"What, old man Bradbury? Aw, he'd get over it. Ain't nothing but idle talk."
"Anything else real good?"
Ruby shook her head. "Not unless you got something to tell me about Mr. Broadmoor, that is." Her face split into a grin. "Go on, spill it."
Marie couldn't stop her face twisting into a grin, but there was something she could do. "I got to get going. Got to meet some folks."
"Some folks, you're sayin?" The look on Ruby's face said that she had some specific guesses about which folks Marie was going to see.
"I'm going now, Ruby. Say hey to your dad for me, and don't get caught slacking off."
Ruby's face twisted into a pout. "I'm never slacking off, Miss Bainbridge. I'm just working inside my head, don't you know?"
She let out a laugh and shifted the broom from one hand to the other. Marie started off and waved back as she walked away. Her eyes unconsciously shifted across the road, where the saloon sat on the opposite corner, the other side of the street from Owen's.
It wouldn't be that big a detour, would it? And she needed to have some questions answered. There were mistakes, and there were mistakes. She was a grown woman, and she could own up to what she'd done, but the one thing she couldn't have was talk about Chris having murdered someone. He couldn't have, she thought. She suspected. But there was something underneath the surface with him, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And she was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what.
Twenty-Eight
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There was a spot on the bar where Jim, in his infinite capability, decided to remind Chris why he wasn't a bartender by leaving spilled alcohol that stained the finish on the wood, and he'd been spending an hour rubbing the discoloration out by the time that the door opened to let in the first customer.
He didn't look up right away. After all, it was too early for the stage, and regulars would know they were coming in early anyways. The doors, strictly speaking, shouldn't even be open yet, but open they were, in spite of his better judgment.
They would probably settle down at the card table, or go looking for Sarah to hire one of the girls for an after-church round. Which meant, effectively, Chris could ignore them completely. When the footsteps sounded like they were approaching directly, though, he finally looked up, admitting to himself that there wasn't much chance of avoiding the conversation by looking sufficiently busy.
"Can I help you?" He spoke the words before bothering to rise from his place behind the counter, and once he'd said it, he immediately regretted it. Marie was as pretty as ever, he thought. The fact that she was soaked practically to her skin didn't do anything to change that.
He shot a glare over at Jim, who shrugged.
"Can we talk?"
He blinked. "I guess so."
She frowned and looked over at the big man in the corner. "It's private, I think."
"A'right," he said. "Jim, get on out of here a minute."
Jim didn't waste any time, taking the back door out and closing it behind him. Like he'd had some place to go, or something. Chris watched him go with a mix of boredom and mild curiosity where the man had to be in such a rush. He'd never struck Chris as having much going on in the first place.
"Is this about last night?"
He leaned against the back wall and tried to keep his face neutral. Whatever she said, it didn't much effect him, and he had to make sure to keep thinking of it that way, regardless of what he might actually think.
"No," she said. He shouldn't have been as relieved as he was. "That was–"
Her face went crimson red and he couldn't stop himself from breaking just a little bit of a smile.
"What's up, then, that's so private?"
"Well, I just heard some talk, and I wanted to know your thoughts."
He raised an eyebrow. "Gossip is for private conversations, now?"
"Well, it's about you."
"Most gossip is, these days, one way or another."