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But he’d made Maggie a promise. If she wanted him to get the dagger from Pickett, then that was exactly what he’d do. As for after? He still wasn’t sure.
Pickett’s tent was on the far end of the performers’ encampment, which suited North just fine. It meant fewer people would notice his visit and there was less of a chance that someone would interrupt. He snagged the half pint of whiskey he’d kept in his bunk, and when he was sure no one was looking, he put in the tablet Cordelia had given him earlier, so it would have time to dissolve. Then he gave the bottle a shake to be sure. He’d probably only get one chance at this.
If Pickett was surprised by North’s visit, he didn’t show it. The cowboy offered North a seat and welcomed his offer of a swig of whiskey. North told Pickett that it was a thank-you for saving his life. If he had any misgivings at all, he focused on Maggie instead.
After Pickett was done, North lifted the bottle to his own mouth and pretended to drink. By the time he’d lowered it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the change in Pickett’s expression told North the drug was working.
North allowed Pickett to talk for a few minutes about pointless things—horses and the weather. When their conversation turned to how Pickett felt every time he had to enter the arena to catcalls and slurs, how every performance he had to prove that he was more than the names they called him, North knew the other cowboy was ready.
Still, North wasn’t completely without feeling. He’d seen the effect the formulation had on Esta. Taking a man’s self-control was about the lowest thing a person could do. You promised, North told himself as he leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table between them.
“So I hear tell that you have a piece that’s pretty impressive to see.…”
North left Pickett’s tent not long after, with his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. He probably should’ve stayed with Pickett until the drug wore off completely, but he had to get to Maggie. It didn’t matter that he’d left angry and hurt, not with what he’d just learned. He had to warn her.
North was so focused on getting back to his girl that he didn’t even hear the person shouting his name at first. Even once he realized that one voice was louder than the rest of the usual background buzz of the grounds, it didn’t register that the voice was calling for him, especially since the name they were calling wasn’t the one he’d been born with. But then it clicked. For a moment North considered ignoring whoever it was. But the voice was getting louder and more insistent, which meant whoever wanted him wasn’t giving up. When he glanced over his shoulder, North saw Aldo, the manager of the grounds, scurrying after him, waving for him to stop.
North had the sudden, uncanny sense that he needed to get out of there, but the grounds manager was one of the few people he couldn’t easily ignore, and the person with Aldo was definitely one of the others: Clem Curtis, one of the brothers who owned the show. North cursed silently to himself, but he slowed his steps to get the meeting over with.
“Mr. Aldo,” North said, lifting a finger to the brim of his hat and trying not to look half as impatient and frustrated—or nervous—as he felt.
Aldo was a broad-shouldered man whose paunch had won the battle against the waistband of his trousers years ago. His light hair curled around the base of his neck, and sandy stubble shadowed his jawline. North hadn’t liked Aldo when he’d been forced to ingratiate himself with the man to get hired, and he liked him even less now.
“Something I can help you gentlemen with?” North asked, trying to appear indifferent at their interruption.
“Mr. Curtis here wanted to meet you,” Aldo said.
“Me?” North asked, confused. He tried to make his surprise appear as interest, but mostly he felt uneasy. He would have preferred to remain unnoticed. “Can’t imagine why,” he said, falling into an affable, aw-shucks persona that he hoped would get him by.
“I’ve been hearing good things about you, Robertson,” Curtis said, using North’s assumed identity. “Aldo here says you’ve made quite a mark for yourself as a hard worker since you started.”
“It’s only been a couple of days now,” North said, feigning humility.
In actuality, he was getting more nervous with each passing second. There was no reason for anyone to have noticed him. He hadn’t been working any harder than anyone else—he’d made sure of it, so as not to stick out.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, he lifted his shoulders, clearly embarrassed by the attention. He used the movement to mask what he was really doing—maneuvering his pocket watch, flipping open the glass face… in case.
“But you’ve done well,” Curtis said. “I probably don’t need to tell you how hard it is to find good workers these days. I thought maybe you’d want to stay on with us permanently.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” North said, not yet sure whether to feel relieved. His thumb hesitated over the dial of the watch. “That’s a fine offer, but I’d have to consider—”
“What’s there to consider?” the Curtis brother asked. “You don’t already have another job lined up, do you?”
“Not exactly,” North told him.
“A wife to support?”
“Mr. Robertson here isn’t married,” Aldo confirmed, looping his thumbs through his suspenders as he rocked on his heels. “He already assured me of that.”
“Then what’s holding you back?” Curtis asked.
“I can’t think of anything at all,” North admitted. There was a part of him that could almost imagine the life Curtis was proposing—traveling from place to place. Seeing the country while he spent his days with the horses he loved. Living out in the fresh, clean country air…
But it was an impossible dream. North was already on a path, and it didn’t lead out into the wide world. It led to Maggie, which meant it would be guided by principles he’d already committed himself to long ago, maybe even before he could have possibly understood what they were.
Curtis didn’t need to know that, either, though.
“I guess I’d be a fool not to accept,” North told the men. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t planning on following through.
