Page 133 of Deadwood
“Princess,” he greeted, not looking my way.
“What are you doing here?” I questioned, closing the door behind me as I stepped into the midmorning sun. There was no breeze, yet the air held a chill, causing goosebumps to freckle my chest.
“Enjoying the lovely day,” he replied, now admiring the glint off the blade from the blinding rings in the sky.
I stepped past him, looking out at the street. “Well, I’m going out.”
The sound of dirt shuffling filled my ears as he presumably straightened behind me. “I’ll come with you.”
I turned my head to the side, my eyes cast on the ground. “I never said where I was going.”
“There’s nowhere in this town I haven’t been, a spot in this land I haven’t seen. Wherever it is, wherever you go, I will be there. And if you choose not to tell me, I will find you.”
I turned then, facing him, and as his devouring gaze took me in from head to toe, his hand froze on the hilt of his dagger. “I’m going to the saloon.”
He gave no indication that he had heard me, his eyes heating as they turned to twin flames, visually devouring the display set before him. The dress clung to every curve, accentuating my hips, waist, breasts. And every inch the fabric covered—and the spots it did not—he admired like a starved animal set in front of a feast after a long hibernation.
His eyes, so vibrant under the blue sky, met mine. The look alone made me want to torture him day in and day out, just to see that hunger—that need—blaze in his gaze. But not only him, it was me who was vexed by a life I’d never live with a man I could never have. Based on the tortured look on his face, I’d say he wanted me, too. He just didn’t want to admit it.
So I’d find a way to make him beg.
I faced the street again. “Coming?”
One glance back showed him snapping out of his all-consuming stupor, his throat working on a swallow as he sheathed the dagger in one fluid motion. My eyes followed the blade, the way his hand held the deadly weapon like a delicate wildflower. Would he one day handle me with such precise, lethal confidence?
He came to my side, and we walked alongside each other without another word, heading through the rows of houses until we entered the main street.
“Long night?” I asked to break the silence. Chatter filtered onto the road from the shops, people bustling about as they went about their business, but it wasn’t enough to break the pressing quiet that hung between me and Bowen like a bow on a string ready to snap.
“It was nothing special,” he answered. “And you?”
He didn’t ask if I was alright. He knew that I was, based on the thorough visual examination of my body he had done.
A woman didn’t dress in such a way the day after being attacked to simply cower like an injured animal.
“Good as a night could be, given how the day before went.” I wouldn’t lie. Despite the outfit, I was distraught over what had happened, but I had to keep my chin up, lest they get the upper hand and take advantage of a fragile state of mind.
He sent me a sympathetic glance, and I wanted to fall into it and wrap myself up in his care. Out of the entire evening, my mind kept wandering back to him in the shower. Standing in front of me with water dripping down his bare chest, the light dusting of hair across his skin dampened, his eyes that had taken me in with nothing but concern. He hadn’t hesitated to take care of me, to bring me upstairs and make sure I was okay. To wash the filth, grime, and shame from my skin. He’d just…done it. I had once thought he hated me, but then he had scooped me up, and I had never wanted to be put down again.
If that was hate, consider me loathed.
“You don’t need to worry.” Something in him had changed last night. I could feel it in the tone of his voice, in the way my skin hummed near his, our arms nearly brushing as we walked.
What a simple reassurance when my life could have been ripped from me in seconds.
“I’m not.” The words were light, a slight tremble to them, and he sensed I wasn’t speaking my mind. But rather than pointing it out, he let me believe my own words for the sake that maybe, if he didn’t refute them, I’d find them to be true.
We approached the saloon, and without hesitation, he held the door open for me, stepping aside to let me pass him. After yesterday, him being okay with my being here somewhat shocked me. But that’s what stood Bowen apart from the rest of the people in my life. He didn’t tell me where to go. Rather, he followed, giving me the freedom to make my own decisions.
Until he shoved me away.
A constant push and pull with him, leaving me seasick on stable ground.
With that thought in mind, I didn’t bother thanking him as I stepped over the threshold. I was still mad at him for saying he didn’t need my help, and I wanted him to know that.
The musty air immediately stung my nose as cigar smoke whirled in the rays of the sun streaming in from the dirt-caked windows. Dust mixed with the clusters, creating a cacophony of fluttering debris. Stronger than before, the smell of that putrid ale combined with the pungent scent of whisky hit me as Bowen let the door fall shut. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped walking, my mind racing with the thought that Nemin and Crass could be in here, that I’d have to look them in the face after what they’d done to me.
A gentle hand rested in the dip of my waist, giving a light squeeze as a thumb brushed over the fabric of my dress. “You’re safe,” Bowen murmured, his chest brushing my back.
