That evening was odd to say the least.
Soul had invited Standing-Not-So-Tall and his tribe to stay for dinner. Out here, when a man and his family rode across your ranch, they were invited to stop and eat and rest up a spell. This land was too empty, too lonely, to turn anyone away.
Justin quietly watches the fading horizon. He has stayed close to her and Tad all day, even though there is nothing to worry about now, he is ever watchful. Maka and Tad sit by the fire, watching as children play around them, all of them chattering at once. She has no idea what they are saying, but the joy she feels rolling off of them is contagious.
She smiles as one little girl shyly approaches her. She points at Maka as if asking a question. Maka nods, not quite understanding. Then the girl touches her hair, enthralled by her golden tresses. Maka bites back a laugh and inclines her head for the girl to better look at it. Her russet eyes light up, and she sits in Maka's lap without warning. She wastes no time and starts to make little braids in her flaxen hair. The little girl weaves turquoise beads in her hair and Maka in return weaves a crown of sweet-smelling prairie grass.
She places it on the girl's head and she beams brightly before dashing off to show her friends. Soon there is a whole passel of children surrounding her, all wanting woven grass crowns.
Tad and one boy are proudly comparing bits and bobbles from their collections; rocks, knives, arrowheads, and other things that hold entertainment for little boys.
These people are not what she had expected.
Capture, rape, enslavement by savages—a dread instilled in every woman long before she ever set one dainty foot westward. But the Indians of Maka's imagination, who crept on moccasined feet up to her bedroom window at night, hatchets and scalping knives clutched in their bloodied hands, seemed like made-up figures on souvenir cards when compared to these peaceful wanderers who now mingled among the cowboy's camp.
Ever since she had arrived in Texas, her imagination had run wild. Every snap of a twig, or a howl in the night, or the wailing of the wind in the cottonwoods had terrified her. In her mind, it had always been an Indian, ready to scalp her or steal her away. Looking at these people now, she realizes how silly those thoughts had been. Fear had caused her to be prejudiced against a people she knew nothing about. They weren't the savages her dime novels back home had painted them to be. They were people, proud and beautiful.
Mothers sat around the fire, singing to their babies. Fathers, sat together laughing and sharing food, telling their stories of hunts past. Children played games and ran wild through the camp, dogs yipping at their feet. Warriors and squaws, farmers and hunters, families and friends, they were no different than others trying to survive in this harsh and beautiful land.
Justin stirs from his resting spot, tips his hat to her, and dissapears into the evening.
Maka looks up from braiding her thousandth grass crown as the children screech in excitement.
She felt Soul's eyes on her. She knew it all the time now, knew it when he looked at her.
Oh, yes, she could feel it—a swift, sharp plunge of her guts that left her breathless and full of confounded, frightening feelings that had no name.
She turned her head, lifting her gaze to meet his. And though she was prepared for the fierce intensity in his crimson eyes, still her world tilted a little when she was struck by the full force of it.
The children flock around Soul as he comes to stand next to her. They take hold of his hands and arms, trying to grab his attention. One little girl has permanently attached herself to his leg, making his progress slow. She looks up at him, meeting his amused gaze.
"I like the beads kid." He says, his voice lightly teasing.
"A gift from my new friend." She replies smiling at the little girl who has once more claimed her lap.
He bends at the waist coming close, so terribly close that it makes her skin crawl and shiver.
"They surprisingly suit you, they really bring out the green in your eyes," He chuckles, taking one blue bead between his fingers. His knuckles brush against her cheek, and it takes all her willpower not to close her eyes and lean into his touch. His hand is gone just as quickly though, his expression turning somewhat bewildered before snapping back to reality.
"The chief wants to meet you."
"Me?" Maka questions in astonishment, her world still reeling, "Why would he want to meet me?"
Soul points to the little girl still clinging to Maka.
"You've made quite the impression on the chief's granddaughter."
Maka looks down at the little girl, and she smiles up brightly. Maka wonders just what the little girl has told her grandfather about her.
"Is it alright for me to meet a chief? I don't even know his language."
Soul extends his hand to her, bringing her easily to her feet, then produces a small cloth pouch from his shirt pocket. He hands it to her, a glimmer in his eye.
"A gift, for you to give the chief when you meet. To smooth things over."
She has no idea what's in the pouch, but she looks up at him with barely contained admiration.
For a man of few words, he always had answers.
Soul glances at the Kid as they walk, taking note of his subtle little movements. The kid's eyes are bright, even in the dark, and his breathing has a slight catch to it. The kid looks pale too, like a whitewashed windowsill. The kid is nervous, he can feel it rolling off his small frame in waves.
Soul frowns to himself.
Since when did he get so good at picking up on the Kid's emotions?
As they walk towards the side of camp where the cheif's fire is lit the kid starts to wring his hands, worrying the small pouch he had given him.
"Careful, or you'll crush it," Soul says, trying to soothe the kid's frazzled nerves.
The kid's eyes swing to him, big, green, and far too knowing.
"You're very much at ease with them, aren't you? It makes me very happy to see you like this." His voice is gentle, not judging in any way.
The kid is stating a fact, like discussing the weather or time of day, like it's no big deal. But it is a big deal... his ease among a tribe is something others would inspect with malice or suspicion, but not the kid. The kid has a way of saying things like that, not to rile him or cause him to question himself or his loyalties. No, the kid asks because he cares, because he picks up on his emotions so effortlessly.
Apparently, the kid could read him like a book too.
Soul shrugs his shoulder to feign indifference, but inside he is both terrified and pleased that the kid knows him. The kid sees him. The real him.
"I'm always at ease, kid."
The kid snorts because he knows that's a bald-faced lie, but he doesn't press the conversation further. Instead, the kid's attention focuses on the task at hand.
"What's the chief's name?" The kid inquires.
"His name is Standing-Tall."
"They came to trade, but where are they from?
Soul shoves his shoulder into the kid, barking with amusement.
"You sure ask a lot of questions."
"I am a curious person. This is also my first time meeting natives."
"They're not coming from anywhere particular, their tribe is a nomadic one. They farm and hunt with the changing seasons, they go wherever the wind takes them."
"How very interesting, I think I would love to live a nomadic life," The kid says a dreamy smile on his face.
"Not me," he replies honestly, "My home is here, and I'll never leave it."
"Do you not wish to see other places?" The Kid asks curiously.
"No. I've seen too many places in my short years. Too many people."
Too many cruel people...
"Where are they going after tonight?" The kid asks, pulling him from his darkening thoughts.
"They're on a buffalo hunt and horse-stealing expedition to the Crow lands southeast of here."
The kid doesn't ask any more questions after that.
They come to the tipis, where two men sit cross-legged on the ground, one amazingly tall and weathered, the other younger and nearly as formidably built.
Their dark eyes, well-trained and fierce track their approach; flickering oddly in the firelight.
The kid freezes, but only for a moment, before bowing low at the waist and presenting the small pouch to the cheif.
Soul stifles a groan, the bow is so stiff and out of place, like the kid is in some fancy pants ballroom.
There was bravery there though, in the square of his shoulders and the curve of his spine, and damn it all, but Soul felt an overwhelming sense of pride at the kid's unwavering resolve. For someone who was so fancy and delicate, the kid had nerve.
The Cheif and his son looked at the kid, their faces curious with discernment.
"The Kid wishes to pay tribute to your cheif with a gift," Soul explains in their language.
The Cheif grunts in acknowledgment, taking the small gift from the kid's waiting hands. The chief opens the bag and a slow smile spreads across his wrinkled face. The chief motions for them to sit at his fire and passes the bag back to Soul. He inhales sharply at the pungent contents of the bag; earthy and sweet. The kid squirms where he sits trying not to move, he is wary of the braves sitting across from them, but his curiosity is too great to completely sit still.
"Tobacco," Soul explains as he takes a pinch of the dried plant from the bag and a roll of paper. "It's a highly prized crop among the natives and a great honor to share among friends."
"I see." The kid says, half mesmerized by his hands and the motion of rolling a cigarette.
Soul licks the paper to seal the finished smoke and passes it to the cheif, who smiles in gratitude. His son, Standing-Not-So-Tall is next, and his eyes glitter with thanks.
The kid pins him with a look, something close to expectancy. The little rascal was trying to ask for one with his eyes, too nervous to speak out loud. Soul grins and shakes his head, causing the kid to frown slightly in return.
The kid had already been exposed to enough bad habits since arriving under his care. Black Star and Justin had exposed him to drinking and whore-houses for Christ's sake. It was partly his fault, he knew, for not watching him closely, but still. If the kid took up smoking on his own one day, well that was on him, but he wasn't about to stuff one in his mouth and light it for him either. He felt responsible, and gosh damn it, he wouldn't be putting smoking on the long list of sins he had to atone for eventually.
The kid huffed, so quiet only he could hear it, and he bit his cheek to keep from chuckling at the kid's irritation.
He laughed a lot more these days, because of the kid. It felt good until it didn't. He felt lighter being around the kid, something akin to feeling free, feeling comfortable in his own skin. But it was always a mixed feeling, torn between wanting to be near, and wanting to run far away.
The ropes of oppression dug too tight, biting sharply into his skin, reminding him that trust makes you weak, that caring for someone too much binds you to them.
How could he feel so impossibly free and still chained down? Like a great weight sat upon his chest, making him struggle for air and sanity.
As if sensing the frustration swirling in his head the kid looks over and holds his gaze, steady and so terribly green.
Soul averts his eyes, instead putting all his attention into rolling a cigarette for himself.
Soul strikes a match on his boot and lights first the chief, his son, and then his own cigarette. The three men inhale, savoring the spiced smoke. Standing-Not-So-Tall blows out little smoke rings to the kid's obvious intrigue.
After a particularly long drag, the cheif starts to speak, pointing to the kid. The kid swallows nervously and when his mouth lets him, he asks, "What does he want?"
"He says his granddaughter has told him about you, he is curious to meet the person who has hair like sunshine. He wishes to see it better."
The kid, thoroughly flustered, slowly removes his hat. More hair the color of summer wheat tumbles down at the action and the cheif and his Son grunt in awe.
The kid looks bashful, touching his hair self-consciously.
"Is this your squaw? Would you like to trade? I've got many fine squaws to choose from?" The Cheif asks eyes growing bright.
"No, you are mistaken," Soul replies shaking his head, "this person is male, not female."
The chief and his son exchange a strange look.
"What are they saying?" The kid asks him softly, nervously tugging on Soul's shirt sleeve.
"They think you're a woman because of your long hair," Soul teases.
The kid pales slightly but doesn't reply. The chief raises his hands and makes the sign for trade.
"Woman or man, makes no difference, I would still like to trade for him. His hair would look nice decorating my pony," the chief says, boldly reaching out to touch the kid's hair.
Soul growls in the back of his throat and pulls the kid closer to his side.
"Don't touch!" He snaps, his eyes flashing barely concealed rage.
The kid's eyes go wide and the cheif retracts his hand, not seeming the least bit offended. "If squaws do not interest you, I have a herd of many fine ponies to choose from."
"I will not trade a friend for you to scalp," Soul seethes.
The cheif grimaces but nods his head. "I would not harm your friend. We do not scalp the white man, only our enemies feel our blades. Your friend would live with us as an honored person in our tribe."
A memory flashes, hot, blinding, and painful. Of a kind woman and man who no longer have faces he can recall, or voices he can hear.
A young boy, bound by his wrists, being drug behind a horse, the only thing he can see is the bloody scalps of his parents, tied to the belt of a monster. A monster sporting his bloody trophy. Silver hair stained crimson.
Soul closes his eyes to erase the memory and clenches his fists to keep them from shaking.
The kid, still encircled in his arm, looks up at him, sensing his distress but unaware of what is causing it.
"All you want is his hair?" Soul demands, trying to control the sharp stab of fear running down his spine. In one swift motion Soul removes a serrated blade from a sheath tucked into his boot. He grabs a fistful of the kid's hair and jerks his neck back at a painful angle and with more force than he had meant to. The kid freezes, eyes wide, struggling to comprehend. There's a glimmer of fear there too, and it makes Soul sick. He brings the knife up, the flash of cold steel reflecting in the whites of the kid's eyes. He slashes, the sharp teeth of the blade sawing through the fine strands like butter.
In his fear-panicked mind, all he can focus on is how incredibly soft it feels as it slips through his fingers. Like varnished silk caught in the firelight.
The kid's bottom lip trembles, his eyes misty with an unspoken accusation. Soul looks away, not able to meet that still clear gaze a moment longer.
"Here," he snarls shoving the fist full of hair into the cheifs hands. "Take it as my gift, and let us talk no more of trading people. It does not sit well with me."
The chief nods his head in acknowledgment and places the golden tresses into a buckskin pouch for safekeeping. He then places his fingers into his mouth and whistles shrilly, answering barks soon following. Several puppies, all wriggling and happy flock around the cheif. The man reaches out and picks up one from the pack. It's a sad excuse for a mongrel; all skin and bones and floppy ears.
"These dogs are sacred to my family, each generation smarter and braver than the last. This one will bring you both good luck and protection," He says, proudly displaying the flea-bitten cur.
Soul looks critically at the pup, his tongue lolls out and he wears a dumb expression. Soul has the sinking feeling that there's not a lot going on upstairs with this dog. The chief deposits the dog into the kid's lap. The kid gasps audibly, but Soul can not bring himself to look the at the kid yet. The chief smiles, and makes the hand sign for a good trade.
"Thank you," The kid croaks, sounding very unsure.
The kid stands abruptly, swaying on unsteady legs.
"Please tell the chief it was nice to meet him, but I must be excused. I am unwell."
Soul looks up from the ground, but the flickering shadows hide the kid's face. Without another word, the kid turns and leaves, the ragged mutt following on his heels.
"I'll be right back," he half apologizes to the chief before chasing after the kid.
"Hey kid, wait!" Soul calls after the kid's lithe body as it weaves in and out of the tents and tipis. Soul knows the kid can hear him, he can tell by the way his shoulders hunch every time he calls out, but the kid doesn't stop. Not until he catches up with him at the edge of the camp.
"Hold on a darn second," Soul says, grabbing him by the shoulder.
The little dog dances around them both, tail wagging in blissful ignorance. The kid stops, his face turned away, refusing to look him in the eye. For some reason, this irks Soul to no end.
"Look at me," he orders.
The kid stands stock still, the prairie wind rustling a few uneven and badly butchered strands. Soul feels a stab of remorse but pushes it deep down.
"What's wrong with you, Kid?" He tries again, trying to soften his tone this time.
"Nothing," the kid's voice wobbles.
There's obviously something eating at him.
"Look at me, please." Soul says, almost gagging on how desperate the break in his own voice sounds.
The kid spins, those emerald pools flaying him open wide.
There's a wetness to those eyes, a sheen of remorse, pain, mistrust, and every horrible emotion that Soul never wished to see there. It kicks him in the chest like a wild-haired mule. He opens his mouth, to apologize, to plea for forgiveness. He tried to speak, to explain himself and why he did it, but that's not at all what comes out. Instead of kindness, it comes out as shifted guilt and annoyance.
"What's the big deal kid, why are you crying?" He rants, not able to stop the horrible words tumbling from his mouth.
"You were needing a haircut anyways. Your hair was almost as long as a girl's, I did you a favor. I don't know why you're crying." He mutters, his throat closing on the last part.
Why couldn't he just say he was sorry?
Why was he behaving like this?
The kid's face wavers, tears traveling down his cheek at an alarming rate. His body is stiff and his lip quivers as he finally answers.
"You don't understand."
The sight of more tears only makes Soul's insides twist harder. Guilt is burning red hot, boiling it into something worse, ire.
"No, I don't. I didn't think you were that vain about your appearance. I didn't take you for the shallow type kid."
The kid held his gaze for a moment, eyes stormy, a mixture of hurt and outrage, before looking away without a word.
"Say something, Kid." He pleads, raking his fingers through his own hair.
Why wouldn't the kid talk, yell, cuss, or anything? Why'd he have to look so damn sad? Why'd he have to cause this weird weight to press on his chest?
The little dog whines up at them, his tail no longer thumping.
"I'm going to bed." The kid clips out. He turns his back on him once more and leaves without another word.
Emotions churn in his chest as he watches the kid go. He grits his teeth so hard, his jaw aches, but he doesn't go after him.
Soul pivots, the need to move from this spot almost overwhelming. He would go back to the cheif, explain the misunderstanding. He'd find the Kid later, let him cool off, they could hash it out then.
The night was young and beautiful, but he paid no attention to that. All he could focus on was the blood rushing through his head and the memory of the kid's face cauterized into his eyelids.
Yep, the kid needed to cool down, but to his great dismay, so did he.
The nerve. The audacity. The bloody bullheaded man.
Maka had stormed into her makeshift quarters, small dog clutched in her arms, nearly giving Tad the fright of his life.
He tried his best to console her, not quite sure how to handle such a grown-up problem.
Swiping away angry tears, her resolve made up, she forces Tad to show her which direction town is.
Not wanting to argue with a near-hysterical woman, Tad reluctantly shows her the direction. It's only an hour away from their camp, but it is dark, so very dark.
It's fool-hardy and dangerous to go out by herself in the middle of the night, but her anger seethes and stings like the wind whipping through the prairie grass. Tad helps her saddle up Kippy in the dark, who isn't very enthused to be woken at this late hour, but with coxing, soft words, and pets, he is soon ready.
Maka ruffles Tad's hair and promises to not be gone long. Tad seems nervous, but he assures her he will be here waiting for her.
Without another thought to her irrational behavior, she swings Kippy around and quietly leaves the camp. Once well outside of earshot, she nudges Kippy into a brisk gallop, eager to leave all her hurt and anger behind her. But no matter how hard she rides, those feeling are there on her heels and the tears running down her cheek are hot and bitter.
Not even the vast and unforgiving prairie wind can dry them.
Kippy comes to a stop in front of the familiar saloon. Light and deep male laughter spills out of the open door, inviting those outside to come in and sit for a spell.
She hadn't meant to come here, not intentionally at least, but here she was. Soul had told her he didn't like her in this establishment, but why did she care what he bloody thought? She shouldn't be here, shouldn't have run away, but the thought of seeing Blair outweighs any thoughts of turning back now.
Maka ties Kippy to the hitching post before she notices the small shadow lurking close by. The chief's dog... no, her new dog, is watching her with pitiful eyes. The little devil had followed her all the way here and had surprisingly kept up with Kippy.
"Come here little one," Maka calls softy, crouching down to his level.
The mutt wiggles in place a moment before deciding to come. In the light of the saloon, she truly looks at him for the first time. He's a chocolate and cream patchwork, like someone sewed together two separate dogs into one. He's small, but his paws and ears are big like he hasn't grown into them yet. He's cute, but he needs a bath something awful.
"Some trade you are. I don't suppose I can give you back though." She mutters, scratching his head affectionately.
It wasn't the dog's fault her hair was gone though, it was Soul's. Somewhere on the ride here, her sadness had given way to anger. It hummed inside her head like a nest of angry hornets some idiot was poking with a stick. That idiot was a domineering crimson eyes cowboy. The very thought of him set her pulse thumping with resentment.
"Stay here little one, I'll be back shortly." Maka marches into the saloon and up the stairs, paying no mind to all the curious looks thrown her way. Maka finds her upstairs in the parlor, lounging in a chair with an open book and an open bottle of gin. She looks beautiful, dressed in a green evening gown trimmed with white chiffon lace, her hair half down framing her dimpled cheeks. This woman was the epitome of grace and feminine beauty. It stung so much that her own hair was now a ragged mess.
She tried to speak, but nothing came out, only a choked little sigh. Blair hears it though and looks up from her book, a surprised smile lighting up her face.
"Goodness hun, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! What on earth are you doing here though? At this hour?" She exclaimed rising from her chair to embrace her like they've been friends their whole life.
"I needed to see a friendly face." Maka sniffles into the older women's shoulder, her tears threatening to start up against her will.
Blair grabs her by the chin and gently lifts her head up.
"My word, your eyes are red and swollen. Who the hell made you do all this crying darlin'? I swear I'll tan their no-good sorry ass hide."
Maka gives the woman a wobbly smile. "Soul."
"I should have known, he's got a reputation for being madder than a horned toad. What'd he do? He didn't hurt you did he?" She nearly growls, the threat of committing bodily harm to Soul an unspoken promise.
Maka shakes her head, her voice still caught somewhere between her heart and her throat.
Blair guides her to sit on the lush velvet settee and Maka willingly follows. Blair takes both her hands in her own and squeezes gently. "What happened darlin'?"
"My, my... my hair." Maka stammers, "It's ruined."
Frowning Blair reaches out to capture a loose strand of her hair.
"Hell and brimstone," Blair whispers in astonishment. "Did he use a rusty pair of shears on you?"
"A knife." She whispers, the memory of it haunting her. She could still feel the sting of her hair pulled tight in his grasp and hear the dreadful sound of the blade rasping against her locks.
"He should be tarred and feathered for committing such a travesty, just look at your poor hair!" Blair rages as she assessed the damage. "Wait here, I've got some scissors, we can even out those chopped bits. It won't make it all better, but it's a start."
"Thank you, I just knew you would be able to help me. Somehow." Maka sighs, her smile finally returning.
"Don't thank me yet, I'm not a miracle worker," Blair warns before leaving the room.
The corners of Maka's lips quirk into a light smile as her friend returns. Coming here might have been rash, but she didn't regret it. Blair was a kind woman, full of spunk and easy smiles. Her hair might be unsalvageable, but Blair's company was quickly improving her spirits.
Blair removes her hat, making tutting noises as she runs her fingers through what's left of her hair.
"It's doable. It won't be as long as it once was, but we can layer it. Who knows you might even like it by the time we're done. And if not, we can use these scissors to castrate Soul. I bet that'd make you feel better." Blair cackles and sets to her task of trimming.
Maka stifles a giggle, trying not to move as the woman cuts.
"What in the blazes was he thinking?" Blair mumbles.
"I don't know, it all happened so suddenly," Maka whispers. She swipes at a single pesky tear that traces down her cheek. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so sad, it's only hair." She apologizes.
"Blair stops cutting and pins her with a knowing look.
"It's more than just hair, and you know it darlin'."
Maka's shoulders slump and her fingers cover her mouth as if to hold the pain inside.
"It makes everything feel so final. Like I'm truly going to be a man forever." She admits, feeling suddenly small and frightened.
"Isn't that what you wanted though? To live a life as a man?"
"Yes, but in the process, It breaks my heart. I know I will never be anything to him now. He will never see me as a woman. I know it's just hair, but I feel as if the last scrap of my femininity is gone. It's silly I know, but I had harbored hope in my heart, that one day he would see me as a woman."
Blair patted her back affectionately before replying, "Matters of the heat are never silly. Also never forget that true femininity comes from within, not from your hair or the way you dress. You are more woman than Soul would ever know what to do with. He's just a blind fool."
"Is he the fool? When I'm the one lying, yet still wishing he would see through it. To see me."
"Why don't you tell him then?" If you're tired of hiding it, why not tell the truth?"
Maka gasps audibly, the very thought of coming clean causing fear to twist her stomach.
"I want to, but I don't think I can. I am fearful of losing my new home, my friends. This newfound freedom of being a man would be taken from me. And most of all I would fear losing him, and what we have now."
"You're willing to continue lying then, to keep things as they are now?" She queries softly.
Maka nods, feeling boomed in accepting her own sentence. Their friendship was worth more to her than her own selfish wants.
Blair sighs as she switches out her scissors for a silver-handled hairbrush. She works the brush through her hair, smoothing it until it gleams in the lamplight.
"Don't forget, you're allowed to be happy too. It's ok to be selfish sometimes." Blair says gently.
To her own astonishment, Maka feels her face pulling into a watery smile.
"I was selfies this evening, coming to see you. I'm sorry if I ruined your evening."
Blair throws her head back, laughter floating like music.
"Darlin, you can come to see me anytime you like. Seeing you has only made my evening better. It's not every day I get to see a friend."
Maka warms at her words, once again grateful for her new friend.
"Well darlin', what do you think? Not half bad right?" Blair declared, passing her a gilded hand mirror. Maka holds her breath as she looks into the mirror.
Not half bad was right.
Blair had somehow worked magic on her miserable hair. It wasn't long, just above her shoulders, like it had been when she had cut it before departing England.
That felt like a lifetime ago now.
She was here now, in this new country, and she had her freedom. Compared to the cost of cutting her hair, it was a sacrifice well worth the trade. Her hair would grow back, and she would probably cut it again. Because she was no longer bound to it. It did not define her.
"It looks wonderful." She praises, her voice tight with emotion.
"And the night is still young, let's celebrate!" Blair declares, grabbing two glasses and pulling the cork out of her bottle of gin.
Maka laughs and accepts the glass offered to her.
"And what are we celebrating?"
Blair gives her a wicked smile before replying.
"Friendship, the power of our feminine charm, and to the fools who do not see it yet."
Maka laughs as she raises her glass.
"Cheers to that!"
"Where the hell is he?" Soul mumbles as he wanders the sleeping camp on silent feet. The merriment had died down, both cowboys and natives retiring for the night. He thought he'd be in the wagon, but it was empty. He checked with Black Star, but he hadn't seen the Kid either. Soul even went as far as to check his own tent, hoping the Kid was waiting for him. No such luck.
While searching, he spots Tad, sitting among the dozing horses. The kid is upright, but his head bobs, and his eyes are closed. Something was amiss, Tad very rarely left the kid's side these days. Soul crouches next to Tad and shakes him gently.
"Maka?" The boy questions, rubbing his eyes with both hands.
"Try again, Tadpole."
Tad's eyes snap open at his voice and he frowns, his face full of reproach.
"What do you want?" He demands, as if he is a full-grown man.
"I'm just looking for the kid, have you seen him?" Soul groans, raking his fingers through his hair. He'd go bald at this rate.
"Maybe, but that's none of your business." The boy snaps.
Soul's palms sting from digging his fingernails into them. Did everyone just hate his guts today?
"Tad, it is my business, it's my job to look after the kid."
"You made Maka cry. It don't seem like you're doing your job right." He accuses.
The open hostility in the boy's face is nearly enough to make him take a step back. His heart stings, remembering the tears running down the kid's face.
"All the more reason for me to find him. I have to make things right."
Tad eyes him warily like he doesn't quite believe him.
"Why should I tell you?" The boy thunders.
"Because we're family, because we stay together, all of us."
The little boy's face softens a touch, but he still looks unsure.
"Maka went for a ride, when he gets back you can apologize." The boy relents.
Soul's eyes snap to the horses, counting. Kippy is gone, and he was a fool for not noticing sooner.
"Fucking hell." He seethes standing up so fast a few horses shy away. "Which way did he go?" He demands, fear slowly crawling up his spine.
The boy is mute, his eyes averted.
Justin appears beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before replying, "He went towards town."
"Hell! Doesn't he know it's dangerous out there?!" Soul yells as he swings up on his pinto, forgoing the saddle completely. He turns his horse around, his knees sinking into his sides before galloping away into the night.
"Why'd you tell him? Maka doesn't want to see him." Tad asks quietly.
"They have things they need to work out," Justin replies simply.
"He hurt Maka. She was crying."
Justin exhales a groan rivaling a rusty hinge, his hands dropping to his sides to form clenched fists of tension.
"I know it's hard to see, but Soul is hurting too. They both are. That's why we shouldn't interfere."
"I know. Maka is probably the only one who can help him." The boy says shaking his head sagely.
Justin is once again struck by the depth of the boy's youthful wisdom.
"I hope you're right Tadpole."
The boy's eyes get a little misty then, and he launches himself into Justin's arms. He buries his little face into the crook of his neck.
"It's kinda hard isn't it, when you love them both so very much? It hurts. Love hurts."
Justin squeezes the boy tight, his own eyes feeling strangely wet. "Yeah, Tadpole. It hurts something fierce."
The hour was late, and the saloon was strangely quiet as she crept down the stairs. The few patrons left were deep in their cups and pays her no mind. The air is crisp and the stars glitter like shards of ice above her as she stepped out into the night. It would be a long cold ride back to the camp, but her spirits are bolstered, and she is confident which way to go. The little dog, who had been napping, jumps to attention at her return, tail wagging like mad. Maka scratches his ear and chuckles.
The dog, happy and content, switches suddenly, his hackles raising, a low growl in his throat.
An ominous shadow falls on the ground, something big looming behind her. Maka freezes, fear seeping into her body. She knew this day would come, when she was once again alone and vulnerable. She wasn't completely defenseless though, not like she had been before. After her sad scrape with Soul, and then again with the cattle rustlers, Justin and Black Star had been teaching her self-defense. How to throw a punch without breaking your own knuckles, how to hit a man hard with more momentum, how to block, how to roll. She had one lesson every night before bed, preparing her for the worst.
Like right now.
Maka ducks and spins, her palm coming out and up. It was dark, but she felt her palm connect with the man's nose, felt the crunch of bone and the warm spray of blood. She lurches for Kippy, ready to make her escape, but an iron-like grip latches onto her arm.
"Jesus Christ!" Her attacker exclaims, his voice muffled by his hand holding his gushing nose.
She stills, all her adrenaline leaving her body, quick replaced by dread. She'd recognize that voice anywhere.
"Bloody hell, I'm so sorry! You scared the daylights out of me." She whisper yells.
"What the hell Kid, you broke my nose like it was nothing." He says, tilting his head back to stop the blood flow.
"I've been practicing." She retorts, not able to keep the smugness from her voice.
He gives her a sidelong glance, but she can't tell if he's annoyed or proud of the fact.
"What are you even doing here?" She quips, her annoyance from earlier creeping back. She wasn't ready to confront him yet. Not this soon, not while her emotions are still raw and her scalp still smarts from his rough treatment. But here he is, standing in front of her, flesh and blood, everything male and pompous.
"What am I doing here?" He asks incredulous, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "What the hell are you doing here kid? In the middle of the fucking night. Alone." He grits his teeth fighting for control.
"I was visiting a friend." She retorts, like it's none of his business.
Anger flashes in his bloody gaze.
"Oh is that all, well excuse me for ruining your pleasant little outing" he spits, that control slipping much faster than he had intended.
"Get on your fucking horse, we're leaving back to camp. Or can you even get on it? My nose might be broken, but I can smell the booze on you. You reak of it."
Maka bristles at his harsh accusation. "I'm perfectly sober sir, I only had one glass of gin."
"What a fucking saint you are. Only one glass of gin with a saloon dove." Soul mumbles, rolling his eyes heavenward.
"Tell me kid, did you feel the need to go get your dick wet because of your hair? Are you that insecure about your looks that you had to find solace in the arms of a stranger?"
Anger spirals from the pit of her stomach. She stares up at him, toe to toe. He boldly holds her gaze, his nostrils flaring, stained red with drying blood, causing him to look more dangerous than usual.
Maka swallows, willing herself not to be cowed by his surly attitude. He was the one in the wrong, not her. Why should she feel remorse?
"I hit you in the bloody nose, not the ears. I said I came here to visit a friend. Nothing more." She grates, standing to her full height, which compared to his was minuscule.
He towers over her, all muscles and brawn, but she wills her body not to tremble. His face is thunderous and she can hear the strain in his voice, trying to wrangle his temper.
He takes a menacing step towards her, encroaching into her space. He smells of blood and anger, and for some reason it trills her, knowing she can make him burn just as bad.
"You shouldn't be making friends here," he whispers, his tone terrible and exhilarating.
"Your uncle wouldn't allow it."
"Well, my uncle isn't here and until he returns, I'll do as I please." She murmurs, eyes glued to the pounding pulse in his neck.
He's so close, she could stand on her tiptoes and put her mouth on that spot.
"Your uncle might not be here, but I'm your guardian, and you will listen to me," He commands, his roughened voice eliciting a fiery trail of pleasure and challenge.
"You are not the boss of me." She counters, taking a small step closer.
"Technically I am. I'm the boss for this whole damn ranch."
"I am my own person!" She growls, aware of how dangerously close she is getting to him, but not caring the least, every muscle in her body screaming to take, to claim, to take his stupid face in her hands and... kiss him?
This revelation is enough to snap her out of her alarming and delusional thoughts. She'd never kissed anyone before, she had never felt the desire to. She wouldn't start here, outside of a saloon in the middle of the night. And her first kiss certainly wouldn't be with Soul. Not here, not now, maybe not ever, and that was a very sobering thought.
She turns away then, ashamed and embarrassed.
Soul groans as she turns her back on him, their argument far from over yet.
"Why are you so damn riled? Did your hair mean that much to you?" He asks, trying not to sound so desperate.
"No, and yes," She sighs, her eyes tilting up to the night sky taking in millions of stars, so cold and far away. Distant, like she feels right now, even though he's only a few steps behind her.
"I'm riled because you did it without asking, without explaining why. I'm angry because you are not the least bit remorseful for it. Like it didn't even matter to you."
"Should I be remorseful? It's just hair." He croaks, refusing to let her know how much he hates himself for it.
"It was mine though. Maybe not my whole identity, but it was a small reminder of where I come from, the customs and home I had to leave behind. The parents I left buried in a sad little cemetery in Whitechapel."
He looks at her short hair and he feels that stab of guilt once more. The kid's hair had been long, very English, but it had been nice. He was used to seeing it. Now it was gone because of him. It was just hair, but the kid's anguish was real, and it was caused by him.
"I..." Soul growls, his frustration with himself choking the words he wants to say.
"I won't apologize for something that had to be done. I am sorry for how it happened though, for being so rough with you Kid."
"That's the worst apology I've ever heard." She sniffs, still refusing to look at him.
"I was worried... he trails off, his voice finally breaking.
That got her attention. She turns, his face is covered in shadow, but she sees the remnants of fear glimmering in his gaze. Had it been there all along? Was she too angry to see it earlier? What had caused that fear?
"Worried? About what? What could possibly worry you to the point of almost scalping me?" She demands.
His face breaks at the word, and understanding hits her hard and fast in the stomach. "Oh."
"I was worried they would take you. He wanted me to trade you to him. He wasn't taking no for an answer. He wanted your fucking golden hair." He wheezes, sweat dripping down his neck, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"I thought cheif Standing-Tall was a peaceful man. Surely he wouldn't take me by force if we refused?" Maka whispers, dread clawing at her lungs.
"Peaceful, yes.. but that could always change, people have many different sides to them, things that can sway their actions. No one is good or just bad. I didn't want to risk that."
Maka takes a step back and hits the hitching rail. She thinks about how Black star and Justin were kind and gentle men but they had shot and killed those rustlers so naturally. How she had killed as well. There was no such thing as black and white. People good and bad moved in shades of grey.
She swallows past the lump forming in her throat before asking, her heart beating a wild tempo.
"Were you really that worried for me?"
He looks at the ground and shoves his hands into his pockets. "No. Yes. I don't know." He says, frustration and residual panic cracking his demeanor.
"All I could think about was them dragging you away, somewhere far away, where I couldn't find you." He says, his face draining of all color. "I felt firsthand the kind of heartache and torture you would have to endure as a captive. I couldn't let that happen. Not to you, kid... I just... want to keep you safe."
Maka understands, her feet carrying her forward without thought. She places her hand on his chest, all her anger and resentment bleeding from her.
He wears his anguish, his trauma, tucked away so tight. Only when it becomes too much does it seep through the cracks of his armor.
There was still so much she didn't know about this world and its dangers. So much she didn't know about this sad and wounded man.
This endearingly complex and beautiful person, all he wanted was to protect her, and in his own way, he had.
He holds his breath, his heart beating steady beneath her hand.
"I am safe, we are both safe. There's nothing to fear, I promise." She says softly, not sure she can trust her own voice or the emotions it holds. "I understand now."
Soul's eyes shine, even in the gloom of the night. He places his hand over hers, only for a brief moment, but it's enough to tilt her whole world upside down.
"It's hard for people to understand. I'm glad you do did. So damn glad."
He squeezes her hand then drops his own. She takes a quick step back, clearing her throat, willing her face to not give her away.
"So, uh, does this mean I'm forgiven?" He asks sheepishly.
"Yeah, Evans."
Soul exhales slowly, the tension leaving his body, perhaps for the first time this evening.
"So we're good? No hard feelings? I don't want you to be angry with me."
Laughter, bright, and mischievous bubbles from her lips.
"I'm not angry anymore, but hard feelings? Not even close Evan's." She punches him softly in the shoulder, a habit she had picked up from her rough a d tumble cowboys.
"I'd sleep with one eye open for a bit. I know where we keep the shears, and you could use a haircut too." She threatens lightly.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Soul laughs and the sound is enough to tear her heart and heal it too. His broad and booming laugh, and this time it reaches all the way to his eyes.
The days flow by, like the winding of a lazy river, each one more special and beautiful than the last.
The days are filled with hard, back-breaking work, and even harsher lessons to be learned. But there is a glimmer of beauty, a growing bond of friendship and family.
Each day she learns something new; learns more about the people around her and this ever changing world.
she is content. Searching for her own inner peace.
Soon the roundup is complete, their time on the open range coming to a close. Their native friends leave, departing on their own journey, and she is sad to see them go.
Thaddeus was left in a neighboring town, for a doctor to look at his broken bones. He was left a full paycheck and told never to come back again. It was more than he deserved.
Maka was sad to leave the open prairie behind; memories of Katydids and a brilliant sea of bluebonnets tucked away. Treasured in her heart.
But there are still so many wonderful adventures to come.
Her place in this vast new world is changing, like the warm chinook wind ushering spring into summer. Time is intangible though, like the weather or the changing of the seasons. You can not grasp it, or hope to keep it locked away.
Change is inevitable, good and bad; love and loss going hand in hand.
She was going to learn this lesson, one victory and one heartbreak at a time.
Authors note.
Hello, everyone!
Next chapter we will be starting the second half of this book!
I hope y'all are excited, because I sure am! :D
I have a lot planned with the plot and driving it forward.
I am also going to apologize ahead of time for all the angst to come. Buckle up, it's going to be a long ride.
Once again thank you for staying with the story this far, it's truly been a labor of love. What I had orginally planned as a 25 chapter story has turned into a behemoth of a novel. Writing their story has been such a whirlwind of emotions for me and I'm so excited to continue this story forward.
Thank you for all of you kind words and comments, they brighten my day to no end. 3
Much love. -sammy921.