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He would’ve spent more than that on a graphic tee at a department store. Kieran accepted the bag and opened it. “Challenge accepted.”
He’d dreamed of sweatpants for twenty months while wearing scratchy prison scrubs, but he didn’t find any in the store. He located a few pairs of super soft flannel lounge pants in his size, though. Kieran grabbed a variety of shirts, a hoodie, and a jacket. He didn’t see any other clothing items he needed, but the clerk had said anything that fit inside the bag was ten bucks. He picked out a pair of aviator sunglasses and a Denver Broncos hat. The colors and mascot were drastically different from the modern team logo. His gaze landed on playing cards, an art kit, and a sketchbook. None of those things were necessities, but his soul longed to create art, and they would fit in his bag. Kieran was just about to head to the counter when he noticed a display of books. The selection was small, but the range of options was vast, covering everything from fantasy to historical romance and paranormal to thriller. His gaze landed on a copy ofThe Outsiders, and he reached down to grab it. The book had been assigned reading in high school. Most of the kids he’d run with had bitched and moaned about the book, but he’d secretly loved every word, even if it wasn’t the most uplifting story. He could relate to the greasers and always felt like he was on the outside looking in, never belonging to anyone or anything.
The book’s presence felt like serendipity, a reminder that he didn’t belong on the ranch. Kieran could admit to himself that he was on the verge of loosening up when it came to Finley and possibly Rueben, and he was already smitten with a horse named Nellie. But he had to maintain his focus or spend the rest of his life drowning in bitterness. Kieran approached the counter with his paper bag, then noticed a display of watches. Without a phone, it was difficult to keep track of time. He found one with a simple brown leather strap and added it to his sack once he confirmed it still worked. The gentlemen didn’t inspect his paper bag or look to see what he’d picked. The items fit inside, and that was all that mattered to him.
“Ten bucks,” he said.
Kieran removed the bill from his wallet and passed it to the shopkeeper. He still had ninety dollars from his advance but decided to hold on to it rather than explore the bookstore or the soda shop.
“Thank you for your business,” the clerk said. “I hope you enjoy your visit and come see us again.” With that, he picked up his book and resumed reading.
Kieran stepped outside and donned the sunglasses, watch, and ball cap before continuing down the sidewalk. The crowd in front of the casino had grown considerably during his brief jaunt inside the thrift store. Kieran noticed the outfits the people wore belonged in the same period as the buildings. Modest slacks and shirts for the men and long, shapeless dresses for the women. All were made from drab-colored fabric and lacked any adornment.
A white-haired man stood in the center of the gathering. The platform he’d perched himself on elevated him above everyone else. He lifted a bullhorn to his mouth and said, “Sinners repent. Salvation can be yours if you—”
Kieran slammed a mental door shut, blocking out the rest. He halted and turned to head back toward the truck and smacked into someone on the sidewalk. Thankfully, it was only Rueben.
He gripped Kieran’s biceps long enough to steady him, then dropped his hands. Rueben’s gaze shifted to the protesters, and his lips curled into a sneer. “Christ, those people need to get a life.”
“Who are they?” Kieran asked.
“Some outfit called Salvation Anew. They basically hate anyone who doesn’t look or love like them.”
Kieran snorted. “Makes us enemy number one.”
Rueben shifted his gaze back to Kieran and winked. “Some of us are a double whammy.”
“I think I’ll head on back to the truck,” Kieran said. “These killjoys have put me off shopping or sightseeing.”
“I’m with you,” Rueben said, pivoting to face the same direction as Kieran. “Find any good bargains?”
“I did. Thanks for telling me about the shop.”
“Us sinners need to stick together,” Rueben teased. He had little to say during their walk back to the truck, which Kieran found unsettling. Rueben always had something to say, and the quiet felt uncomfortable and solely for his benefit. The guy had made Kieran feel welcome, and he wanted Rueben to be himself.
“So which of you makes the stiffest poker competition?” Kieran asked.
Rueben grinned and glanced over at him as he navigated the road out of town. “Piqued your curiosity, huh?”
“Maybe a little,” Kieran said.
“I suck at poker, but I’m not in it to win. I just play for fun.”
Kieran found his honesty refreshing. “And the others?”
“Ivan and Dylan are pretty laid-back but more competitive than me,” Rueben replied. Kieran tried to picture what laid-back looked like on Ivan, but he couldn’t get there. Dylan was so reserved that Kieran wanted to check his pulse to make sure he was still kicking. “Tyler and Owen are cutthroat. They’ll either hate you or respect you if you beat them.”
Kieran found that curious—two vastly different reactions to the same outcome. “What triggers the Jekyll and Hyde reactions?”
Rueben guffawed at the reference. “It’s in the delivery. They respect someone who beats them with skill, but they don’t appreciate showboating.”
No one liked that. “Good to know.”
“Because you plan to join us?” Rueben asked, a hint of pleading in his voice.
Kieran chuckled, “I’m thinking about it.” It surprised him to realize it was the truth, then he gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get his priorities straight with Harry and Cash both away from the ranch. “What made you interested in blacksmithing?” Kieran asked, changing the subject.
“I see what you did there, but I’ll let it go,” Rueben replied before filling the rest of the drive with conversation about his ironworking.
