Cap and Daisy rode in silence until they came upon a small town Daisy had never visited. There was a post office, a general store, and a building - half saloon, half hotel - where they could sleep for the night.
"It's either this or a barn," Cap had said, and Daisy had briefly entertained the notion. She would not relish the feel of hay beneath her sleeping being, but the solitude would be worth the discomfort.
"We don't have any money," she had protested.
"I do," Cap had answered quietly, never meeting her concerned eyes. He had openly reached into one of his saddlebags and pulled out a small leather sack that jingled like church bells. Daisy had said no more until they reached the garish interior of the establishment.
It was early evening, and the first of the many regulars were filtering in. They sat around circular tables decorated with many empty bottles, the glass twinkling in the candlelight. The walls were red, and Daisy thought that the color reflected off of each and every worn face so that she felt as though she were entering a demon's pit full of wicked patrons. They studied her and Cap with drunk and disinterested eyes, and Daisy could not help but return the stares as she and Cap made their way to the bar. Daisy had never been in such a place before, and she thought that she would never like to be in one again. On the wall beside the bar hung an enormous painting of a nude woman, sprawled languidly across a sofa, her nipples as red as cherries. Daisy's face flamed in embarrassment.
"Two rooms," Cap said to the man behind the bar, whose heavy eyes glided from Cap to Daisy and back again. If he thought the arrangement odd, he did not let on. He nodded once, set down the glass he was polishing with a dirty rag, and disappeared behind a curtain between the many rows of liquor shelved on the walls.
Daisy did not know the way that Cap studied her then, for she was busy surveying the room: the cheap decorations, the faux gold of the wall sconces, the tired and scruffy saloon girls who dutifully perched atop eager knees, pushing their breasts into drunken faces. Daisy did not see the slump of Cap's shoulders as he leaned atop the bar. She did not see the sadness in his eyes, as if he were resigned to some fate he rather not acknowledge. She did not see the way his gaze roamed the room, landing on each and every man in the place who had suddenly taken an interest in Daisy. She was young and beautiful and clean (if not a little bloodied from her travails), oblivious to the lecherous glares that drank in her face and form. Daisy did not know that Cap spotted one man licking his lips as his eyes traveled across Daisy's chest, and as Cap's face darkened, he made a quick and surprisingly easy decision.
The bar keep came back through the burgundy curtain carrying two sets of keys. He silently placed them before Cap, holding out a flattened palm to receive payment.
"On second thought," Cap said. "Just the one room."
Daisy's head snapped in the direction of the two men, and for the first time in hours, Cap's mismatched eyes met hers. She furrowed her brow in confusion, and he stepped close to her then, as close as they had stood at the dance.
"If you think I'm leavin' you in a room by yourself around this lot," Cap whispered. "Then you really are crazy." Daisy took one final glance about the ever-increasing number of men in the saloon, finally absorbing the severity of their lustful stares. She returned her eyes to Cap, whose face hovered a few inches away from hers. She nodded once, feeling vulnerable and naïve, lost in a big and foreign world save for the protection of a Hatfield.
The bartender's thick mustache twitched slightly, but he maintained his bored expression, still holding out his hand. Cap clunked a few small coins into the calloused palm, and then added one more, briefly holding it suspended above the others until the barkeep met Cap's eyes. Both men nodded, and as Cap let the last coin fall, Daisy sensed that they had reached some sort of silent agreement.
As the two trudged up the grand and winding staircase, Daisy felt Cap's hand against the small of her back, guiding her up and away from the danger he sensed in the saloon. Daisy did not shake free of his hand, and was sorry when they rounded a corner and she felt it drop away. Their room was on the far end of a poorly lit corridor, the walls and carpet the same dank shade of blood red. Daisy felt as if she were floating through a sanguine river as Cap fiddled with the key in the lock and finally pried the wooden door open. Inside, the room was large, with sparse and ancient furnishings. There was a dilapidated wardrobe, a small writing desk and chair, a blackened fireplace in the corner, and in the center of the room, a giant bed covered in threadbare quilts.
Cap hoisted his saddlebags up and off of his shoulder, letting them fall on the bed with a soft crash. Daisy stood numb and unmoving near the closed door as he rummaged through pockets, finally pulling something free, clutching it in his fist. He came towards Daisy, reaching for one of her slack hands that hung at her side as if weighed down with lead. He placed the object in her palm, and she felt the splintered wood and sharp metal of a knife.
"If someone comes knockin'," Cap said, his look of concern unwavering as it met the question in Daisy's eyes. "Don't let them in, no matter what they say. If they try somethin', you use this." He gestured towards the knife in Daisy's hand and she nodded dumbly.
"Where are you goin'?" she asked, her voice as small and quiet as that of a frightened child. Cap heaved a sigh.
"I gotta do a few things," he stated, and Daisy nodded again. Even if she didn't want to be left alone in such a place, what could she say to Cap to make him stay? They hadn't resolved their issues; they hadn't even cleaned their wounds. For a moment, Daisy marveled at the determination in Cap's face, even through the cuts and bruises.
Cap walked around Daisy and opened the door. She did not turn, but she knew that he was standing there in the threshold, studying her, waiting for something. As if his grief were heat, she felt something hot, something barely contained, fall off of him and roll towards her like a storm cloud.
"Lock the door behind me," he said softly, and went away into the night, leaving Daisy alone.