Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Timothy focused on the fly buzzing around his mare's mane instead of on the awkward tension that filled the silence between himself and Zachary. From the corner of his eye, he saw Zach rummage in his pocket before pulling out a pack of matches and a rolled cigarette.

Those dark eyes that never missed much, turned in his direction. "Never known you to be so quiet."

Timothy shrugged and managed a grin. "Guess I just ran out of things to say." He knew what Zachary wanted. He wanted to talk about Eleanor and Timothy and the mood Tim had found himself in lately. What the hell could he say? That something about Eleanor had gotten to him? That he wanted to have what Zachary and Samantha had? That he wanted to have some kind of life other than just doing whatever the hell he wanted all the time?

"Well, you might as well be finding things to say," Zachary encouraged, striking a match and lighting the cigarette hanging off his lip. "Samantha will be expecting you to be a cured of your melancholy by the time she sees you again this evening."

Timothy thought of Samantha and sighed. He knew she was concerned about him and he didn't want to be the cause of her worry. She was a good woman and had been good for Zach—hell, good for him too really. "So, Samantha is the real reason you seem eager to hear my thoughts?"

Zachary blew out a stream of smoke, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I have never once in my life been eager to hear your thoughts, Tim. And I don't reckon even that woman, amazing as she is, could accomplish that."

Timothy chuckled lightly and patted his horse's brown neck. "I'm just fine, Zach. You can tell her I'm okay."

"No, I've never lied to her and I won't start now. You're not okay. Talk to me."

Frustration bubbled in Timothy's gut. "What the hell do you want me to say?"

Zachary seemed surprised by his sudden display of temper, but he recovered quickly and shrugged. "The truth. Now, I know I ain't been a good friend of brother the last five years. I disappeared when I shouldn't have and wasn't there for you. I'm here now." Zachary took a long draw off his cigarette, his eyes focused on the horizon. "You've always been obnoxiously upbeat and here lately you're damn depressing to be around. Talk."

Timothy had three options. Option one, he opened up and talked to his best friend. Option two, he told him to shove his questions up his ass and possibly get his own teeth knocked out in the process. Option three, he simply turned and high-tailed it back to town and away from the conversation.

A sigh left Tim's lips. He'd always been a talker.

"I don't know how to explain things," he admitted.

Zachary rolled his shoulder, rubbing at the joint and reminding Timothy of the bullet still lodged within it. "Just start somewhere. I'm a quick study, I'll catch on."

"I came home one day five years ago, expecting to find everything the way I left it, only to find that everything was gone. My family was dead. You were nowhere to be found. My things had been boxed up and taken to the hotel making it clear I didn't have a home to go to any longer...."

"I'm sorry for that," Zachary muttered, interrupting him. "I wasn't thinking real clearly....."

Timothy waved his hand. "I never blamed you and I've never been angry at you over any of that," he assured him honestly. "But it doesn't change the fact that everything I knew and loved was gone. I got stuck. It was like I froze in time. I never moved forward after that. I still live in the hotel. I spend all my free time playing poker, drinking, raising hell... I don't have any real job. I just do enough odd jobs to make money to support my hobbies. I haven't done a damn thing with myself."