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I wonder precisely when he became the most important thing in my world.
When he handed me a badge and made me his deputy, putting a load of trust in a man he barely knew, a man he found pickled drunk in such a sorry state most folks would have turned him out into a ditch?
When he helped me crawl out of the bottle I'd crawled into so long ago that I had long forgotten what it felt like to be sober? He wasn't the first to try after all. I'd had friends once, and a lady or two of my own who had tried their hand at scolding or begging I stop drinking my way to an early grave. He didn't beg, plead, or even ask, just handed me a badge and made me feel the most needed man in the world.
When he asked me what I like to do for fun and we played chess for hours, until I'd played my soul out onto the board and laid it bare? He smiled after, that sweet disarming confidence-infused smile that makes ladies swoon and men breath a sigh of relief, all tension bleeding out of them. You see that smile and you think `here's a man who knows what he's doing. He's got it all under control'. You see that smile and you want to confess your darkest secrets just to hear him say `it's all right, the past is done`. I think I'd follow that smile to the gates of hell itself--if only so I could watch him charm the devil out of the keys to the front door. That old devil wouldn't know what hit him. Certainly no one else ever does. He's a pleasure to watch work, he is.
I'm watching him work right now, draped over the counter of a cheap inn out even farther into this wasteland of nowhere than Rock Ridge. Bart wanted to look for something to do, so here we are. I'm sure trouble will find us soon enough--it always does. In the last town there were cattle rustlers. Dumb ones, but then so are most folks when compared to Bart. Anyway, one stuffed cow, a false trail, some excellent acting by yours truly, a rope, a chicken, a banjo, and two wagons full of manure later and those guys won't be after anyone's cattle anytime soon. I suspect half of them will now have cow phobias as well.
Of course we rode off into the sunset from that town too, a generous reward in hand and the local beauty mourning the loss of Bart's excessive manliness.
It still strikes me the way folks look at him at first, like they expect a dumb hick, someone who will look down and away, who will know his `place'. Bart never looks away first--I swear he could stare down the Angel of Death himself--and I don't think the man will ever allow that he has any proper place, especially one someone else has defined for him. I know it annoys him though, to constantly prove he's better than they think he has any right to be.
He's charming the lady at the counter for a better deal on a room for the night. We have the cash, sure, but Bart says there's no reason to go paying top dollar when there's a bargain to be finessed out just by asking. I bet Bart's about the only one who'd think of trying for a bargain out of the well-weathered landlady, who when we came in had the look of a woman who's seen everything and done most of it too. She's got a smile tugging at the corner of her moth now--she knows she's being played, but he's so damn good at it she stopped caring awhile back. Looks like we'll get our deal.
I'm hanging back and watching as she finally hands over a key and Bart hands over some cash. It's Bart's job to do the talking. I stay back and watch his, and make sure to keep an eye out for trouble while he's working his magic. It's not like anyone could get the drop on me while I've got a gun at my side.
"Only one?" I ask him as he comes back over to collect me. For the obvious reason of Bart's skill at charming ladies out of their clothes, we usually get two.
"They're a bit booked up" He says, "some kinda fair coming up." He's got that smile on his face so I nod my head and follow him up the stairs.
It's about as good a room as you can expect from a dive out in these parts. The one bed sags a bit in the middle, and the mattress looks about as thick as a pile of grass sat on by a full grown steer. There's a chair, a table, and an oil lamp, and a much more encouraging looking pile of blankets. The bathroom's down the hall.
"You can have the bed tonight" I say, "I'll take it tomorrow, if we end up here that long."
"Now there's no need for that partner. There's room enough for two on there."
I eye the sorry bed and raise an eyebrow at him. "If you're planning on being awfully cozy."
"Now what's wrong with cozy? `Sides, I think your tender flesh might make up for the hardness of this here pallet masquerading as a mattress."
"Ah! So you`re planning to use me as padding. Though that still leaves me on the mattress."
"I'm sure I can make your sacrifice worth your while partner." Bart's eyeing me in a way he's not done before. It's an eyeing that makes something run up and down my spine and settle in my stomach like a double shot of whiskey.
"'Sides partner, we've been traveling for some time now and I've noticed you haven't been finding yourself any diversions in the many towns we have come to the rescue of, though diversions are plenty to be had. I find myself worried about your well being. One needs a certain amount of entertainment. Now, when we first met you said you liked to play chess and screw. So which do you want to do this time?"
I blink at him for a minute, just to see if I can make that long string of words piece together in any way that does not come out sounding like a proposition.
It doesn't work, so I figure he must be teasing me, or leaving out the part where we go find two girls for once and Bart spends the night with one elsewhere. Perhaps I should call his bluff.
"So if I said I want to stay here and screw?" I smile my own best charming smile at him. He looks serious for a moment, then slowly grins, teeth showing and oozing all the energy and charisma at his command.
"Well," he drawls, moving in close enough for me to smell the road sweat on him, "that would be different, now wouldn't it? A man should try different things once in a while. Partner." He draws me in, his confidence evident in every move and I know I'll go along with anything he wants, even as I realize he's been planning this end all along. After all, I've already handed him an old used soul, what's a body?
Following him to heaven's better than hell anyway. I know he'll get me there either way.
Hours later I look at his hand on top of mine, black against white. We're a study in contrasts we are, but we fit.
Partners.