Ace's Wild. Sarah McCarty

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE NEXT MORNING, Ace ate breakfast, ignored the shocked looks from the women not used to seeing him up before 3:00 p.m., settled his hat on his head and walked out of the saloon. Before the doors stopped swinging behind him, his best friend and fellow ranger, Luke Bellen, pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him, his dark gray duster flapping around his legs. He’d clearly been waiting for him.

      “Morning.”

      Ace looked over. “You’re up early.”

      Luke shrugged. “More like late. I haven’t been to bed yet.”

      “Was she any good?”

      Luke smiled. “Good enough.”

      As they stepped off the walk, the wind kicked up, blowing fine brown dust on everything.

      “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.”