[ William says nothing to that—it's as though the other man's thoughts have grazed his own. Stung or struck or something more tender. If he spoke now, he's not sure what would pour out of him, so he doesn't. Just takes a breath, watches Hickey attentively. He gives a rueful little smile at the request.
That's the catch, isn't it? He'd planned to keep the details to himself. Give Hickey the sparsest facts. Anyone could guess how it goes anyway—a man, a woman, time alone. The what is unremarkable.
He hesitates, considers for an insane moment telling someone else, this not wholly strange stranger, what kissing her felt like. His eyes fall back to the train car. ] The train's carrying nitroglycerin. [ His voice is soft, almost shy—designed to slip into conversations unnoticed. Beneath that, though, there's an eagerness. ]
And for the first few hours—he feels it like it's his own bones. The rattle and rumble, the screech of the [ a pause as, smiling, William digs for the word ] wheels, I guess.
It could go up like that. [ He raises his hand in front of his face and gives a single decisive snap of his fingers. Then swipes the hand across his mouth, covering another smile. ] They're plunging into hostile territory. The man running the show, um, El Lazo. He's a notorious outlaw. His name's traveled farther than the wind. He's betrayed them once already.
And she sits, looking out the window, and she tells him—she's a rancher's daughter. Not a fighter, not... [ William turns the doll over in his hands. He's been wrapped up in his own story, but now his voice goes soft again. ] In the middle of all this, she tells him, with such calm, with more certainty than he's ever managed to feel about anything, that she isn't going back to her old life.
[ He lets out a sigh. Rolls his shoulders back and looks to Hickey, suddenly self-conscious. He gives an apologetic twist of a smile. ]
this is kind of A Lot, I'm so sorry
That's the catch, isn't it? He'd planned to keep the details to himself. Give Hickey the sparsest facts. Anyone could guess how it goes anyway—a man, a woman, time alone. The what is unremarkable.
He hesitates, considers for an insane moment telling someone else, this not wholly strange stranger, what kissing her felt like. His eyes fall back to the train car. ] The train's carrying nitroglycerin. [ His voice is soft, almost shy—designed to slip into conversations unnoticed. Beneath that, though, there's an eagerness. ]
And for the first few hours—he feels it like it's his own bones. The rattle and rumble, the screech of the [ a pause as, smiling, William digs for the word ] wheels, I guess.
It could go up like that. [ He raises his hand in front of his face and gives a single decisive snap of his fingers. Then swipes the hand across his mouth, covering another smile. ] They're plunging into hostile territory. The man running the show, um, El Lazo. He's a notorious outlaw. His name's traveled farther than the wind. He's betrayed them once already.
And she sits, looking out the window, and she tells him—she's a rancher's daughter. Not a fighter, not... [ William turns the doll over in his hands. He's been wrapped up in his own story, but now his voice goes soft again. ] In the middle of all this, she tells him, with such calm, with more certainty than he's ever managed to feel about anything, that she isn't going back to her old life.
[ He lets out a sigh. Rolls his shoulders back and looks to Hickey, suddenly self-conscious. He gives an apologetic twist of a smile. ]