Page 18 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Three times a week and a month," Leon shot back without hesitation. It was bold enough that I glanced over at Ambrose and took his measure as Leon all but balked and made new demands. The West was regarded, not unfairly in my experience, as a crap shoot of people you could find on both sides of the law. Some men obeyed the law or appeared to, only as far as it would keep them on the free side of a jail cell or noose, lacking precisely zero honor or regard for their fellows, while there were still outlaws with more honor and respect than even the most virtuous saints.

A glance at Ambrose showed the tightening of the muscles in his jaw, which I already knew was a sign that his temper was starting to grow. Yet he lacked the tightening around his eyes or the flash of danger that foretold how much self-control he used to keep his temper in check. Instead, there was a furrowing of his brow that only showed up when he gave something a lot of thought.

I half expected him to snap at the man or make a demand, but instead, Ambrose grunted. "Three times a week. An hour each. If we don't seesomethingchange in a few weeks, I'm pulling him back to normal duties. If after a month, you've barely made anything better, he's also out, got it?"

Leon thought about it for a minute before giving a grin. “Deal."

I, of course, was given absolutely no choice in the matter, which wasn't surprising. Even if Leon was clearly willing to treat me as a person, he was just as aware as anyone else that I was still a prisoner and, before that, an outlaw. I might be useful for something other than shoveling animal shit and diggingholes in the blazing heat, but that didn't mean I was given a choice...perish the thought.

"Frank's handy," I said as Ambrose made to turn away.

"What?" Ambrose asked, glancing over his shoulder with a scowl.

"I've seen him use one of the repair kits that someone left behind in that...wonderful cabin you stuffed the three of us into," I said with a shrug. "I don't know what he's added, but he repaired his and Garret's clothes and even did something with my boots that made them fit better even though he never measured me...and thought I didn't know it was him."

Ambrose looked toward Frank, who stared back passively. The only indication he was aware of what was going on was the way his eyes slid to me for a moment before returning to stare straight ahead, looking like he might have been waiting for his turn to get food. Beside him, Garret scowled, though whether that was because I had spoken or because Ambrose was now staring at Frank, I couldn't tell.

"And I overheard them talking. I'd put good money on the fact that Garrett there is damn good at carpentry," I added, smirking when Garret's expression turned into an outright scowl aimed at me.

At that, Ambrose turned to stare at me, the tic in his jaw returning before he took a deep breath. “Get your food, and thenyou, smart mouth, come with me."

I had no one to blame for the sudden twist but myself, and I had to restrain the urge to sigh as I took my bowl of food and followed Ambrose as he stomped down the row of dining tables. Following him, I wondered what trouble my mouth had got me into now. Not that I hadn't found myself in trouble more than once before because of my mouth, and I was usually comfortable with that reality. Still, there were times when I had to look skyward and wonder why I needed to run my mouth so often.

"Here," he said, finding a spot at the far end of one of the tables where no one else was sitting. He pointed to the chair across from him. "And you there."

"I could figure out the clues well enough on my own," I said with a roll of my eyes. "God, treat me like a leper because I was a big bad outlaw, but don't treat me like a simpleton."

He sat across from me, pausing to adjust his seat and stare at me. “Huh. Interesting."

"What's interesting?" I asked as I sat, wondering what he could have finally found about me that made him think it was interesting.

"Oh, I was starting to think there wasn't a thing in the world that could get under your skin," he said, the corner of his lips twitching at the thought. "I guess treating you like you're stupid sets you off."

I knew I’d given myself away the moment my spoon hesitated in the bowl of stew before bringing it to my mouth. It wasn't that I hated being seen as an idiot or incapable. Those were things I could live with if need be. Sometimes, I even preferred it because being seen as stupid or inept was a great way to be underestimated and disregarded by others.

Survival was the name of the game, especially in the Far West, where the rules might change from town to town, group to group, or not even exist. I had been learning to survive from the prime age of fifteen, so I knew how important it was not to let your guard down. And if other people believed there was nothing to me but a smart mouth and some good luck, that worked just fine.

What bothered me about Ambrose's stare was that it felt as though he’d caught a glimpse of something I'd prefer he hadn't. He was still irritated, but after only a week of dealing with him, I was sure that was his normal mood with just about everyone.But there was something thoughtful and watchful about him that I wasn't too thrilled about.

Just like I wasn't thrilled that he’d caught me out. Despite my more practical attitude, I hated being treated like an idiot or incompetent. Learning how to let that sort of thing happen and not get to me had been one of the hardest lessons, and I thought that after a decade, I’d succeeded. Which meant the mask had slipped because of my failure, or something about him had made it happen. Neither was a particularly happy thought.

An old impatience flared inside me as he continued to take his time getting to his point and...speak. I clamped down on the urge to say something, shoving the spoon into my mouth and pretending it didn't taste like dust and sand. If it had been an outright unpleasant, nasty taste, I could have used it as a distraction from my nerves jumping all over the place.

"You watch," he said after a moment, coming out more like grunts than words.

"I'm told that's what the eyes in our heads are for," I said, glad the first words that left my mouth sounded wry and a little dismissive rather than nervous and wary, which I was feeling. "Unless you're using something else, I'm gonna have to ask that you share your secret with me."

His nostrils flared, but he glanced down at his bowl to get another spoonful. “I wouldn't have noticed anything like that about those two."

"If I'm not working with them, I eat with them. I'm sleeping half a foot from them. Hell, I've had to see them butt naked, and let me tell you, it's nothing worth seeing," I said with a snort. Which wasn't strictly true. After getting a solid wash, Garrett was almost presentable, and Frank...well, all I could say was that if Frank had ever fucked anyone, I had sympathy and mild envy because God above, even soft, it was impressive. "It's hard not to notice things about them."

Annoyance flashed across his tightening brow as he swirled his stew around. “That so?"

Hmm, he was trying not to let me get under his skin. Which, while admirable, was not a great sign for my attempts at distracting him from what felt like an interrogation. It was normally easy to keep him focused on my sarcasm and quips since he was almost unnaturally sensitive to them as far as I’d seen.

"Fine," he grunted again after a moment. "Then why did you tell on them?"

"Tell on them? Are we children?"

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