Ace's Wild

“He’s got something I want.”

“What?”

“Just stay here and finish your chores.”

“I got to bring water to the house next.”

“Don’t.”

“But...”

Ace looked over to Luke. “Keep him here.”

“Will do.” Luke took off his coat and neatly draped it over his saddle, before smiling at Terrance. “I’ll help you with your chores while we wait.”

Ace headed for the house. From behind he heard Terrance say, “You’d better go with him,” followed by Luke’s “Why?”

“My pa can be mean.”

“Ace can be meaner,” Luke retorted.

Ace smiled and tugged his hat brim down just a bit. That was the truth. As Winter was about to find out.

The inside of the house wasn’t much better than the outside. No, it was worse—the stench of dirt and molding sod fermented with the reek of vomit, drunkenness and stale cigarette butts.

Ace stood just inside the door. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see Winter sprawled on the only bed in the room. To one side of the door was a pallet of blankets on the floor. Christ, he treated the kid like a dog.

“Where the fuck you been, Terrance?” the man called, before moaning, “Where’s my goddamn water?”

Winter fumbled blindly around the bed. Ace stepped forward and picked up the whiskey bottle Winter was searching for, and poured the contents over the man’s head.

“What the fuck!”

Winter came flying out of the bed, arms flailing, shirttails flapping, stumbling as he got to his feet, clearly still drunk.

“Who the hell are you?”

Ace grabbed the bucket from the floor, threw the last of the water in his face. “Sober up. We need to talk.”

Brian dragged his hands down his face, recognition dawning in his eyes. “I don’t have a goddamn thing to talk about with you.”

“You owe me money.”

“I’ll get it.”

Ace made a point of looking around as Winter sat back down on the bed and grabbed the dirty sheets and rubbed them across his face. It didn’t help. The two day’s growth of beard on his face caught the rough fabric leaving threads attached. Christ, he was a mess. How did the man sink this low?

“I told you I’d get you the money.”

“Uh-huh.” Ace took a seat at his table. The chair rocked under his weight. He caught himself before he could tip over.

“Leg’s loose,” Brian said.

“So I see.” He nodded at Brian. “If you don’t stop reaching under that mattress for that shotgun, I’m going to put a bullet in your shoulder.”

Brian froze, his eyes going to the gun still in Ace’s holster. “I heard you were fast.”

“And I heard you were stupid. You keep reaching for that gun and we’ll both know no one was lying.”

“You got no right to be in my home.”

“Nope. I don’t, but I’m here anyway.”

A cunning expression crossed his face. “You must want something.”

“I told you, we need to talk.”

Brian got up. The stench and sight of him made Ace’s stomach heave. Luke was right. They weren’t leaving the boy here.

Brian picked up the battered metal coffeepot by the well-tended fire. Terrance’s work, no doubt. He shook the empty pot. “Where the hell is that lazy boy with the water for my coffee? Terrance!” he hollered.

“Terrance isn’t coming.” It felt good saying that.

Brian turned. The sweat stains on his faded red long johns stood out even in the dim light. “What the hell do you mean he’s not coming?”

“He’s helping Luke.”

“With what?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Ace shoved the adjacent chair over with his foot. It caught on the uneven floor and fell over. “Sit your ass down.”

Brian picked up the chair, still staring at the door. “I want my coffee.”

“What you want is whiskey. You’re not getting either until we’re done, so the faster you sit, the faster you can get on with your life.”

“What the hell do you want? Spit it out.”

“Terrance.”

The truth lay between them.

Without batting an eyelid, Brian asked, “For what?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“So that’s how it is.” Again that cunning expression slid over his face. “The boy will cost you.”

With a push of his foot, Ace tipped the other man’s chair over backward. When the swearing stopped he said, “You make another insinuation like that and I’ll gut you. You hear me?”