The Devil You Know (35 page)

Willa had no difficulty picking up Israel's trail once she got beyond where the other horses had trampled the fresh powder, and it was not long after she found it that she heard the first shot. She continued to ride toward Beech Bottom, hoping all the while that he not ridden Galahad into the bowl.

He had not. Israel was easy to spot as soon as she came over the rise. He and Galahad were both dark figures in a vast white canvas. Seeking no protection against the occasional gusts of wind, Willa held Felicity back and watched Israel. He would have seen her easily if he had turned around, but his concentration was all for what he was doing.

From where she was sitting astride Felicity, it appeared that Israel was shooting into a bulky mound of snow that stood considerably higher than the snow around it. She had a glimpse of something black on the ground a few feet behind the mound but slightly off to one side. She squinted, realized that what she was seeing was Israel's hat, and pressed her gloved fist to her mouth to smother her laughter.

Israel Court McKenna had built a snowman. She admired the improvisation even as it made her chuckle. The Stetson, off to the side as it was, had probably been sitting on top of the snowman's head at one point, but whether Israel had shot his hat off by accident or design, or whether a gust had swept it away, she had no idea. In her heart, for his sake, she was rooting for the shot to have been deliberate.

Willa would have liked to move closer, but she did not want to give herself away. He had obviously left the ranch to avoid distractions as well as the scrutiny and advice his target practice would have invited. She could not tell if he was wearing
the spectacles, but when she watched him draw and shoot dead center into the snowman's chest, she thought he was. He made three more good shots, all of them clipping the snowman, before he paused to reload. When he holstered the Colt and began walking toward his target, Willa realized she had to make a decision whether to advance or retreat. If she didn't choose the latter, Israel would see her as soon as he finished whatever he was about to do and turned to come back.

Retreat was an inviting alternative, but it wasn't her way, especially when she had Annalea's observations to pass along. Willa pressed her heels into Felicity's sides and advanced.

Israel picked up his Stetson, beat it against his thigh a few times to remove the snow, and then examined it for damage. He found the hole just above the braided leather hatband and resisted the temptation to poke it with his little finger. Nodding to himself, satisfied, he settled the hat on his own head instead of returning it to the snowman. He had a critical eye for his creation and began patching pockmarks. The fresh powder was useless for this task, but he dug deep under it and came up with wetter, heavier snow to do the job. He was nearly finished when he scooped up a large handful with a different intent in mind. Packing and rolling it into a ball, he pivoted sharply and threw it hard at Willa. It glanced off her shoulder, which was close enough to his target to satisfy him.

“Hey!” she called to him, still forty feet away. She pointed to her shoulder before she dusted it off. “How did you do that?”

“I didn't think about it.” Israel touched one stem of his spectacles. “And these helped.”

“I'm sure, but you're not wearing them behind your head. I thought I was sneaking up on you.”

“Then you're not quite the Calico Nash you think you are.”

She laughed. “No. I don't suppose I am, but then again, I don't make my living hunting bounties.” She brought Felicity alongside Galahad before she dismounted. “I haven't read anything about her in the papers for quite a while. Used to be you'd see her name in the
Rocky
for collecting a bounty on one miscreant or another.”

Before Willa could pose the question Israel could see that she was itching to ask, he said, “No. She never arrested
me. I wasn't worth all that much as a bounty, and I worked outside her territory.”

“Huh.” She came up beside him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him full on the mouth. When she disengaged, she was a bit less steady on her feet but in a very nice way. “Still, it's kind of odd that you'd mention Calico Nash.”

“I was just making the obvious comparison. She's a woman. You're a woman.” He looked Willa over, from her well-worn hat to the lived-in boots. “I imagine you both dress in a manner befitting your work, except I don't quite get a picture of her wearing a red scarf.”

Willa smiled as she fingered it at her throat. “It's nice, though, isn't it?”

“Very fetching. And highly visible. I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye when I was making repairs.” He used his thumb to point to the snowman behind him. “This fellow at my back is the appropriately named Mr. Roundbottom. I don't know his whole story, but I have it on my own authority that he is a bad man, wanted for crimes that are so heinous they cannot be repeated in front of gentle company such as yourself.”

“Fool,” she said, not unkindly. “I was watching for a while. From what I could see, you did very well. And your snowball pitch was quite excellent.”

Israel was uncomfortable with her praise. He gave her what he hoped was a modest shrug. “Like I said, I didn't think about it. Quill used to tell me that was my problem, that I took too much time in consideration of the act. Of course, he didn't know about my eyesight, but even so, I think he might have been right. He said that I needed to do all my considering before I even set out with a gun. If I was carrying, I should have already decided I meant to use it. That way, there'd be no hesitation. Pulling the trigger would be second nature.”

“Like when you threw the snowball.”

“Yes, like that.” He saw her eyes lift to his hat and knew precisely when she located the hole because she grinned.

“On purpose,” he said, pointing to it. “Doesn't make a lick of sense to be proud of putting a hole in my own hat, but there you have it.”

“Annalea was wrong about you not being much improved. Maybe you could be a gunslinger. Did you miss at all?”

He stepped aside so she could have a better view of his target and pointed out the patchwork. “I fired every round into him, not always exactly where I wanted, but I didn't miss him either.”

“Impressive. I mean it. Take the compliment, Israel. You earned it.” She picked up a handful of snow and started filling in where he had stopped. “Have you been practicing without anyone knowing? I can't even imagine how that would have been possible.”

“I never fired the gun, but I practiced drawing and steadying my arm. As for taking aim and shooting, I did that up here.”

Willa stopped what she was doing to look at him. At first she thought he was pointing to the ear stem of his spectacles again, but then she saw his forefinger was tapping his temple. “You practiced in your head?” she asked, straightening. “In your
head
?”

Her tone was so incredulous that Israel grinned even as his brow furrowed. “Don't you?” he asked. “Doesn't everybody sooner or later?”

“I don't know about everybody, but I can't say that I ever got good at anything by practicing it in my head.”

“Hmm. That's interesting. I do it a lot. Always have, but never about handling a gun. Whatever it is that you're thinking, it's no good if you only keep it in your head. You have to try it out, see if you have the hang of it.”

“And that's what you're doing here? Seems as if you might have worked out all the kinks.”

“Maybe. I'll know better after a few more rounds. You know, Willa, I spent a good bit of time in jail mapping out the path I meant to take when I was released. I got to where I could see it as clearly as the lines on my own palm. I was thinking about that last night after you fell asleep, and you know what I realized?”

“What?”

“Either because of what happened on that train, or in spite of it, I'm precisely where I wanted to be.”

Willa stared at him. She touched her throat. “Lord, but I love you.”

She launched herself at him so fiercely that Israel didn't have time to welcome her. He rocked back on his heels, lost his footing, and dropped with a thud into the snow. Willa followed him down. The fresh layer of snow powder swirled around them, dusting their clothes and hair and eyelashes, but the hard crust under it was as unforgiving as the frozen ground, and Israel groaned as he lay sprawled against it.

“I hope you're comfortable,” he said, staring past the snow smudging his spectacles and into her deeply amused eyes. He let her kiss the corner of his mouth and then his cheeks, melting snowflakes with her warm lips. “My backside is—”

“Shh,” she said. “Let me finish.”

He was hardly in a position to object, and he didn't really want to anyway. It was a damn shame there wasn't a decent shelter nearby, and he told her that as she was climbing off him. He accepted the hand Willa held out as he sat up and tried to rise from the depression they'd made in the snow. He stood, dusted himself off, and turned around so she could get his back. “What are you doing here? Didn't anyone tell you not to follow me?”

“No, no one did.”

He grunted softly as she slapped him across his shoulder blades with rather more force than was necessary. “You must have had that look in your eye when you asked them where I was. I bet they didn't even try bluffing. Do you see now why I don't play cards with them?” That got him a handful of snow down his back. He jumped away from her. “Now that was just mean,” he said, tugging at the collar of his coat. He jerked his head sideways. “Stand over there before I shoot you.”

Unrepentant, she gave him a cheeky grin. “Is that what you're practicing in your head now?”

He removed his spectacles and cleaned them carefully with a handkerchief. “Let's just say it's tiptoeing across my mind's eye. Now go.”

Still grinning, she went to where their horses were tethered while he returned to where he'd been standing to draw and fire.

Israel adopted a relaxed, yet watchful stance, removing Willa and her red scarf to the very corner of his peripheral vision. He pulled back his coat so the Colt was visible and within easy reach. He studied Mr. Roundbottom, imagining the man was studying him back. The way Israel saw it, it happened quickly. Roundbottom flinched first, telegraphing his intention to draw. Israel did not hesitate, and the bullet he fired pierced Roundbottom's black heart.

He did it five more times, every scenario playing out a bit differently, but all with the same result. He reloaded and backed up another ten yards and made four of six shots at a distance that he thought would have impressed his brother, perhaps even his brother's wife.

Willa cupped her hands around her mouth and called out to him, “Now you're just showing off.”

He chuckled and thought he probably was. He checked his pocket for cartridges and found he had five left. He slipped them into the cylinder and then walked half the distance to the target. Fanning the hammer as deftly as he had ever fanned a deck of cards, his excess of enthusiasm exploded poor Mr. Roundbottom's head.

The shots echoed for what Israel thought was a long time, but then he realized that there was only silence around him and that echo he heard was in his head. He lowered the Colt slowly and let it hang at his side for a few moments before he holstered it. He closed his coat, buttoned it, and turned to bring Willa full into his line of sight. He was not surprised that she was staring at him as if he were a stranger to her. Just then he was a stranger to himself.

Willa stepped away from the horses and began walking toward him. He put a hand up to stop her. After a long minute spent mastering his heartbeat, he went to her.

“Who was that?” she asked when he was standing in front of her. “I don't believe it was Mr. Roundbottom you killed in that rather stunning fashion.”

Israel turned to look at the shards of snow and ice that had been Malcolm Barber's head. He could not tell Willa that. It would frighten her. “You're wrong,” he said. “I told you. Roundbottom was a very bad man.” He met her gaze
directly and watched as she began to doubt her interpretation of what she had witnessed. He was on the point of telling her the truth, no matter how she might take it, but then her scrutiny ended and she slipped her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his shoulder, and stayed there.

Israel's arms circled her. He was not her shelter now. He had instantly recognized what was different about this embrace. She was holding him. He was holding on.

They parted at the same time as if by unspoken mutual agreement and headed for the horses. Israel gave Willa a leg up for no other reason than he wanted to. As soon as he was in the saddle, they turned Felicity and Galahad and started home.

The wind struck them squarely in the face on the way back. No new snow was falling, but what was lifted into the air by each gust made it equally hard to see. They both lowered their hats and pulled up their scarves so only their eyes showed. Israel stopped once to remove the spectacles and put them in his pocket, and while carrying on a conversation was not possible now, he had no difficulty hearing Willa's short burst of laughter.

They were in the barn before they could properly talk to each other. Israel handed Willa a blanket and told her to put it around her and he would take care of the horses. She was shaking with cold, which served to shorten her argument but not stop her from mounting one. Israel fought back by prying Felicity's reins from Willa's frozen fist and ignoring everything she said.

Willa sat huddled on a bench outside the stalls while Israel worked. She found another blanket to put over her lap and legs. “I really did have a reason for finding you,” she said when her teeth had stopped chattering.

“I figured. You want to tell me now?”

“Annalea told me this morning after you were gone that Mr. Easterbrook's horse had the Big Bar brand on its left shoulder.”