He cornered her alone, without that brother of hers yapping away,
anxious frown making the air around him tight and hot. She stared up at
him with eyes heâd never seen sparkle with laughter, only with tears,
and waited.
“You and me, weâve not got along. Made no secret of it. Donât think you
belong here.”
She tilted her head, still silent. He didnât like that. Women should
babble and prattle. You didnât have to listen to them, but they should
do it. He recalled his mother and his aunts and the soft flow of gossip
from their lips, taking something and chewing it until it tasted of
nothing but the scandal theyâd salted it with. No harm meant; it was
what they did for fun.
Not this one - and when she did speak, couldnât hardly understand her.
“But I got to thinking. Man has to make the best of things, donât he?
And youâre here and youâve proved yourself -”
She reached towards him and pulled up his shirt and he froze. “Now,
thatâs not - hey!” Cool fingers traced the scar sheâd put on him and he
swallowed, his skin contracting and flushing hot as she trailed
patterns on his skin.
“River...” He said it and realised heâd never called her that before,
never thought of her as anything but ‘that girlâ. “Thatâs done and
gone. Donât fret about it.”
“Iâm not.” Her words dropped like pebbles into a stream, cool splashes
against his ears. She smiled up at him, dimpling, eyes bright. “Go on.”
She laid her palm flat against his face. “Tell me how sorry you are,
not because you mean it, but because youâre scared I can kill you with
my brain and you donât want that.”
“What? No! Thatâs not why Iâm -”
Her fingers brushed against his lips, stilling his lies and then dipped
fast as a heron swooping down on a fish and dived into his pocket. If
he was hard by the time her hand came out, clutching a sparkle of
twisted metal studded with clear stones, he wasnât going to apologise.
Woman went south, could expect to get burned.
She held up the necklace, eyes wide, lips parted. Nothing much, but
heâd taken care choosing it.
“You think this is enough to save your mind?” she demanded, scowling
fiercely.
He began to stammer and then set his jaw. “Damn straight! Itâs pretty
and...I think itâd look good on you.”
She studied it. “Cheaply plated, mass produced and the stones are
glass.”
“Fine. Give it back and blast my brain. See if I care.”
She grinned and kissed him, hard and fast and painful, just like itâd
felt when she slashed him open. “Maybe later.”
Then she was gone, the necklace shining in her fist as she ran, and
before she was out of sight he was smiling. And that was worth trading
in his third favourite gun.
Plated? Lying bastard swore it was solid gold...
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