Rory was sitting in the Saloon cleaning his gun when Stella flew in and swung herself onto the barstool next to him, dark eyes intent. He continued cleaning, calmly waiting for her to speak.
“Yes?” he asked, glancing at her after a few long moments of her unwavering gaze and steady silence.
“Here, let me.”
Curiously, he handed her the gun, and she flipped it over a few times before cleaning it with a deft hand. She was quick and precise. It took him a moment to notice the minute tremors in her movements that faded as she worked. Steadying herself with a familiar task—he recognized the tactic.
“Jane’s going to come after you again,” Stella said, eyes still on the weapon.
Rory nodded and propped up his chin on his hands. “I know.”
“She’s going to send Libs after you. He won’t kill you,
