and warm. He pulled Jesse down into his lap in his easy chair and sipped at the whiskey.
"Not past fixing," Jesse said with a shrug, too riled up to ease into lazy flirtation.
"Is there some salve you whores concoct for dealing with rough handling?" Warren watched Jesse over the rim of his glass, his tone utterly serious.
"General Store sells arnica. S'good for any ailment." Jesse guided Warren to take another long sip before he kissed him deeply, knowing Warren only liked kissing when he was starting to feel the haze of good whiskey. It would calm Warren down, would make him feel gentle and slow and ready to sleep.
Jesse drew back after a long, deep kiss—tasting the bite of the whiskey and feeling the burn of Warren's stubble on his chin. He smiled, watching Warren's eyelids start to shutter slowly, rhythmically. It was soothing to watch.
He caught the glass when it fell out of Warren's hand, and as he set it on the table, he considered just curling up on the plush rug at Warren's feet to sleep with him until the ache and sting at his backside subsided.
When Jesse rested his cheek against Warren chest, he felt the sharp outline of the key Warren wore under his shirt. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed by how rough and uncomfortable it felt.
"Oh, shit. Shit," he whispered, climbing out of Warren's lap abruptly. The floor rose up to smack him and he groaned, slapping at his cheeks to try to wake himself up. He could picture Milton lecturing him. What kind of fool went kissing a man he'd just drugged?
At least he could still keep his eyes open, and his feet more or less steady as he hung onto Warren's knees and pulled himself up to Warren's chest. His fingers fumbled, numb and inaccurate, but it didn't take him too long to slide the key and its chain up over Warren's head as Warren snored.
"Keep awake now," he told himself, pinching the thin skin at the underside of his elbow.
The safe was under a false-front of books. He'd seen it before. Warren opened it because he didn't think Jesse was a threat, didn't think Jesse was worth a damn, didn't think it mattered when he hurt him.
"Will shoot you full of holes," he muttered, sifting through heavy parchment papers to find the hand-drawn map to the mine where Warren stockpiled his stolen ammunition and grain stores and explosives. He folded it up and tucked it down into his boot. He closed the safe up and locked it and sat on the floor for a while, waiting for the room to stop tilting back and forth like a raft at the river crossing.
He was creeping out the door on his hands and knees when Miss Catherine stopped him, her hand ice cold on his neck. "You forgot to give the key back," she whispered, eyes gleaming. Her dress had a busy pattern. It reminded him of a butterfly or a flower. "Give it here, and I'll put it back around his neck. Now, you get."
"You're helping me," Jesse said, his thoughts leaking out his mouth.
Catherine's eyes narrowed to slits. "I put some coffee in a mug on the porch. Drink it up quick and don't take the pony, for God's sake. You'll break your neck."
"You're talkin' fast."
"Hurry, fool. Go!"
*~*~*
As the day stretched on, Emmett's only comfort was knowing he wasn't worrying alone. Charley decided to clean out the jail cell, changing the straw and whitewashing the walls and swearing under his breath as he sweated. When Emmett couldn't stand watching anymore, he walked down the street.
At the Weeping Willow, the girls were out on the porch, legs bare and going pink in the sun as they sprawled like river birds trying to stay cool on the unseasonably hot day. They didn't call out or wave, save for Delia, who ran out into the street and threw her arms around him.
"Hush now," he said, tugging one of her braids carefully. "Don't be making a scene, Miss Delia."
"Yes, Sheriff."
She looked up at him and he kissed her forehead, whispering, "Don't know who's watching. Run on back and tell Miss Devaux to bake her geese on the back porch. This town has
"Not past fixing," Jesse said with a shrug, too riled up to ease into lazy flirtation.
"Is there some salve you whores concoct for dealing with rough handling?" Warren watched Jesse over the rim of his glass, his tone utterly serious.
"General Store sells arnica. S'good for any ailment." Jesse guided Warren to take another long sip before he kissed him deeply, knowing Warren only liked kissing when he was starting to feel the haze of good whiskey. It would calm Warren down, would make him feel gentle and slow and ready to sleep.
Jesse drew back after a long, deep kiss—tasting the bite of the whiskey and feeling the burn of Warren's stubble on his chin. He smiled, watching Warren's eyelids start to shutter slowly, rhythmically. It was soothing to watch.
He caught the glass when it fell out of Warren's hand, and as he set it on the table, he considered just curling up on the plush rug at Warren's feet to sleep with him until the ache and sting at his backside subsided.
When Jesse rested his cheek against Warren chest, he felt the sharp outline of the key Warren wore under his shirt. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed by how rough and uncomfortable it felt.
"Oh, shit. Shit," he whispered, climbing out of Warren's lap abruptly. The floor rose up to smack him and he groaned, slapping at his cheeks to try to wake himself up. He could picture Milton lecturing him. What kind of fool went kissing a man he'd just drugged?
At least he could still keep his eyes open, and his feet more or less steady as he hung onto Warren's knees and pulled himself up to Warren's chest. His fingers fumbled, numb and inaccurate, but it didn't take him too long to slide the key and its chain up over Warren's head as Warren snored.
"Keep awake now," he told himself, pinching the thin skin at the underside of his elbow.
The safe was under a false-front of books. He'd seen it before. Warren opened it because he didn't think Jesse was a threat, didn't think Jesse was worth a damn, didn't think it mattered when he hurt him.
"Will shoot you full of holes," he muttered, sifting through heavy parchment papers to find the hand-drawn map to the mine where Warren stockpiled his stolen ammunition and grain stores and explosives. He folded it up and tucked it down into his boot. He closed the safe up and locked it and sat on the floor for a while, waiting for the room to stop tilting back and forth like a raft at the river crossing.
He was creeping out the door on his hands and knees when Miss Catherine stopped him, her hand ice cold on his neck. "You forgot to give the key back," she whispered, eyes gleaming. Her dress had a busy pattern. It reminded him of a butterfly or a flower. "Give it here, and I'll put it back around his neck. Now, you get."
"You're helping me," Jesse said, his thoughts leaking out his mouth.
Catherine's eyes narrowed to slits. "I put some coffee in a mug on the porch. Drink it up quick and don't take the pony, for God's sake. You'll break your neck."
"You're talkin' fast."
"Hurry, fool. Go!"
*~*~*
As the day stretched on, Emmett's only comfort was knowing he wasn't worrying alone. Charley decided to clean out the jail cell, changing the straw and whitewashing the walls and swearing under his breath as he sweated. When Emmett couldn't stand watching anymore, he walked down the street.
At the Weeping Willow, the girls were out on the porch, legs bare and going pink in the sun as they sprawled like river birds trying to stay cool on the unseasonably hot day. They didn't call out or wave, save for Delia, who ran out into the street and threw her arms around him.
"Hush now," he said, tugging one of her braids carefully. "Don't be making a scene, Miss Delia."
"Yes, Sheriff."
She looked up at him and he kissed her forehead, whispering, "Don't know who's watching. Run on back and tell Miss Devaux to bake her geese on the back porch. This town has
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