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

87: Lines In the Sand

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Erastus Lynch by Diego Candia. All graphics by me. 

"Three of a kind," Saint grunted, showing his cards and reaching through the bars into Jesse's cell and retrieving the two bits that lay on the floor.

"Dammit." Jesse had calmed down some time ago, and after his one indulgent smoke, had gone back to peppermint sticks. Saint was pretty sure that he was not really in the throes of his quirly addiction anymore. He was pretty sure that Jesse was just plain addicted to peppermint candy.

He puffed lightly on the smoke dangling from his own lips, felt guilty about it, and then felt irritated with himself for feeling guilty. He scowled. I will if it will keep you from smoking it. The echo of the Little Miss' voice repeated itself inside his head. "Well, she ain't here now," he muttered to himself.

"What?" The blond head jerked up from the cards as Jesse dealt them out.

"Nothing. Deal."

Jesse roached his hair back and finished dealing out the next hand onto the jailhouse floor. Loose, unkempt strands immediately swung back into his face as he looked down, long since escaped from the braid he'd worn earlier. He rubbed the back of his neck, flexing his back as he sat on the floor. "Look...Saint..." he said. "I'm sorry I hit ya. I...shouldn't have done that."

Saint picked up his cards, feeling a little embarrassed to have the matter of the fistfight come up again. "Nothin' to be sorry for," he said gruffly. "Forget it."

"No," Jesse insisted. "You been a good friend to me, Saint. And you saved Lily's life." He looked up, his blue eyes earnest. "I feel bad treatin' ya like that."

"Well..." Saint sighed tiredly. This was not really a conversation he wanted to have, but he was quite literally captive to it at the moment. "Look...Miss Lily's your sister...I shouldn't have...ah..." Uncharacteristic heat flooded his face and he grimaced. "I didn't mean anything by it," he lied. He knew damn well he'd meant something by it, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it out loud, especially to Jesse. He'd just now gotten around to admitting it to himself.

Jesse was quiet for a moment. Saint could tell that though he was looking at his cards, he wasn't seeing them.

"So..." the younger man said, his voice wary. "Do you like her?"

"I like her," Saint admitted, keeping his voice as casual as he could manage. "I ain't got designs on her, if that's what you mean."

"'Cause if you ever did something to hurt her..." There was no threat in Jesse's voice, no implied warning. To Saint, he sounded worried and almost sad.

He could almost hear what Jesse didn't say. If you ever did something to hurt her...things could never go back to what they were. We'd be enemies, and that would be...ah, merda, of all the stations I coulda been assigned to, why this one?  "Jesse, look, I ain't after your sister, alright? I ain't. There's a million reasons why that would be a real bad idea." And only one why it would be a good one. He found the words almost hard to say, and they left a bitter taste on his tongue. Somewhere deep inside his soul, a vague pain had twisted sharply and started to ache. He took a defiant drag on his smoke and started rearranging his cards in his hand. So I smoke. I'm a grown damn man, I don't have to answer to...