The Devil You Know (8 page)

“Just taking her to the corral to mingle with her friends. Why don't you follow me?”

Annalea showed Israel where to stand. He folded his arms across the corral's top rail, leaned into it, and almost sighed aloud with the relief it provided for his knee. Relaxing, he watched Zach lead Miss Dolly around the perimeter of the corral while Annalea chattered.

When Zach's circling brought him abreast of Israel again, the ranch hand slowed and regarded him with a gimlet eye. “You look like . . . well, I can't properly say because I've never seen the like before. You could scare crows. We keep a good-sized garden in the summer. Mostly squash is all that's left, but varmints and scavengers are always a problem no matter when they show up.”

Israel got the message. He wanted to ask questions about the ranch, about the location, even about what Zach did in the course of his day, but decided that inquiries would be treated with suspicion and likely misinterpreted. Zach moved along before he could change his mind.

Annalea climbed the rail with the agility of a monkey. She sat down at his elbow and pointed to Miss Dolly. “Isn't she beautiful? I wish we did not have to sell her, but that's what we do. Breed, raise, and sell them.”

“Do you ride?”

She regarded him from under raised eyebrows. “Of course.” She indicated a bay mare on the smallish side at the far end of the corral. “That's Ophelia. She's mine, and she's jealous because I have not spent any time with her today, and also because I said Miss Dolly was beautiful. She is very sensitive, is Ophelia.”

“I see.”

“And obedient.” Without warning, Annalea put two fingers to her lips and whistled shrilly. That sound drew the attention of every horse in the corral except Ophelia. It also brought John Henry running. “Mostly obedient,” Annalea said. “Would you like to meet her?”

Israel's ears were still ringing, and he felt a wave of nausea that probably had nothing at all to do with that jarring whistle. His head hurt, suddenly and abominably. “Another time. I'd like to go back to the bunkhouse.”

“But you've hardly seen anything.”

Zach was coming around again. “Annalea, escort him back. He's fair on his way to collapsing. I'd rather not carry him, and you can't.”

She hopped down, apologies spilling from her lips like bees fleeing the hive.

“It's all right,” Israel said. “I'm fine. We should save something for tomorrow, shouldn't we? The outhouse, for instance.”

Giggling, Annalea took him by the arm and led him on a slow, measured trek to the bunkhouse while John Henry circled them like a dervish.

*   *   *

Willa sought Zach out as soon as she returned to the ranch. He was splitting wood by the back porch, but he put down the axe when she came abreast of him.

“Is Cutter back?” she asked.

Zach shook his head. “Didn't expect either one of you to be gone this long, especially not you. I thought about riding out, but I didn't want to leave Annalea here with McKenna, and I didn't want to leave McKenna here with Happy.”

“Good thinking.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Nothing I'd hoped for. How is our patient?”

Zach reported on the morning's doings. “Annalea's been looking in on him off and on. She says he's always sleeping. She's in the barn taking care of Ophelia if you want to hear more.”

“I'm sure she'll bend my ear.” She threw a leg over the
saddle and swung down. “I'm concerned about Cutter. You could go and see what's happened to him now that I'm back.”

“You sure?”

She nodded and then held up a finger when Zach took a step toward the barn. “First, tell me what Happy's been up to.”

Zach pointed to the half cord of wood beside the porch. “Well, he was stacking for me, but I guess he got tired of that. The house or the barn would be my guess. Sorry, Willa, I can't keep an eye on him and get my work done.”

“I know. He's not your responsibility. Go on.” She handed him Felicity's reins. “Take her. I'll be along to care for her after I check the house for Happy.”

*   *   *

Israel held his breath as Happy tipped his chair back on two legs and set his heels on the bunk frame. The man had an uncanny balance when he was not drinking, or maybe it was not so much a natural talent as a habit that came from enjoying a slightly skewed view of his surroundings. Last night Happy's flask had been visible as a rectangular outline against his vest, but as far as Israel could tell this afternoon, he was not carrying it anywhere on his person.

And that, Israel thought, was a damn shame. A drink might have quieted the dull throbbing in his head. He released the breath he was holding and waited for Happy to come to the point of his visit. He had to suffer the older man's squinty-eyed scrutiny first.

Happy folded his arms across his chest. “Willa said you'd look worse today than you did when she brought you here, and by God, she was right.”

“I have the sense that she usually is.”

“Well, then, all the sense wasn't knocked out of you, 'cause it's true. Might be her most annoying trait, although I would have to think on that some. There are choices, you understand.”

Israel said nothing. He recalled that his father also had a list to choose from, but characterizing his flaws as annoying
would have been a compliment, and being right would never have been among them.

“You were lucky our little Annalea found you.”

“Yes.”

“You figure out who's responsible for your predicament?”

“Mostly I figure I am.”

“Do you? Now why do you think so? You remember something you maybe want to get off your chest?”

He shook his head. “Is that why you dropped in? To hear my confession?”

“Dropping in is neighborly, and I don't hold with confession. Damn papist nonsense if you ask me. As it happens, you're the only person on my land that I don't know as well as I know my own hairy ass. I was of a mind to change that.”

Israel resigned himself to another interrogation. Resignation came with a deep sigh and an unfortunate vision of Happy's hairy ass. “What do you want to know?”

“Your intentions.”

“My intentions?”

“Uh-huh. If you live.”

“If?”

“Jury's still out now, isn't it? What I heard from Annalea is that you hobbled around this morning and then came back here and slept. Every time she looked in on you, you were sleeping. Always in the same position. Never moved. She held a mirror under your nose to make sure you were breathing.”

“Clever girl.” Israel could have said he was playing possum again, that he hadn't wanted to be bothered by Annalea, but what good reason did he have for lying except custom? The truth was that he had never once heard Annalea either coming or going, and he should have felt her presence if she had been holding a mirror under his nose.

“Your head hurt?” asked Happy. “Looks like there's a lot of pain behind that eye.”

“It's not so bad.”

“Sure. You toss your breakfast?”

“Thought I might, but no.” Annalea had managed to get him back to the bunkhouse before he embarrassed himself
in front of her. The nausea passed once he was lying down and able to close his good eye.

“Not a doubt in my mind that you're concussed. Are you dizzy now?”

“No. It's passed.”

“I noticed you didn't shake your head.”

Israel smiled weakly. “It's probably better if I don't.”

“I've been concussed myself a couple of times.”

“So it doesn't kill you.”

“No, not unless something bursts under your skull. You feel like anything's going to burst?”

“No.”

“That's probably good, but I can't say for sure that you would feel it until it happens, then you'll drop dead. I've seen it. Happened to a friend of mine and the doc explained it to me.” He unfolded his arms and knuckled the underside of his chin thoughtfully. “Better to be optimistic about your chances, I think, and that brings me back to your intentions. You're not from around here. I'd know you if you were, even with that face. Seems like everyone wants to know where you were, but I'm wondering where you were going.”

“Can't say.”

“Because you can't remember or because you don't want to say?”

Israel realized that Happy Pancake was not to be underestimated when he was sober. The lie came easily to his lips. “I can't remember.”

“Huh. It's early days yet. It could still come to you.”

“Why is it important?”

“Well, if you recollect where you were going, you might move on. You might move on regardless, but it could be that you're already finding reasons to stay.”

“What reasons?”

“Your safety for one. No one's going to hurt you here.”

Israel's experience told him otherwise. “Willa said what happened to me happened on Pancake land, and we know she's always right.”

“It didn't start there, that's for damn sure, and that's why
I'm proposing another reason you might have for staying. Revenge. When you know who did this to you, you are going to want to get some of your own back.”

“Am I? Maybe I will take a page from scripture. Turn the other cheek.”

“Son, it looks like you already done that. Several times. Revenge ought to be your calling now.”

“Hmm.”

“There'd be work for you here if you stuck around while you sorted things out. You had no money on you.”

“So I keep hearing.”

“Annalea sure as hell didn't empty your pockets.”

“I didn't mean . . . never mind.”

Happy nodded, accepting an apology that was never quite given for a slight that was never intended. “You'll need a horse, tack, decent clothes, better boots, and food and sundries. Unless you mean to steal all that, in which case you'll be caught and hanged before you get out of the valley, you'll need money. You won't get credit unless you're settled somewhere and you can't get settled if you don't stay.”

Israel clamped a forearm over his eyes. “I'm dizzy now.”

Happy chuckled. “I bet. You can earn fair wages here.”

The bunkhouse had beds for eight. Only two others were being used. “If that's the case, why aren't there more men?”

“Just keep a few on this time of year. Zach's a fixture, but Cutter came in the spring and Willa kept him when she paid out last wages to the others. There was a fellow who was supposed to stay through the winter, Dave Huggins, but he took ill with a lung infection and decided to leave for warm climes. The others were already gone, and Willa said she'd make do. Now that you're here, I figure she doesn't have to.”

Israel lowered his arm. He flexed his fingers, making a loose fist that he eventually left that way. An infant had a better grip than he did. “What makes you think I know anything about ranching?”

Happy's wiry eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What makes you think I do? I had a look at your clothes and your shoes, and I got you figured for a whiskey drummer or some other kind of peddler. Hair tonic. Ladies'
necessaries. Curiosities from China or maybe Europe. Medical elixirs. Hell, your experience on a ranch isn't what matters. Once you're healed, you'll have two hands and two legs strong enough to use. We can put those to work.”

“You've been thinking on this pretty hard.”

“Some last night when I was holdin' up the wall over there, and some more this morning while I was still abed. But you haven't heard the best part.”

“I haven't? You mean there's something better than safety, revenge, and hard labor?”

“Hell, yes. There's my daughter. Willa's a looker, ain't she?”

Israel frowned as deeply as his swollen mouth and rigid brow would permit. “Pardon?”

“She's pretty.”

“Uh-huh.” Pretty hardly described her. She was damn near beautiful, probably would be once he could see her clearly. He had no difficulty recalling the features that were set in her oval face or how they were framed by loosely braided hair as dark as coffee. She had widely spaced eyes the same color as her hair and a slim nose placed dead center between them. The perfect symmetry ended at her wide mouth, which was canted slightly to one side. It was more noticeable when she spoke or smiled or, really, when she just breathed. The angled lift of that corner commanded attention, or at least it commanded his attention. That faint upward slant to her lips gave the impression that she was either harboring a secret or chronically skeptical. Both ideas intrigued him.

She had a long neck and slender shoulders and a willowlike suppleness to her long-legged frame that belied her strength. She dressed like a man but carried herself like a woman, and Israel imagined she did the work of both.

He continued to regard Happy with a wary eye. Nothing about Willa's looks or her demeanor gave him a clue as to the direction of Happy's thoughts because surely it could
not
be that the man was proposing a match.

“She's not married,” Happy said.

“I'm not sure I understand.” Actually, he was sure he didn't.

“That's it. She's not married.”

“Not for lack of offers, I suspect.”

“No, that's right, and I admit there were some proposals that she showed real good sense turning down. Trouble is, she's turned them
all
down, and now she's staring at spinsterhood.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-goddamn-four.”

“An old maid, then.”

Happy grunted, nodding.

Israel decided he might as well ask the question outright. “Why are you telling me?”

“The girl's got to marry someone sometime, don't she? Trying to motivate her, that's my aim. No harm giving you something to think about.”