Chapter 9 – Unexpected Reactions

They finished the branding the next day without too much trouble, considering Bart's injured hand. After that was done Molly and Bret rode into Yuma so she could order a new window for the barn, and he convinced her a late lunch was an excellent idea. They went to the cantina and ate something that Molly ordered, a local specialty she told him, and whatever it was turned out to be quite good. Then they walked down the street; Bret picked up a few small things in the general store, where they ran into Conrad Sanders.

"You're still here," Sanders commented to Bret, and the gambler smiled and nodded.

"Yep, that I am," he replied. "Took a nice little ride up to Fort Yuma and had a real interestin' conversation with Colonel Jessup."

"Oh?" Sanders asked. "And how is the Colonel?"

"Fine, except he's a little short on his cattle orders. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Marshal?"

"Sorry, not a thing. I have nothing to do with any business that the fort does or doesn't conduct. You have any more problems out at your place, Miss Molly?"

Bret and Bart had both advised Molly to claim that nothing happened at the ranch. "No, Conrad, everything's been as quiet as could be."

"That's good," he answered without even blinking. "Well, I've got work to do. You two have a good time in town, ya hear?"

"We will, marshal. Thanks," Bret told Conrad, as he took hold of Molly's elbow and steered her out the door.

"What was that?" she asked when they got far enough away from the general store to not be overheard.

"That, my dear Molly, was Liar's Poker. And the marshal blinked."

"Huh?" the girl asked, not understanding what the gambler meant.

"He probably already knew that I'd been to see the Colonel, and he expected you to complain about the shooting."

"And that means what?"

"That he's involved. Hancock was right."

"And you could tell all that how?"

"By his poker face. He doesn't have a very good one."

"Oh." They rode out of town, back towards the ranch, and it was a few minutes before either of them said anything. "Joe."

"Hmmmm?"

"Have you ever thought about settling down?"

"You mean stayin' in one place?"

"Uh-huh."

"Once. But it didn't work out."

"Why not?" Molly was more than curious.

'How honest should I be?' he wondered, then decided he'd told enough lies by using different names. "She fell in love with somebody else."

"Oh." Another few minutes of silence, then "What about Hancock? Aside from his marriage, I mean."

"He's come closer than I have. A couple times, as a matter of fact. Somethin' always seems to stop him."

"Why do you think that is?"

"We're drifters, Molly. The thought of havin' to stay in one place – it scares us."

"Do you ever want to settle down?"

"Someday, sure. Just not now. How far's the ranch from here?"

"Not far. Why?"

He'd been dying to find out just how fast Blackthorn was, as opposed to Galead. "Last one there cooks supper," he challenged her and kicked his stallion into gear. She yelped and nudged her Arabian, and he sprang into action. One stallion finished almost a full length ahead of the other, and Bret had his answer. They were both laughing as he pulled up behind her at the barn. "I guess it's beans for supper," he quipped, and she dismounted and handed him the reins.

"You put the boys up for the night and I'll cook," she offered, and he nodded, relieved. The house was dark but the bunkhouse had a light on, and she stopped there on her way inside. "Hancock!" she yelled as she stuck her head in the door, and was startled to find him asleep in a bunk.

"You're back," he remarked as he raised his head and yawned. "Sorry, I was reading and fell asleep. I didn't sleep real well last night."

"Come up to the house, I'll fix supper."

"Do you mind? I'd rather skip it and stay here."

"Are you sure?" Molly asked. "You must be hungry by now."

"Not really," Bart answered. "I'd just as soon go back to sleep."

"Alright, if that's what you want. Good-night."

"Night," he replied, and laid his head back down, closing his eyes as he did so.

She shut the door quietly and turned towards the house. She was halfway there when Bret ran up behind her.

"No luck with Jamie?"

"I woke him up. He said he'd rather skip supper. Does he do that much?"

"You see how thin he is. Never had much interest in food, that's all. And I heard him last night; he must be in one of his 'not sleepin' spells. He does that periodically. If we're sharin' a hotel room and we can get a front corner, he's happy. Likes to sit in the dark and watch out the window."

"That's odd. Is there some reason he can't sleep?"

"I don't know. He's been like that for a long time." 'Ever since Travis Cole locked him in the cell overnight in Montana,' he thought, but of course didn't tell Molly that. They went into the house and Molly directed Bret to the settee.

"Sit down. I'll get us something to eat."

"Yes, ma'am. You want some help?"

"Do you want coffee or tea?"

"Coffee," Bret told her.

"Then I could use some help. Here, take this to the table." She handed him a plate with some slices of bread she'd just cut and cooked bacon from this morning. Molly swung around with the coffee pot in one hand and two cups in the other. "Hancock must have made coffee before he went back to the bunkhouse and fell asleep. This is still hot."

She quickly fixed sandwiches from the bread and bacon, along with some tomatoes she'd brought in earlier in the day. They were hungry and nothing had ever tasted quite so good. Bret picked up the coffee pot and poured cups for both of them; they ate in silence. When they were finished he picked up the plates and put them in the wash tub, then took his coffee cup and Molly's and carried them out to the porch. He set them down on the small table she kept out there, then stepped past her and sat down in the far rocker.

He pulled out a cigar, the first one he'd smoked for a while, and lit it, then took a long draw on the stogie. "What are you thinking about?" Molly asked him, not quite expecting the answer she got.

"About kissin' you."

She picked up her coffee cup and took a drink, then set it back down on the table. "Just thinking about it?"

"Wonderin' how hard you'd slap me if I did."

"Maybe I wouldn't slap you at all."

"Just maybe?"

She smiled in the moonlight. "Guess you're gonna have to take a chance and find out." He blew out smoke, tossing the rest of the cigar into the dirt. He leaned over then and did just that; it was a sweet, slow, tender kiss, not at all what she expected from him. It stirred something inside her she hadn't felt in a long time. "What would Hancock think about this?" she asked.

"Who cares?" he replied, and kissed her again.