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“Didn’t think you’d hear that over your snoring,” she said. “Hurry up, it’s getting cold.”
She went in the house, slapping a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter as his muttered cursing floated behind her.
He followed shortly after, without his guns, and slid into his seat at the table. He stared at the food on his plate with a dubious expression. She narrowed her eyes, and he cleared his throat and picked up the fork and knife.
“Hat,” she said.
He glanced up, brows drawn in confusion. “What?”
She sighed. “I think we’ve established your manners are little better than a barn animal’s, and I haven’t said anything about your habit of wearing your hat at all times, even in the house. But you could at least remove it at the table.”
“I like my hat,” he said with a frown.
She kept staring at him until he shook his head and took it off, dropping it onto the table next to him.
“Better?”
She nearly bit her lip off trying to keep from laughing at his thick mane of hair that was somehow both matted to his head on the top but also sticking up in all directions on the sides and back. The man needed a haircut like a fish needed water. Among other things. But she wasn’t going to criticize his hair when she’d been the one to insist he uncover it.
“Marginally,” she said. She would have preferred he hang it on the rack by the door, but frankly the fact he’d given in and removed it at all surprised her, so she didn’t want to push things too far.
He started sawing at the pork chop with a look of deep concentration. After a few moments, he dropped his utensils, picked up the chop with his hands, and tore into it.
“Really?” she said.
He shrugged. “I’ll waste away from starvation if I have to hack this thing into bite-size pieces. This is easier.” He raised the chop in a little salute and bit into it again.
She shook her head. “Trust you to take the easiest way.”
It took him a bit of work to take a healthy bite. He gestured at her with the pork chop. “You’re awful opinionated for someone who wants my help so badly.”
She smirked at him. “You must bring out the best in me.”
“I could just leave, you know.”
“You could, but the weather will be turning bad soon and there’s not another town for thirty miles in any direction. Unless you want to go back the way you came, of course. I’m guessing you don’t, because if you’d wanted to stay there you wouldn’t have left in the first place. That doesn’t give you much time to find another town that’ll take you in for an entire winter. And with your reputation…”
Something flashed in his eyes that made Mercy’s heart clench. It was gone in an instant, but a great flood of sympathy for the gunslinger suddenly washed over her. For all his bravado, he was a man who had no one. No home. No family. Nowhere he could go.
She had no doubt that he wouldn’t thank her for her thoughts, so she took a hasty sip of water, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat.
“Well,” she continued, though her eyes no longer met his. “I think we both know Desolation is your only choice. Since we’ve already established if you want to stay here, I’m your best option for a roof over your head and food on your table.”
“The food’s debatable,” he grumbled.
She glared at him, and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’m kidding. It’s…” He stabbed the black lump on his plate with his fork. “Edible.”
Her lips twitched into a smile before she could stop it. “All right, fine. Since we are stuck with each other for the time being, I suggest a compromise.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“If you’ll try harder to be more…agreeable,” she said with a small smile, “I’ll try harder to be more…lenient with your shortcomings.”
His eyebrow raised higher, but he gave her a half grin that made her stomach flip and held out his hand. “All right. Truce.”
She shook his hand and wondered how long she’d be able to keep her side of the bargain.
…
