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Six had met several hardened women during her journey across the Mojave, but none were quite as hard as Rose of Sharon Cassidy.
Like alcohol, the Whiskey Rose grew finer with age and that sharp, crass tongue and bitter, no-bullshit kind of wit slowly became endearing.
She didn’t know when she’d blurred the lines, but the desire to punch Cass quickly turned into the desire to kiss her.
It might have been better if she stuck to hitting.
Rose of Sharon Cassidy was rigidly straight-and-true in her preference for men and never batted an eyelash at the same sex twice. (Unless she was too shitfaced to care—Six would, though, because this was more than that—more than a one-night drunken fling. She wanted her to care. She wanted her to care.)
Now, Six could respect that. It wasn’t the first time her affection had taken the fast-track to a dead end when pretty, uninterested women were concerned. Sunny Smiles turned her down with a smile and all Francine Garret had to offer was a minor pity discount on goods and services.
There were plenty of other women out there who did and would accept her just fine, but she didn’t want any of them. Not after meeting Cass; not after falling deep into the whiskey bottle romance that, like any too-great love for alcohol, was destined to end up in ruin.
So, she kept it to herself. Through the late-night drinking contests when Cass sat a little too close and smiled her victory; through boozed-up anecdotes of better times when she threw a familiar arm around her shoulders like a blood sister; through the times a bullet cut just a bit too close and they thought it might be their last day and they held hands tight until they made it through.
Through the times she went to find herself a man and sleep in the comfort of oblivion for a night…
Six had never wanted something so badly in her life—and that included revenge. The idea of putting Benny six feet under paled in comparison to even getting a chance at having a shot with the woman she loved, but they were too close to be that close.
Boone knew. Had to. But he kept it to himself just like he kept everything else locked up tight. He always had her back even with his quiet demeanor.
Veronica knew. She offered a kinship and comfort in her hardest times, knowing the pains of unrequited, un-acquirable love.
Arcade knew. In his own way, he offered sympathy in the form of the driest, worst jokes he knew that never failed to make her laugh.
Cass…she probably knew it, too. Not much slipped past those eyes of hers and she was a keen woman able to sniff out a man interested in her from a mile away. Why would it be any different with Six?
Six never knew, but when she took in just a bit too much in the scotch, the vodka, or the moonshine brewed up during a long camping trip, she spilled her secrets through loose lips and loneliness.
But all Cass could spare was a steady hand to brush back her hair, keep it out of her face as she bent over and purged the heartache across the sands, the burning liquor, and a homemade cure for the hangover that followed.
She cared. She did. Just not the way Six wanted her to.
And one day, this drunk love would pass.