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articlesofalise · 10 days ago

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I am so ecstatic that we get Baby in all her glory. Dean would absolutely spoil her with sugar cubes AND track down Sammy over this. The Dean build up has me on the edge of my seat, honestly. Hmm, I wonder what kind of job they could be in search of….

Hello, Cain! Why was his letter and introduction making me giddy. My mouth dropped when I read the wife and children line. 😀

The relationship with Jo is actually making me fearful. Her scenes and dialogue are pulling my heartstrings and I’m scared of what you have in store for her. Please know Jo is my beloved!!! She’s just a baby!!!

“She needs to know that she can come back from what she did. That she is still loved.”

Baby, you are!!! Ugh, I just love the girl talk and banter in The Cathouse.

I don’t know if I can handle the tension with Mister Wesson. I could just eat him up. How are we supposed to read through being naked for a week straight with Cain and his desires, and not wish it was Samuel that whole time? Then you have to go making him all empathetic and endearing. The respectable gentleman he is, the care he had for Jody, the silent enjoyment of the rain—this is still Sammy.

You’ve got me hooked. I can’t help but fall in love with envisioning and immersing myself in the time period—it doesn’t help that you make it so easy. I love love love your brain.

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Chapter 2 - The Cathouse

5.7k words. Prostitution. Mentions of grief & abusive relationships.

A visit to the general store, a day at the Cathouse and a horse named Baby.

Sunshine wakes you and you stretch before getting up. You wash, then dress and walk downstairs.

“Donna,” you call out, concentrating on the buttons of your jacket while taking the stairs, “I’m going into town, can you–”

You stop in place when you look up, blink in surprise. Donna’s standing behind the bar, the air filled with the burned smell of coffee, the way you find her many morning when the evening before was late and she manages to be up before you. But she’s not alone.

Wesson is leaning against the bar, elbow on the wood, one leg angled but he straightens when he sees you.

“Ma’am,” he says, nodding. “Morning.”

“Mor…ning,” you say back, shooting a quick look at Donna, but she just gives you one of her cheeky, tight-lipped smiles. You look back at Wesson.

“You’re going into town?” he asks, a light, friendly smile on his face.

You drop your hands from your jacket, clear your throat.

“I am,” you say. Why does he make you so nervous?

“Well, I was hoping to see the town today,” he says, raising his broad shoulders, then dropping them. You keep looking at him.

“Maybe you could show me around,” Wesson finishes, his expression turning a little careful. You blink.

“I have errands to run,” you say. Not a no, but definitely not a yes.

“Perfect,” he says, raising his hands a little and then letting them fall by his side, making him look shy like a school boy. “I can help you. I’m a great haggler.”

You can’t help the chuckle that comes out of you, at this strange man.

“Well…” you say, throw another quick look at Donna, but she doesn’t seem to see any reason you shouldn’t, quite the opposite actually. “Fine. But I need some coffee first.”

You and Wesson walk next to each other along the sidewalk, quiet at first. It’s a mild morning and the fresh air feels good on your skin.

He seems absolutely fine with the silence. He’s looking around and it allows you to sneak looks at him, quick ones. He has a strong jaw, recently shaved but dark stubble is already breaking through.

“So what brings you to Blackbird?” you ask and his head whips around to you. He looks over your head, like he’s thinking, his face open for a moment.

“I’m looking for work,” he says, looking down at you, his dark eyes focusing on you. They seem to have a tinge of blue just then in the bright light of morning.

“What kind of work?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him. He shrugs, pulls the corners of his mouth down.

“Anything, really,” he answers, looking ahead where you’re walking. There’s a gap in the wood of the sidewalk and Sam steps forward, into the muck already wet in between, and then he reaches his hand back, holds it out for you to grasp.

You stop for a moment, suddenly unsure whether you should just touch him. But he looks back at you, expectant, so you extend your hand, lay it in his. It helps you take a large step, so you only have to set your foot down in the muck once. You get to the other side, and Wesson holds your hand just for a second longer than he needs to, before you pull it back. He clears his throat and the two of you begin walking again.

“I usually work with my brother,” he continues and you nod, signaling you understand, even though you are intently focused on where you touched him. His hand was big and warm, the skin calloused but smooth.

“Your brother?” you ask, the only question you’re able to form.

“Yes,” he answers, “him and a few friends. We travel around, stop wherever there’s work.”

“Oh,” you say, not sure what else to add.

This doesn’t make sense. You’re a master conversationalist. You’re smart and quick and charming, clever when you think the man in front of you can take and appreciate it. But right now, you can’t string two words together.

The two of you walk in silence for a little bit. When you speak again, you both do it at the same time.

“I saw there’s a general store when I–” Wesson says, while you say: “Why isn’t your brother with you now?”

You stop walking, briefly looking at each other and then you both have to chuckle a little. This time, he is quicker.

“I was in a rush to leave,” he says, looking at your face again. “But I’m sure he’ll be catching up soon.”

“Along with your friends that you work with,” you add. A distant smile comes over Wesson's face. Maybe he thinks you weren't listening

“Along with our friends that we work with,” he confirms. You quickly tear your gaze from him, and it lands on his chest instead.

“Jody Mills runs the general store,” you say, able to collect your thoughts now that you're not seeing his features. “Legend has it she was already here when this place was still a camp.”

You look back up at his face, and you're able to bear it a little better. He’s still got that slight, unreadable smile on his face.

“Well,” he says, “then I would love to meet this town legend.”

The general store is only a little further, and you manage to not make a fool of yourself the rest of the way. You both enter, and Jody looks up from where she’s bent over the counter, scribbling in a big book. A smile breaks over her friendly face, the way you know her to look. She somehow manages to find friendliness for everyone in herself. Despite everything that’s happened to her.

“Good morning,” she says to you and you smile back at her.

“Mornin’, Jody,” you reply. She leans on the counter, looking at you expectantly. She cut her hair short recently, saying she was too tired of taking care of it otherwise, although you suspect is has something to do with her grief. You think it looks wonderful on her.

“The usual?” she says and you nod.

“And some strange tea Anna wants,” you say, reaching into your pocket, and pulling out the note she wrote. “Ginseng? You have it?” Jody is nodding before you’ve finished your sentence.

“That girl knows her natural cures,” she says with a chuckle, then turns to Wesson, immediately extending her hand. Because Jody shakes men’s hands, immediately making it clear to them she sees herself as their equal.

“Jody Mills,” she says and Wesson takes two quick steps over to her. He walks to her, like that’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Samuel,” he says, shaking it. “Wesson. Pleasure.” Jody nods, then lets go of his hand, turns back to you.

“Let me wrap your things up,” she says.

There are some wood carvings new to the store, and you look at them while Jody works. Wesson is on the other side of the room, slowly making his way around, until he’s finally standing next to you. He picks up one of the carvings and you watch him, his pretty features slightly twisting in confusion.

“Is that a… duck?” he asks, looking down at you and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I think it’s a wolf,” you reply, looking up at him and again, he briefly holds your gaze, longer than is polite and it makes your stomach flip.

“That’s an ugly wolf,” he says, and before you know it, you’re pushing your elbow into his side, shushing him, but it only makes him laugh and you press your lips together to hide your own smile. How does he already feel so familiar?

Jody clears her throat behind you and you turn. She has your things packaged up and you walk over to her as you reach for your portemonnaie.

“How are you doing on the house, Jody?” you ask as you go over your purchases. Jody takes a deep breath, then sighs.

“I barely have any time to work on it,” she admits, shaking her head, a sad look coming over her face and you immediately feel bad. “And when I do have time to work on it…”

Jody tapers off, not finishing the sentence. Of course. Everything in there must remind her of the family she lost.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter and she nods.

“At this point, I almost wish someone would take if off my hands,” she says, quickly pressing a finger into the side of her eye, to chase off some tears, you assume. “I much prefer my room here over the store. The house is so big… and empty.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything that might be a comfort, but in that moment Wesson steps up next to you.

“I’m looking for a place,” he says and you close your mouth, look up at him with a frown. Jody seems equally surprised.

“I lodge at the Cathouse,” he explains, nodding towards you, “but I have some of my people coming here soon, and they need a place to stay. And we're not the types for a hotel.” He shrugs.

Jody looks from him to you, to him again.

“It would be rent only,” she clarifies. “I’m not looking to sell it.” Wesson smiles.

“I’m not looking to buy,” he says. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here.” You swallow at that.

“And it’s a mess right now,” Jody continues, almost like she can’t believe her luck that someone would be interested in taking this house that has become a symbol of her grief off her hands, at least for a while. “It’s stood empty for a long time, and there’s some damage, and…” She shrugs, but Wesson only nods.

“That’ll give me something to do while I wait for my friends to arrive,” he says. Jody opens her mouth to say something else, but apparently nothing comes to mind. A smile spreads on her face. It’s a perfect deal for her. Someone to fix up the house, plus the rent she would get. And at the end of it, she can have it back, make up her mind then. When Wesson leaves, you think, but push the thought away.

“Deal,” Jody says, then laughs, looks at you again and you give her an encouraging nod. The door opens behind you then, more customers coming in.

“How about I come back later and we discuss the details?” Wesson suggests and Jody nods. She looks at you again, lays her hand on one of the bundles on the counter.

“I’ll have Andy deliver these to your place,” she says, referring to the boy who works both for you and for her. “You can pay then.” You nod, and then you and Wesson are walking outside, into the sunshine. He blinks as he gets used to the brightness and you hold your hand over your eyes, look at him.

“That was a kind thing you did,” you say, and Wesson immediately looks at you, frowning. “Saying you’re gonna take care of Jody’s house.” He purses his lips.

“I’m not sure I follow,” he says. You chew on the inside of your lip, but decide to tell him.

“She lost her family on the journey out here,” you say and Sam blinks. “The husband, he’d been to the camp, built this house for them, and then he went back to get them, and…” You shake your head.

“I imagine the place must feel like a mausoleum to her,” you finish. “Knowing someone is gonna be taking care of it must be a big relief.” Wesson nods slowly.

“Well, I didn’t know that,” he says, “but I’m happy to work on it. Make it livable.” He looks down, thinks, then looks at you again.

“What were their names?” he asks. “The family?”

“Sean was her husband,” you say, “and her son’s name was Owen.” Wesson nods, and you see his lips move as he quietly repeats the names to himself, maybe to make sure he remembers. It moves something deep in you.

“I’ll take good care of their house,” he finally says. You nod, blinking, only because of the sun in your eyes, you tell yourself.

“I should get ba–” you start, and again Wesson speaks at the same time.

“I was gonna go to the livery, check on my horse,” he says, smiling at the interruption. “Would you like to come with me?”

To go look at his horse. You shouldn’t. You should go back to work. You should keep your distance from this strange man. You should be careful.

“Yes,” you say, and Wesson gives you a wide smile.

“Your brother,” you say, running your hand over the dark mane again, “named his horse Baby? ”

Wesson chuckles. He has dimples when he smiles, you saw earlier, and the moment they went away you wanted nothing more than to see them again. There they are again now, and you have the sudden urge to feel them under your fingers, along with the one that splits his chin.

“He really loves her,” he says, running the brush along her side again. “Feeds her nothing but sugar cubes.” You huff, press your hand against the warm throat of the animal, look into its dark eye.

“She’s a lucky girl,” you say and Wesson moves to her front, runs his hand along her head.

“He’s probably gonna kill me when he gets here,” he says with a chuckle and you frown at him. “I sort of… stole her from him.” You narrow your eyes.

“Why did you steal her?” you ask. Wesson looks down at you, something unsure going over his face while he considers you. He keeps your gaze, then quickly looks away.

“Just needed a fast horse,” he says, half mumbling, and you’re pretty sure it’s not the whole truth. He looks like a young boy caught at lying. You run your hand over the beautiful, black animal in front of you again.

“Is your brother older or younger than you?” you ask into the strange silence.

“Older,” Wesson says, seeming relieved at the change of topic. “Four years. But he raised me a good bit.” You nod, wait for him to explain, but he doesn’t.

“And that group you travel with,” you continue, “are they family too?” You’re not sure why you ask, but you tell yourself that you should know about them if they’re coming to your town. If they’re potential patrons of the Cathouse, or if they’re fine people that will stay far away. Or maybe even competition - another establishment that could threaten yours.

Because asking him this question as you secretly hope that he does not mention a woman’s name with a sparkle in his eyes would be foolish. And you are not foolish.

Wesson takes a deep breath, looks to the side, like he’s counting off a list.

“There’s Benny,” he says. “He’s from New Orleans, but he grew up with my brother and me since we were young. There’s Charlie and Arthur, he’s relatively new. Gabriel, and Jimmy, but, actually, let’s not talk about Jimmy. Uncle Bobby.” He stops, looks at you, as if he’s embarrassed at getting carried away. You give him a small smile.

“That’s your uncle?” you ask and Sam looks down.

“He’s sort of everyone’s uncle,” he says, then gives you a bashful look. “What about you? You got family?”

It’s a sore topic, and it surprises you that he asks it so freely. Then again, you asked him about his brother and group too.

“No family,” you say and his smile falters a little. “But I got Donna and the girls… and the boy. So, that’s kinda like family.” You feel a little bad about giving him so little after he opened up to you. But yours isn’t a happy story. And you don’t want him to pity you - you wouldn’t be able to bear that.

“Family can be found in funny places,” he says with a wistful smile, and then he looks at you again, his eyes piercing.

“I guess so,” you answer. When he keeps looking at you, you turn your head, press your nose close to Baby’s neck. Breathe in her dusty and earthy smell.

Wesson insists on walking you back to the Cathouse, then excuses himself to go talk to Jody again. He actually raises his hat a little, and you can’t help but chuckle at him.

You walk up the stairs, back to your room, the doors still closed to any customers, the girls still asleep and Donna nowhere in sight. You close your door behind you, take off your jacket and sit at your desk, reaching for the mail you got yesterday.

There’s two letters and you smile at the beautiful, dramatic hand writing on the first one. You light a cigarillo, lean back in your chair as you read Rowena’s latest letter.

She tells you about business at the Belvedere, your former place of employment, which she took over after her husband’s, Mr. Sinclair's, death. She tells you about the newest girls, some of the returning customers, a few of which you still know by name despite it being three years since you came out here. About her son Fergus’ latest business ventures, and how he always returns to run security and any dirty dealings at the establishment. He’s good at that, she writes, and she doesn’t understand why he constantly feels the need to do something else. You let out a huffing breath as you turn to the next page.

The next paragraphs are all about her newest lover - a man with royal blood from a great Eastern country, she says. He’s twenty years younger than her, not surprisingly. You shake your head a little as you grin.

Next she asks about your business. It’s mostly her investment, after all, so you don’t blame her. She taught you how to keep your girls straight, how to entertain, how to not just be someone who spreads her legs for a job - her words, not yours. She taught you how to run a business, how to deal with any type of man that might come through your door.

Well, almost any man, you think, thinking of Wesson. You still don’t know what to make of him. What his intentions are.

Rowena asks after the girls she knows - Donna and Meg, who came here with you from the Belvedere, and Jo, who she sent to you later, because she kept getting into trouble with men and drugs and other girls in the city. The hope was she would be better kept here, but you knew from the first moment on that you would need to find a way to get her out at some point, or start saving for a casket. You take a drag from your cigarillo.

Anna and Max came later, but they’ve become a part of your little operation, and you would hate to lose them just as much as any of the others. Max is… well, he’s Max. Beautifully arrogant and sharp as a needle. And Anna’s tougher than she seems, despite all her bible thumpin’ habits.

You put the letter down and begin writing your reply. Business has been good, really good, and you’re considering taking on more girls. You’re running out of rooms to put them in though, especially if you keep renting to handsome strangers. Your hand stills, and you look down. Should you tell Rowena about Wesson? Ask her opinion on him? Surely that would be… odd? You haven’t even known him for a whole day. You shake your head to try to clear your thoughts.

You finish your letter, no mention of Wesson, lay it to the side and open the second one.

You recognize his handwriting too. Tilted and quick. Open it with your letter opener. It’s only one page, a few paragraphs.

My dear,

We are aiming for Helena, Montana. The country is beautiful here, but the men I travel with are some of the dullest I have ever spent time amongst. They chew tobacco and drink moonshine and growl like dogs at each other.

Once I have finished my business in Helena, I will make my way back to New York, which, if my geographical knowledge does not abandon me - I imagine you smiling here in that way you do - will take me close to Blackbird, or so close that only a few days’ ride could take me straight to you.

I long to be in your arms, listen to your sweet voice. The traveling has been rough and before I return home, I wish to spend time with someone who does not bore me to death.

With only the fondest of thoughts,

Cain

You lay the letter flat on the table, your eyes going over the words again, then stand, walk to the window.

You pull the curtain to the side, look down at the street, at the life bustling there. You’ve left all your johns behind, the regulars you had, of course. Cain is a surveyor, travels the country, and he is the only one you have kept in contact with, kept servicing. He’s come to Blackbird a couple of times, but not in… You need to think about that for a second, leaning against the wall next to the window.

A year? A year and a half? You’re not even sure anymore. You used to see him all the time. Every Saturday - he paid extra for the privilege. Dinner from an expensive restaurant brought to the nice room at the Belvedere, the one with the red wallpaper, a wine the name of which Rowena taught you how to pronounce beforehand. He’d stay the night, the two of you lying in bed afterwards, as he told you of his travels. It made you want to see the world.

You like Cain, as much as you like any john. He’s smart, handsome, not cheap. Respectful, for the most part. You learned things from him about his work, the land, and he doesn’t talk to you like you’re stupid. Enjoys your company, genuinely.

He’s a few weeks out at least. He hasn’t indicated how long he will stay once he’s here. You know he has a wife in New York, a few children, who must be grown by now.

He’ll stay here in your room with you. Will want you to forego your other responsibilities - it’s not a madam he wants. It’s a young woman who only exists for his every whim, who lies in bed, naked, for days, only waiting for him. You’ll have to set Donna aside, make sure she takes care of business downstairs during those days. He’ll want good food and something nice to drink. You turn back to the desk, take a piece of paper. Make a few notes of what you need to buy.

The thought comes to you without any warning. There, leaned over, pen in hand. Wesson in your bed instead of Cain. Not as a john, nothing like that, but him there, with you, for days and days, naked as when you were born. You imagine your hands on his broad shoulders, wonder if they are as tan as what little of his skin you have seen. Wonder what his lips feel like on your jaw, traveling to your neck. His body moving, slowly, over yours.

You straighten, clear your throat, brush your hands over your skirt. You can’t be thinking like that. It’s not an option. You can almost hear Rowena’s whiskey-smooth voice in your head: do not give them for free what you can charge them for. Charging for it is the only way for you to be the one in control.

You had a sweetheart in New York, for a while. He kept asking you to stop working, got nastier and nastier when you wouldn’t. That last day, he had to be removed from the Belvedere by the two large men working the door, shouting abuse at you even as he was being dragged away. You only saw him twice more. But you don’t want to think about that.

So Cain will come. And you will do your work. Nothing has changed, even though you haven’t worked on your back in however long it’s been since he last was here. Even though the thought of Wesson in your bed makes intense tension bloom inside you. Because that is your job.

You finish up some more paperwork, write the response to Cain and a few more letters. It’s coming on noon, so you go downstairs to open up.

Meg, Max and Donna are sitting around the bar, drinking coffee. Max raises his head when he sees you walk down the stairs.

“Come on over here,” he says. “I want you to hear this.” You approach them, stand next to Meg.

“What is it?” you ask, reaching for her cup, taking a sip and then handing it back.

“That girl from Cheyenne, the one who worked at the Belvedere,” Donna says, “the one with the beauty mark on her forehead?” You lean against the bar, look up, trying to remember.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “She gambled away every cent she earned at the poker table. Every night, like clockwork. She was shit at poker. I heard she once tried to borrow money from a john. What was her name?” Meg raises her hand to wave it.

“Lily, but that’s not the point,” she says. “Max says he met her two years ago in Gunnison. As a Mrs. Harlow.” You raise your eyebrows, look at Max.

“Should that ring any bells?” you ask. Max presses his tongue into his cheek.

“Commissioner Harlow?” he asks. “You know him?” You widen your eyes.

“No!” you say and he nods, laughs, same as Donna. You look at them in turn. “How did she become a commissioner’s wife?” Donna shrugs, but you turn to Meg when she speaks. She’s reached into her purse, taken out papers and tobacco.

“They did say she gave the best blowjobs in all of New York,” she says, sucking her teeth. “If that don’t get you a rich husband, I don’t know what does.” Donna slaps Max’s arm.

“How do you know anything about a commissioner’s private life anyway?” she asks and Max gives that perfectly charming and dangerous grin he does.

“His cousin was a regular,” he says. “Hung like a horse.” Donna squeals as you shake your head, turning when you hear footsteps

Anna comes bouncing down the stairs, the way she always does, like some kind of wood nymph that accidentally walked into a brothel. She has something in her hands as she approaches.

“What are y’all laughing about?” she says, stopping close to you, quickly brushing some of her long, auburn hair out of her face.

“Long story,” you say at the same time as Max says: “Horses.”

“What do you have there?” you ask, nodding at the package Anna is holding. She looks down at it.

“I forgot about this with everything that was going on last night,” she says. “I got a present and I wanted to share it with you.”

Anna lays the small package on the bar, revealing it to be a box of chocolate truffles. The others dive in like vultures, and you can’t stop yourself from grabbing one too, biting a piece off, closing your eyes at the thick sweetness.

“Back at the convent,” Anna says, holding one of her pale, dainty hands in front of her mouth to hide her chewing, “there was a Sister Superior who would eat a box of these a week, and me and one of the other novitiates would take the packaging and lick the remaining chocolate out of it.” You chuckle and shake your head at that. You know Anna tried to become a nun. She was thrown out of the convent for engaging in sinful acts with some of the other sisters. She told you when she first came here, but you just shrugged it off. She hasn’t left her faith behind, and as much as you all roll your eyes at her sometimes, it’s good to have her here.

“Who of your johns can afford truffles?” Donna says through a mouthful of chocolate, then turns to Anna. “Is it the one with the gap between his front teeth? That whistles when he speaks?” Anna nods.

“His father’s a successful merchant in Vienna,” she replies. “That’s why he talks funny like that. That and the tooth.”

“The one with the crooked dick?” Meg asks with a frown. “Turns so far to the left it almost comes around and fucks him in the ass?” Max snorts, but Anna frowns.

“Don’t be mean,” she says, “he’s nice.” Meg shrugs.

“Just saying I fucked him too and he didn’t give me any truffles,” she says, then looks back at Anna, narrowing her eyes. “What’d you let him do?”

At this, all of you turn to Anna, and you can see the corners of her mouth twitching behind her hand.

“Let him suck on my toes,” she replies. “That got him off so good he couldn’t even fuck me after.”

All of you break out into laughter, Donna slapping the top of the bar.

“Well, I’ll say this, Sister Anna,” Max says, walking around you and Meg to put his arm around Anna and pull her against her side. “You were a shit nun, but you��re a great whore.”

You just have time to see Anna beam at him, when you hear footsteps again and turn around.

It’s Jo. She looks pale, even smaller and thinner than she usually does. You push off the bar, and walk over to her. Her hair is hanging over her shoulders, limp and lifeless, and you brush some away from her face.

“How are you feeling, little bird?” you ask in a low voice, while the others begin chatting behind you again. Jo gives you a half-hearted smile.

“Alright,” she says, and her voice sounds scratchy. “Took a bath. But I keep nodding off, I feel so tired.” You nod, keep studying her.

“How about you take tonight off?” you ask, and Jo blinks at you.

“I can work,” she says, making her voice hard. You nod.

“I know you can,” you say, feeling her resistance to have anyone doubt her, anyone tell her what to do. God, she reminds you so much of yourself sometimes that it’s almost painful. “But I’m saying you don’t have to.” Jo thinks for a second, looking around.

“I could help Andy work the bar,” she says and you nod slowly.

“Alright,” you say. Truth is, Andy doesn’t need any help with the bar. He’s as quick as a hummingbird, a witty line for every customer on his lips. Jo will probably mostly get in his way with how sluggish she still is, but luckily he’s not one to complain. Especially not over having one of your pretty girls so close.

“Who was that man,” Jo drags you out of your thoughts, “that helped yesterday?” You swallow.

“He’s the one who’s lodging here,” you reply. “His name is Mr. Wesson.” Jo nods, slowly.

“He seems nice,” she says.

“He does,” you reply. “I don’t know if I trust him yet.” Jo gives another smile, this one a little more lively.

“You don’t trust anyone,” she says, a playful but reprimanding tone in her voice. You keep her gaze.

“Yes, I do,” you say, continue looking at her until she takes your meaning. She blinks, her eyes briefly becoming misty. She takes a sharp breath. Jo doesn’t need you yelling at her or kicking her out. She needs to know she can come back from what she did. That she’s still loved.

“Deliveries!” Donna calls from the front. You squeeze Jo’s arm briefly, then go and open the door for Andy.

Trust. It’s a funny thing. You’ve never had much use for it. You believe people will act honestly if you’ve seen them act honestly in the past. If they’ve acted dishonestly, they might continue to do so. Or not. There’s no telling. Trust feels like an unsure thing compared to just watching how people do things.

Maybe you don’t need to trust Wesson. Maybe you need to only continue watching him, keeping him close and relying on your instincts. He’ll reveal something about himself sooner or later, and when he does, you’ll go from there.

As you greet Andy and he begins carrying things in, you ignore the slight flutter in your chest, the feeling of quick and sharp joy. You’ll keep him close.

The next morning is filled with rain. It comes down in thick sheets, turns the thoroughfare into a mudslide.

As so often, you’re the first one up. You walk downstairs, open the front doors wide. The town is quiet still, but the rain is loud. You make coffee, wait for the whistling sound.

Just as you pour yourself a cup, you hear footsteps. When you look up, you see it’s Wesson. He’s not wearing his jacket or his hat and he gives you a careful, polite nod.

Without saying anything, you turn, pick up a second cup. Pour coffee into it, and then hand it to him. He accepts it with a nod.

When you walk over to the opened front door, lean against the frame to watch the spectacle of the rain outside, you’re not sure what he’ll do. It takes a little bit, but after a minute, you see him move out of your periphery. You look his way as you watch him lean against the other side.

You look his way. He’s running his hand over his cheeks, then his jaw, as if he’s trying to give it something to do. You look at him until he looks your way.

You keep his gaze, and he keeps yours. You feel an amused smile break out over your face, see it mirrored in his, but his is lopsided, almost silly. He looks so serious sometimes, but his smiles come easily.

You raise your cup a little, still not saying anything, and he does the same. Then you both turn, look outside again. Watch together as the rain washes the earth clean.

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