The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

60: Indiscretions

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Saint by Liezl Buenaventura. All graphics by me.

Saint paused on the dark porch of the kitchen, his fingers splayed on the worn wood. Mercifully, no lights were on inside and he prayed that he would not encounter anyone before he was able to clean himself up. There was no way he could go into the bunkhouse smelling like he did. He would never hear the end of it once the crew got a whiff of the traces of feminine cologne wafting from his clothing. Not to mention having to explain why he had been bleeding from the throat like the porcine victim of a botched butchering attempt.

He pushed the door open, carefully avoiding making any noise with his boots on the sandstone floor. He pulled the door shut behind him and cast around in his pocket for his tinderbox.

The adrenaline rush had long worn off, and now he was just sore and cold. The shallow but still-bleeding cut on his neck itched. Fox must have just sharpened the damn razor for the occasion. Thank God my belt stayed buckled the whole time, no telling what she would have done otherwise. The pain in his head had softened a bit and had quit throbbing, settling into a dull, aching weariness. He was pretty sure he had a knot on his skull, either from Jack's fist or from one of the various hard surfaces he'd struck on his way down the stairs.

Shrugging out of his coat, he unbuttoned his shirt and started hauling it up out of his jeans. He tossed it over the back of a chair and peeled his arms out of the union suit underneath, letting it fall down from his waist upside down. Do I have any shirts left that don't have blood on them? Merda!

He deftly struck a spark to his tinder and touched the stub of a quirly he'd saved to the red glow. He took in a deep, thirsty drag from his smoke, then touched the burning end of the stub to the wick of the closest lamp. Light flared up, shadows dancing in the dark kitchen around him.

"Sssshhhh...." he begged the creaking pump handle as he worked up and down. The last thing he wanted was to make noise someone might investigate. What if the Old Man walks in here? I'd be done. Icy water splashed into the wide enamel basin and he plunged his hands and arms into it, gasping with the shock of cold.

Damn you, Fox. His teeth had started to chatter, but he didn't dare light a fire in the stove or the fireplace. He took one last drag on his smoke, then carefully pinched it out. Why didn't I just stay with Honey tonight? It would have been so easy. He filled his hands with water and splashed his face, jumping as it splattered across his bare skin, though he was surprised at how good it felt on his heavy, headache-filled eyes. I'll tell you why, you fotutto stronza, because then there would have been questions you don't want to answer when you got back. Che...cazzo?

The door open behind him. He braced himself and looked over his shoulder, cringing.

Dammit. I would have preferred the Old Man. What is she doing still up?

Lily stood frozen in the doorway, a tray with cups and a teapot in her hands. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes dropped to his bare chest before snapping hastily back to his face.

"Oh...Mr. Bari...I'm so sorry..." she stammered, her face going immediately red. "I didn't...we were just..."

It was a rare thing when Saint felt genuine embarrassment or self-consciousness, but he was feeling plenty of both now. "Sorry, Little Miss..." he said sheepishly. Water dripped out of his hair and into his face, and he swept it back with a forearm, shivering. "I figured nobody'd be in here this late."

"Well..." She gestured lamely with her thumb, back towards the house. " Bender and I were up having some tea...I should...probably go..."

He saw a barely perceptible flaring of her nostrils, a faint flinch as the smell of strange perfume pervaded her nose. Her eyebrow hitched up a notch and he couldn't tell if she was amused or offended. I know one thing...he thought unhappily, she was in a good mood before she ran into me. Hungerford... testa di cazzo

He grabbed the hanging undershirt that swung around his legs like a kilt and pulled it up, fighting his wet arms into it. "No, Miss Lily...you're fine. I'm leaving." The flannel clung to his skin, twisting uncomfortably. He'd never felt so naked in his entire life.

Lily was looking hard at him. "Are you bleeding...again?"

"No...uh...yeah. Well, it's..." His hand flew to the cut on his throat. "Merd..." yeah, idiot, now swear in front of her. Perfect. "...sorry."

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as they focused on his neck, and now both eyebrows shot up over the tops of her spectacles. "And your face is bruised. Mr. Bari...do you ever come home uninjured?"

How's this frumpy little girl always manage to make me feel like a jackass? He remembered how he had just brushed Honey off when she said that 'this girl' made him uncomfortable. A surge of annoyance went through him, but he wasn't sure if it was towards Honey or towards himself. "It's nothin', I just..."

"Have you been in a fight?"

"No, ma'am." If I'd been in a fight, my fists would be messed up as the rest of me. No, I just got roughed up by a sportin' girl and then punched down a flight of stairs by a really big barkeep. "I ain't been fighting."

"Have you been drinking?"

She kind of has me there. "I ain't been...fighting."

She said nothing, but the look on her face clearly said that she did not believe him. I wouldn't believe me, either, I dunno how this could look worse...

"Is that....?" She reached towards his face and he forced himself not to flinch. Her thumb felt hot on his icy skin as she rubbed a spot just under his lip.

"Lip rouge. Well." Lily inspected the smear of Honey's lip color on her finger. She gave him a humorless smile and showed it to him. "I suppose this nice pink color suits you, Mr. Bari."

Oh. That's how.

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