly if I've the chance."
"Like Ron said," Gene stated, "won't be that useful when Dike comes with guns."
"No," Ron agreed, "but maybe we can give you something else to throw. How does dyanmite sound?"
Gene turned to glare at Ron. "Are you truly not right in the head? That stuff's unstable – you nearly did for us and yourself with that safe. And now you want your lady love to blow herself up?"
"If this all goes to hell, then she may prefer it to going back to Dike's hospitality." Ron leveraged his taller height to return Gene's glare. "You know they're coming. Even Dike's not stupid enough to miss the trail that we left leading them here. We don't have a lot of time to get set for when they do arrive and Winters isn't here yet."
He paused, reaching for his pouch of cigarettes and striking a match. "I've seen you - you're better with a shotgun, but that won't help us at a distance. If she's throwing sticks of dynamite, that will help confuse and scatter Dike's men. Hell, it might even chase the more cowardly ones away for good – cause don't think that Dike won't bring every hand he can muster to enact the law's vengeance."
Gene stared back at him, obviously considering. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, lips pursing. "Flying sticks of dynamite and us shooting out at them will only do so good. They'll just stand out of range until we run out. Or starve."
Ron's lips quirked with a conspiratorial edge. "They'll struggle to figure out where that range is. There are small kegs of black powder nestled in the various diggings and debris out there. One clean shot and they'll go up."
"Shit." Gene's brows narrowed in accusation. "You are trying to kill us. It's a wonder this whole damn mountainside hasn't blown up yet. What a lovely deathtrap you've created."
"Or a stronghold. The saloon was too vulnerable to stand on its own forever. Even Winters knew that, too. When the Pueblo Desperadoes were arrested, this place was ripe for the picking."
"So, you picked it. Fortified it for a rainy day." Gene shook with his head with a tight, frustrated movement. "If Winters knew what you'd done with this place, I can't decide if he'd kick you out or promote you."
Ron snorted breathily. "What makes you think he doesn't know? How else would he know where to find us?"
Gene fell silent, his lips pursed tight.
Lily sighed, resolutely looking between them. "I'd like to help, if I can. Can't say I'll be any good at throwing dynamite, but I've never fired a rifle, so that's probably a better bet."
Ron nodded, looking back at the other man. "Come on, Gene. This is the only way we get through this."
"Mon dieu." Gene groaned. "If you quote 'The Three Musketeers', I will lay you out flat."
Up Next:
October Part III - In which the final showdown brings about the end.
If you're reading this – thank you for making it this far!
