He didn’t know the kid, but he had agreed to help him, and because of that, Deadshot felt responsible for the kid. Deadshot never gave up, and he would use the last ounce of his strength to find Quincy, find out the truth about the kid’s mother and sister, and bring them all back home safely if it was possible.
Deadshot shifted where he sat, and his left knee protested in pain, reminding him just how broken his body really was. All the years of bounty hunting had eased his soul, but they had taken a toll on his body. He did not regret it for a moment, though.
The kid was full of questions, but Deadshot had talked enough for one day. He needed to rest, and in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what to tell the kid. Should he be completely honestwith him? Or should he try to ease the kid’s mind and make him feel hopeful? Deadshot always preferred the truth, but not everybody could handle it.
Sighing, he lay down and closed his eyes. “It’s time to sleep,” he stated, cutting off the kid’s rambling.
“Oh, all right.”
There were some shuffling noises, and when Deadshot opened his eyes again, the kid was lying on his bedroll, staring up at the night sky.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
“It sure is,” Deadshot agreed. “Now get some sleep; we’re heading out early tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 21
Rider sat bolt upright. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. Then he saw Deadshot sitting next to the fire in the early morning light. Everything that had happened the previous day came washing back over him, and he sucked in his breath.
“You all right?” Deadshot asked.
Rider nodded but did not reply. Despite the warm weather, it was cold outside so early in the morning, so he scooted closer to the fire. Wiping his eyes, he tried to compose himself. The early morning hours were always the hardest. That was when everything felt too fresh, and he had to take a couple of moments to focus his mind.
Deadshot was looking at him expectantly, as if he wanted him to say something.
“I’m okay,” Rider croaked, his throat dry. “Just not a morning person.”
It was the truth. Rider had never enjoyed early mornings. Despite living on a ranch and helping his father out in the fields almost every single day, he simply couldn’t get used to getting up before the sun rose.
Deadshot removed the pot of coffee from the fire and poured some into a cup.
“Coffee always helps,” he said as he held the cup out to Rider.
Rider wasn’t so sure about that, but he took the cup anyway. Coffee wasn’t his favorite beverage, but hopefully, it would help him wake up. “Thank you.”
Deadshot nodded and then, without a word, poured himself a cup of coffee as well and slowly started sipping the scorching liquid. Rider drank his coffee while Deadshot prepared some oats for them. By the time they were done eating, Rider felt much more alive and ready for the day.
They quickly packed up their things, loaded them on the horses, and then they were on their way. Deadshot had said that there was a small town a couple of miles away, and that was where they were going. With no knowledge of where Quincy and his gang’s hideout was, they would have to collect clues and information until they could figure out where to find them.
Rider really wanted to find his mother and sister as quickly as possible, but he knew he was going to have to be patient.Deadshot was the best bounty hunter, and the man had agreed to help him, so Rider was going to have to trust him.
Now that they were on their way, they had moved to the road again. They weren’t going too fast since it was important to keep the horses healthy on such a long journey.
“How old were you when you started bounty hunting?” Rider asked, his curiosity taking over.
Deadshot grunted, obviously not as excited to talk about himself as Rider was to learn about him.
“Come on,” Rider complained. “We might as well talk. There’s nothing else to do.”
“I am doing something,” Deadshot pointed out.
Rider tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What exactly is it?”
“Enjoying the breeze and the silence.”
Rider wasn’t one for silence; he was used to talking all the time. His father had been a lot like him in that way. They talked about everything and nothing as they worked on the ranch. It felt strange to him to simply be quiet when there was so much to talk about.
Sure, they were on a mission, but why couldn’t they at least fill the time with meaningful conversation? Deadshot obviously had millions of stories, and Rider was eager to hear all of them. It didn’t make sense to him why Deadshot would not want to share his stories.
