Page 55 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"I'll come up with something believable. Plus, as you've rightly pointed out many times, it's not like I could get out of this ranch without being noticed, and even if I could, I wouldn't make it very far, now would I?"

"That's...true," I admitted, a little reluctantly. "But it doesn't mean we should push things. What if you're seen coming into my cabin?"

"I doubt that," he said with a laugh, waving his hand as if pushing away the idea. "No one's ever around late at night. They stick to their cabins...well, except Walter. He likes to walk late at night, not just in the evening. Never bothered me, though."

"He's always enjoyed his walks. Says it helps him sleep," I said and then caught onto what he'd just said. "Wait, you've been out after hours?"

Samuel cocked his brow. “Do you really think you can give me freedom, and I won't take advantage of it?"

"That doesn't mean you were supposed to take complete advantage and go roaming around," I told him with a growl. "You were given more freedom to prove you could be trusted, that you were willing to do better, not to?—"

"To what?" he asked, his good humor disappearing in a flash and replaced by the brittle anger I only saw occasionally. "Togo for a walk? Do you think Walter is the only one who has a hard time going to sleep at night? I get restless too, and being confined in that cabin just makes it worse. So yes, Ambrose, I go for a walk, and do you want to know what I do on that walk? I look at the stars and the moon when it's out. I listen to the men snoring and groaning in their sleep, the insects and animals skittering around, and the wind. I think about everything that happened and what I've done to get to this point. Sometimes, I regret what I've done, and other times, I remind myself I did the only thing I could to survive. Sometimes, I remember what it's like to be innocent of how damned this world can be and how many people are bound for Hell. I like to remember the smell of baking bread and my mother singing while she cooked or sewed. Or how I liked listening to my father mutter to himself when he poured over account books. But most of all, I think about what I'm going to do next. I wonder how long I’ll be here, scrutinized by people who don't know the first thing about life off this ranch where you're protected from the worst of the world and never have to worry about where your next meal will come from, who you might have to hurt in order to make it to the next day, and how you're going to sleep knowing what you've done to get this far. And sometimes I wonder if maybe, just maybe, there is something to this place. Even if you don't realize it, even if your father doesn't care about all that, this might be an opportunity for me and even the others to end up in a better place. Maybe not in the way we thought at first, but sometimes life doesn't always give you the chances you want. So maybe you could follow through on what you said a couple of weeks ago and trust that I'm going to do what you want and earn the trust you've given me."

At first, I could only stand there and stare at him in shock at the sheer passion pouring forth from him. Even in the face of him insulting me and diminishing my choices, I could hear thefrustration and earnestness in his voice. Much like the flash of bitter violence I’d seen back at the river, it marked the second time I had seen genuine parts of him reach the surface and show themselves.

"Right," I said after a moment, speaking slowly, hoping I didn't end up making him even more angry. "You go for a walk."

He stared at me for a moment, and I thought he was going to burst into another fit, but instead, he let out a bark of laughter. "Lord, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were being sarcastic."

"I sounded sarcastic?"

"You sounded like an idiot, actually."

I scowled. “Thanks."

He chuckled. "You might not realize it, but that actually makes it better."

"How?"

"Because it...it means you're being you. Without any social grace or understanding. You just...blurt out the first thing that comes into your head, especially when you're panicking because I lost my temper."

I scowled at him. “You make me sound like a little boy."

"And you called me a big kid earlier. I guess some things from boyhood stick around," he said with a shrug, beginning to walk off. He turned at one point, walking backward. "And for the record, if you're okay with my idea, just leave a lamp on in your window. I'll take that as a sign you're interested, and if you're not...leave the lamp off, and I'll take the hint. It changes nothing else about how we are together, whatever you choose."

I wasn't sure I believed that, not because I thought he was lying but because there was a weight to the decision. I wasn't sure even he would admit how much weight there was. As much as I knew there was a serious, and I supposed potentially dangerous, man inside Samuel, he was good at hiding his truethoughts and feelings. He was the same man capable of smiling in Walter's face like the stable master hadn't come dangerously close to finding me throat-deep inside Samuel.

So perhaps he didn't know just how serious that kind of request was. He was essentially offering to come into my private space, where we would...what? Do what we’d been doing, or was he aiming for more? It wasn't like I was prepared for that, but he had confidence. Either that, or I was reading far too much into it, and he just thought there was less danger slipping into my cabin at night.

A shout rang out, pulling me from my thoughts, and I smiled when I saw Arthur sprinting down the road. Considering the earlier conversation, I wasn't surprised when he headed straight for Samuel, who didn't hesitate to pick the kid up and swing him around with a laugh. He put him down and talked to him, both of them looking back, Samuel with a playful wink and Arthur with a wide grin and an eager wave.

Bear had retreated to my side, trotting along slowly as we watched them. At moments like this, it was difficult to remember he had come to the ranch essentially in chains, a prisoner and former member of an outlaw gang. However, when I came to think of it, I hadn't ever found out if he’d actually been a part of the gang or traveling with them briefly. As far as the law was concerned, there was no difference, and Samuel probably didn't care one way or the other. He was, after all, a results sort of person, and whether or not he was in the gang didn't matter because either way, he had ended up here.

Now he was here, and despite having been distrustful of anything he said in the past, even I wasn't so stubborn as to believe his words hadn't been genuine. Perhaps he really saw this as an opportunity to turn his life around. I hadn't considered that a possibility. All I’d seen was a chance to take a lawbreakerand outlaw out of the world and put him to good use rather than causing trouble for good, decent folk.

Was there perhaps something to that?

And though it had nothing to do with the current situation, why had my brother been so against the idea that Cortez's gang had returned?

Why was my father continuing to treat me as though I had something to prove while doing things behind my back that showed zero trust in me?

And what in hell was I going to do about Samuel’s idea?"

SAMUEL

After almost three months at the ranch, I was confident I could tell the time of night based on the sounds. Crickets signified that the sun had been down for a couple of hours, drawing the critters out to sing their songs. There were those in cabins close to ours who generally didn't sleep until almost midnight, but you could always hear them from the heavy snorting and snoring.

Of course, my two companions also snored but went to bed early. One was a snorer. The other was completely silent, except for the occasional mumble. I was listening for the familiar sounds tonight, ticking away the time, and measuring it carefully. Even as a boy, I had been restless and had a hard time falling asleep. My father came to me one night, realizing I was still awake, and had sat with me.

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