Rush

act vi. { gold }

{ ❧ Song of the Section; MoneyGrabber by The Fitz and the Tantrums }

❧ We awoke the next morning to the sound of gun shots.

Mercy and I tore out of bed like a couple of rabid dogs chasing their tails. I snatched at my pistol and spun around to point it at the only person in sight-- the woman I'd just spent a romp in the sheets with-- only to find she was greeting me in the same manner. I was getting damn tired of her pointing that thing in my direction. Then again, I enjoy a woman who can work her way around a gun.

Despite being groggy and disoriented, I noted her eyes were just as wide and confused as mine. The shots ceased, but were replaced by the hootin' and hollerin' of men outside. Two awkward, trying laughs escaped both our lips, but neither one of us put down the gun. 

My eyes wandered to the window. The slanting sunshine shown through a thin cotton curtain and bathed our faces in the morning light. 

"For Christ's sake, what are they doing out there?" Mercy growled, cloaking her small body with the quilt from the bed.  

I swung my feet off the bed and slipped on my drawers. "You better watch that mouth of yours," I warned as I made my way to the window. My hand moved to snatch back the curtain and lI et my eyes adjust to the onslaught of light. "Between the trousers, the pistol, and usin' the Lord Almighty's name in vain... You ain't much of a lady anymore," I sneered, just as my eyes settled upon the epicenter of the ruckus. 

"How rich, you didn't seem to feel that way last ni--"

"I'll be God damned," I murmured. My forehead was pressed against the warmed glass, jaw dropped in shock. "Someone's actually struck gold in this shit town."

"What?"

I heard Mercy peel out of bed faster than that mustang I rode in on. She pushed her way past me, still all wrapped up in that quilt like it was a cocoon. I stepped back, clearly annoyed, and strained to get a good view out the window.

Mercy must have been well acquainted with the rush that came with striking it rich. I pondered this as I watched what must have been a hundred men cheering around a single middle-aged man and what appeared to be his family. Tears streamed down his muddied cheeks and his chest swelled with pride. 

A low whistle escaped my lips and I watched as Mercy cradled the window with her fingertips. "Well, let's go join the party, sweet cheeks," I mused, eyes searching the trousers I had hastily kicked off the night before. I plucked a pair up off the floor.

"Maybe our friends are down there," Mercy snickered with her typical cruel smile while she wiggled on her own pair of trousers. But that smile slid right off, as well as my own, once we'd both realized our mistake.

The pants I'd tried to slip on wouldn't fit past my thigh and Mercy was swimming in hers. Well, mine, that is to say. She glowered at me and we both pulled them off and tossed them at one another with a vengeance. 

I caught mine against my unshaven face and returned her saucy look.

"I don't see why I can't wear a dress, I managed killing the sheriff just fine in one," Mercy snapped, slipping on her rightful trousers. We dressed ourselves hurriedly and strapped our holstered guns around our waists in near unison. Mercy braided her long hair down the side. Once she was fully dressed, she swiftly jerked the door open, tossed her hair back, and made her way outside. "If I'm going to kill my husband, I could at least look nice doing it."

With a single yank and a lofty sigh, I closed the crooked door behind us. I couldn't stand it when Mercy nagged like the genuine lady that she wasn't. Dress, trousers, or burlap bag, I imagined Mercy would always look like a shiny penny. Next she was going to start asking me if those pants made her look too round. I groaned inwardly and piped up.