Chapter 8

I cannot stand it, but I cannot stop looking. Hoping to see Jack’s expression, I’m disappointed as he turns to look the other way. What I do get is Dutcher’s expression as he makes his claim, throwing back his head as he lets go. Jack’s hands are spread on the table, the same table at which we shared that supper a month ago.

I don’t wait for Dutcher to leave this time. Once he’s gained satisfaction, I take off at a run, though the bunkhouse is not hospitable at such a time. But I must go in and get in bed, else I’ll be suspect at not being there come sunup. When I hear Dutcher come in, I grit my teeth and clench my fists. Sleep is a long time coming.

I know better than all this. I know not to lay claim to Jack because that’s what ruined it all those years back. It wasn’t the foreman that time, though. It was a gambler in Gunnison, Johnny Royle, and Jack fell hard…