The Devil You Know (12 page)

“I've already given you the gist of it.”

“All right.
When
did this conversation take place?”

“The day after Annalea found me. It was in the afternoon. You came in just as Happy was getting ready to leave. Do you remember that he said we were talking about you?”

“
That's
the conversation you were having?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but Happy was doing all the talking. I was listening.”

“I'll just bet you were. What else did he say?”

“I recall the words ‘old maid' were used at least once.” He thought she might take offense to that, but what she did was laugh. “You are a hard woman to figure out.”

“I am a hard woman,” she said. “End the sentence there. There's no satisfaction for you in trying to figure me out.”

“There might be.”

She grunted softly. “Anything else?”

“Was one of the proposals you turned down really Eli Barber?”

Willa's head snapped around. “Goddamn it. Was he drinking when he told you that?”

“No. He might have been hung over from the day before, but he was sober when he visited. Is it true?”

“Yes.”

Israel realized he would have to find a way to make up
for his lie to Happy. He had played a hunch, something he was good at, and he had surprised the truth out of her. She would probably have it out with her father, and Happy would deny saying it, and eventually it all would come back on him. This was likely his only opportunity to learn more.

“Was Eli one of the men you didn't like?”

“What do you think?”

“I imagine so. Did he know?”

“I thought he did. I gave him enough clues.”

“Why do you suppose he proposed?”

“There's no supposing about it. Not now. He wants the land, same as all the others.”

“All of them?”

“Danny McKenney, that's Old Man McKenney's son, might have only wanted to bed me, but that just proves he's got rocks for brains. It's the land that's the prize . . .”

Israel waited, expecting to hear more. When she added nothing, he merely said, “Huh.”

“Does my plain speaking offend you?”

He supposed she was referring to Danny McKenney wanting to bed her. In Israel's lexicon that hardly amounted to plain speaking. “No, I was thinking about the last thing you said. It sounded to me as if you meant to say more.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

He repeated her words. “‘It's the land that's the prize.' Seemed as if you might be implying that you're not.”

“Well, I'm not, but I don't know that I needed to hear it out loud.”

“That's the thing,” he said. “From where I'm sitting, not saying the words was the same as shouting them.”

“You have an interesting way of looking at things. Hearing them, too.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“I didn't mean it to be.”

That made him grin.

She caught his quicksilver smile and flattened her own lips as she shook her head. “And a ridiculous sense of humor.”

His smile deepened, carving a crescent dimple at the corner of his lips. He knew it was there because she was
staring at his mouth. It was something she did from time to time, and he finally decided it was the dimple that drew her attention. Other women had commented on it. Willa didn't. She simply stared.

“So why do you think you're not a prize?” he asked, sobering.

“That's what you want to talk about?”

“Unless you'd rather not.”

She shrugged. “I'm set in my ways, stubborn to a fault, and suspicious. You know I am. You've said as much.”

“I wasn't arguing.” That made her slant him a droll smile, and he asked, “Is there more?”

“I tend to have a serious nature, some might say humorless.”

“I hadn't noticed.”

“Hmm.”

He chuckled. “Anything else?”

“You tell me.”

He thought about it for a while. “You work hard, harder sometimes than any two men, and I suppose there'd be those who would find it intimidating.”

“But not you.”

“Lord, no. Shiftless suits me just fine.” He went on, enjoying himself. “You're fair, but that could be a fault if you're always sitting in judgment.”

“I see,” she said.

“Then there's that responsible aspect of your character. You take on everything. That's practically selfish, is what that is.” He added quickly, innocently, “Not that I mind.”

“No,” she said under her breath. “Not that you'd mind.”

Israel pretended he didn't hear. “You're whip smart. So smart, in fact, that a reasonably intelligent man can feel downright stupid around you.”

Willa blinked.

“Finally, you're easy to look at. Real easy, I'd guess you'd say.”

“I wouldn't say it.”

“That's all right. I'm saying it. Even when your eyes go narrow and cool the way they're doing now, it's not in me to look away. Not anymore. My mother called what you do
staring daggers. I guess she knew what she was talking about.”

Willa slowed Felicity to a walk. She said nothing for a time, then, “Let me see if I have this right: I'm intimidating, judgmental, selfish, and I make people feel stupid.”

“Is that what you heard?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Then I guess that's what it is, although you left out the part about being easy to look at.”

“That does not deserve comment, except I appreciate your mother's observation about staring daggers.”

“You wouldn't if you'd been standing where I was when she said it. She tried to slap that look right off my face.”

“Oh, I thought . . .”

“I know. You thought she was staring daggers at me.”

“Then I don't imagine slapping you effected any change.”

“No. More or less fixed that look permanently.”

“Not permanently,” said Willa. “I've never seen it.”

“Unless my mother shows up, you probably won't.”

“Ah. Is that why you've never asked any of us to send word to your family? You don't favor them?”

“I don't favor communicating with them. You haven't, have you?”

She shook her head. “You gave me your parents' address in the event you did not survive your injuries. Do you remember that?”

“I remember you badgering me for it.”

“Well, you survived so I figured what you wanted to tell them was up to you.”

“Good. They're used to not hearing from me.” But he had promised he would write to them when he reached Temptation. They probably knew by now that he had never arrived. They would be disappointed, resigned, but not surprised.

“But you lived right there in Chicago,” she said. “You said Herring wasn't far.”

“It's been a lot of years since I lived in their pockets. I was eighteen when I left. That was fifteen years ago, and I don't make a habit of looking back. I will say, though, as
rebellious as I got, I never once thought of calling my mother ‘Pearl' or my father ‘James.' Happy is considerably more tolerant than the good Reverend McKenna could ever be.”

Whatever Willa might have said to that, Israel did not know. They had finally reached the ranch. She dismounted first and gave him Felicity's reins when he swung down. Without a word or a backward glance, she walked off to the house, leaving him to care for the horses.

Eli Barber eased back in his chair and unfolded his legs under the table. His arms were extended in front of him, and he hugged a heavy mug of beer in his palms. It was the fifth time he had been served a beer in just under two hours. The boneless slouch he affected was as much a necessity as a preference, and his heavy-lidded green eyes were vaguely unfocused.

He did not count himself as drunk past repair. If his father walked in, he could still snap to attention.

He regarded his companions and judged it was the same for them. Buster Rawlins sat on his right, thick and compact, tightly wound for all that he was matching Eli drink for drink. On Eli's left was Jesse Snow, considerably taller than Buster and loose-limbed with a wiry, flexible frame.

The three of them sat in one corner of the Liberty Saloon in the shadow of the staircase. Buster had already been upstairs, and Jesse swore he was contemplating the same, although he continued to stare at his beer with more interest than he showed for either of the girls flitting between the tables. For Eli's part, he did not want anything to do with them that did not involve getting a beer. His father told him a long time ago that a man didn't drink where he pissed. Or something like that. When Eli wanted a poke, he went upstream, or in this case, to Denver.

“I think you should ask her,” Buster said suddenly, picking up the thread of a conversation that had died several beers earlier. His rheumy gaze slid sideways to settle on Eli. “That's what I think.”

Eli screwed his mouth to one side. “Hmm.”

“It's been, what? Seven, eight months since the last time?”

“About that.” Eli knew the answer to the exact date, the precise hour, but he did not offer that information. “Maybe you should ask her.”

Buster gave a shout of laughter. His hand jerked and a wave of beer slipped over the lip of his mug and dribbled onto his fingers. He licked them clean before he drank. “Wouldn't that be something?” he asked. “What the hell would I do if she said yes?”

Jesse continued to study his beer. His normally fair complexion was ruddy with the effect of drink, and his heavy eyelids sheltered unfocused brown eyes. With considerable effort, he managed to raise an eyebrow. “Fuck her,” he said. “Then fuck her over.”

Eli stopped hugging his beer and reached for Jesse's. He calmly poured it in the ranch hand's lap. “You're done.”

Jesse did a fair imitation of a jack-in-the-box as he jumped up from his chair. Stupid from drink and with no coordination to speak of, Jesse's arms flung sideways and his knees buckled as soon as he got his legs under him. He stumbled backward, collapsed again, and worked his hands like windmills over the blossoming wet spot on his trousers.

“What the hell, Eli?” he said, still fanning the wet. “It looks like I pissed myself, and I'll have to ride back to Big Bar like this. It'll shrink my balls.”

Eli was unmoved by Jesse's argument, but Buster said, “How will you know?”

Jesse ignored Buster and looked up from his lap to face Eli. “What? What did I say?”

Buster swiveled his gaze to Eli. “He really might not know.” He grabbed his beer to keep it safe and said, “And I'm not repeating it.”

“Leave it,” said Eli. “We have time. You can still go upstairs and dry your pants while you take stock of the state of your balls. And they would probably thank you if you took Louisa or Mary Edith with you.” Without giving Jesse an opportunity to argue, Eli raised one arm and waved Mary Edith over to the table. “Can you take this boy upstairs and dry him out? See to his trousers, too.” He reached in his
pocket, produced a handful of coins, and carelessly dropped them in her open palm without counting. “My treat.”

Mary Edith tipped her head sideways to indicate Jesse, who was still flailing about in his chair. “I sincerely doubt it will be mine.”

Eli chuckled and shooed her away. She managed to grasp one of Jesse's bony wrists and pull him out of his chair. Watching them go, Eli and Buster shared another laugh.

“He had it coming,” said Buster. “Damn me if he didn't.”

“You talking about the beer or the whore?”

“The beer. I don't think he has Mary Edith coming unless she warms herself up first.”

Eli saluted Buster with his glass. “How many years do you have on me, Buster?”

“You're what? Twenty-five, six?”

“Six.”

“Then I have exactly ten on you. Why?”

“I was just thinking, is all. I suppose age is of no account when it comes to kinship. Not kinship in fact. Kinship in feeling.”

Buster's upper lip curled and he set Eli's ears back with a steady, knowing look. “Seems to me that maybe you're done, too. You're comin' around to maudlin.”

“What if I am?” He took a gulp of beer and pressed a sleeve to his mouth to wipe it. “I'm not ashamed to admit that you've been more friend to me than hired hand.”

“I reckon that's because I've known you near on all your life, what with my mama cookin' for your family and my daddy working alongside yours for as many years as he did.” His palms folded around his beer. “Seems to me you've got a question in your mind about Jesse. Am I right?”

Eli set his drink on the table and sat forward in his chair. He nodded slowly, solemnly. “I don't feel a kin to him same as you. And there's but six months between us.”

Buster shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Sometimes there's no rhyme or reason for what draws folks together. I figure Jesse for all right.”

“You think so?”

“You have a different opinion?”

Eli removed his hat and dropped it on the empty chair beside him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, flattening spikes and making furrows in the field of wheat. “I'm coming around to one,” he said. “I notice Jesse doesn't say much when he's sober or when he's drunk, but when he's drunk, he says things he shouldn't. That concerns me some. Doesn't make him good company.”

Smiling narrowly, Buster nodded. “Maybe so.” The smile faded, and he asked, “Are you really thinking about proposing to Miss Pancake again?”

“You can call her Willa. I won't pour beer in your lap for that.”

“Well? Are you?”

“I'm thinking about it,” he said. The truth was, he had never stopped thinking about it. It was always there at the back of his mind. He remembered clearly the first time he had asked her to marry him. It was the only time she had said yes. He had been twelve. She had been ten. They had solemnly pledged their troth at the fence line that divided their families. It was Willa's idea to do it there. She told him it was symbolic. He thought it was more than that. He thought it was heroic. They each carried knives back then, but when they decided to make a blood oath, they didn't use them. Instead, Willa cut her wrist on a barb in the wire and Eli followed suit. They put their wrists together, held them fast for several minutes to be sure their blood mingled before they drew back. Willa tore her kerchief in two and gave him half to stem the bleeding. They had been perhaps more enthusiastic in making their cuts than was strictly necessary. Eli could still find the scar that was a consequence of that bloodletting. He wondered if Willa could do the same. He'd never asked.

Their promise to each other lasted three years. Willa was thirteen when she left for the Saint Louis girls' academy. There had been no word from her before she went, not even a hint that she was going. Sometimes it felt to him as if she had been whisked away, but when he asked, casually of course, if Willa had wanted to attend the academy, his mother assured him that Willa was looking forward to it, and she had that from Willa's own mother.

It was only a year after that he left for college in Virginia, and Willa had not yet returned. He did not stay in the East long, but it was already too late to repair what time and distance had put between them. He did not understand that immediately, but Willa made sure he figured it out.

Her contempt for him was tangible, and while it twisted his heart in the beginning, he eventually came to despise her for it. It never changed the fact that he still wanted to marry her.

Fuck her, and fuck her over. Poor Jesse Snow had only said what he had been thinking.

“It sure would make your father happy if she finally accepted,” Buster said. “The combined property would be the biggest spread in Colorado.”

Eli had nothing to say to that. He picked up his beer and drank.

*   *   *

Willa was quiet at supper. Only Happy and Annalea shared the meal with her. Zach was not back yet, and Cutter and Israel elected to eat in the bunkhouse.

“I don't know why they couldn't eat with us,” said Annalea. She plunged her fork into a dumpling that she had already pointed out was the size of an eyeball and held it up for inspection. Once she had fully examined it, she plopped it into her mouth and then moved it from one side to the other so her cheeks alternately ballooned.

Happy said, “Swallow the damn eyeball, Annalea.” He stabbed a small link of sausage and waggled it in front of her. “And then you can eat one of these fingers.”

Willa wanted to stab something, but it would have been an actual body part. “Don't encourage her, Pa.”

Happy blinked and lowered his fork. “Pa? It must have been a helluva day if you're calling me Pa.”

“Yeah, Willa,” Annalea said, swallowing hard. “You're looking a mite peaked. Are you feeling all right?”

“I'm fine. Tired, is all.” She eyed them both in turn. “And not in the mood for supper shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans,” Annalea repeated. “I
do
like that word.
Kind of comical, isn't it? I think it sounds exactly like what it is.” She shoveled sauerkraut onto her fork and slowly raised it to her lips. She watched the fork approach until her eyes crossed, then she slanted a look at her father and mouthed the words “shredded brains.”

Willa said tiredly, “Sauerkraut doesn't look a thing like shredded brains. More like you flayed and boiled someone's skin.”

“Gross,” said Annalea. “Sure, you can play, Willa.”

That eased a chuckle out of Happy. He tucked into his food again. “You haven't said how it went with Israel.”

“That's probably a conversation for later,” she told him. She saw Annalea's shoulders fall. “That's right. I intend to exclude you.”

“I am ten. You remember I had a birthday, don't you?”

Willa ignored that. “There was a moment on the ridge that he thought he recalled something, but there's been so much talk among us about it, that he was not confident that it was a true memory.” When Annalea frowned, Willa explained, “You know, like how you insist you were there when Zach fell in the ravine over Blue Knob way.”

“I have it clear in my mind.”

“I know. But you weren't but three years old when it happened and nowhere near Blue Knob. You've just heard the story so many times you have images of it and that's what you're calling a memory.”

Happy told her, “But you're just really looking through someone else's album of photographs.”

“Well, that's disappointing,” Annalea said around another doughy eyeball. “Not for me. I mean for Israel. I think he was hopeful.”

In spite of what he had told her, Willa was not so sure. She let it pass. “He handled his mount fair to middlin'. Then again, Felicity led Galahad about by the nose so there wasn't much skill required on Mr. McKenna's part.”

“Israel,” Happy said. “He's told you to call him Israel. I don't know why you don't.”

“Because Annalea's here, and I am trying to teach her—”

“Stuff that.” Happy poked at another sausage. “You don't call him Israel when she's not around. You don't call him anything.”

She blew out an audible breath and spoke sharply. “Why are people questioning what I call other people? When did that become important?” When Happy and Annalea simply stared at her, she dropped her eyes to her plate and applied herself to her meal. “Never mind.”

Silence fell over the table. Annalea and Happy exchanged glances, but it was Happy who finally ventured to speak. “So about Israel's horse sense. What do you reckon?”

Aware her heart was racing, Willa took a moment to ease it into normal rhythm before she answered. “Mr. McKenna—Israel, I mean—has a decent seat. He's out of practice as a rider, but he wasn't hesitant or timid. I probably should have had Zach work with him before now.”

“Why didn't you?”

“What I had Israel doing freed Zach and Cutter to do other things, and they're experienced trainers. Well, not Cutter, but he's coming along.”

Amused, Happy said, “Well, he's got the part down pat where he's tossed and tumbled, I'll give you that. The boy's got rags for bones.”

“True, and that's the other reason I didn't put Israel on a horse earlier. I couldn't see the sense of him risking another injury.”

“Huh. Were you thinking that when you rode out of here hell bent for leather and dared to him to keep up?”

Willa opened her mouth and closed it again.

Happy was nodding his head. “That's right, Wilhelmina. I was coming around the barn and caught the tail end of that exchange. Now don't look at me like you wish I had been in the house drinkin'. I always took you for having a better heart than that.”

Willa set her fork down. “I
don't
wish you were drinking, and wherever you are is fine. I shouldn't have challenged him. You're right. He might have been hurt. I wasn't thinking.”

Happy whistled softly. “That's enough, girl. No need to
martyr yourself because you made a mistake. Good thing it doesn't happen often. Gettin' up and down off that cross will tucker you out.”

Annalea stared at Happy. “Pa! You ought not to say things like that.”