Sarah McCarty - Ace's Wild

“Figures,” Luke said, looking down at the particles clinging to his shiny black boots. “I just got these cleaned.”

“They’re boots,” Ace pointed out. “They spend all day in the dirt. They’re not supposed to be pretty.”

Luke glanced at Ace’s scuffed, well-worn brown footwear and shook his head. “If you’re going to stick with this gambling thing, you need to pay more attention to your wardrobe.”

Ace shrugged. Gambling was an outlet. It gave him a rush of excitement. It kept his mind from dwelling on other things. It was a bit of competition when things got dull, a chance to beat the odds. He liked to beat the odds. “I haven’t made up my mind if I’m sticking with it.”

“Still, if you’re going to play the role, you ought to look the part.”

“I look just fine.”

“You look pissed.”

“Really?” He reached in his pocket for his makings. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve got your hat pulled down low.”

Pausing, he shook some tobacco onto a paper. “I could be blocking the dust,” he said, licking the paper to help seal it up.

Luke held out his hand for the makings when he was done. “Or you could be pissed.”

Ace stepped up on the walk on the far side of the street. “Looks like I’m going to have to break that habit.”

Luke shrugged and shook tobacco onto a paper. “Most can’t tell. Unfortunately for you, I’ve known you since we were infants sharing a crib.”

Striking a sulfur on a boot heel, Ace shielded his smoke from the wind. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he muttered around it, “Only reason we had to share a crib was because your mama couldn’t stand your squalling.”

“I didn’t like being alone.”

“You don’t remember.”

“I can guess.”

Ace shook out the match. Luke’s mother had been the delicate type, never standing up for herself, not even against her son. Which had led to Luke always getting what he wanted, by hook or crook. A habit he carried into adulthood.

He took a slow drag on the cigarette. The acrid smoke burned his nostrils. “So why you tagging along with me today?”

“’Cause you look like you’re heading for trouble.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The fact that you only smoke when you’re contemplating murder.”

“That’s not the only time.” He also liked a cigarette after sex.

“Well, it’s a well-known fact the teacher’s got a burr up her butt about Terrance Winter. Add that to the fact that rumor has it Miss Wayfield went into the saloon looking for you yesterday and then you come out of the alley with your lips all kiss bitten.”

“You’ve been spying on me.”

“I prefer to think of it as keeping busy.”

Luke had been keeping busy a lot lately. Ace touched his still tender lower lip, remembering that moment when Pet had lost control and bitten him. He cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Kiss bitten?”

Luke shrugged again.

Ace shook his head. “I swear the words that come out of your mouth could tarnish that killer reputation of yours.”

“It’s the poet in me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Luke didn’t tell anyone he penned dime novels to sell back East about the life of the wild men in the Wild West. It’d started out as a dare between him and one of his ladies and developed into a passion. Not one Luke flaunted, but a passion nonetheless and one that kept growing. Easterners had insatiable appetites for the excitement of the West. Hell, if most of them came here, they’d shit their pants the first day out, but reading it in their parlor at night, Ace guessed it was a safe bit of adventure.

“When you going to write something more serious than those dime novels?” he asked Luke.

“When you going to settle down and be who you ought to be rather than hiding?” Luke countered.

“I’m not hiding. I’m an assayer, or haven’t you heard the latest?”

“That takes up an hour a day. The rest of the time you practice being a wastrel.”

“I’m not wasting. I make good money gambling.”

“I know there’s a cost. Isn’t that what the teacher was riding you about?”

“That woman has way too much time on her hands.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of time. It’s a matter of passion.”

Yeah, Pet had a lot of passion.

“I’d turn it my way if she’d look at me,” Luke mused.

Ace didn’t believe the innocence in that statement for a minute. Any more than he expected Luke to believe the calm distance in his “Have you tried?”

Luke shook his head. “Nah. No point. That lady treats me like the fence post in a corral. Handy when needed but otherwise not worth the attention. Mind telling me where we’re going?”

Ace waved to the end of town. “I’m going to the livery.”

“And after that?”

“For a ride.”

“Would this ride entail a trip by the Winters’ place?”

“Might.”

Luke took a drag on his cigarette. “Going to have one of your infamous chats with him?”

“Might be.”

“You know your chat’s not going to do any good, don’t you? That man’s just soaked in gambling the way other men are soaked in gin.”

“He drinks that, too.”

“Not whiskey?”

“He drinks anything.”

“He hit the boy again?”

Ace nodded. It wasn’t the first time he and Luke had talked about that situation.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Might.”

Luke shot him a look. “That would be murder.”

“Not if he takes a shot at me first.”

“You plan on being that provoking?”

Ace shrugged. He didn’t really know what he was going to do yet. “If the lay of the land demands it.”

They reached the livery. Ace nodded to the stable hand and went to the stall that contained his sorrel.

“Crusher is getting fat hanging around here,” Luke observed going to the next stall over, which contained his big roan.

Ace shook his head. “Not like Buddy’s wasting away.”

“I take him out every day.”

“I take out Crusher, too, but it’s not the same as riding trail.”

They were all getting soft. Ace shook his head. Respectable. Fuck that.

“No, it’s not.” Luke patted Buddy’s neck before he reached for the saddle. “Do you miss it?”

“What?”

“The old days,” Luke said, tossing the saddle on Buddy’s back, “when all we did was ride from one bad place to the next, one bad fight to the next.”

Ace shook his head and eased the saddle back on Crusher before cinching it up. “That got old.”

“Yeah, it did.” For a moment they were both silent as old memories—old battles—rose to haunt them.

Luke broke the silence first like he always did. Ace often wondered if it wasn’t being alone Luke hated as much as quiet. Holding his smoke in his mouth as he tied the rifle scabbard onto the saddle, he asked, “Can you believe Caine, Shadow, Tracker, hell, even Sam, settled down into business?” He dropped the stirrup down and patted Buddy’s flank. “They’re almost darn right respectable.”

There was that word again. Ace smiled ruefully, checked his own weapons and led Crusher out of the livery. Yeah, they were. They’d achieved something none of them ever thought they would when they’d stood side by side as boys in the aftermath of the Mexican Army’s attack, hands blistered from digging graves for their loved ones and made a promise to follow Caine Allen on the path of revenge. They’d almost starved that first year, all their promises vanishing with them, but they’d found Tia, and she’d healed them body and soul. Over time, they’d settled those debts, become Texas Rangers. And now, respectable.

Ace stubbed out his smoke on the sole of his boot once outside, shaking his head as Luke winced. “I’m making up for the rest of you.”