That night was a miserable one.
The sky has stirred itself into a frenzy, with walls of grey and black clouds colliding with tremulous force. It pealed and howled with bursts of brute force, making discordant noises and shaking the wagons all night long. Wet clothes and all Maka and Soul had clambered into the lantern-lit wagon and after reassuring both Black Star and Tad of their well-being, they promptly fell asleep, exhausted beyond measure. There was no point in changing out of their wet clothes, not when everything they owned was outside in the rain, the best they could do was take their boots off.
Everyone had suffered though from the terrible storm that had swept through the prairie. A tremendous amount of tents had been lost to the howling winds and most of the men had been forced into the spare wagons' cramped spaces. They slept wherever there was room, or those not so lucky had to sleep under the wagons in the mud, barely sheltered from the storm.
Even into the wee hours of the morning, it rained, the sunrise nearly nonexistent. The sky was heavy and pregnant, dark clouds the color of hazy iron. The rain was warm and soft now, more a shower than a storm.
Maka sat, looking out of the canvas at the peaceful scene. She had awoken before the others, who still lay in one large pile, snoring and grunting. Soul lay stretched out, his mouth was wide open, his hair unkempt. Tad was draped across his chest, his head nestled into the crook of Soul's arm. Black Star's head lay on Soul's thigh, using him as a pillow, a little pool of drool collecting there. Maka smiles at the sight of them, her heart heavy with affection.
Somewhere close by a bird sings, not the slightest bit perturbed by the morning shower. Then she sees it alight on a picket stake, a solitary bird. Its brown feathers are soaking wet, but the little creature is happy as can be. It shakes the drizzle from its wings and sings joyfully. So ecstatic is the little bird that it jumps up and down flaring his wings out and bobbing his darling little head. Maka stifles a giggle at the sight.
"What's so funny?" The deep sleepy tenor of his voice sweeps over her in the enclosed space, making her breath hitch a little. She turns her head to meet his gaze; though his voice is rough with sleep, his vermilion orbs are alert as they watch her.
"Nothing, it's just a bird I saw." Maka tries to say, but her voice sounds weak in the morning air.
Carefully, Soul untangles himself from the sleeping boys, neither of them stirring. Without warning, he is next to her, inevitably intruding into her space. He leans his head next to hers, his gaze picking out the little bird that has caught her attention. Only her attention is no longer on the bird. His hair is wild from sleep and his clothes are still damp from the night before; molding to his chest and muscular arms. He smells of rain and earth, and something altogether male.
Heat rolls off of his body, making his proximity almost unbearable. His keen eyes study the bird as it dances about. His voice lowers, soft and rich as velvet as he leans past her to look out the canvas.
"Ah, that's a Mockingbird. Funny little thing, ain't he?"
His breath fans her cheek and his hair deliciously brushes against her temple.
Maka swallows twice before she can reply. "It's a very interesting bird. Quite the showman."
"He's looking for a mate. The more fuss he makes the better his chances."
Maka tries not to blush, the way he says mate sounds so very intimate.
"Watch this," He says as he cups his hands around his mouth as if to shout. Instead of shouting, he lets loose a warbling sound, imitating an unknown bird song. Maka's eyes widen a fraction, almost not believing the beautiful sound came from him. The little mockingbird turns his head, listening as Soul once more imitates the bird. This time the bird answers in reply, echoing the song note for note, hopping around excitedly. Soul counters with a whole new sound, switching the pitch and intensity, and once more the bird copies it perfectly.
"Incredible," She breathes, "If I was a lady bird, I'd be most impressed."
"They're great at mimicking the songs of other birds."
"Can you teach me?!" She exclaims.
"What? To whistle?"
She nods, exuberant.
"Let me guess, is it scandalous to whistle in your country too?" He jokes.
"No, I've just never had anyone to teach me things like this before."
His joking demeanor fades at her solemn confession.
"I'm afraid I've been on my own, without a teacher for some time now."
He nods his head, understanding what it feels like to be without guidance.
"Well hell, there ain't nothing to it. I'll have you whistling by the end of the day Kid."
The kid beams at him like he's some sort of miracle worker, and it almost breaks his heart. No one has ever looked at him like that before.
"Oh look, he's found some company!" She exclaims, turning quite rapidly and pointing to a newly arrived feathered friend. The two birds hop about chirping madly, love at first sight.
"If only it were that easy for us." Soul chuckles, his face almost wistful.
"Maybe you should add bird calling to the list of attributes you have to share? I'm sure women would be thrilled."
He lets out a guffaw that echoes through the wagon, so loud that the birds fly away.
"I don't know a single woman who would be impressed to hear me whistle like a bird." He gasps between his laughter.
"Well, perhaps you need to meet new women." She sniffs.
He gives her a wry smile. "I reckon I do. If you see any strange, bird-loving women wandering around outside among the cows be sure to let me know."
She rolls her eyes at him, but he chooses to ignore it, instead his eyes drifting back outside. The rain has finally stopped, leaving a fine mist that drifts, ethereal and gossamer-like, falling like a wet breathy sigh to the damp earth.
"Put your boots on, let's go assess the damage from the storm. I'm sure the cattle are scattered to hell. We'll have to round them back up again." He groans as he puts his own boots on. He swings down from the wagon, and she follows behind, not quite as graceful. Her boots hit the mud with a sucking squelch. Her whole body is stiff this morning, her movements are halting, and she can't keep the grimace from her face as her muscles scream at her. Soul's fierce gaze runs down her body then stops abruptly. His eyes narrow angrily, his mouth sets into a hard line.
"What the fuck." He hisses, taking a step towards her.
Cold terrors seizes her, her heart stops as she looks down to see what he is staring at. Her shirt is damp and it clings to her body, revealing her binding through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her head snaps up, panic welling in her chest.
"I...I can explain-"
In one swift motion he yanks her shirt up, exposing her skin to the chilly morning air. She shuts her eyes tight, not able to look at his thunderous expression. His hand fists into her shirt, pulling it even higher and she doesn't even have the willpower to take her shirt or her dignity back from him. She expects anger, resentment, shouting. She imagines all manner of ill things he's going to say, she holds her breath and waits for the fury.
"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" He grouses, his voice rough with worry.
Maka cracks one eye open in confusion, but his face is not murderous like she has anticipated.
"How bad is it? Damn it, why didn't you say anything yesterday? Did you bandage this yourself? " His brows are drawn together in a deep scowl, and at that moment Maka realizes that she has dodged a major catastrophe. He has mistaken her chest binding for a wound dressing.
"I'm quite alright." She assures him, trying to keep the quiver from her voice. She must not do a good job at hiding her emotions though, because Soul looks up at her like she's gone daft. He swears lightly under his breath, his hands boldly roaming her exposed skin. She is barred before his eyes and all of creation to see.
"You banged your ribs up going down that well. I should have never let you go down that God-forsaken hole." His attentive gaze scours her midriff, his hands searching for any bodily damage. Her body reacts terribly as if she is melting from the inside out at his touch. She sucks in a ragged breath as his fingers trail higher, lightly grazing the edge of her binding.
"Sorry kid, I'm sure that hurts."
"Terribly so." She gasps, but not for the reason he thinks. He touches where the rope had sawed into her skin, leaving behind raw and inflamed flesh. She stifles a groan in the back of her throat, the morning mist and his cold fingers soothing her angry skin.
"Ahem!" Someone clears their throat loudly and with great purpose. Maka opens her eyes to see Tad looking down at them from the wagon.
"What's going on here?" He demands.
"The kid is hurt," Soul informs, not taking his eyes off of her as he continues his search. Tad stares at Soul, his eyes narrowed with displeasure.
"I'd appreciate you not touching Maka."
Soul either doesn't hear Tad or ignores him completely, his hands never slowing their fiery path across her person.
"Please stop, I'm alright, I swear." She pleads weakly as he slowly and unknowingly tortures her.
"Not till I check every inch of you," he says, his voice dark and masculine, and exceedingly stubborn. She trembles as his fingers run down her stomach, sending delicate shivers across her skin.
"Christ you're freezing." He says, mistaking her shaking as being cold. "Wait here, I'll go find you some dry clothes! There's got to be something dry somewhere in this sodden camp." Without another word he spins around, storming off in search of his plunder. Maka lets loose a rolling groan and tugs roughly at her shirt as if it will fly up again at will. She laughs nervously, knowing how ridiculous she must look.
"I don't like the way he was touching you. Should I call him out and defend your honor?" Tad whisper yells, frustration pinching his freckled face. Maka can't stop the smile the little boy elicits from her.
"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about my honor at this point."
"Well, I still don't like it." He huffs.
Maka reaches up and ruffles the boy's hair affectionately, causing him to blush. Just then, Justin comes into view, he slogs towards them, his boots kicking up mud and grass.
"Morning. Glad you made it back in one piece." He says, handing her a steaming cup of coffee and tipping his hat ever so slightly. Maka smiles up at him, glad to see him whole and well from the storm as well.
"Your tent blew away last night, but I managed to save your things. They're in my tent whenever you're ready for them."
"Oh, you're a lifesaver." She sighs in relief as she blows on her coffee cup.
Justin smiles down at her and leans in close to discreetly whisper in her ear.
"So how'd it go last night? Have we made any progress with the boss?"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're insinuating," she mutters, "All we did was go for a walk."
"Ah, I see." He says straightening back to his full height. "Just a bit ago I came around the bend and saw the boss practically mauling you. I just assumed that the evening had been a success," He says, a knowing twinkle in his eye.
"It wasn't like that! It's not what you think!" Maka stutterers, her body feeling entirely too hot, even in the cold morning mist.
"My mistake, but you can see how I would have thought otherwise. What a show it was, seeing him tearing at your shirt. Like a regular animal." Justin says, chuckling as her cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson.
Tad watches their exchange, then pins Justin with a jagged look.
"You know. About Maka," he says matter of factly.
Justin nods his head once, the kid is sharp and there's no denying it.
"I thought I was the only one who knew," he pouts turning to Maka.
"I had rather hoped that you two are the first and only ones to know. Maka chides quietly, hyper-aware of Black Star who is still thankfully sleeping through the rather loud and personal conversation.
"I knew others would figure it out, but I thought I'd have more time," the boy mumbles.
"More time for what?" She asks, looking up at the boy's oddly serious face.
"More time to grow up. This makes things more complicated for me." Squaring his shoulders the boy stands up in the wagon so that he is looking Justin eye to eye. His hands fist in determination and his eyes flash stubbornly.
"You are now my love rival. May the best man win!" He challenges, looking Justin dead in the eye."
"God almighty," Justin exclaims, doubling over. He laughs unabashed at the young boy, and Tad vibrates with anger.
"Now now, let's not get carried away." Maka tries, taking pity on the boy's obvious embarrassment.
"Laugh all you want, but one day I'm going to grow up big and strong, then we'll see who's laughing. I'm going to be one hell of a man one day!" Tad declares passionately.
Justin's laughter quiets, his eyes suddenly shining with some unknown emotion. "I hope you're right little Tadpole. I hope you grow up and become twice the man that I am."
Tad nods his head, his outburst subsiding as quickly as it had begun. "Do you swear that you'll be honorable about this then?"
Justin shakes his head, a roguish smile making his mouth twitch. "Until you're grown, just keep in mind..."
Without any warning Justin was beside Maka, towering over her, one arm slung about her shoulder, pressing her close to his side. "I hope you remember that all is fair in love and war," Justin drawls, giving the kid a wicked look.
"You asked for it!" Tad bellows as he attempts to climb out of the wagon, but with only one good arm, he teeters precariously. He nearly topples out and Maka rushes forward to catch him. She sighs in relief as she barely succeeds to secure him in her arms. Tad discreetly gives Justine a smug look and wraps his good arm tighter around Maka's shoulders. Justin winks at the boy, acknowledging his clever play.
"Stop it, the both of you." She scolds quietly. "Especially you, you should know better than to instigate a child."
"Yeah, don't instaflate me." Tad mocks triumphantly. "I'm just a kid."
Justin throws up his hands in surrender and laughs. "Fine, I know when I am bested."
Maka sets Tad solidly on the ground and the boy bounces around like a spinning top.
"Hey Tadpole, I've got some dry clothes for Maka in my tent. Think you could go get those for us?" Justin inquires, squatting down to look the boy in the eye.
"You'll keep Maka safe while I'm gone, won't you?" He asks, his conscience torn between being helpful to her and staying by her side. Justin nods, his face serious. "With my life." Seemingly satisfied with his answer the boy trots off on his quest.
"He's a sweet boy." Maka remarks.
"Sweet on you maybe. You're just stealing hearts left and right," Justin chuckles as they watch the boy disappear.
"Hearts?" Maka asks in confusion.
Justin makes an uncomfortable sound in his throat. "I meant heart. So far. It's only a matter of time before the boss catches on."
"Stop saying things like that," Maka whispers, quite embarrassed by the turn in the conversation.
"Soul is slower than molasses, so it'll take him a minute. I'm sure you'll have him wrapped around your finger soon though."
"Why you!" Maka takes a swipe at him, but he easily dodges her, chuckling all the while.
"Don't you have work to do or something?" She huffs, giving up her assault, the man was nimble for his height.
"You're even starting to sound like him." He teases ruthlessly.
Maka rolls her eye heavenward.
"I know when I've worn out my welcome, I better get going. You're right about work needing to be done. See you later, Casanova." He quips, turning to leave with a satisfied smile.
"We're just friends!" she shouts weakly after him.
"Yeah, things were definitely looking 'friendly' between the two of you earlier." His laugh is big and booming, it carries across the field as he goes.
"Who's doing all that damn laughing?" Black Star groans poking his head out of the wagon.
"It's Justin," Maka says somewhat distracted, watching as he walks away.
"Justin? You mean the quietest son of a bitch I've ever met?" Black star exclaims, rubbing his eye to get a better look. "Why's he laughing like that? What's wrong with him?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
"And what the hell is wrong with the boss? Did I miss something?"
Across the field Soul is trudging towards them, waving a half-muddied flannel shirt in the air triumphantly.
"Also not the faintest idea."
Black Star looks down at her and sighs a weary sound. "Want some whiskey in your coffee? I have a feeling it's going to be one of those kinds of days."
Without a word she lifts her cup up to him, feeling indeed whiskey might be in order.
Since when did she turn into such a lush?
"What the hell, where'd my damn flask go?" Black Star mumbles, rummaging around in the wagon.
Not able to contain it any longer, Maka puts her hands on her knees and doubles over, laughter bubbling from her mouth. Black Star looks at her and shakes his head in dismay.
"I knew it. I did miss something."
London.
Lord Ragnarok walks through the empty halls of Albarn manor. The place is desolate, completely stripped bare of all furnishings or things of value. The deed for Albarn manor sits on his desk back home, and the knowledge of that give him great satisfaction. The late Lord Albarn had been a sniveling man, who was bad at business and even more so at cards. In desperation, he had lost the deed to his house and the marriage right of his only daughter in one fell swoop.
His daughter... what a loathsome creature in her own right. It was because of her that he was here today scouring this dusty house. He slips through a large door, that opens into a spacious room. Assuming that it had once been Lord Albarn's study he moves towards a solitary desk amid the cobwebs. He wrenches open drawer after drawer, discarding paper and useless bobbles onto the floor until he finds what he is looking for. At the bottom of the drawer, carefully wrapped in a silk-lined box, is a stack of drawings. Landscapes, horses, people's faces, he tears through them until he sees a familiar face staring back. It is a drawing of Lord Albarn, his wife, and their daughter. He flips the paper over, reading a note on the back.
To Mama and Papa, with love. -Maka.
He grimaces at the inscription, his opinion of family has always been a severe one. The picture would do the job though, the likeness of her was uncanny. He would have an artist re-create her face for the purpose of a poster. He would send it ahead of his arrival to America. He had business associates there, men who would do nearly anything for coin. Once they received a copy, it would only be a matter of time before they found her. He had already procured passage on the next ship going out. There was too much at stake to leave it completely to these renegades. Once found though, he would drag her home and make her his.
He stares at the visage of her countenance, she was a rather plain girl when all was said and done, the only notable thing was the color of her eyes. But no matter, as long as she provided him with heirs and fulfilled her half of the contract, it did not matter what she looked like. Her true assets laid with her mother.
Lord Ragnarok glances at the drawing, the late Mrs. Albarn stares back, beautiful, graceful, and with a determined tilt to her chin. Lord Albarn had let slip, while deep in his cups over a poker game, that his late wife had once been a great traveler, and had acquired vast tracts of land in America. Knowing her husband's bad spending habits, she had left her fortune to her daughter, unbeknownst to the girl. It was all so simple really, once he married this wretch of a girl, as a male he would be able to immediately seize her lands as his own. With large amounts of people immigrating, land was a valuable commodity in America right now. There were also rumors of gold buried in the ground and whispers of gold found in their rivers. America was a well-spring of new opportunities and profit to be made...
Now all he had to do was find the wayward twit. He would make her suffer for this inconsolable offense. No one made a fool of Lord Ragnarok. To do so would be gambling with one's own life. Lord Albarn was a testament to that.
To her great annoyance, she had been ordered to stay behind.
Her reassurance that she was fit and fine and ready to work had fallen on deaf ears. Once Soul had delivered her the half muddy but unusually dry clothing, he had ordered her to stay behind and rest. Shortly after, everyone had left camp. Only Tad remained, tagging along at her heels faithfully. She understood, Tad with his broken arm and her with her banged-up ribs would only slow the others down. Chasing cattle was hot hard work that was fast-paced and sometimes dangerous. Still, though, she feels a little resentment being left being to tend to the camp and the cooking. It's as if she is back in skirts again, next they'll have her sewing their clothes and doing the wash. It doesn't help that the beautiful misty morning that she had been enjoying gave way to a hot and terribly humid afternoon.
With Tad napping under one of the wagons, and not much to do, she walks to a sparse clearing of nearby trees, eager to get out of the boiling sun. With the shade bolstering her spirits she decides there is no point in dwelling on the things she wants to do and instead set her sights on being productive in other ways. She begins to collect kindling for the lunch fire, a small task, but an important one. She adds another cottonwood branch to the growing precarious pile in her arms, anchoring it with her chin. A splinter digs into her neck, and she bites down on an oath before it comes flying out of her mouth.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she stands with an armful of kindling in the middle of a Texas cattle range and fights to gather the fraying edges of herself. Three months ago she would never have dreamed of using such language. Now, thanks to the education she received from her cowboys, profane words trembled on the tip of her tongue far more often than not. She was changing, but was it all good?
She was halfway from the mess wagon to the cookfire when her toe caught in the root of a rotting stump and she smacked into the ground, branches and river driftwood spilling out of her arms like jackstraws. She lay still a moment, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. She rolled onto her back, blinking the dust from her eyes. The dust and the heat had flattened the morning breeze. The sun beat down on her, hot and dry. It had been so hot that the land had turned from a mudhole into a shimmering vision. Great billows of steam rose from the ground, causing one's clothes to stick to their skin. What a hard country this was, mercilessly hard, like the ground she lay on.
She lay there and let the sun blister her face, her borrowed Stenson knocked from her head, she watched the clouds float across a sky so bright a blue it shimmered, and she thought of home. The manner had always felt so empty, both her parents gone on business quite frequently. She had spent most of her time outside watching the clouds go by or in the library reading about seeing the world. Her parents were now gone, yet the absence of them was not as great as it had once been. You could not miss someone who was never around in the first place.
So why did her heartache today? Was it because she was left behind?
Maka shook her head from side to side fanning her loose hair among the grass. She should not feel so lonely, not when there were so many people here who cared for her. The knowledge that she couldn't be alone was almost as hard to bear as actually being alone. She had to become stronger.
"I don't want to depend on others." She whispers helplessly up to the endless sky.
This grand adventure she was on, was slowly shaping her, changing her little by little. All for the better, she was slowly coming into her own. But who did she want to be? Maka the man, who rode horses, worked cattle, and had unimaginable freedom? Or Maka the woman, who would give up all the lies, and might find love one day, or give up her freedoms in exchange for a slim maybe.
She felt . . . scattered. By coming to this wilderness she had taken everything that she was, everything she understood to be true, shaken it, and tossed it in the air like the spilled kindling, letting the pieces fall where they might. Yet underneath the Stetson hat, she now wore, and behind her sunburned face, she was still the old Maka, filled with longings and furies.
She thought of Tsubaki, of her sweet smile and gentle nature. She seemed so content with her lot in life, cooking meals and taking care of cowboys that she was forbidden to ever fall in love with. Did she ever despise her limits to life? And what of her new friend madame Blair, that laughing woman of the violet dress and red-tasseled shoes who offered her body for a man's pleasure only to be scorned for it. She wondered if they, too, awoke in the heavy and lonely hours before dawn suffused and restless with yearnings they couldn't name. Longings and furies and those empty places in the heart.
She laid her forearm across her eyes, blocking out the sky. Her city-bred ears listening to the strange lullaby of insects shrilling in the tall grass and of the river chattering to the rocks and trees. The memory of catching Katydids with Soul came unbidden, fresh, and searing. His gentle smile and his voice softly teaching her new things. She smiles against her arm. She might not know what she wants for her future, but right now, she is content with the way things are. It is her deepest wish for things to stay the same for as long as possible.
The rhythm of her heart stays in time with the chirping of the insects. Down by the river, the croaking of frogs and the lapping of the water lull her. She could fall asleep here in this beautiful glen, but the sun is hot, and a stick is poking her in the back, so after a moment, she pushes herself to her feet.
She picks up a few pieces of the scattered wood and carries them over to the fire. She cracks a branch in two and feeds it to the flames. She stirs the beans in the camp kettle that hang from a trammel over the cook fire. As grub slinger for the day she got to select the menu for lunch and dinner. Well, today it would be beans, bacon, cornbread, and coffee. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before yesterday. She was missing Tsubaki's cooking more and more as the days ticked by.
A great commotion of animal and man could be heard in the distance, disrupting Maka's daydreams of warm cinnamon rolls and coffee with cream and sugar. The cowboys had returned, bringing with them ever more cattle. They rounded them up, funneling them into makeshift corrals made from rope and pine posts. Tad awoke, bounding up like a startled jackrabbit at the sounds.
"Oh, they're going to start the branding soon. Wanna go down and watch?" He asks excitedly, once more by her side and tugging on her shirt sleeve in earnest.
"We were told to stay in the camp, won't we be in the way?" Maka hedges, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach.
"No way, I always help with the branding, it's a piece of cake." He says, puffing his chest out with pride.
"Well, if you think it's alright, I suppose it won't hurt to get a closer look." She consents, her curiosity outweighing the unease.
They walk down to the remuda, where the horses not being used were wearily swatting houseflies with their tails or lazily napping despite the ruckus close by. Beyond the saddle horses grazed the day herd of cattle. And over on the other side, it dinned the melee over the main heard, the incessant riding, yelling of the cowboys, and the bawling of the cows. When thrown together all these cattle of mottled red and white from which roared in incessant bawling. It looked impossible to separate the cows and calves from the others, but dozens of fearless cowboys rode in the madness and easily began to cut out the cows and calves into smaller groups. It was a spectacle that inspired awe in Maka and caused Tad to bounce uncontrollably with glee.
Maka caught a glimpse of white hair among the fray, her eyes always seeming to pick him out in a crowd. He sat tall in the saddle, his pinto dancing under him. His horse lept to the left then to the right, chacing an unruly calf back into the herd. Soul's handsome face was set into familiar stubborn lines, his focus completely on the task at hand.
"Hot iron!" Someone shouted close by, causing Maka to tear her eyes from Soul.
Justin was dragging a stiff-legged calf across the roundup ground to the branding fire. The calf had a rawhide rope looped around its neck, the other end wrapped around the horn of Justin's saddle. The calf's mother trotted after them, moaning in alarm and shaking her horns.
Maka stood there, her hands trembling while Justin went down the tight rope to catch the bawling, leaping calf. Its big brown eyes stood out, it foamed at the mouth, frantic to escape. Justin took handfuls of loose hide, knocked its legs out from under it, and flipped it like a bale of hay onto its side. He cast off his rope and deftly held the struggling animal down.
Blackstar gripped the branding iron in his gloved hands and pressed it into the calf's red flank. There was a sizzle, a curl of white smoke, the sickening stench of burning hair and flesh. And the calf screamed.
Maka whirled, took three stumbling steps, then bent over at the waist and vomited into the dust-coated grass. She stayed hunched over as her breath fought its way up into her throat and her heart thundered in her ears. The stink of charred hair clogged her nostrils, and she swallowed hard against a fresh bout of sickness that burned in her throat.
The men laughed, and she knew they laughed because she was weak. Because she had no grit in her heart to see such things. She heard a creak of saddle leather. Lifting her head, she opened blurry eyes onto a horse's flank, a dusty boot thrust through a stirrup iron, and a hand holding a canteen and a clean blue bandanna. Those were Soul's hands. She took the offering without a word. She rinsed out her mouth with the tepid water, spitting like a tobacco-chewing cowboy. She dampened the bandanna and wiped her face clean, and not once did she look at him. Embarrassment burned through her. She gave him back his canteen, still without looking at him. Another calf bellowed, and the fresh stink of burning hide wafted to her on the hot air. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Does it hurt them unbearably?" she asks, the words grating raw in her throat.
"You shouldn't be here kid. You and Tad both should be resting."
She doesn't answer him causing him to sigh. He lays his reins against his horse's neck, then pulls its head back around. He stares down at her in silence a moment.
"It doesn't hurt them unbearably," he finally says. "The branding. It only sears off the hair and a bit of hide. Remember that we all go through a little pain in this life, but we get back up from it."
Following his words the little calf lept onto his feet and bounded back to its mother, none the worse for wear. Soul gives her a half-smile and touches two fingers to his hat, almost as if he were saluting her. He squeezes with his knees, and the horse spins around in a cloud of dust and trots back into the fray.
"Are you okay Maka?" Tad asks, patting her gently on the back.
"I'll be alright," She assures weakly as she stands back up, "Let's go get lunch ready for everyone."
She gives one last glance as they leave. She watches as Soul seamlessly bleeds back into the group, working along side his men. He makes it look so easy. There was no room for weakness, not in this place, but Soul had been patient with once more. Kind even. She clutches his blue bandanna to her heart.
You make me want to be stronger.
Oklahoma territory.
Jim Olmstead, also known as Sidewinder Jim, sat in his kitchen, feet propped up, swatting lazily at the clouds of gnats that plagued his house. Hell, they plagued the whole town this time of year, right after their spring storms had passed. He felt mightily bored today, nothing seemed to ever happen in this podunk town. He hates it here, this flat and barren land, but he has no other choice. The last job he had taken had gone south, leaving him a wanted man in two different states. Here in Oklahoma, he was a free man, but God did he hate it here. The wind never stopped howling and the winters were cold enough to freeze a man's balls off. Even now in mid-spring snow still lingers in the shaded places.
The door to his modest shack swings open, the hinges squealing, but the sound was no match for the booming voice of the stocky man trudging inside. His younger brother comes in, grinning from ear to ear like a simpleton.
"Bart! If you don't stop tracking mud in my house I'm going to shoot you dead!" Jim bellowed coming out of his chair.
"Aw hell, brother you won't shoot me," Bart says, looking at his muddy feet with no concern.
"I've shot men for less." Jim threatens, his face turning dark. Bart knowing this to not be a lie backs up out of the house. Jim stomps out and glares at his brother. "What the hell do you want Bart?"
"Welp Jim, you're just sitting around scratching your balls all day, I figured I'd come to give you some good news," Bart says and hands him a piece of parchment. Jim snatches it from his brother's hands muttering. "You can't even read Bart."
"No, I reckon not, but I do's remember that fancy seal on that letter. Last time we got one of them letters we was up to our eyes in fun and cash."
Jim scans the letter, true to his brother's word, he recognizes the seal. The letter has come all the way from London.
"Hell, I ain't even going to open it! Whatever that rich English son of a bitch wants it's not worth the hassle."
"Come on Jim, maybe he has another job for us!" Bart whines.
"That's exactly why I ain't opening it! Or did you forget how bad our last job for this rich fuck ended?"
"That wasn't his fault, we were supposed to bribe those guys or off them if they didn't see reason. And they didn't see reason."
"Yeah, and now five men are dead, and I'm a wanted man, just because one of them got away," Jim says crumpling the letter in his hands.
"At least read it, brother. What else do we have going for us?" Bart says, his arms spread wide. Damn it if he wasn't right! Living in a tiny shack, in the middle of god damn Oklahoma wasn't where he wanted to spend his days. With a mean scowl, Jim tears open the seal and scans the letter.
"Looks like Lord Ragnarok needs our services again."
"Are we to silence someone else or maybe a robbery this time?"
"Worse, he's looking for his betrothed."
"What?" Barts' eyebrows wrinkle in confusion.
"She's done run off and he's offering a reward to drag her back... christ almighty!" He exclaims, his eyes bulging at the high sum of money. "Shit this should be easy money, Bart!" Jim greedily reads the rest of the letter, his face pulling into a harsh frown. "Turns out the English Lord is coming here of all places. Seems we're to be his guards and guns as well. I reckon there's worse jobs than babysitting some rich Lord though."
A piece of folded parchment falls from the letter and flutters across the porch. Bart retrieves it before the Oklahoma wind can carry it away. "Fuck and hell, get a load of this pretty dove," Bart rasps, his mouth practically salivating, "I wouldn't mind putting the boots to this one."
"Fuck Bart, she belongs to our employer, we're to fetch her back only, nothing else," Jim growls, snatching the drawing from his brother's hand. He squints at her face and almost agrees with his brother. Almost. She's pretty, with big eyes and a soft smile, but she looks young and vulnerable. The kind of girl other men chew up and spit out. No substance. He folds the picture and places it in his front pocket before turning back to his brother.
"Take a few days to gather up a crew, the best gunners you can find. We're heading to Texas little brother."
Author note:
Thank you to everyone who has inquired about the farm! All the well wishes and kind words have really brightened up this season for me. It's been a wild year for sure, but the rains have been plentiful and the days beautiful. This week I'll be planting 1'000+ pumpkins in preparation for fall. Wish me luck! I should have the next chapter posted rather quickly though.
Also a big Texas sized thank you for all the reviews and followers. It really brightens my day reading your comments. :)
I hope everyone stays safe, and thank you again for joining me on this writing journey.
Much love! -Sammy921.