I give her a polite smile, because her willingness to oversell Sacramento gives me pause, but I am a woman with limited options. If there is a chance for more and an opportunity to get there, I believe it to be worth investigating.
I raise an eyebrow at Sue, asking an unspoken question, and she gives me a quick nod, indicating her agreement. Sue and I are close enough after traveling together for the past year that I did not think she would object to this change of plans, but it is good to know that she is wholly on board.
“Well, then, I do believe we shall investigate the matter of the state capital a little more closely. May we come in?” I ask Miss May, and she stands back, allowing us to enter.
I pray we are doing the right thing.
Some say that the marshal is the most important personage in the West, seeing to order and keeping good citizens safe. But it is truly the bounty hunters who work to bring the lawless to heel, even if their methods are as brutal as the criminals they hunt.
—Western Tales, Volume 23
—JANE—
Chapter 27
In Which I Consider Domestic Bliss
I follow Callie out of the sheriff’s office and down the street to the hotel where we’ve secured lodgings. She was down in the mouth all through delivering Perry’s body to the sheriff, which was less a delivery and more telling the sheriff a tall tale to justify why Perry was missing both his ears and his nose. The man had finally given up the location of Gideon Carr, a small house in Sacramento, but by then I was covered in blood.
Thankfully we had the Andrews gang as an easy scapegoat, and the sheriff too easily believed that the whole bloody scene had been a robbery gone wrong, with Perry double-crossing the Andrews and paying the price. Callie had deftly avoided my gaze during the entire conversation, her eyes always sliding away every time the sheriff looked at Perry and swore.
“Seem like you got a knack for finding people after they been through a trial,” the man said, his words a not so subtle reference to what happened in Denver.
I shrugged. “Bad things happen to bad people.”
Now, as we stride toward the hotel, Callie gives me the silent treatment, her anger a palpable thing between us. I know what’s on her mind, but it ain’t anything I’m of a mood to discuss. I’m still annoyed that she sided with Perry. I don’t know that I like where this attitude of Callie Washington’s is going.
I can stomach a lot of things, but pacifism ain’t one of them.
We make our way through the fine double doors of the hotel, and the owner meets us in the foyer.
“You can’t bring that dog in here,” he says, gazing askance at Salty. He’s been patiently dogging my heels, waiting for his supper. Even while Perry was screaming up a storm he sat nearby, adding his own chorus to Perry’s yells. I kept expecting someone to come by the cantina to see what was happening, but no one did.
Humanity continues to disappoint.
Callie slumps. “Is there a problem, sir?” Her tone is like an out of tune fiddle, strident and annoying. It pulls me from the memory of Perry and back to the now.
The hotel owner stands in our path. Color rides high in his pale cheeks—fear or rage, I can’t tell. He straightens a little. “That animal is mangy. This is a luxury establishment, a place for good folks.”
“The dog was in here this morning when we booked our lodgings. You walking our accommodations back?” I ask, voice low. I don’t have to yell; the dead man’s blood on my clothing is probably speaking loudly enough. I wear trousers, just as I have ever since we left Nicodemus, and the brown material bears stains from past run-ins with both the dead and the living.
Something in the clerk’s expression changes, and I figure he must have heard the stories about my adventures. People out west are entirely too bored without a real threat from the dead, and they’ve got nothing to do but wag their tongues. There are even weekly rags dedicated to such stories. It’s one of the things I’ve come to love about the frontier. Everyone is too damn busy surviving to gossip.
But here, in the city? It’s another matter entirely.
“You got something to say?” I prod, tapping the butt of my talking iron, once, twice, to help him make up his mind. His eyes are drawn to both the motion and the blood that still cakes my fingernails. We paid the rate he quoted us—most likely higher than what any white person would pay to stay in this nowhere town—and just because he’s looking to get rid of us now doesn’t mean our money ain’t green.
“You can stay,” he says finally, his face pale. “One night. But you and your sister leave first thing in the morning.” I smirk at the notion that Callie and I are related, and there is a small bit of joy in the man’s fear as well. I’d rather have the same respect that he gives any other guest in his hotel, but if I can’t have that, I’ll settle for fear.
“Much obliged,” Callie says, as though he’s doing us a favor.
“Send up someone to draw a bath as well,” I say. “And make sure the water is hot.” I ain’t playing this game any longer, kowtowing when folks are just giving me my due. I might not have been able to force the sheriff to give me my proper pay—he shorted us on the bounty because of the condition of Perry’s body—but I can take on a hotel clerk. I tip my hat at him and head up the stairs, Callie and Salty right behind me.
As soon as we enter the room, Salty sniffs each corner before settling near the fireplace. I drop my lone saddlebag next to the door and unstrap my sword holster and pistol belt, the job made awkward due to my amputated left arm. I’m better at dressing and undressing than I was, but there are days when I would kill to have my left hand and forearm back.
Callie drops her saddlebags next to her side of the bed and goes over to the fire grate and stokes the coals back to life, Salty licking her face as she works until she finally pushes him away and he curls up on the hearth rug. I land myself in the room’s lone chair, not wanting to settle on the bed while I’m covered in road dust and blood.
“You want to talk about what’s vexing you?” I say to Callie’s back.
“Nothing is bothering me, Jane.”
“Not a single thing?”
“Well, I probably don’t need to tell you that what you did to Perry is downright horrifying and completely unnecessary, but there ain’t no way to unslaughter that lamb,” she says, continuing to poke at the fire. “In fact, if there’d been an actual lamb, you probably would’ve killed that as well and tried to convince me that I wanted lamb chops for dinner.”
“Lamb chops are delicious,” I say, hoping I can at least provoke a ghost of a smile.
Nothing.
I sigh, because she’s being petulant and all I want to do is take a bath and sleep for a month. But if I let her go to bed cross it’ll last a whole week instead of just until morning. Hell, it’s been two months since things fell apart back in Denver, and we still ain’t talked about it beyond a few sniping comments here and there.
“Callie, leave that fire alone before you burn off your eyebrows and come here,” I say. She glances at me over her shoulder before dropping the poker in its holder and slinking toward me. She still won’t meet my eyes, and I use my good arm to tug her forward and into my lap. She’s no cleaner than I am, and this ain’t the first time either of us have been covered in blood. She huffs and I plant a kiss on her nose. She’s still stiff, but she doesn’t pull away when I rest my good arm in her lap.