Boone fought the impulse to prod the lump in his shirt as he approached the edge of town.
She’s still there; you don’t gotta poke her to be sure.
The trouble was, Anne was such an unlikely little thing that doubts started creeping back in as soon as she was out of sight.
Maybe there’s a drink or two that slipped your mind, or maybe you were out in the desert longer than you thought.
But Boone had been bent-over-a-barrel, losing-his-lunch drunk before, and he’d gone on a cattle drive that lasted longer than his water skin before, and he’d never seen anything like the little lady tucked in his pocket.
“Who, what now?” Boone’s hand went to his pocket on instinct, and he diverted it at the last moment to gave his beard a scratch instead.
Cassidy was plodding across the street toward him in her patchy men’s boots, wiping sweat from her brow. “Any sign of Darlin’?”
“Fraid not,” he shrugged, regretting it almost immediately. That’ll shake up Anne, won’t it?
“Aw well, she’ll come around afore nightfall, I’m certain of it.” She pulled off her work glove and clapped his shoulder with her rough hand. If the shrug didn’t shake her up, that surely did. Boone firmed up his shoulders like he was bracing for a dynamite blast. Cass’s hand gripped tighter, feeling the the tension. “Everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine.” As if Cass needed more reasons to doubt his word, his voice cracked a bit on ‘fine.’ She gave him that look she gave him when she could smell his bullshit.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Boone flashed her a wide smile and shook his head. “Not particularly.” His heart was beating double-time in his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cass to be sensible about things, it was just that he wasn’t ready for a long chat about today’s impossible happenings when he hadn’t rightly worked it out himself yet. And never mind me being ready or not, I ain’t about to go showing Anne around to folk like some kinda curio with her as meek as she is. “Ah-ah’m real parched, Cass, gonna grab a drink.”
Cass raised her eyebrows. “Alright.” The silence in-between her talking was full of the unspoken assurance that the conversation was not over, merely postponed. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
He started walking as he was talking, so he was halfway across the road by the time he finished saying, “And don’t think I ain’t glad of that!” He waved, and Cassidy waved back at him, a skeptical glint in her eye.
I’ll tell her, Boone thought, stepping up onto the saloon’s sorry excuse for a porch. Eventually.
He pushed through the double doors and blinked a bit as his eyes adjusty to the dusty darkness.
“Hiya, Boone.” The bartender nodded in his direction and leaned down to grab a glass off the shelves hidden behind the bar top. “You find Darlin’ yet?”
“Spencer.” Boone looked all the way around the saloon as he approached the bar. “No luck so far, but she’ll come around.” Aside from Doc Wilson asleep in his regular booth in the back, the place was empty. Good; a bit of privacy. “Whoah!” Boone held up his hand as Spencer reached for the leftmost tap. “Jest water, if you don’t mind.”
He furrowed his brow and moved the glass down the line. “You a teetotaler now?”
“Heck naw. I’m just keeping a clear head until I empty out everybody’s pockets. Then I’ll drink to celebrate.”
Spencer stood looking puzzled for a moment, then he remembered. “Aw shoot, it’s Thursday, ain’t it?” He nodded, not waiting for Boone to answer. “I’d better clear off the poker table.” He flipped the tap and let the water run along the side of the glass like he was trying to lessen the head on a draft of beer. Old habits die hard I guess. “How many?”
“Me, Wyatt, Buck, and Jose.”
“Wyatt?”Spencer filled the glass in thoughtful silence for a moment. “He’s an ornery son’bitch.”
Boone laughed. “Sure is. But I’ll keep invitin’ him as long as he keeps losing cash hand-over-fist.”
“Fair enough.” Spencer set the pint glass on the bar. Boone tried to picture Anne drinking from it and failed. Shoot, it’s taller than she is.
“Uh, Spencer, on second thought could I get a shot ‘a…bourbon as well? Jest a swaller.”
Spencer nodded, and grabbed the squarish botttle off the high shelf that was Boone’s usual weakness. “Sure thing.” He poured a shot of it and set it down beside the pint glass.
“Thanks.” Boone grabbed both glasses, the little and the big, and carried them over to a table in the corner that was a good distance from both the window and the dozy doctor. He set them down on the table, and himself down in the chair, a bit slow and gentle, like he was nursing a bum leg.
Boone took the shot of liquor; the burning in his throat was a welcome reminder that at least one of his senses was functioning properly. Then, once he’d looked back and was sure Spencer was headed to the back to tidy the poker table, he took a deep breath and reached into his pocket.
A/N: cowboy POV y’aaaaaaallllll.
2087
gummygunk
stormborns
snowghoul
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
