Verboten

24.

Your window stays open for the entire evening into early morning with the intention of hearing Harry approach if he happened to come back into town early. The thrum of crickets melts into the drone of cicadas as the sun rises, light seeps in slowly to bathe your bedroom in the perfect shade of golden white. Chickadees and magpies join the chorus of living beings happy to greet the sunshine and you lay in bed wide awake with cash strewn around your body and tucked into folds in the sheets.

You counted your stack of cash several times over, piling it into a tidy heap before spreading it out across your bed and then bundling it up again just to repeat the process. The scene in which you held up the customer played over and over in your mind, your adrenaline and excitement keeping you roused throughout the course of nightfall.

You half expected your father to knock your door down and smack you unconscious after forecasting that the customer would walk downstairs and tell the saloon about your audacity. It never happened; no one came to check on you or scold you and it's nearly impossible to believe that you successfully swindled someone on your first try without a hitch.

Each time you remember the events of the evening, your smile bursts into insane laughter, joyous tears pouring down your cheeks as you roll onto your side and wrap your fist around a handful of coins.

The Bowie knife that Harry purchased for you shreds a small hole into your mattress, your newly earned cash and wristwatch stuffing into the cotton to stay hidden and protected from your father.

Your instinct has you reaching for your pocket watch but when you grasp nothing but air, your mind splinters and your skin grows cold at the harsh reminder of your absent love. It has been four days since he has left and whether or not he is successful, he promised to be back by tomorrow. The notion has another feral grin pulling at each corner of your mouth, your index fingers swiping away moisture from your eyes before it can streak your face.

You jog down the stairs to the saloon with a coin clutched snugly in your palm, winking at the bartender who flags you over and licks his lips in preparation to speak when you approach. You greet him softly and even though your tone is quiet, he still recognizes the pep in your step when you draw near. He eyes you up and down, scanning the room for any eavesdroppers before whispering, "I must know how last night went or he will have my head."

When he says 'he' you know that he is referring to Harry and the outstretched fabric of his cloak of protection feels comfortable and supportive even though he is not near. The bartender raises an eyebrow at the smile growing on your face; you want nothing more than to brag but it is uncouth and seems like bad luck somehow. You shrug and tap the coin against the bar, "it was daisy."

The bartender pushes his rag aside and leans his forearms on the bar to lean closer to you, not understanding how your evening could have been excellent if you were claimed, "you enjoyed your purchase?"

You shrug and back away from him towards the saloon doors, maneuvering around tables and chairs as you go, "best one yet." You spin on your toe and swing the doors open, stepping out into the sunshine and hurrying off to the general store to treat yourself to maple candies and lavender soap.

Harry's eyes crack open for a brief moment as pain is brought to his conscious awareness, the back of his head feeling thick and goopy without even grazing his fingers against it. He whines when he tries to move his hands to ease the ache in his shoulders but remembers they are bound tightly with rough and irritating rope. An object appears in his peripheral vision and he flinches just in time to feel it land against his cheek, his tongue pushing against the gag in his mouth as he groans in discomfort and falls back into black slumber.

Your hopes for Harry returning early slip away with each passing hour, knowing he is less likely to travel long distances at dusk when visibility is low and he could be forced to camp in an unknown location. It doesn't stop you from watching the saloon doors each time they swing open, not bothering to hide a frown when another scummy cowboy walks into the establishment.