Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Bender by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.
When Bender's eyes adjusted to the quiet darkness inside the bunkhouse, he was relieved to see the stagecoach crew sleeping soundly. Monahan was snoring softly and Bari's breathing was relaxed and heavy. He glanced down to the floor at the empty coffee cup and empty teapot resting beside Bari's bed.
Bari had sucked down so much tea it was a wonder to Bender that he could sleep at all. Fortunately for all involved, it seemed to have worked well enough. The arrogant bastard looked much better, and his chest was rising and falling easily.
And of course, Miss Lil had refused to rest in her bed until said arrogant bastard was out of danger. Since it had been Bari who had pulled her out of the burning kitchen, he could understand why she felt indebted to him. He kicked himself for what felt like the fiftieth time that he was down at the gaol instead of here when it happened. The idea of someone attacking her, putting her in that sort of danger, made him feel sick. And his own irritation at seeing her fussing over him didn't help. He was disturbed by his own unbidden...well, for want of a better word, jealousy. It made him feel petty and foolish. This is not a schoolyard, old mate. He hated owing Bari for anything, but there was no denying that he saved Miss Lil's life.
"Bari? Sorry to wake you, mate." He gripped the teamster's toe and shook it.
Bari took a deep breath, rousing, and opened his eyes. He still looked pale, but the ashen, blue tinged pallor was gone. His eyes fell on Bender's face and he scowled.
Bender ignored the dirty look. "How do you feel, mate?"
"Better. Thanks." He hauled himself to a sitting position, buttoning his jeans and shirt as he did.
"Good. The last buggering thing I wanted to have to do is use chloroform on you. Not much of a remedy, that."
"No." Saint raised an eyebrow and Bender got the impression he was agreeing out of experience. "It ain't. How's Miss Lily?"
"She's alright. Been in several times to check on you while you slept. Listen, mate, that took some great big knackers, getting her out of there. Especially knowing now..."
"Yeah, well, how about un-know it, eh?"
Actually, Bender knew he was not being entirely honest about not wanting to have to resort to chloroform. Owe him or not, heroics or not, it would probably be a lot of fun to hold something over Pete Bari's face until he stopped moving. And talking.
"You shoulda told us you had Collier's lung, mate, that ain't..."
"That ain't anybody's business, is what it ain't," Bari spat defensively. "And it ain't a big deal. I can do my job. So forget it." His belt buckle rattled as he fastened it and started fumbling around for his boots.
"Nobody said you couldn't."
"And nobody better, either."
"You're a right buggering whacker, you know that? We didn't know right off what to do for you, and you were bloody turning blue. You're damn lucky to not be dead."
"We're all damn lucky to not be dead!"
"And th' day ain't over yet, either, ya pair of sodding tossers!" An Irish brogue interrupted. "Jaysus! Shut up, for feck's sake!"
Bender turned towards Monahan's bunk and stared, startled. The Irishman was lying propped on one elbow, glowering at them. His expression softened as he looked Saint over.
"Saint, lad..." Monahan said gently. "Are you alright? Your na' gonna go die on us?"
"No." Bari was clearly embarrassed, and frozen in the act of pulling on one of his boots. "I'm alright, Wash."
Monahan swung his legs out of his bunk, scratching his scalp vigorously with his fingers. He looked dishevelled and tired and his hair stuck up in tousled spikes. "After all this other shite," he said conversationally. "I'm thinkin' some quiet might be nice. I dunno for sure, because there hasna been any. So I'm just guessing here. Any danger of you and him taking yer nattering like sodding fishwives somewhere else so I can sodding sleep? Listening to a wog and a convict flirt with each other isna exactly soothing."
"Sorry, Wash..." Bari said sheepishly, pulling on his other boot.
"What are we doing for supper?" Wash swung his legs around and started pulling on his boots. "I could definitely go for some beak about now. The nap is clearly right out."
Bender took in a deep breath, grateful to have a reason to depart from the argument. "Yeah, well, I came in here to check on him..." he jerked a thumb at Bari, "and to see if you two wanted anything from Abigail's, since the kitchen's carked it and all."
"Are you going?" Bari asked, standing up.
"That depends on a couple things, mate. If you were still having problems, no. Lynch and Fiona and the young blokes are going regardless."
"What's the other thing?"
"If Miss Lil goes. That fire was no accident, yeah?"
A dark look crossed Bari's face as he considered this. "If she goes, I go."
Knackers. An acre of them. Having him along is the last thing I want. On the other hand, if we all stay together we make less of a target. Bender kept his face neutral, hiding his disappointment. "You up to it?"
Bari nodded, grabbing his gun belt from his bed post and buckling it on.
"Well, then," Bender said, glancing at Wash and forcing a smile he didn't feel. "Let's hope Miss Abby has the stew on tonight, yeah?"
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