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

47: My Employees Don't Do Any of Those Things, Swearing Especially.

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. All graphics by me. Chapter art of Jesse by Diego Candia.

Oh, and cookies to whoever can guess which character says the quote I used for the title.

"Ye did what?" Wash put his coffee cup down a little too hard on the shelf near his bunk. Coffee sloshed out and splattered his hand and sleeve.

"I know! I know! Keep your voice down, willya? I didn't mean to...it just happened." Saint was scraping a week's worth of black stubble from his chin, peering into the broken looking-glass they'd fixed to the bunkhouse wall. When he had woken up that morning, the first thing that had gone through his mind was the phrase "Oh, shit, what did I do?"

Wash's face was a comical mask of shock and amusement. "What happened to 'she ain't my kinda girl' T'underin' Jaysus, Lad, what were ye thinkin' about?"

"Well, funny you should ask that, she asked the same thing. Merda, Wash, I dunno, it just happened, alright? I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

"Jesse finds out, ye ain't gonna be walkin' straight, either. Who else knows?"

Saint cringed. He'd certainly considered that. Jesse was one of his best friends, the last thing he wanted was trouble with him. "You, me, and her. Unless she told someone. And she probably will, you know girls. Bet you a month's pay she tells England."

"Fool's bet, that, Lad. No thanks." Wash sighed heavily, wincing, and shifted so that he could lean on the wall behind his bunk. Lily had bound his injured arm in a neat sling against his side.

Saint stopped and watched him. "You alright?"

"Aye. Just sore a bit. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. So, how'd she take it? Any danger of it happening again?"

Saint huffed, shaking his head, and swishing the razor in the basin. "Heh. Merda. No. None." He inspected the nick in his earlobe, and frowned at the unbidden memory of her fingers on his skin, so soothing and warm against his chill, even as her icy tone of voice berated him. He paused, his hand halting in the basin as he remembered seeing her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, warm lamplight spilling out around her. He'd startled her, he could see, but there had been something in her eyes that had cut him to his core, had pulled him in and engulfed him as surely as if she'd grabbed him and hugged him tight.

Lily had been glad to see him. It had been she who had lit the flame he'd seen burning through the rain. She found him infuriating, and he was well aware of that fact, but nonetheless, she was at least glad he and Wash were alive and had made it home. And when he saw her standing there, it had hit him how glad he was of that very same thing.

He hadn't even realized he had leaned towards her until he had felt her lips pressing softly, sweetly on his, had felt her warm little hands gripping his shoulders. It had taken every scrap of willpower he had to let her pull away when she did.

He hadn't really intended for it to have been quite that sort of kiss.

She'd probably never speak to him again. But it had been the sort of kiss that had made him a little unsteady on his feet for a moment, made his blood race and his breath quicken. He smiled ruefully and shook his head as he wiped off the razor.

"She's really mad at me now." he confessed.

"Did you at least try to apologize for..."

"You want me to tell her I'm sorry I kissed her? Listen, Ginger," Saint scrubbed a towel over his face. "You know you can't tell a girl you're sorry for something like that. They'll act like being sorry for it is a bigger insult than doing it in the first place. There ain't no getting out of somethin' like this."

"I'm strangely unsurprised that you know this already."

"What girl is that, Saint?"

In one motion, both Saint and Wash swiveled their heads towards the bunkhouse door, which had jerked open. Jesse leaned casually against the doorjamb, the stub of a peppermint stick balanced on his lip like a quirly. "What girl are ya ain't sorry ya kissed?"

The silence in the cabin hung like a precariously balanced coach tottering on the precipice of a great cliff. Everyone hoped it wasn't what it looked like, everyone knew that it was, and everyone knew that what was certain to happen next was going to be extremely unpleasant for everyone involved.

"Jesse..." Saint cringed. "It ain't what you think."

"Oh, ain't it?" Jesse was pacing into the room like a predatory cat. "Wha'd I say to ya? I told ya you and me would trade licks if ya messed with my sister, didn't I?"

Wash pushed himself to his feet with a groan. "Jesse, lad, let's talk about this..."

"Stay out of the way, Wash," Jesse warned, "this don't concern you."

"Jesse," Saint held his hands up in front of him, palms out. "Look, I ain't gonna fight you...it ain't what it looks like..."

It always amazed Saint how fast and strong Jesse was. Take this particular right hook, for instance. Even as he lay on the rough boards of the bunkhouse floor tasting blood, his hip smarting where he'd knocked over a chair on his way to his current prone position, Saint had to marvel at Jesse's reflexes and the sheer power behind the blow.

And I even saw it coming, too. Geeze, am I getting soft...

He lashed out a boot and connected with Jesse's approaching ankles as hard as he could. Jesse's feet flew out from under him and he stumbled, awkwardly tripping over the fallen chair and Saint's legs.

"Jesse!" Saint twisted as Jesse scrambled towards him, dodging a series of rapid blows to his face and managing to grab and hold onto a flying wrist. "Shit! Stop!" He shoved the heel of his hand into Jesse's solar plexus, knocking him off and rolling the gasping youth to the floor. "I ain't gonna fight you! Merda!" If my nose is broken again, I swear I'm gonna kill him...

Saint rolled on top of Jesse, pinning him and grabbing his other hand, narrowly missing Jesse's butting head in the process. Damn, but farmboy can fight. He threw himself forward and pinned both of Jesse's wrists to the floor, leaning his weight hard into the hold.

"Alright!" he heaved, spitting blood and breathing hard. "We ain't gonna do this. I'm gonna get up, you're gonna get up, and we're gonna talk about this. Shit!"

Wash had sat down on his bunk and picked up his coffee. "It's a sodding shame you sorry tossers aren't drinking. Ye could get fired for breaking all three company rules at the same time."

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