Page 54 of Ransom
"I'm not playing," Ransom said, and it made my heart kick faster.
Sierra put a big pan of eggs on the table.
"Speaking of plays," Rafe started, "How is Rattlesnake Rex? Anything interesting up at Bonney last night?"
Ransom opened his mouth to answer, but Sierra shushed him and pointed a wooden spoon at Rafe. "No shop talk at the breakfast table. Now, Ransom, you better get some food in you. Birria's on the stove if you want to build a proper burrito. Tortillas are under the towel."
I built myself a burrito in silence, and Ransom did the same. His face was a mess in the morning light. Both eyes had gone purple-black overnight, and his nose was swollen enough that it changed the shape of his whole face. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with someone twice his size.
He looked like he'd walked into a dinner theater and thrown a punch for Rafe's honor and taken the consequences.
I'd never seen him like this. He let Sierra fuss over him all through breakfast, making small talk about the truck and the horses and which boys were going to do what chores. The answers came short and respectful and a bit chastened, like a kid getting his hair flattened by an aunt at church. The man who'd put his teeth in my neck eight hours ago was sitting six inches from me eating tortillas and getting scolded for not looking after himself, and the scolding was working. He was eating slower because Sierra had told him to.
Sierra dropped a hand on top of Ransom's head on his way past and gave it the same brief settling pat he probably gave Pearl. Ransom didn't lean into it. He didn't lean away from it either. Sierra kept walking.
My chest ached. My mama had touched me like that, once.
The kitchen window opened, and Coyote climbed in through the screen. He perched on the counter briefly before dropping to sit.
"Morning, Percy," Sierra called from the stove, not turning around.
I blinked. "Percy?" I looked at Ransom. "His real name is Percy?"
Coyote growled and flashed his teeth. "Not to you. Not to anybody but the wind and the water and to mamma and Sierra. And be thankful. Percy would eat your face. He would've left you buried and pissed on your face and made a trophy out of your hat."
"Language," Sierra prompted.
Coyote snorted and held out his arm, letting his snake curl around it.
"You hungry?" Sierra asked.
"We ate," Coyote said, and then hopped down off the counter. He stopped about a yard from my chair, leaned in, and inhaled.
Coyote tilted his head. Inhaled again, longer.
"You smell different," he said.
"Do I?"
"Yesterday you smelled like him on the outside. Today you smell like him on the inside." He said it thoughtfully, like a man reading weather off the sky. "That's a different smell. Deeper. Takes longer to wash off."
"Coyote," Ransom said. "Get that filthy snake out of here."
Coyote clutched his snake to his chest. "She is not filthy! We took a bath last week!"
"Dust baths don't count."
Coyote looked at Sierra like he expected him to intervene.
"Ransom's right," Sierra said eventually. "Mud baths are for pigs and horses, Percy. I'll hook up the garden hose and get you a bar of soap this afternoon. How's that?"
Coyote made an inhuman sound of protest and bolted for the door. "Can't. No bath. Too busy. Bye!"
Sierra sighed and shook his head.
I let myself breathe.
Ransom had one eyebrow up at me.
