The Devil You Know (17 page)

“I thought we were done talking about that.”

“The kiss? No. Why would you think that? Is that something you regret?”

“You're just coming at that question a different way. I don't know how I feel about it. I don't know how I am supposed to feel about it.”

“Supposed to? Are you under the impression there is a right answer here?”

Willa breathed in deeply through her nose. A moment later her lips parted with her slow exhale. “I've been kissed before,” she said.

“Of course.”

She looked at him sharply. “Why ‘of course'?”

“Because you said ‘yes' to Eli. In the three years you kept your engagement a secret, I supposed you and he eventually followed up on that blood oath.”

“Oh. Well, I didn't like it.”

“Perhaps if you and he had been older.”

“I didn't like it,” she repeated.

“All right.”

“So I didn't expect I might come to a different opinion.”

One of his dark brows kicked up. “And . . .”

“I did. Come to a different opinion, that is. I liked it.”

Israel removed one hand from his pocket and held up an index finger. “Just to be clear,” he said. “How long ago did you begin entertaining this new view?”

Willa did not try to hide that the question puzzled her. Her brows folded together. “It's been two weeks,” she said flatly, wondering why he didn't know that.

“Ah. So we
are
talking about the kiss in your kitchen.”

“
I
am. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

But then she did. Before he could explain himself, it came to her that he was wondering about the man who was responsible for her new perspective. He hadn't known he was that man. Perhaps he had been hopeful, optimistic as he said earlier, but he wasn't sure, and now she was not sure she should have told him.

“Never mind,” she said, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “I understand why you were asking, and I certainly hope you do not mean to crow or strut or beat your chest. I liked the kiss just fine, but maybe for all the practice you've had, I should've liked it better.”

Israel gave a shout of laughter that surprised even him. Willa's head snapped back against the stall wall with a resonating thump, some of the horses snuffled, others nickered, Galahad snorted loudly, and John Henry raised his head and gave Israel an unhappy look before he settled his nose on his paws again and closed his eyes.

“You know, Willa, if any other woman told me that for all my practice maybe she should have liked the kissing better, I would take it as a challenge. But it's you, so I expect you meant nothing more by it than to put me in my place, maybe keep my head from swelling so big that my hat won't fit.”

“It's your pride I was swiping at,” she said a shade defensively. “That other thing you said about putting you in your place, that wasn't my intention.”

“Wasn't it?” he asked. “You do it frequently.”

Instead of denying it outright, she said, “I do?”

He shrugged. “All part and parcel of you being the boss lady, I expect. You probably can't help it.”

She sat up straight. “Do the others think like that? That I put them in their place? Does Cutter? Lord, does Zach?”

“I can't recall that you've ever done it to them. Certainly not to Zach. Maybe Cutter when he first came, but I can't speak to that. You didn't ask about Happy, though.”

Willa's silence was telling.

“I suppose he struggles the same as I do,” Israel said. “I realize Happy's lost his way in a bottle, and me? I've just lost my way. That's why any place you put me right now mostly feels tolerable, but you should know that it won't always, and that time will come sooner if we're married.
Happy says you will never give me a part in running this ranch. Is he right?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. I didn't believe him.”

“I'm not going to give you anything. You have to earn it. Happy's different. He has to earn it back.”

“That's fair.”

“Happy doesn't always think so.”

“No, I don't suppose he does.”

“Did he tell you he almost lost the valley to Malcolm Barber shortly after my mother died?” When Israel shook his head, Willa went on. “He started drinking—hard drinking—when she first took ill with the cancer. That was four months before she died, and he slipped away from us before she did. She said she understood, and perhaps she did, but I didn't. We needed him.
She
needed him. After Mama was gone, so was he. He spent weeks at a time in Jupiter. I don't know if he was whoring, but he was drinking and gambling, and that attracted Malcolm's attention. Mal got my father into a high-stakes poker game, probably with no coercion whatsoever, and proceeded to strip him of his cash on hand, his money in the bank, his horse, his saddle, and when there was nothing else left, Mal put the promise that I would marry Eli on the table.”

“The promise that you would . . .” Israel's voice faded away. He shook his head to clear it. “You're not married to Eli, so what changed?”

“In spite of Happy's condition, he still had enough sense not to agree to that wager. He straight up offered the deed to the ranch instead.”

“Jesus,” Israel said under his breath.

“Yes. He had it in his mind that he was saving me, naturally with no thought to the fact that he was risking everything I loved.”

Israel could only imagine one outcome, but he had to ask. “What happened?”

“He won. Full house, three queens, two sixes. Mal had a spade flush. A good hand, but not good enough this time. Folks watching the card play told me later that there was a
suspicion that Mal cheated to get his flush, but no one dared call him out, and it wasn't their place anyway. They were bystanders to that little drama, and only Mal and Happy were still in the game. Zach arrived late, too late to intervene, and I swear to you that having to stand there helplessly while the hand played out just about killed him. He brought Happy back and told me what happened. I thought he was going to quit, and I hardly could have blamed him if he had. I wanted to take a whip to Happy, but he was so pathetic, crying and slobbering all over himself, begging to be forgiven, promising to never take another drink, that I fired a shot at his feet instead and walked away.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“He stopped crying,” she said.

“It's a wonder he didn't stop breathing.”

“That would have been my second shot.”

She said this last with considerable dryness, but Israel was not entirely convinced that she didn't mean it. He didn't ask her, though. There should be mystery, he decided.

“I think I understand what Happy needs to do,” he said. “I'm still wondering what you expect from me.” He stopped her before she charged ahead with a list. “Not as one of your hands, Willa. As your husband.”

Her lips parted and then closed.

“You understand there is a difference, don't you? As the first, I work for you. As the second, I work with you.”

She slowly nodded. “Yes, but you still have to learn all the same things. Riding, busting, mustering, herding, branding, shooting, digging, shoveling, mending, planting, weeding, accounting, canning, and cussing.” She sucked in a breath. “I'll give you the last. You have a fair grasp there.”

“I'm decent with a shovel, too.”

She laughed on a breath. “Sure, there's plenty you can do, and plenty more you can learn if you have a mind to. Frankly, I've been wondering. I meant what I said. I won't give you anything.”

“And I meant what I said,” he told her. “That's fair.”

“It'll be no different in the bedroom.”

That made his eyebrows climb his forehead. “At the risk
of you taking another swipe at me, I am relatively confident there are things I can do in the bedroom. I won't list them. It would embarrass even me.” If he had not been watching her closely, he might have missed the wash of color that suffused her skin. Her cheeks glowed gold and rose in the lantern light.

Smiling to himself, satisfied with this result, he said, “Zach is teaching me how to throw a lasso.”

“He is?”

“And I've seen a lot of the property at one time or another, riding out with Cutter or Happy.”

“When have you done that?”

“At night. Had to do it then, otherwise you would have known, and we were all busy during the day so there really wasn't time. And I guess I should tell you about some things I can do. For instance, we had a garden back in Herring. A big one because my parents were in favor of eating and sharing the fruits of my labor. Quill's, too. He wasn't exempt from the planting and weeding and canning. Preserving as well. You didn't mention that. You also didn't mention butchering and smoking meat. My father liked to hunt, and he took Quill and me when he thought we were old enough. I know how to dress a deer, prepare venison and jerky, so I guess I would be a help in the smokehouse no matter what meat you're preparing. Hunting is also how I know I'm not much good with a gun. Now my brother, he was a savant. By all accounts, he still is. And about accounts? I can keep them. I know about credits and balances and receivables. I had to learn it for the church and the missions. I am not without skills you need here. True, I can't rope worth a damn yet and I've never mustered or branded or herded, but Zach will bring me along. He swears he's going to make a cowman out of me.”

“I had no idea,” she said somewhat distantly.

“I know.”

“And you play the piano.”

Israel ginned, dimple flashing. “Not much call for that here. Not any call really.”

“There's a piano.” Willa's wistful smile transformed her face when it reached her eyes. “It was my mother's. She played. Beautifully, I think. She taught Annalea some tunes,
but I never had an interest, nor do I believe I had any talent for it.”

“A piano? Where is it?”

“In the front room. I don't suppose you've been in there.”

“Never past the kitchen.”

“Perhaps that's something that can change. Annalea hasn't touched the keys since Mama died. No one has. If she heard you play . . .” Willa shrugged. “Maybe . . . maybe it would be good to have music in the house again.”

Israel drew up his legs and leaned forward, setting his forearms on his knees. He loosely clasped his hands together as he regarded Willa openly and with no apology for making her squirm.

“I want to kiss you, Willa. Does that surprise you?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Does it alarm you?”

“A little.” She lifted her chin and added quickly, “But not because I'm scared.”

“No. Of course not. Does anything scare you?”

“There are . . . things.”

“Spiders?”

“Now you're mocking me.”

“I'm not.”

“Hmm. Are you going to kiss me?”

“I'm working up to it. You scare me.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Come here.” He sat up and made a pocket for her between his knees. He held out his hands, palms up, fingers curled slightly toward him. The invitation was clear, and he was in no expectation that she would take him up on it, but in spite of that he waited, and then waited longer, and finally, when he was at the point of withdrawing, he said her name softly. “Wilhelmina.”

She shrugged off the blanket that lay across her shoulders and breasts, the one that he had tucked around her to protect her from the cold, and quite possibly from him as well. When she stood, the blanket across her lap fell to the barn floor. She stepped over it, hesitated, and then took a breath and the last three steps to close the distance between them.
She laid her palms against his. His fingers slipped under the sleeves of her robe and her shift and circled her wrists. Just as before, he exerted very little pressure to bring her closer.

Israel eased her onto one of his knees. She wobbled a bit there and pulled her wrists away so she could grasp his shoulders. He slipped an arm under her calves and lifted, bringing his knees together so she was securely in his lap. He placed one hand on her hip, the other at her back. A shiver went through him.

“You
are
cold,” she said. “Let me get a blanket.”

He shook his head. “I'm the opposite of cold.” He watched her think about that, watched the traces of perplexity fade as she worked it out. Her brow smoothed, one corner of her mouth lifted, and her black coffee eyes filled with the light of comprehension.

“Oh,” she said.

He laughed low in the back of his throat. “Yes. Oh. Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Good. I was thinking that maybe this time you could kiss me, and we'd see how that goes.”

“But this was your idea.”

“So is this. You begin. I'll follow.” He waited, eyebrows raised in patient expectation. He was careful not to challenge her. She would not have hesitated to meet that, but it was not what he wanted. He could sense her caution, just as he had sensed it in the kitchen, and what he wanted was her trust. Everything he had said about the kiss they shared was true, but then he had not mentioned that he suspected she had been anxious, perhaps even afraid, and what followed was her proving that she wasn't. He did not believe he was the sole source of her wariness. There was something else that made her pause, something that she reflected on before she could move ahead.

It happened now. He could see it was not a puzzle that occupied her; it was a memory. Her eyes were distant, vaguely unfocused, but they moved slightly as though she were reading or reviewing an image in her mind's eye. It did not last long, and it would have been easy to miss if he had
not been looking for it, and it was easy to forget when her mouth touched his.

She sought his lips tentatively at first, brushing them so lightly it was the warm whisper of her breath that he felt, not the pressure of her mouth. When his lips curved in a faint smile, she tilted her head and put her lips to his again, this time matching the curve. Her mouth opened and she sipped on his upper lip. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as she sought purchase. She held on as though she thought he might dislodge her from his lap.

It was the very last thing Israel wanted. He held her firmly, and when her mouth covered his again, he applied pressure in return. Her lips parted and then so did his, and the kiss that had been so sweetly started became lusty and carnal. Her mouth slanted across his and the tip of her tongue traced the line between his lips and along the ridge of his teeth. He sucked it into his mouth, twisting his tongue around hers, teasing her with forays and retreats, forcing her to explore and expand her awareness of him.

It was clear to Israel now that Willa had to know he was the one she was kissing. Above all else, she had to know that, and it meant familiarity with the taste and heat and smell of him. When she broke off the kiss and buried her hot face in the curve of his neck and breathed deeply, he was satisfied with that because to his way of thinking, it meant she was learning. He was also selfishly relieved that she did not remain there long.

Her mouth came back to his. Her lips were damp, succulent. She tasted of peppermint and more faintly of whiskey. He heard her breath catch and he liked that little hiccup, liked it for reminding him that it was something they shared. The breath that wasn't trapped in his throat, she had already taken away.

She briefly hummed her pleasure against his mouth. It was light and soft and it tickled his lips. It was not, thank the Lord, “Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring,” but the thought that it could have been made him choke back a chuckle.

Willa pulled back, searched his face, suspiciousness in hers. “What was that?”

He made a show of swallowing hard. “That was ticklish.”

“What? What was?”

“The humming.” And to keep her from thinking about it too deeply, he put his lips against hers and did the same. He felt the change in the shape of her mouth under his. She was smiling, and then she hiccupped again, but this time it was because she was trying to hold on to a laugh. He knew because he felt the first stirrings of it with the hand he had against her back.