Outlaw's Prayer (ch. 7, part one)
Title: Outlaw's Prayer (7/?) part one
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib), Cookson (David Cook/Kelly Clarkson), various others, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: For his entire life, Kyle Peek always longed for the thrill and adventure in the open lands of the wild West. He gets more than he ever bargained for when he joins up with the legendary outlaw gang known only as The Kings.
Notes: Sorry if this part is so long! I tried to cut it down and even separated it into two parts; they'd be separate chapters but I feel one has to come right after the other. I have been working on this story for the past seven months and I am SO excited to finally be posting it :D What started out as a fledgling idea grew to be a huge AU and I'm very grateful to share it with you. A ginormous thank you goes out to dreamerren, for her work as beta and practically as the story's second author. Title credit goes to Nick Gibson for his song "Outlaw's Prayer."
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5, part one
Chapter 5, part two
Chapter 6
"The Old West is not a certain place in a certain time, it's a state of mind. It's whatever you want it to be." Tom Mix
"That's it?"
Gilbert stomped and snorted at the sound of his owner's raised voice, the irritation in his tone particularly startling to the good-natured horse. It was all Kyle could do to calm him as he groomed, patting the sandy-haired horse's throat soothingly with one hand and running a rough currycomb along his flanks with the other. Gilbert's mane and bushy tail--the same color as his rider's hair, and just as curly and unmanageable--would have to wait until the horse was in a more placid mood, Kyle wasn't going to attempt dragging a brush through those tangles. The other horses would have to wait as well: he had already tended to Sixx after their exhilarating escape from another successful heist the previous evening, and Andy's Vera, having rode into camp long afterwards, had been a breeze, but willful Sugarfoot and his own Gangles were still irritated from the layer of desert dust settled on their coats, wondering what was taking Kyle so long.
They'll have to hold their horses, Kyle thought before instantly regretting the pun. Something's going on.
David had already moved on past Joey, dropping the small pile of bank notes on top of the outlaw's belongings, the bills fluttering into the brim of Joey's hat on the ground. "Five hundred sixteen," he said again to Joey as he handed over Neal's share, feeling like a Santa Claus doling out presents without there being anything to feel jolly about. "You know what's there, you heard me count it last night. That's one hundred to each of us, and the rest goes to food and bullets." He tossed over the additional wad of cash to Andy, the task of purchasing supplies for the Kings permanently falling upon his shoulders.
Shaking his head again, Joey looked down at the money, the usually laid-back outlaw appearing uncharacteristically perturbed. Kyle had never seen him like this, but then again, he had never seen such a pitiful haul from the towns they touched, barely scratching the surface of some other banks with far less security and far more to lose. It hadn't been a difficult heist by any stretch of the imagination--David had even tipped his hat to the terrified bank owner as the outlaws departed, leaving a trail of destruction and a king playing card in their wake--but Joey obviously intended to be more lucratively rewarded. It was all the same to Kyle, truly: it was still more money than the old ranch would make in a year, and he himself in a lifetime.
"I can't believe this," Joey muttered, though he knew there could be no other alternative at the moment. He had been in that bank just as the rest of them, watching the meek bank owner scour the tiny safe and pull out the dismally small bankroll they held in their possession. It would have been better if they hadn't even planned the robbery at all; then Joey wouldn't have felt it was a life-threatening excursion wasted.
"Andy said it would be light," contributed Neal with a shrug. His own motivations for the robbery had already run their course: the exhilaration of the actual heist and the wind whipping around him and his horse, his friends, as they made their triumphant escape...those were the rewards for their troubles for Neal, and the rest was just gravy.
But those had never been the things Joey desired; he had not the luxury to only care for adrenaline and the wind, like others. "I didn't think that'd mean it was this light." Indeed, Andy had warned them, overhearing in his rounds that Jackson was a dying town, the frenzy of the gold rush that helped it thrive long since gone, along with any chance wealth would grace the town again. When Andy had given the report he had not been optimistic, keeping his eyes down to the fire; perhaps the cash set about before them was the reason he had kept to himself. "What, did only three people have their money in this bank?"
Once again Gilbert tensed, shaking his head and snorting; Kyle calmed him as best he could, cooing into the horse's ear so that his anxiety would not spread to the other horses like mayflies. Pressing a finger to his own lips, he shushed the agitated horse; this wasn't just about keeping the others calm, Kyle wanted to make sure he heard this conversation himself.
"We're not far from Paso del Norte," Joey turned to David, his voice low, like whispering a conspiracy. "Half a day if we get on the road now, if even. I'm sure the banks there have a lot more than five hundred lying around."
Paso del Norte...there wasn't a man out in the fields of the West, cowboy, outlaw or lawman, that hadn't heard of the town; aptly named by its Mexican inhabitants as the fastest way to travel into one country from the other. The men who had crossed there always said that the dirt looked just about the same everywhere, the air just as hot on one side of the border as the next. A bustling city full of traders, farmers and soldiers for both nations, the town thrived as much as its sister town, El Paso, and was bound to be swimming in whatever currency the outlaws would so choose to rob, dollar or peso.
But with that added reward, came added risk: Paso del Norte was a popular city but it had its fair share of lawmen searching for outlaws who considered erasing their bounties by crossing the border, or bored soldiers looking for any excuse for bloodshed--and David wouldn't give either party any satisfaction. If robbing banks had been about the money he would have suggested trailing a path of plunder through all points south years ago; but it wasn't, at least not for David. He patted the front pocket of his shirt as he responded to Joey's suggestion, reminding him of the very reason he did find himself in the outlaw life.
"We're not going to Mexico," was David's stance, and it always had been. "They hang bank robbers in Mexico."
"They hang them here, too," Joey supplied. Kyle's hand instinctively went to his throat as he listened to the conversation; when he had signed up for the Kings that wasn't the end he ever considered. He tried to mask his eavesdropping by enthusiastically feeding a sack of oats to Gilbert, but he had been spotted: Andy, keeping silent and preferring to let Joey's frustration and David's rationalizations run their courses, caught sight of Kyle's expression, the young greenhorn looking rather pale over the thought of hanging. He shook his head, trying to make it clear to Kyle that they wouldn't be fitted for rope neckties any time soon.
Just as soon as he did so, David confirmed it, crossing his arms in front of his chest, taking a firm stance on staying as north of the border as will would allow. "We don't get caught here," he reasoned.
"That's because we rob banks for five hundred fucking dollars!" Joey threw up his hands, exasperated that no other Kings were coming to his defense, that no one besides himself thought their skills could be used for bigger and better things. David insisted on small towns that provided all of the publicity but little of the monetary payback. As far as Joey was concerned he could do well to stay out of the newspapers, and would never turn down the opportunity for a bit more spending cash.
Another anxious whinny rose from Gilbert, this time shaking his head out of Kyle's grasp and rearing up in distress, obviously not accustomed to hearing his owner in such a state. Kyle stumbled while trying to regain control, bracing himself against the solid body of the horse, and when he finally managed some composure he felt far more pairs of eyes on him than before, and these eyes happened to be human.
Sheepishly Kyle smiled, and even though he had earned his bones with the Kings he felt mortified among them, wishing Gilbert could give him a swift kick in the back of the head and end his misery. David raised an eyebrow at the young man, reminding Kyle once again of an old Sunday school teacher he had back in California, demanding that if he had something to say, he should present it to the rest of the class. He took in a deep breath, shoulders shrugging on their own accord: if he was really a member of the Kings, he should feel welcome to give his opinion, he thought.
"It's really not that bad, is it?" he asked, hoping his idealism didn't cause him to be called a greenhorn again. He had been riding with the Kings for months now, and he deserved to at least have the green stripped from his title, if not the idea that he was still a kid. "I mean, five hundred doesn't seem like much when you've been getting more, I guess; but any of it's better than nothing. And we did get away this time, isn't that what matters? Wouldn't want to get greedy."
The look that crossed Joey's face told Kyle he probably should have kept his fool mouth shut. "I am not," Joey said defiantly, pointing at Kyle but his words clearly meant for the others. "Getting talked down to by the kid."
Shocked to stillness, Kyle just watched as Joey stomped over, storms of restlessness in his eyes that could not be abated with a simple conversation on the future of the Kings's bank heists. Even his hair seemed more restless and uncontrolled as he approached Kyle, his hand outstretched and impatient.
"Give him the reins, Kyle."
The order came evenly and with no malice towards either of them: his years as the leader of the Kings brought David a sense of diplomacy, or at least the ability to affect the quality in his voice. With one more obliging nod from the outlaw Kyle did as he was told, a confused expression on his face as he presented the reins to Joey. Joey snatched them from his grip, his temper still hot, and with a scowl on his face he quickly mounted and spurred Gilbert into a gallop away from the camp, the trail of dust they left behind nearly glittering in the bright sun.
"You're just going to let him go?" Kyle asked the other outlaws once Joey was out of earshot. Neal continued to drag on his cigarette, watching the distance as if it were an old masters' oil painting, analyzing the brilliance of one brushstroke from the next. Andy set aside the small stack of bank notes reserved for the Kings's supplies, noting the amount in his head in regards to the amount they'd need just to keep them well-fed and well-armed; his own share was less of a concern, though Kyle did notice him tuck the bills into his front shirt pocket for safe keeping. And David did nothing, his own mind swirling with thoughts, staring at his hands and meeting no man in the eye.
"He'll be back," David said finally, crouching to rest upon his saddle in front of a dying fire.
Kyle couldn't be so sure; he had never seen Joey this frustrated before, even Gilbert was alarmed. It had always been an assumption in the past, but now Kyle realized money--and the lack of it--was a very touchy subject for the outlaw. "How can you be so sure?"
David snickered; for the expert tracker Kyle claimed he was when they first met, he habitually let his emotions cloud simple observation. "He left his share," he said, pointing to Joey's hat still lying on the ground, bills scattered around it like remnants of a sombrero dance. "He'll definitely be back."
The others seemed to be less than disturbed by Joey's charged departure; perhaps this had happened before, and Kyle was the one that was overreacting. This wasn't the first time he had the distinct impression operations within the ranks of the Kings worked slightly differently from the rest of the world. He tossed the currycomb down with the rest of the supplies he used for tending the horses--one of his first purchases with his share of Fox Canyon's loot, he couldn't very well take care of the horses of infamous outlaws without proper equipment--and set himself to rest for a while. Joey would probably be gone all day, letting off steam in whatever manner he could afford, and if they planned to sit around waiting for him Kyle could take his time with his duties.
Soon enough the topic of conversation turned to Joey's expressed desire to head south, to Mexico: there were, after all, many banks north of the border filled to their timber beams with cash if that was his true motive. "How much you want to bet there's a particular whorehouse near Paso del Norte that's got Joey so keen on gettin' down there?" Andy threw the suggestion out there with a lascivious smile, stretching out beside the fire. Kyle couldn't help but notice the man known for his skill with the mundane conversations of townsfolk was a gleeful gossip himself.
Neal joined in with a sharp laugh, nudging the fire with the toe of his boot, sending sparks sputtering into the air. "More like a betting house," he speculated, Joey's attraction to gambling and his knack for losing not lost on any of them.
"No," David was the voice of clarity, and not even with Joey's absence would he make light of the man. "It ain't either of those." Kyle waited, holding his breath in anticipation, for David to reveal the true reason why Joey wanted to head south, but none came; he wasn't sure if David knew himself, but Kyle was well aware David Cook wasn't a man to push for the answer. "Joey's got his reasons; it's best we leave them to him."
It was clear to all four Kings, however, that leaving Joey to his own reasons meant waiting around camp until he discovered them on his own and dutifully returned. No one knew how long that would take; Joey wasn't the fastest steed in the herd. After another long stretch of his slim frame, Andy rose to his feet; no sense sitting around counting the horseflies when there were things to do and money to spend. "Might as well get some supplies," he announced, pausing to crack the joints in his fingers and locate his hat. "Saw a town about two hours west of here. Could use some more cornmeal, and matches..." He rubbed at his chin, frowning at the coarse bristle he felt underneath his fingertips, some of the stubble thick enough to grow in soft; he'd have a prospector's beard in no time if he kept this up. "And I think I could do for a shave."
He received a nod of approval from David, fully aware that their reserves on some food were running low. Neal agreed for a different reason. "Good," he chimed in, already making his way towards the horses. "I need to get new soles for these boots." He tapped his boots, a well-worn red leather perfectly molded to his feet for comfort over the years, the soles underneath showing scuffs and ragged edges that were worse for the wear.
"You're doing what now?" Andy shook his head; yes, Neal could use new soles, and God knows he'd never trade in his beloved red boots for a new pair, those shoes had seen more of the West than the railroads had. But he hadn't properly surveyed the town, only took a cursory glance as they had passed it in the early morning, and wasn't comfortable with the Dr. giving himself free reign. "It's too dangerous, the place could be a shanty town for lawmen, we don't know. It's better if you stay here."
"You are a little far from inconspicuous, Tiemann," chimed in David, watching with amusement as the two outlaws sparred with words, almost like a dance. This was more fun than a gunslingers' show, and cheaper, too.
Despite the warning Neal continued over to his horse, only stopping when Andy appeared before him, making his protest more weighty, and physical. "I can disguise myself," he argued, though the moment he said those words the look on Andy's face told him it was easier said than done.
A smirk crossed Andy's lips, his eyes narrowed; he wouldn't have minded the company, especially not from Neal, but the idea that he could disguise himself enough to walk into a town in broad daylight was near laughable. He pointed to Neal's hands and wrists, an accusing finger leading up the arm to indicate all of Neal's tattoos. Gifts and ceremonial markings from the Creek tribe that had taken in the young orphaned Neal, the ink along his flesh told his past and his future, from the Celtic armband to always remind him he was never a full-blooded member of the tribe to the letters along his knuckles, characters meant to represent the fleetingness of life. Each marking meant the world to Neal but they also proved to be dead giveaways to his identity, his tattoos gracing more wanted posters than even his face.
Neal scrutinized what could be seen of his hands and wrists, his arms carefully covered by a long-sleeved shirt. He shrugged, determined to at least put up a good fight. "I have gloves," he said, and to make his point he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his pants, rendering his knuckles a non-issue.
But with a raise of an eyebrow Andy stepped it up a notch. Reaching out, his arm closed the gap between them and he laid his palm flat against the side of Neal's neck, the hand barely covering the large tattoo he found there. Neal wanted to frown but his mind was on far more pleasant things than a fake argument, Andy's skin touching his more welcome than he had perceived, and he steeled himself not to lean into the touch, not when David and Kyle were watching.
"I'll wear a fucking neckerchief," he argued through clenched teeth.
The hand retreated, and for but a moment Neal thought he had won their tiny battle. A smile began to form on his lips, self-satisfied and cocky, confident that in another moment Andy would step down and give him full access to his horse, and they could ride off together properly and he could finally get his boots re-soled.
But something suddenly caused his smile to stop on its way to the corners of his mouth, dropping his face down into an expression of defeat mixed with lust. Andy pressed his finger against Neal's mouth, silencing any words of celebration Neal was apt to have, and in the process indicating one of the many marks on Neal's body that he couldn't possibly hide. His touch moved swiftly from one curve of the bottom lip to the other, making a point to run over the silver rings pierced into Neal's flesh there, two other physical memories from his childhood with the Creek. There were very few white men with such piercings in the country, and only the one standing before the Kings, his heartbeat rising as Andy toyed with slipping his finger inside his mouth, was also a wanted outlaw.
A scowl against that intruding finger was Neal's only response, unable to come up with yet another alternative for his rather obvious features, his silence a grim concession that Andy had won their little argument. Down yet not out, Neal spoke to a higher authority, Andy's fingers still pressed against his moving lips, the stare between them so intense Kyle was almost afraid to consider the possibilities of what might happen next. "Dave..." Neal asked his friend for a final ruling; David had been watching the entire argument with amusement, palm half-covering his mouth not to offend the warring parties. He looked at them both non-committally, shrugging his shoulders and tipping his hat low over his brow.
"I'm not your mother," he said, waving them off to settle the matter themselves. He reclined against his saddle, propping his heels up against a stone and making himself comfortable, allowing whatever fireworks sparked between Andy and Neal to fizzle out or burst on their own accord. Neal considered David's dismissive statement to be his consent to continue on his pleasant way towards the town; Andy believed his words meant that Neal must provide his own judgment on the matter, which, if he had been thinking logically that morning instead of preoccupied with his damn boots, he'd come to the conclusion that it just wasn't safe, it wasn't tested, and he'd respectfully step down. Andy himself, however, was too logical and too smart to think that Neal's stubbornness would ever let him step down from this fight.
And Kyle, who had also been watching the argument and tried to erase from his mind the images of Neal and Andy after Fox Canyon triggered by their exchange, took David's remarks as a carte-blanche for the outlaws: so long as they had to wait for Joey, they could wait, but it didn't necessarily have to be in one spot. He handed over the reins to Neal and Andy without requesting David's approval, the leader of the group already expecting the pair to hash out their disagreement however they so chose during their ride.
What he did look to David for an answer was for his own departure, a hopeful, expectant expression on his face, hands inching their way towards Gangles's saddle. Kyle ached with the enthusiasm of wanderlust in his blood; he wanted the luxury of walking into a town with the purpose only to explore, and to enjoy whatever anonymity still remained for him.
But David's response was less than appealing; in fact, it had not even been an answer. "You should check Sugarfoot's shoes once you're done giving her a good brush." David had a way about his tone, a charisma that made an order sound like a suggestion, a demand more like a request. Kyle's expectant smile fell from his face at these words; he knew they were no request, and would not entertain the possibility of declining. "She felt like she was favoring her right side on the ride last night, might be something stuck on the left."
"But--" Kyle tried to protest, but a stern glance from David shot him down. If Kyle truly wanted to be considered a full-fledged member of the Kings, he had to continue to be useful; each man had their place in their outfit, their own particular duties, and David wasn't allowing the kid to overlook his just for a little daytrip.
"You do what you're here to do." A distressed wave of Gangles's tail, the foul, dusty hairs hitting Kyle in the face as an added insult, only worked to prove David's point: there were still horses who were filthy and tired from their restless journey away from Jackson, and it would be a disservice to all the Kings, never mind the poor horses, if Kyle left without finishing the job.
With a sigh he wistfully watched the two figures on horseback ride towards the town, the faint sound of Neal and Andy's voices still playfully bantering back and forth, lobbing well-intentioned potshots to one another. He recalled the spark in Neal's eyes when Andy had pressed his palm to Neal's neck, his finger to his lips; maybe it was better if he didn't tag along on their day trip, he might prove to be more of an unwelcome guest than a third partner. But the wad of bank notes from the heist hung heavily in his pocket, reminding him that he had never felt that kind of weight before he had met the Kings, and that his good fortune certainly needed to be passed on. Other than feed for Gangles and himself, and perhaps a new hat every now and again, Kyle didn't have many expenses while on the plains, but he knew of someone else that could find a better use for the cash.
"Andy-- hey, Andy!" he called to the retreating figures, and pulled out the stack of bank notes as the riders stopped, the chestnut mare doubling back to the camp. "Could you..." he asked with trepidation. "If there's a telegraph station in town, could you have this wired over to the Peek ranch? Orange County, California, if they need something direct."
He looked unsure of his own request, not certain if sending the large amount would be a worthy favor, or even if showing off that kind of cash would set off dangers in an unknown town. But Andy took the money regardless, looking through the uncertainty to Kyle's earnestness, the determination to send this money to someone who needed it. "Yeah, of course," he replied, eyes sincere, tucking the money away in his boot for safekeeping.
"It's just..." Kyle stammered, quickly trying to explain himself, his insecurities weaving into his tone like oil polluting a river. "It's chicken hatching season on the ranch, and I'm not there this year to help, and -"
Andy stopped his flow of words with a soft chuckle, shaking his head that the kid could still be so shy around them after months. "Shut up, Kyle," he admonished playfully, before spurring Vera back onto the trail to catch up with his traveling companion, shouting with amusement that even if Neal did find some way to conceal all that made him uniquely identifiable, his beloved white-and-black speckled horse Sixx would stick out among a sea of beasts, like a massive peacock in a henhouse.
"Hey, you can rag on the tattoos and rings all you want," Neal warned, and Andy knew that only he would receive a warning for insulting Sixx; anyone else would have been knocked out of their saddle by now, by a fist or even a bullet. "But lay off my goddamn horse."
Normally David took any opportunity to enjoy banter between the two, knowing that it was all in fun; it was probably the most affection they allowed themselves to show in the light of day, despite all they cared for each other at night. But Kyle's request stayed with him in his mind, quieting his amusement. He had only assumed Kyle became an outlaw to escape a life of drudgery on someone else's ranch, not his own.
Once the others were out of earshot, their figures like inkblots on the horizon, blurring from the heat, Kyle continued his explanation, finding David a more receptive audience than Gangles and Sugarfoot. "See, it's chicken hatching season on the ranch," he began again, a smile unwittingly stretching across his face as he spoke about home. "And if they haven't already hired someone to help, they're gonna need to--"
"The ranch you left," David interrupted, having little patience for Kyle's ramblings. "Is your ranch?"
The sudden question was unexpected; it took a second of hesitation for Kyle to respond, with a nostalgia for his homeland he didn't even know existed in him. "My brother's," he qualified, though they had both matured with the same air in their lungs, the same ground and grass below their feet. But the Peek ranch had never been his. "Our father willed the ranch to him; I stuck around a few years to help out, damn well knew he needed it." He grinned, remembering his childhood on those very hills, learning the ways of their animals and their soil with his younger brother, who cared only for the land within the Peek ranch's fences while Kyle yearned for anything but. "It's what a brother's gotta do, right?"
Kyle flashed an expectant smile but he only received a cold, damning stare in return, and realized he couldn't have uttered worse words to David Cook if he had tried. A darkness seemed to cloud over David's face, thoughts running through his mind, empty wishes he used to have that he would give anything just to work on some barren, two-bit ranch with his brother again. Kyle wished for anything but that emotionless stare, the sudden coldness from David that he had learned was more dangerous than a rage.
"Why'd you ever leave it, then?! You had a family." Lips suddenly curling into a snarl, David snapped at Kyle, his anger hiding something deeper. "You have a family. Why don't you just go back to it, kid?"
"You want to know why the ranch went to my younger brother instead of me!?" he asked; David's shock overpowered his anger, surprised at the emphatic response from a man who was usually timid when faced with aggression. This was Kyle's verbal equivalent of a horse stampede. "Because I didn't want it. I always knew I wanted something more out of life than sitting at home, wondering what the rest of the world was like. What it feels like to be alive. I wasn't meant for that kind of life."
"And you think you're meant for what?" David waved his hand around the camp, at the dying fire and their filthy, irritated horses; at their solitude. "For this?"
"Yes--"
"That's funny," he said, though there was no hint of amusement on his face. "Because I'm not."
He rose to his feet; this was a conversation David felt they needed to have eye to eye. To think that anyone was meant for the life of an outlaw, constantly on the run from enemies unknown and never seen; living from heist to heist, the saddle your only home. Killing, or being foolish or empty enough to be killed. Theirs was a dangerous, lonely life, meant only for those looking to hurl themselves fast into an early grave. It wasn't what David had ever wanted for himself, and he didn't want that life for Kyle, either.
"I didn't choose to do this," he began, the fighting tone gone from his voice, disappeared into the wind like vapor. "I didn't wake up one day and decide to leave the only home I ever knew, the only family I--" he stopped himself, his voice choking on his own emotions. "This is the sort of road you take...when you have nothing else to live for."
This didn't sound like the headstrong, rational leader of the Kings Kyle had grown to call a friend in the past few months; this wasn't the ruthless, confident outlaw they wrote about in the papers, carving his way through the West with an expert revolver and a large helping of what the Mexican expatriates called "cohones". Kyle had learned there were many different facets to David Cook's personality: the calm, collected outlaw that made townsfolk all over the West look over their shoulders with fear, the open and loyal friend who was quick to brighten the mood with a laugh. But those parts of David didn't prepare Kyle for what he saw that day: a man who had seen and done more destruction than he ever imagined, wearing him down over the years. He had outlived many of his enemies, and a good number of allies, and now David Cook was tired.
But Kyle remembered there had been one thing David kept as a token of hope, to prove to himself that there wasn't nothing in his world still worth saving. "But you have Kelly," he said, recalling his conversations with Andy over shooting lessons--because it seemed once you dangled a reasonable topic before Andy Skib, the outlaw would never shut up about it. He had said that Kelly had become David's reason; that she was the family he lost, and longed to have.
Unexpectedly a wide grin spread across David's face; only a few people in the world knew about his romance with the banker's daughter in Burleson, and he didn't count Kyle Peek as one of them. The light in his eyes asked the question before his voice could find the words. "Andy told me," Kyle answered with a shrug, though the other man had only gone into the generalities of their love story out of respect for David.
"I should have expected as much," David replied with a short laugh, shaking his head. Andy would certainly have never given up the chance to gossip, but with Kelly's letters in David's pocket as obvious as buckshot to the gut, he knew it would come up with Kyle eventually. If David had a nickel for every question the kid had asked him over the past few months, they could stop robbing banks entirely. "I gotta tell Andy to shut his mouth one of these days."
The outlaw's laughter was infectious, and Kyle's mood seamlessly transitioned from being on the defensive back to the secure feeling of being among partners, friends. Kyle thought Andy wasn't particularly a noisy fellow--that title deservedly belonged to Joey, who, much like the shotgun of his trade, demanded his presence known with loud bursts of laughter and sound. But he did remember an instance of noise, one soft, unmistakable moan in the dark outside Fox Canyon that he could never erase from his memory, not for lack of trying. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had time to filter them; it was never wise to reveal everything you knew, but Kyle was never blessed with heaps of wisdom, as it was.
"Well, then you gotta tell Neal not to--"
His mind thankfully caught up with his tongue, mouth hanging open with the rest of the sentence swallowed back in his throat, eyes wide like a startled stag. He didn't know if David was aware of Neal and Andy's unique relationship, or if even they were aware of it beyond a physical bond, oblivious to the intimacy that seeped into every action and movement, evident to Kyle now that he knew what to see. But perhaps he should have kept this secret just that, realizing that very little good and a wagon's worth of bad could come from revealing it. He couldn't even fathom the levels of trust he might have just broken, what further damage he could have done if he had finished that offhand comment.
But Kyle saw no shock in David's expression, no surprise or the tell-tale signs of a shocking revelation about his two best friends. The lift of one eyebrow was the only sign he had even heard Kyle's misstep, the smirk on his lips an indication that he understood, before he broke out into a knowing smile, words unnecessary. With the slightest of nods David told Kyle all that he had to know: the secret of Andy and Neal's true intimacy was a poorly kept one, least of all from the friend who rode alongside them for the past six years. An observant man like Kyle would notice the closeness between them, if not other things. David mused that perhaps not Kyle's skill, his first heist, or even his courage during their first meeting marked him as a true member of the Kings, but this, the sharing of the outlaws' secrets, did.
Perhaps Kyle deserved to hear another King's secret as well.
"Kelly's...really something," David said, after Kyle noted that Andy insisted on only mentioning her in conversation, never delving deep out of respect for David's history. "We were only in Burleson five days, but..." A flash of memory like wispy clouds in the desert: soft, Texan-tanned skin against his, hours spent tetherless, running past creek and field, Kelly always three steps ahead and David always seeking to catch her. "...it was enough to fall in love."
He recounted his first glances of her, the brazen lady of the Breakaway Saloon; the poker game and his first night with her, how she held back nothing when she was with him, from the way she masterfully won over their money to her knowledge of the outlaws' true natures, to how she made love. Kyle soaked in the story, eager to see the side of David Cook that few knew existed, the sweet, romantic heart beating deep within an outlaw molded by glory and legend. He didn't know if he'd ever meet Kelly Clarkson--and no one knew if even David would get the chance again--but Kyle sure hoped this wasn't the end to their story.
"When we left town," David concluded, his voice lowering with the curve of the sun's path, his tale long and detailed but never tiring. "About two hours out, I found these in my shirt pocket; she must've hidden them there sometime the night before." He snickered, remembering how Kelly boasted she could probably swipe the longhorns off a bull, thanks to her many years of sneaking past her father's caring yet unwatchful eye. That had to have been the fourth night they were together, when the evening skies threatened rain but only left a sweet sheen of dew against the cactus thorns the next morning. By that time David had already decided he would leave her.
Reaching into that very shirt pocket, David pulled out his prize: three playing cards from a deck long forgotten, each card yellowed at the edges, their red and black dyes fading from age. The three face cards stared at Kyle as he gaped back at them, their mirror images stark and easily identified. He could tell immediately that these cards could have never come from any of the throwaway decks the outlaws bought from general stores along their travels.
"The three kings," Kyle marveled, instantly remembering the tale of Kelly's prophetic poker hand their first night in town. They were like relics in David's hand, like the sharks' teeth and whalebones some travelers carried with them, mementos of their adventures and the creatures that almost did them in. Very rarely do those beautiful creatures hand men their souvenirs of their own volition. He reached out tentatively, as if they were illusions of the heat playing tricks on the both of them, but with a wide smile David held them out and they were there, they were real, and in their rough card stock Kyle felt he now knew their entire love story, and knew Kelly as well.
They were David's most prized possessions, above any of the riches the Kings amassed on their heists, above even the revolver that saved his life on more occasions than he'd like to admit. But it was the cards that first gave him a reason again to save that damned life of his, to give him drive and purpose to reach for something at the end of that horizon. Dozens of king cards had passed through his hands in recent years, in poker games and bank robberies alike, but these three he would never let out of his sight.
"I started leaving these at each job, once the newspapers started reporting more on us," he explained. "Thought, maybe she'd read about us somewhere, notice that I was still around. That's when the rags couldn't get enough of us, started calling us the Kings." He grinned, forever amused at the irony that one little card shark from some tiny town in Texas gave the noted outlaws their namesake, that had thousands all over the West fearing their name.
It was also the reason Kyle even knew about the outlaws he revered and now considered his friends. The exploits of the Kings were well documented, though no man could ever track them down and live to collect the bounty, and no one ever suspected the location of their next target. Kyle had traced paths of their heists from Oklahoma through California, beseeching any traveler on the road for the weekly paper or any news of the outlaws blown in by the wind. The fenced-in nature of the Peek ranch made him long for the outside world; the dimestore novels he read voraciously made him want the thrill and adventure of the outlaw life. And those small calling cards made him want to be a King.
"It wasn't right for me to leave her." The light Kyle saw on David's face flickered and dimmed as the outlaw returned the cards to their safe-keeping, his eyes on the ground but his thoughts certainly trained elsewhere. With all the talk of his short time with Kelly, the intense courtship that burned hot and quickly--burned like money burns, Kyle thought--the truth behind David's lovestruck story loomed in their faces, the very fact that he was here, out in the middle of nowhere after yet another heist, and she was still in Burleson, waiting patiently for another letter from her outlaw. If it were Kyle weaving this yarn, bending and shaping it to his own will towards a happy ending, David would have never left the pretty young card shark, would have settled and carved out a life for himself down there and, in the most poignant of ironies as every yarn required, the bank robber would have reformed his ways to become the banker's son-in-law.
But this wasn't Kyle's story to tell, and it was no make-believe; this was David's life, or at least, it had been.
David watched his hands as they clasped together, almost on their own accord, trying not to recall the way her skin yielded to the touch of those hands, how they caressed her with both lust and affection; how they longed to put a ring on a hand of her own. "Especially since that last man had left her; wasn't even worthy to lick the horseshit off her boots." He and Kelly had, for five glorious days and five nights he never wanted to end, been young and in love, but it hadn't been the time, for either of them, and they both knew it even when Kelly asked him to stay and David took that moment to consider it.
He had needed to find that reason to keep striving, fill the void left by his satisfied revenge; David hadn't fully realized Kelly would be that for him until he had left. And now, he might have gone too far to ever come back.
Kyle watched the uncertainty creep up on David's features from its hiding place among the blood and bones in his body. He couldn't tell why David had left--that secret stayed with the outlaw, and perhaps would until he cast out his last breath--but he definitely knew a thing or two about leaving the ones you loved. More than a dozen times Kyle's instincts had told him to turn back to home, aching for the love and familiarity he would find there, away from a harsh life on the road. But more than a dozen times he pressed on, knowing that, while he may always call the Peek ranch home, he was meant to experience more. Perhaps David's anger over Kyle leaving his brother at the Peek ranch wasn't completely displaced.
"You had your reasons," he repeated the words David had said himself about Joey, giving a warm smile and a nod. "We all do. And you can keep those to yourself...if you think it's best."
That sincerity garnered a true smile from David's lips; he hadn't been sure that anyone would understand his reasons; not even Neal and Andy, who, for them, freedom, love, and family were all synonymous. He had considered Kyle a plucky, welcome addition to the close-knit gang of outlaws, and a damn useful horse hand that could master even the finicky Sugarfoot, but perhaps now David could even consider him a friend.
"There's just one thing I gotta know." David looked up to see Kyle building up his courage with both hands, the amused smirk on his young face a sign he was no longer afraid to speak his mind. An arched eyebrow told him to continue, and Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Did you ever end up robbing her father's bank?"
Chapter 7, part two
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib), Cookson (David Cook/Kelly Clarkson), various others, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: For his entire life, Kyle Peek always longed for the thrill and adventure in the open lands of the wild West. He gets more than he ever bargained for when he joins up with the legendary outlaw gang known only as The Kings.
Notes: Sorry if this part is so long! I tried to cut it down and even separated it into two parts; they'd be separate chapters but I feel one has to come right after the other. I have been working on this story for the past seven months and I am SO excited to finally be posting it :D What started out as a fledgling idea grew to be a huge AU and I'm very grateful to share it with you. A ginormous thank you goes out to dreamerren, for her work as beta and practically as the story's second author. Title credit goes to Nick Gibson for his song "Outlaw's Prayer."
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5, part one
Chapter 5, part two
Chapter 6
"The Old West is not a certain place in a certain time, it's a state of mind. It's whatever you want it to be." Tom Mix
"That's it?"
Gilbert stomped and snorted at the sound of his owner's raised voice, the irritation in his tone particularly startling to the good-natured horse. It was all Kyle could do to calm him as he groomed, patting the sandy-haired horse's throat soothingly with one hand and running a rough currycomb along his flanks with the other. Gilbert's mane and bushy tail--the same color as his rider's hair, and just as curly and unmanageable--would have to wait until the horse was in a more placid mood, Kyle wasn't going to attempt dragging a brush through those tangles. The other horses would have to wait as well: he had already tended to Sixx after their exhilarating escape from another successful heist the previous evening, and Andy's Vera, having rode into camp long afterwards, had been a breeze, but willful Sugarfoot and his own Gangles were still irritated from the layer of desert dust settled on their coats, wondering what was taking Kyle so long.
They'll have to hold their horses, Kyle thought before instantly regretting the pun. Something's going on.
David had already moved on past Joey, dropping the small pile of bank notes on top of the outlaw's belongings, the bills fluttering into the brim of Joey's hat on the ground. "Five hundred sixteen," he said again to Joey as he handed over Neal's share, feeling like a Santa Claus doling out presents without there being anything to feel jolly about. "You know what's there, you heard me count it last night. That's one hundred to each of us, and the rest goes to food and bullets." He tossed over the additional wad of cash to Andy, the task of purchasing supplies for the Kings permanently falling upon his shoulders.
Shaking his head again, Joey looked down at the money, the usually laid-back outlaw appearing uncharacteristically perturbed. Kyle had never seen him like this, but then again, he had never seen such a pitiful haul from the towns they touched, barely scratching the surface of some other banks with far less security and far more to lose. It hadn't been a difficult heist by any stretch of the imagination--David had even tipped his hat to the terrified bank owner as the outlaws departed, leaving a trail of destruction and a king playing card in their wake--but Joey obviously intended to be more lucratively rewarded. It was all the same to Kyle, truly: it was still more money than the old ranch would make in a year, and he himself in a lifetime.
"I can't believe this," Joey muttered, though he knew there could be no other alternative at the moment. He had been in that bank just as the rest of them, watching the meek bank owner scour the tiny safe and pull out the dismally small bankroll they held in their possession. It would have been better if they hadn't even planned the robbery at all; then Joey wouldn't have felt it was a life-threatening excursion wasted.
"Andy said it would be light," contributed Neal with a shrug. His own motivations for the robbery had already run their course: the exhilaration of the actual heist and the wind whipping around him and his horse, his friends, as they made their triumphant escape...those were the rewards for their troubles for Neal, and the rest was just gravy.
But those had never been the things Joey desired; he had not the luxury to only care for adrenaline and the wind, like others. "I didn't think that'd mean it was this light." Indeed, Andy had warned them, overhearing in his rounds that Jackson was a dying town, the frenzy of the gold rush that helped it thrive long since gone, along with any chance wealth would grace the town again. When Andy had given the report he had not been optimistic, keeping his eyes down to the fire; perhaps the cash set about before them was the reason he had kept to himself. "What, did only three people have their money in this bank?"
Once again Gilbert tensed, shaking his head and snorting; Kyle calmed him as best he could, cooing into the horse's ear so that his anxiety would not spread to the other horses like mayflies. Pressing a finger to his own lips, he shushed the agitated horse; this wasn't just about keeping the others calm, Kyle wanted to make sure he heard this conversation himself.
"We're not far from Paso del Norte," Joey turned to David, his voice low, like whispering a conspiracy. "Half a day if we get on the road now, if even. I'm sure the banks there have a lot more than five hundred lying around."
Paso del Norte...there wasn't a man out in the fields of the West, cowboy, outlaw or lawman, that hadn't heard of the town; aptly named by its Mexican inhabitants as the fastest way to travel into one country from the other. The men who had crossed there always said that the dirt looked just about the same everywhere, the air just as hot on one side of the border as the next. A bustling city full of traders, farmers and soldiers for both nations, the town thrived as much as its sister town, El Paso, and was bound to be swimming in whatever currency the outlaws would so choose to rob, dollar or peso.
But with that added reward, came added risk: Paso del Norte was a popular city but it had its fair share of lawmen searching for outlaws who considered erasing their bounties by crossing the border, or bored soldiers looking for any excuse for bloodshed--and David wouldn't give either party any satisfaction. If robbing banks had been about the money he would have suggested trailing a path of plunder through all points south years ago; but it wasn't, at least not for David. He patted the front pocket of his shirt as he responded to Joey's suggestion, reminding him of the very reason he did find himself in the outlaw life.
"We're not going to Mexico," was David's stance, and it always had been. "They hang bank robbers in Mexico."
"They hang them here, too," Joey supplied. Kyle's hand instinctively went to his throat as he listened to the conversation; when he had signed up for the Kings that wasn't the end he ever considered. He tried to mask his eavesdropping by enthusiastically feeding a sack of oats to Gilbert, but he had been spotted: Andy, keeping silent and preferring to let Joey's frustration and David's rationalizations run their courses, caught sight of Kyle's expression, the young greenhorn looking rather pale over the thought of hanging. He shook his head, trying to make it clear to Kyle that they wouldn't be fitted for rope neckties any time soon.
Just as soon as he did so, David confirmed it, crossing his arms in front of his chest, taking a firm stance on staying as north of the border as will would allow. "We don't get caught here," he reasoned.
"That's because we rob banks for five hundred fucking dollars!" Joey threw up his hands, exasperated that no other Kings were coming to his defense, that no one besides himself thought their skills could be used for bigger and better things. David insisted on small towns that provided all of the publicity but little of the monetary payback. As far as Joey was concerned he could do well to stay out of the newspapers, and would never turn down the opportunity for a bit more spending cash.
Another anxious whinny rose from Gilbert, this time shaking his head out of Kyle's grasp and rearing up in distress, obviously not accustomed to hearing his owner in such a state. Kyle stumbled while trying to regain control, bracing himself against the solid body of the horse, and when he finally managed some composure he felt far more pairs of eyes on him than before, and these eyes happened to be human.
Sheepishly Kyle smiled, and even though he had earned his bones with the Kings he felt mortified among them, wishing Gilbert could give him a swift kick in the back of the head and end his misery. David raised an eyebrow at the young man, reminding Kyle once again of an old Sunday school teacher he had back in California, demanding that if he had something to say, he should present it to the rest of the class. He took in a deep breath, shoulders shrugging on their own accord: if he was really a member of the Kings, he should feel welcome to give his opinion, he thought.
"It's really not that bad, is it?" he asked, hoping his idealism didn't cause him to be called a greenhorn again. He had been riding with the Kings for months now, and he deserved to at least have the green stripped from his title, if not the idea that he was still a kid. "I mean, five hundred doesn't seem like much when you've been getting more, I guess; but any of it's better than nothing. And we did get away this time, isn't that what matters? Wouldn't want to get greedy."
The look that crossed Joey's face told Kyle he probably should have kept his fool mouth shut. "I am not," Joey said defiantly, pointing at Kyle but his words clearly meant for the others. "Getting talked down to by the kid."
Shocked to stillness, Kyle just watched as Joey stomped over, storms of restlessness in his eyes that could not be abated with a simple conversation on the future of the Kings's bank heists. Even his hair seemed more restless and uncontrolled as he approached Kyle, his hand outstretched and impatient.
"Give him the reins, Kyle."
The order came evenly and with no malice towards either of them: his years as the leader of the Kings brought David a sense of diplomacy, or at least the ability to affect the quality in his voice. With one more obliging nod from the outlaw Kyle did as he was told, a confused expression on his face as he presented the reins to Joey. Joey snatched them from his grip, his temper still hot, and with a scowl on his face he quickly mounted and spurred Gilbert into a gallop away from the camp, the trail of dust they left behind nearly glittering in the bright sun.
"You're just going to let him go?" Kyle asked the other outlaws once Joey was out of earshot. Neal continued to drag on his cigarette, watching the distance as if it were an old masters' oil painting, analyzing the brilliance of one brushstroke from the next. Andy set aside the small stack of bank notes reserved for the Kings's supplies, noting the amount in his head in regards to the amount they'd need just to keep them well-fed and well-armed; his own share was less of a concern, though Kyle did notice him tuck the bills into his front shirt pocket for safe keeping. And David did nothing, his own mind swirling with thoughts, staring at his hands and meeting no man in the eye.
"He'll be back," David said finally, crouching to rest upon his saddle in front of a dying fire.
Kyle couldn't be so sure; he had never seen Joey this frustrated before, even Gilbert was alarmed. It had always been an assumption in the past, but now Kyle realized money--and the lack of it--was a very touchy subject for the outlaw. "How can you be so sure?"
David snickered; for the expert tracker Kyle claimed he was when they first met, he habitually let his emotions cloud simple observation. "He left his share," he said, pointing to Joey's hat still lying on the ground, bills scattered around it like remnants of a sombrero dance. "He'll definitely be back."
The others seemed to be less than disturbed by Joey's charged departure; perhaps this had happened before, and Kyle was the one that was overreacting. This wasn't the first time he had the distinct impression operations within the ranks of the Kings worked slightly differently from the rest of the world. He tossed the currycomb down with the rest of the supplies he used for tending the horses--one of his first purchases with his share of Fox Canyon's loot, he couldn't very well take care of the horses of infamous outlaws without proper equipment--and set himself to rest for a while. Joey would probably be gone all day, letting off steam in whatever manner he could afford, and if they planned to sit around waiting for him Kyle could take his time with his duties.
Soon enough the topic of conversation turned to Joey's expressed desire to head south, to Mexico: there were, after all, many banks north of the border filled to their timber beams with cash if that was his true motive. "How much you want to bet there's a particular whorehouse near Paso del Norte that's got Joey so keen on gettin' down there?" Andy threw the suggestion out there with a lascivious smile, stretching out beside the fire. Kyle couldn't help but notice the man known for his skill with the mundane conversations of townsfolk was a gleeful gossip himself.
Neal joined in with a sharp laugh, nudging the fire with the toe of his boot, sending sparks sputtering into the air. "More like a betting house," he speculated, Joey's attraction to gambling and his knack for losing not lost on any of them.
"No," David was the voice of clarity, and not even with Joey's absence would he make light of the man. "It ain't either of those." Kyle waited, holding his breath in anticipation, for David to reveal the true reason why Joey wanted to head south, but none came; he wasn't sure if David knew himself, but Kyle was well aware David Cook wasn't a man to push for the answer. "Joey's got his reasons; it's best we leave them to him."
It was clear to all four Kings, however, that leaving Joey to his own reasons meant waiting around camp until he discovered them on his own and dutifully returned. No one knew how long that would take; Joey wasn't the fastest steed in the herd. After another long stretch of his slim frame, Andy rose to his feet; no sense sitting around counting the horseflies when there were things to do and money to spend. "Might as well get some supplies," he announced, pausing to crack the joints in his fingers and locate his hat. "Saw a town about two hours west of here. Could use some more cornmeal, and matches..." He rubbed at his chin, frowning at the coarse bristle he felt underneath his fingertips, some of the stubble thick enough to grow in soft; he'd have a prospector's beard in no time if he kept this up. "And I think I could do for a shave."
He received a nod of approval from David, fully aware that their reserves on some food were running low. Neal agreed for a different reason. "Good," he chimed in, already making his way towards the horses. "I need to get new soles for these boots." He tapped his boots, a well-worn red leather perfectly molded to his feet for comfort over the years, the soles underneath showing scuffs and ragged edges that were worse for the wear.
"You're doing what now?" Andy shook his head; yes, Neal could use new soles, and God knows he'd never trade in his beloved red boots for a new pair, those shoes had seen more of the West than the railroads had. But he hadn't properly surveyed the town, only took a cursory glance as they had passed it in the early morning, and wasn't comfortable with the Dr. giving himself free reign. "It's too dangerous, the place could be a shanty town for lawmen, we don't know. It's better if you stay here."
"You are a little far from inconspicuous, Tiemann," chimed in David, watching with amusement as the two outlaws sparred with words, almost like a dance. This was more fun than a gunslingers' show, and cheaper, too.
Despite the warning Neal continued over to his horse, only stopping when Andy appeared before him, making his protest more weighty, and physical. "I can disguise myself," he argued, though the moment he said those words the look on Andy's face told him it was easier said than done.
A smirk crossed Andy's lips, his eyes narrowed; he wouldn't have minded the company, especially not from Neal, but the idea that he could disguise himself enough to walk into a town in broad daylight was near laughable. He pointed to Neal's hands and wrists, an accusing finger leading up the arm to indicate all of Neal's tattoos. Gifts and ceremonial markings from the Creek tribe that had taken in the young orphaned Neal, the ink along his flesh told his past and his future, from the Celtic armband to always remind him he was never a full-blooded member of the tribe to the letters along his knuckles, characters meant to represent the fleetingness of life. Each marking meant the world to Neal but they also proved to be dead giveaways to his identity, his tattoos gracing more wanted posters than even his face.
Neal scrutinized what could be seen of his hands and wrists, his arms carefully covered by a long-sleeved shirt. He shrugged, determined to at least put up a good fight. "I have gloves," he said, and to make his point he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his pants, rendering his knuckles a non-issue.
But with a raise of an eyebrow Andy stepped it up a notch. Reaching out, his arm closed the gap between them and he laid his palm flat against the side of Neal's neck, the hand barely covering the large tattoo he found there. Neal wanted to frown but his mind was on far more pleasant things than a fake argument, Andy's skin touching his more welcome than he had perceived, and he steeled himself not to lean into the touch, not when David and Kyle were watching.
"I'll wear a fucking neckerchief," he argued through clenched teeth.
The hand retreated, and for but a moment Neal thought he had won their tiny battle. A smile began to form on his lips, self-satisfied and cocky, confident that in another moment Andy would step down and give him full access to his horse, and they could ride off together properly and he could finally get his boots re-soled.
But something suddenly caused his smile to stop on its way to the corners of his mouth, dropping his face down into an expression of defeat mixed with lust. Andy pressed his finger against Neal's mouth, silencing any words of celebration Neal was apt to have, and in the process indicating one of the many marks on Neal's body that he couldn't possibly hide. His touch moved swiftly from one curve of the bottom lip to the other, making a point to run over the silver rings pierced into Neal's flesh there, two other physical memories from his childhood with the Creek. There were very few white men with such piercings in the country, and only the one standing before the Kings, his heartbeat rising as Andy toyed with slipping his finger inside his mouth, was also a wanted outlaw.
A scowl against that intruding finger was Neal's only response, unable to come up with yet another alternative for his rather obvious features, his silence a grim concession that Andy had won their little argument. Down yet not out, Neal spoke to a higher authority, Andy's fingers still pressed against his moving lips, the stare between them so intense Kyle was almost afraid to consider the possibilities of what might happen next. "Dave..." Neal asked his friend for a final ruling; David had been watching the entire argument with amusement, palm half-covering his mouth not to offend the warring parties. He looked at them both non-committally, shrugging his shoulders and tipping his hat low over his brow.
"I'm not your mother," he said, waving them off to settle the matter themselves. He reclined against his saddle, propping his heels up against a stone and making himself comfortable, allowing whatever fireworks sparked between Andy and Neal to fizzle out or burst on their own accord. Neal considered David's dismissive statement to be his consent to continue on his pleasant way towards the town; Andy believed his words meant that Neal must provide his own judgment on the matter, which, if he had been thinking logically that morning instead of preoccupied with his damn boots, he'd come to the conclusion that it just wasn't safe, it wasn't tested, and he'd respectfully step down. Andy himself, however, was too logical and too smart to think that Neal's stubbornness would ever let him step down from this fight.
And Kyle, who had also been watching the argument and tried to erase from his mind the images of Neal and Andy after Fox Canyon triggered by their exchange, took David's remarks as a carte-blanche for the outlaws: so long as they had to wait for Joey, they could wait, but it didn't necessarily have to be in one spot. He handed over the reins to Neal and Andy without requesting David's approval, the leader of the group already expecting the pair to hash out their disagreement however they so chose during their ride.
What he did look to David for an answer was for his own departure, a hopeful, expectant expression on his face, hands inching their way towards Gangles's saddle. Kyle ached with the enthusiasm of wanderlust in his blood; he wanted the luxury of walking into a town with the purpose only to explore, and to enjoy whatever anonymity still remained for him.
But David's response was less than appealing; in fact, it had not even been an answer. "You should check Sugarfoot's shoes once you're done giving her a good brush." David had a way about his tone, a charisma that made an order sound like a suggestion, a demand more like a request. Kyle's expectant smile fell from his face at these words; he knew they were no request, and would not entertain the possibility of declining. "She felt like she was favoring her right side on the ride last night, might be something stuck on the left."
"But--" Kyle tried to protest, but a stern glance from David shot him down. If Kyle truly wanted to be considered a full-fledged member of the Kings, he had to continue to be useful; each man had their place in their outfit, their own particular duties, and David wasn't allowing the kid to overlook his just for a little daytrip.
"You do what you're here to do." A distressed wave of Gangles's tail, the foul, dusty hairs hitting Kyle in the face as an added insult, only worked to prove David's point: there were still horses who were filthy and tired from their restless journey away from Jackson, and it would be a disservice to all the Kings, never mind the poor horses, if Kyle left without finishing the job.
With a sigh he wistfully watched the two figures on horseback ride towards the town, the faint sound of Neal and Andy's voices still playfully bantering back and forth, lobbing well-intentioned potshots to one another. He recalled the spark in Neal's eyes when Andy had pressed his palm to Neal's neck, his finger to his lips; maybe it was better if he didn't tag along on their day trip, he might prove to be more of an unwelcome guest than a third partner. But the wad of bank notes from the heist hung heavily in his pocket, reminding him that he had never felt that kind of weight before he had met the Kings, and that his good fortune certainly needed to be passed on. Other than feed for Gangles and himself, and perhaps a new hat every now and again, Kyle didn't have many expenses while on the plains, but he knew of someone else that could find a better use for the cash.
"Andy-- hey, Andy!" he called to the retreating figures, and pulled out the stack of bank notes as the riders stopped, the chestnut mare doubling back to the camp. "Could you..." he asked with trepidation. "If there's a telegraph station in town, could you have this wired over to the Peek ranch? Orange County, California, if they need something direct."
He looked unsure of his own request, not certain if sending the large amount would be a worthy favor, or even if showing off that kind of cash would set off dangers in an unknown town. But Andy took the money regardless, looking through the uncertainty to Kyle's earnestness, the determination to send this money to someone who needed it. "Yeah, of course," he replied, eyes sincere, tucking the money away in his boot for safekeeping.
"It's just..." Kyle stammered, quickly trying to explain himself, his insecurities weaving into his tone like oil polluting a river. "It's chicken hatching season on the ranch, and I'm not there this year to help, and -"
Andy stopped his flow of words with a soft chuckle, shaking his head that the kid could still be so shy around them after months. "Shut up, Kyle," he admonished playfully, before spurring Vera back onto the trail to catch up with his traveling companion, shouting with amusement that even if Neal did find some way to conceal all that made him uniquely identifiable, his beloved white-and-black speckled horse Sixx would stick out among a sea of beasts, like a massive peacock in a henhouse.
"Hey, you can rag on the tattoos and rings all you want," Neal warned, and Andy knew that only he would receive a warning for insulting Sixx; anyone else would have been knocked out of their saddle by now, by a fist or even a bullet. "But lay off my goddamn horse."
Normally David took any opportunity to enjoy banter between the two, knowing that it was all in fun; it was probably the most affection they allowed themselves to show in the light of day, despite all they cared for each other at night. But Kyle's request stayed with him in his mind, quieting his amusement. He had only assumed Kyle became an outlaw to escape a life of drudgery on someone else's ranch, not his own.
Once the others were out of earshot, their figures like inkblots on the horizon, blurring from the heat, Kyle continued his explanation, finding David a more receptive audience than Gangles and Sugarfoot. "See, it's chicken hatching season on the ranch," he began again, a smile unwittingly stretching across his face as he spoke about home. "And if they haven't already hired someone to help, they're gonna need to--"
"The ranch you left," David interrupted, having little patience for Kyle's ramblings. "Is your ranch?"
The sudden question was unexpected; it took a second of hesitation for Kyle to respond, with a nostalgia for his homeland he didn't even know existed in him. "My brother's," he qualified, though they had both matured with the same air in their lungs, the same ground and grass below their feet. But the Peek ranch had never been his. "Our father willed the ranch to him; I stuck around a few years to help out, damn well knew he needed it." He grinned, remembering his childhood on those very hills, learning the ways of their animals and their soil with his younger brother, who cared only for the land within the Peek ranch's fences while Kyle yearned for anything but. "It's what a brother's gotta do, right?"
Kyle flashed an expectant smile but he only received a cold, damning stare in return, and realized he couldn't have uttered worse words to David Cook if he had tried. A darkness seemed to cloud over David's face, thoughts running through his mind, empty wishes he used to have that he would give anything just to work on some barren, two-bit ranch with his brother again. Kyle wished for anything but that emotionless stare, the sudden coldness from David that he had learned was more dangerous than a rage.
"Why'd you ever leave it, then?! You had a family." Lips suddenly curling into a snarl, David snapped at Kyle, his anger hiding something deeper. "You have a family. Why don't you just go back to it, kid?"
"You want to know why the ranch went to my younger brother instead of me!?" he asked; David's shock overpowered his anger, surprised at the emphatic response from a man who was usually timid when faced with aggression. This was Kyle's verbal equivalent of a horse stampede. "Because I didn't want it. I always knew I wanted something more out of life than sitting at home, wondering what the rest of the world was like. What it feels like to be alive. I wasn't meant for that kind of life."
"And you think you're meant for what?" David waved his hand around the camp, at the dying fire and their filthy, irritated horses; at their solitude. "For this?"
"Yes--"
"That's funny," he said, though there was no hint of amusement on his face. "Because I'm not."
He rose to his feet; this was a conversation David felt they needed to have eye to eye. To think that anyone was meant for the life of an outlaw, constantly on the run from enemies unknown and never seen; living from heist to heist, the saddle your only home. Killing, or being foolish or empty enough to be killed. Theirs was a dangerous, lonely life, meant only for those looking to hurl themselves fast into an early grave. It wasn't what David had ever wanted for himself, and he didn't want that life for Kyle, either.
"I didn't choose to do this," he began, the fighting tone gone from his voice, disappeared into the wind like vapor. "I didn't wake up one day and decide to leave the only home I ever knew, the only family I--" he stopped himself, his voice choking on his own emotions. "This is the sort of road you take...when you have nothing else to live for."
This didn't sound like the headstrong, rational leader of the Kings Kyle had grown to call a friend in the past few months; this wasn't the ruthless, confident outlaw they wrote about in the papers, carving his way through the West with an expert revolver and a large helping of what the Mexican expatriates called "cohones". Kyle had learned there were many different facets to David Cook's personality: the calm, collected outlaw that made townsfolk all over the West look over their shoulders with fear, the open and loyal friend who was quick to brighten the mood with a laugh. But those parts of David didn't prepare Kyle for what he saw that day: a man who had seen and done more destruction than he ever imagined, wearing him down over the years. He had outlived many of his enemies, and a good number of allies, and now David Cook was tired.
But Kyle remembered there had been one thing David kept as a token of hope, to prove to himself that there wasn't nothing in his world still worth saving. "But you have Kelly," he said, recalling his conversations with Andy over shooting lessons--because it seemed once you dangled a reasonable topic before Andy Skib, the outlaw would never shut up about it. He had said that Kelly had become David's reason; that she was the family he lost, and longed to have.
Unexpectedly a wide grin spread across David's face; only a few people in the world knew about his romance with the banker's daughter in Burleson, and he didn't count Kyle Peek as one of them. The light in his eyes asked the question before his voice could find the words. "Andy told me," Kyle answered with a shrug, though the other man had only gone into the generalities of their love story out of respect for David.
"I should have expected as much," David replied with a short laugh, shaking his head. Andy would certainly have never given up the chance to gossip, but with Kelly's letters in David's pocket as obvious as buckshot to the gut, he knew it would come up with Kyle eventually. If David had a nickel for every question the kid had asked him over the past few months, they could stop robbing banks entirely. "I gotta tell Andy to shut his mouth one of these days."
The outlaw's laughter was infectious, and Kyle's mood seamlessly transitioned from being on the defensive back to the secure feeling of being among partners, friends. Kyle thought Andy wasn't particularly a noisy fellow--that title deservedly belonged to Joey, who, much like the shotgun of his trade, demanded his presence known with loud bursts of laughter and sound. But he did remember an instance of noise, one soft, unmistakable moan in the dark outside Fox Canyon that he could never erase from his memory, not for lack of trying. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had time to filter them; it was never wise to reveal everything you knew, but Kyle was never blessed with heaps of wisdom, as it was.
"Well, then you gotta tell Neal not to--"
His mind thankfully caught up with his tongue, mouth hanging open with the rest of the sentence swallowed back in his throat, eyes wide like a startled stag. He didn't know if David was aware of Neal and Andy's unique relationship, or if even they were aware of it beyond a physical bond, oblivious to the intimacy that seeped into every action and movement, evident to Kyle now that he knew what to see. But perhaps he should have kept this secret just that, realizing that very little good and a wagon's worth of bad could come from revealing it. He couldn't even fathom the levels of trust he might have just broken, what further damage he could have done if he had finished that offhand comment.
But Kyle saw no shock in David's expression, no surprise or the tell-tale signs of a shocking revelation about his two best friends. The lift of one eyebrow was the only sign he had even heard Kyle's misstep, the smirk on his lips an indication that he understood, before he broke out into a knowing smile, words unnecessary. With the slightest of nods David told Kyle all that he had to know: the secret of Andy and Neal's true intimacy was a poorly kept one, least of all from the friend who rode alongside them for the past six years. An observant man like Kyle would notice the closeness between them, if not other things. David mused that perhaps not Kyle's skill, his first heist, or even his courage during their first meeting marked him as a true member of the Kings, but this, the sharing of the outlaws' secrets, did.
Perhaps Kyle deserved to hear another King's secret as well.
"Kelly's...really something," David said, after Kyle noted that Andy insisted on only mentioning her in conversation, never delving deep out of respect for David's history. "We were only in Burleson five days, but..." A flash of memory like wispy clouds in the desert: soft, Texan-tanned skin against his, hours spent tetherless, running past creek and field, Kelly always three steps ahead and David always seeking to catch her. "...it was enough to fall in love."
He recounted his first glances of her, the brazen lady of the Breakaway Saloon; the poker game and his first night with her, how she held back nothing when she was with him, from the way she masterfully won over their money to her knowledge of the outlaws' true natures, to how she made love. Kyle soaked in the story, eager to see the side of David Cook that few knew existed, the sweet, romantic heart beating deep within an outlaw molded by glory and legend. He didn't know if he'd ever meet Kelly Clarkson--and no one knew if even David would get the chance again--but Kyle sure hoped this wasn't the end to their story.
"When we left town," David concluded, his voice lowering with the curve of the sun's path, his tale long and detailed but never tiring. "About two hours out, I found these in my shirt pocket; she must've hidden them there sometime the night before." He snickered, remembering how Kelly boasted she could probably swipe the longhorns off a bull, thanks to her many years of sneaking past her father's caring yet unwatchful eye. That had to have been the fourth night they were together, when the evening skies threatened rain but only left a sweet sheen of dew against the cactus thorns the next morning. By that time David had already decided he would leave her.
Reaching into that very shirt pocket, David pulled out his prize: three playing cards from a deck long forgotten, each card yellowed at the edges, their red and black dyes fading from age. The three face cards stared at Kyle as he gaped back at them, their mirror images stark and easily identified. He could tell immediately that these cards could have never come from any of the throwaway decks the outlaws bought from general stores along their travels.
"The three kings," Kyle marveled, instantly remembering the tale of Kelly's prophetic poker hand their first night in town. They were like relics in David's hand, like the sharks' teeth and whalebones some travelers carried with them, mementos of their adventures and the creatures that almost did them in. Very rarely do those beautiful creatures hand men their souvenirs of their own volition. He reached out tentatively, as if they were illusions of the heat playing tricks on the both of them, but with a wide smile David held them out and they were there, they were real, and in their rough card stock Kyle felt he now knew their entire love story, and knew Kelly as well.
They were David's most prized possessions, above any of the riches the Kings amassed on their heists, above even the revolver that saved his life on more occasions than he'd like to admit. But it was the cards that first gave him a reason again to save that damned life of his, to give him drive and purpose to reach for something at the end of that horizon. Dozens of king cards had passed through his hands in recent years, in poker games and bank robberies alike, but these three he would never let out of his sight.
"I started leaving these at each job, once the newspapers started reporting more on us," he explained. "Thought, maybe she'd read about us somewhere, notice that I was still around. That's when the rags couldn't get enough of us, started calling us the Kings." He grinned, forever amused at the irony that one little card shark from some tiny town in Texas gave the noted outlaws their namesake, that had thousands all over the West fearing their name.
It was also the reason Kyle even knew about the outlaws he revered and now considered his friends. The exploits of the Kings were well documented, though no man could ever track them down and live to collect the bounty, and no one ever suspected the location of their next target. Kyle had traced paths of their heists from Oklahoma through California, beseeching any traveler on the road for the weekly paper or any news of the outlaws blown in by the wind. The fenced-in nature of the Peek ranch made him long for the outside world; the dimestore novels he read voraciously made him want the thrill and adventure of the outlaw life. And those small calling cards made him want to be a King.
"It wasn't right for me to leave her." The light Kyle saw on David's face flickered and dimmed as the outlaw returned the cards to their safe-keeping, his eyes on the ground but his thoughts certainly trained elsewhere. With all the talk of his short time with Kelly, the intense courtship that burned hot and quickly--burned like money burns, Kyle thought--the truth behind David's lovestruck story loomed in their faces, the very fact that he was here, out in the middle of nowhere after yet another heist, and she was still in Burleson, waiting patiently for another letter from her outlaw. If it were Kyle weaving this yarn, bending and shaping it to his own will towards a happy ending, David would have never left the pretty young card shark, would have settled and carved out a life for himself down there and, in the most poignant of ironies as every yarn required, the bank robber would have reformed his ways to become the banker's son-in-law.
But this wasn't Kyle's story to tell, and it was no make-believe; this was David's life, or at least, it had been.
David watched his hands as they clasped together, almost on their own accord, trying not to recall the way her skin yielded to the touch of those hands, how they caressed her with both lust and affection; how they longed to put a ring on a hand of her own. "Especially since that last man had left her; wasn't even worthy to lick the horseshit off her boots." He and Kelly had, for five glorious days and five nights he never wanted to end, been young and in love, but it hadn't been the time, for either of them, and they both knew it even when Kelly asked him to stay and David took that moment to consider it.
He had needed to find that reason to keep striving, fill the void left by his satisfied revenge; David hadn't fully realized Kelly would be that for him until he had left. And now, he might have gone too far to ever come back.
Kyle watched the uncertainty creep up on David's features from its hiding place among the blood and bones in his body. He couldn't tell why David had left--that secret stayed with the outlaw, and perhaps would until he cast out his last breath--but he definitely knew a thing or two about leaving the ones you loved. More than a dozen times Kyle's instincts had told him to turn back to home, aching for the love and familiarity he would find there, away from a harsh life on the road. But more than a dozen times he pressed on, knowing that, while he may always call the Peek ranch home, he was meant to experience more. Perhaps David's anger over Kyle leaving his brother at the Peek ranch wasn't completely displaced.
"You had your reasons," he repeated the words David had said himself about Joey, giving a warm smile and a nod. "We all do. And you can keep those to yourself...if you think it's best."
That sincerity garnered a true smile from David's lips; he hadn't been sure that anyone would understand his reasons; not even Neal and Andy, who, for them, freedom, love, and family were all synonymous. He had considered Kyle a plucky, welcome addition to the close-knit gang of outlaws, and a damn useful horse hand that could master even the finicky Sugarfoot, but perhaps now David could even consider him a friend.
"There's just one thing I gotta know." David looked up to see Kyle building up his courage with both hands, the amused smirk on his young face a sign he was no longer afraid to speak his mind. An arched eyebrow told him to continue, and Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Did you ever end up robbing her father's bank?"
Chapter 7, part two