Rode Hard, Put Up Wet: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 2)

"I ought to go."

"Sure," he said. His voice low. She turned and walked out the front. The sound of the rain punctuated her leaving. Jim caught the door from her as she stepped out.

"Everything alright?"

Chris shrugged. "Yeah, man. It's fine."

"Anything good?"

Chris stepped back up to the counter and peered at an angle to see if he could make out where the stain had been. It was mostly out, now, but you never notice until it's too late, just taking a cursory glance.

"You know what I like about you, Jim?" Chris didn't wait for him to answer. "You never talk too much. Never sticking your nose into other folks' business."

The bouncer got the hint and settled back into his seat with his book, and Chris went back to rubbing out a stain that shouldn't even have been there in the first place.

Now if only the rest of his mistakes were so easy to get rid of.

Twenty-Nine

Marie was trapped. She didn't like being trapped, and she liked feeling trapped even less. Better to be it and not feel it, if you have the choice. That way, she could at least fool herself. Father had learned that lesson, and eventually even Marie had forgotten that there had been a time when she knew, consciously and at all times, that everything was going all wrong.

Chris, though, didn't seem so accommodating.

How much was she even allowed to know? How much was appropriate to wonder? She didn't know and at this point it was well past the point of just coming out and asking. He was right. There were things he didn't ask her about, and it was only fair that she respect those boundaries.

That didn't help her curiosity, though. Because it always seems as if it's going to be perfectly normal. If she just knew what was going on, then maybe she would find out that it was all perfectly normal, too.

That wasn't how it had gone with Father. Things had suddenly flown off the tracks, when things went bad. Which, inevitably, they were always going to. If she had known what was going on, if she'd been prepared–that is, if she'd been allowed to know–then it would have been something she could avoid from a long way off.

She took a deep breath and settled into her seat. Why Owen wasn't there, she didn't know. To say that it was frustrating, though… it was well past frustrating. He was avoiding her, it seemed, and she couldn't begin to guess why except that he wasn't giving her the room that she had paid for, that she was still paying for.

He didn't subscribe to any of the nonsense talk about her. He certainly hadn't asked her about any of it, and he wouldn't have just made the decision to keep her out–of her own room, no less–without consulting her. Mr. Maxim wasn't that kind of person.

So she took in a deep breath and straightened her back and waited, the only option afforded her other than simply walking out in a huff. Eventually, he had to come out, or there would be a great many hungry people waiting come supper time.

It gave her far too much time by herself, though, as the place sat empty. She could see Zella standing over by the kitchen, but every time that Marie actually looked up, she turned back in as if someone had called her back.

They certainly were avoiding her. The only question was why, and what she could do about it. If there was anything, and if there wasn't, then at least say something so she could get her things and find someplace else to stay.

Honestly. It was beginning to feel like a pattern with this town. If someone would simply talk to her, maybe some of their problems could be solved, but apparently everyone found it much easier and more convenient if they just avoided her as much as possible, pushed things off as long as they could, and then pretended that they hadn't.

She had half a mind to step right through that kitchen door and give them a piece of her mind. She stopped herself, though, in spite of her frustration. Chris had been right, even if she didn't have to like it. She was sticking her nose in where it wasn't needed, and where others had at least made the passing attempt to keep their own noses out of her business.

Still, at some point she'd have to figure something out. Someone would have to start talking, or she was going to go mad. She had no problem being the one to start the ball rolling, if that were even possible. There was absolutely no excuse for being unwilling to do what you'd ask of someone else.

The problem was, though, that she was already doing everything that she could. She kept no secrets–well, no, that wasn't true at all, was it?

She had things that she didn't talk about. Things that it wouldn't have been appropriate to discuss. But sitting on the outside, anyone would see that as just being her keeping things from them, and in a certain way of looking at it, that's what she was doing. Discretion looked very much like secrecy from the outside, as she well knew.

&nbs

p; Marie rose from her seat and took a breath. Her clothes were most of the way dry, now, and with just a little bit of luck, they might not be soaked through by the time she got back to her hotel. At least, that was what she let herself hope.

The rain was still coming down, softer now, the last dying gasps of insistence that the rain wouldn't let up just because of some inconvenience it might have been causing people. Soon, those last attempts would die off, and the sun would start shining through the clouds. It just hadn't happened quite yet, but it was as inevitable as the sun rising the next morning.

Marie allowed herself to hum a little tune as she crossed the street, a half-remembered melody that almost certainly had a more straightforward tune when she had first heard it. Someone let out a yell, off in the distance. It might have been anything, at first.

And then it was followed by a shot, and the options for what it might have been tightened up considerably. Marie's heart threatened to stop right in her chest.