Something Borrowed, Something Blue

The Night Anew

friday evening. with the man what wants.

The sting stays lingering, even as Jude settles down beside the fire. It's a sharp, prickling pain, and it digs in its heels like a mule. Miss Little's still by Bailey, tending to the arm Jet done chewed up, and the boy stays with her, but every once in a while, he tries looking back at Jude.

Must've picked the boy up from somewhere. Ran away from home, maybe.

It ain't Jude's place to wonder.

O'Malley's sitting on Jude's right, and Bailey on the left, but Jet's just a coupla feet from the latter. Got his eyes set on the outlaw, and his wolf tail lashes the ground, but the outlaws don't try pulling nothing, so Jet just sits and watches. O'Malley's awful quiet. Ain't got nothing on him but his clothes, and he keeps his head down, like he's tryna sleep.

Miss Little's got all her attention set on Bailey, and Bailey alone. Weren't but a couple weeks ago Bailey and his brother done stole her out of her room, but now she's tending to him like they ain't got no history or nothing. Maybe it's just 'cuz he's hurt. Jet did a good job. When they get to town and have the outlaws all settled, Jude'll have to get the wolfdog a treat. Some sausage, maybe. Or chicken.

The boy tries stealing glances when he thinks Jude's not looking, but the bounty hunter stares the kid head-on, and the boy jumps a little when their eyes meet, like a mouse. He's built like a twig, with brown hair and eyes what shine like buttons.

"It ain't polite to stare." Jude's frown stays heavy, but he ain't glaring. Not hard, anyhow. Still, the boy withers some beneath his glare. "You got somethin' you wanna say?"

Miss Little looks up from Bailey's arm and starts leaning toward the boy, but the kid blinks, sits up a little, and meets Jude's stare.

"Who are you?" The boy's tongue stumbles some, but he turns, and then, after gathering a bit of himself, he moves to stand. "What—" A harsh, warning growl rumbles low in Jet's chest, and the boy falters a moment before looking back at Jude. His hands are curling into fists, and he scrunches up his face into a look firm enough to call a frown. "What do you want?"

The fire crackles, and Jude shifts some.

"I'm here for them." Jude gestures first to O'Malley and then to Bailey. "That feller you're patchin' up? He's wanted for murder," he nods to O'Malley, who's as still as a lump of coal, "'n his brother broke him out."

"You're wrong." The boy narrows his eyes. A bolt of courage must've up and found him, and he continues, with all his chest, "Mr. Cyrus wouldn't do nothin' like that."

Jude looks at the kid. What's the boy think this is? A debate?

A sigh's pressing at Jude's lips, tryna crawl up his throat like a bad thought, but he ain't got no breath for that, neither, so instead, he takes off his hat, stretches out his legs, and asks, "Where's your ma and pa, kid?"

The boy falters, and some of that courage what had ballooned his chest seeps out his shoes. "They died." He looks down at his feet. "I don't have nobody."

Jude sits up. Shame spills cold down the slope of his face, slimy as uncooked egg, and the sour taste what sinks into his mouth feels like boot leather. "Sorry to hear that." He furrows his brow and slouches some, and then he's scratching his head and peering briefly at the ground before looking back up at the kid. "That's a...bad break." He purses his lips, leans his arm on his knee, and gestures to the boy. "You got any family nearby?"

"No." The boy sniffs, shakes his head, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. "I ain't got nobody."

No uncles or aunts, or brothers or sisters? Nobody?