Page 48 of Ransom
"Yeah."
"That's a character flaw."
The bed creaked. The sheet shifted. He swore under his breath, and I turned around. He sat on the edge of the bed with the sheet pooled across his lap and his hand on his shoulder where the bruise was, working his jaw.
"Bad?"
"Been worse."
"You bruise easily."
"Skin like a peach, my mama says. Bruise if you look at me wrong." He worked his shoulder, slow. "She says it like it's a problem. I think it's an inheritance."
"From who?"
"Daddy. Same skin. Bruised everywhere by the end."
I poured a cup of coffee and held it out. He took it and drank.
"That what put you on the road to a Ranger badge?"
"Something like that." He turned the cup in his hands. "Boys with skin like ours either learn to fight or learn to leave. I did both." He drank again and looked up. The morning light was on his face. The cut on his lip from last night had scabbed. "You been awake long?"
"A while."
"Doing what?" He set the cup down on the nightstand.
"Thinking."
"About me?"
I considered telling him the truth and decided against it. "Shower," I said. "Before the rest of the ranch wakes up."
"Is that an invitation or an order?"
"It's whatever you want it to be, Ranger."
He stood up slowly and walked past me toward the bathroom door where he paused at the frame.
"You coming?"
I followed.
The bathroom was small. One shower, one sink, one toilet, one window up near the ceiling that let in a square of pale light. I ran the water hot and stripped while it came up to temperature, and Winston leaned against the sink and watched.
"What?"
"Nothing." He tilted his head. "Just looking."
"You've seen it."
"A man can appreciate something he's seen before, can't he?"
I stepped into the spray. He followed and pulled the curtain. The stall was built for one, but we made it work, his back against the tile and me crowding him, water hitting my shoulders and running down between us.
I put my hand on his neck. Just my palm, flat, over the worst of the marks. He stopped breathing.
"Does it hurt?"
