Her face felt strained from all the hallow smiles she gave to the men who tipped their hats and offered their hellos. Beside her, Amelia continued rambling on about things Abigail couldn’t have cared less about. She really could care less about what her sister ever had to say. Her words were usually trivial and pedantic; speaking of nothing but nonsense. Abigail had spent the better part of her twenty-seven years learning how to tune out such drivel. Choosing instead to just smile and nod, and every so often adding in a well place hum of approval or abhorrence, whichever was apropos.

Abigail picked up her skirt a few inches as she gingerly stepped off the wooden boardwalk onto the muddied streets. Amelia followed suit as she eyed her sister warily.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you, Abigail?” Abigail’s eyes widened innocently and she turned her neck slightly so she could catch her sister’s gaze.

“Of course I am.” She protested.

“Then what did I just say?” Amelia tested, raising an eyebrow. Abigail’s own gaze narrowed before she rolled her eyes, trying to remind herself why she chose to stop off here in the first place. “That’s what I thought.” Amelia said smugly after a few moments of silence. “I asked you twice what your purpose was here, Abigail. Last I heard you were quite content in California. Then you show up here with rarely a days notice wearing that horrid horsehair…” Abigail’s head snapped, her eyes ablaze at Amelia’s coarse remark, but remained silent as her sister continued, “And I have to wonder what, exactly you are up to. I would like to be aware if you’ve decided to pull some sort of confidence scheme in this town. I’ve built a repore with these people. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I’m sure you do.” Abigail cooed, her voice dripping with disdain. “And if you knew anything about fashion you would recognize this is not “horrid horsehair” as you claim it to be,” she patted her tresses for emphasis, “but in fact constructed from some of the finest material. From France.” she added haughtily.

“I’m sure. Still, you haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m not up to anything, that I can assure you.” Abigail hissed. “California bored me. I figured it was time for a change.”

“Oh!” Amelia exclaimed, her face twisted in feigned surprise. “And where were you planning on heading?” Abigail shrugged, sidestepping to avoid a murky puddle.

“I’ll figure that out when I get there.” Abigail tossed Amelia a smile. Amelia shook her ginger head and quietly tsked.

“Abby, when will you learn to settle down? Find yourself a fine young man and quit up and moving from town to town whenever the urge strikes. It’s unladylike. Whatever happened to that handsome man you were seeing for a while? Oh, what was his name…” Her voice trailed off as she pulled the front door to the Belles Dames open. Abigail sent a derisive look Amelia’s way as she slipped through the opening. She knew damn well what his name was. And she knew damn well Abigail wasn’t up for talking about him.

“What was his name, Abby?” Amelia pressed, her tone slightly denigrating. Abigail yanked the shawl from her shoulders and scowled, but only briefly. She would refuse to let her sister know she was upset. It would only serve to feed her vicious contempt.

“Elijah.” Abigail answered, tilting her chin upward in a subtle show of defiance.

“Right! Elijah. Whatever happened to him? He was such a charmer.” Abigail just smiled.

“Yes, he was.”

“So,” Amelia glided across the entrance hall, straightening one of the few works of art that adorned the walls. “You said you were going to ‘replenish your funds’ before heading off. How exactly do you plan on doing that?” Abigail breezed past Amelia, her dark eyes slowly grazing over the gaming hall.

“You’re going to defraud my clientele?” Amelia cried out when she followed Abigail’s gaze. “Absolutely not!” Abigail shrugged and turned to make her way up the staircase. “Do you hear me, Abigail O’Hara Devereaux?!” Amelia cried after her, her voice shrill. “You will not defraud my clients.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, sister dear.” Abigail called over her shoulder. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

--

“So, are you going to just sit there and let me do the talking? Or are you going to eventually join in on the conversation?” Silas pulled the hat from his head and wiped away the beads of sweat that glistened against his dark skin.

“You seem to be doing an excellent job all by yourself.” Wyatt quipped, shifting awkwardly in the saddle. The triple digit heat made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his body; sweat poured down the back of his neck. The thought of a bath and a bottle of whiskey made him begin to seriously regret taking on this endeavor.

“Yeah, well, if you gonna make me ride out here in hundred degree heat, the least you can do is entertain me.”

“I didn’t ask you to come along.”

“I wasn’t going to let you go on alone, either.” Silas argued. Wyatt shrugged and urged his steed into a faster walk before deciding his previous pace was more than adequate. He didn’t want to tire his horse. But he wanted to get this job done as soon as he possibly could. Especially since he had to keep reminding him just how cold and calculated Abigail Devereaux could be. Otherwise, the thoughts of much better times crept into his psyche, and forced him to have second thoughts.

“Well, then don’t complain about the heat. Or my lack of conversation.” Wyatt snapped. Silas’ dark eyes widened in surprise.

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Attitude.” Silas muttered “But don’t you think there was something a little off about that mayor and his sheriff?” Wyatt shrugged, but didn’t answer. “So, you don’t think there was something a little off about that mayor and his sheriff?”

“I don’t know, Silas.” Wyatt barked. “Does it matter?”

“Well, it does if Abigail isn’t as guilty as they make her out to be.”

“Silas, if there’s one thing I can assure you on, if Abigail Devereaux is involved, it’s almost certain she isn’t exactly an innocent party.” Silas’ broad shoulders rose and fell slowly.

“Well, maybe you’re just saying that because of your past with her.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Silas knew he’d regret them. Wyatt tugged hard on his steed’s reins, forcing the equine to a halt, emerald slits boring angrily into Silas’.

“If this causes a quandary for you, Mr. Liberty, you can take your leave. In fact, I insist you take your leave.” Silas held up a hand in defense.

“Okay, okay.” Silas said calmly. “I won’t say anything like that again, alright?” Wyatt continued to stare at Silas for a few more moments before coaxing the thoroughbred along.

Wyatt kept himself a few steps ahead of Silas, rage still coarsening through his veins. Silas had no right to talk to him like that, Wyatt seethed. This was just another job. Another bounty. Taken only to keep him flowing in poker and whiskey money for a while.

If only he could completely convince himself of that.