The Devil You Know

by Jo Goodman

  “Anything else?” she asked. “Toiletries? Socks?”

  “Boots. Mine are not going to last much longer.”

  She nodded but did not look down at them. “So you’re going to stay.”

  “For now.”

  “All right.” She took a step backward, started to turn, then hesitated and came back around. “Annalea will be glad to hear it. She’s afraid you’ll come to a bad end if you show your face in town.”

  “So she’s told me.”

  A shadow of a smile momentarily changed the shape of Willa’s mouth, angling one corner of it upward. “Of course she has. She doesn’t know how not to say what she’s thinking.” The tenor of the smile changed to self-mocking. “I reckon she comes by it honestly.”

  “I had that in my mind.”

  She laughed abruptly, lightly, on a breath, and then the moment passed and her chin lifted and her features settled soberly. “When you’re done here, go up to the house and ask Annalea to trace your feet. Wouldn’t hurt for her to make a hand trace, too.”

  Israel had cause to wonder if Willa had overshot the mark when she characterized him as a reasonably smart man. He did not ask, but he did frown as he puzzled it out.

  “So Zach can bring back boots and gloves that have a hope of fitting you decent.”

  “Oh.” He noticed that this time when she smiled, it was more of a smirk, but even that shaped her mouth in splendid fashion. Belatedly, he realized he was staring. He pulled his gaze and hefted the shovel. “I won’t be long.”

  She nodded shortly. “I’ve been thinking that it’s time you show me what you can do on a horse.”

  He lifted the business end of the shovel. “Instead of what I can do behind one, you mean?”

  “Something like that. I thought that after lunch you and I can ride out to where we found you. It’s time. Probably past time, but then you haven’t asked to see it either.”

  “I’m not asking now.”

  “I’m aware. Like I said. It’s time.”

  Israel lowered the shovel. “I’ve thought about going there.”

  “Have you? Happy and I talked about it. He says that maybe you don’t want to poke at your memory, that maybe there’s things you suspect but don’t want to know.”

  “What do you say?”

  “I say you haven’t asked to see the place because you remember more than you’re letting on and you’ve got no pressing need to go.”

  “Huh. You know, I tend to be a suspicious sort. As a newspaperman, cynicism served the job, especially when I was asking questions at city hall, but I have to say, I can’t hold a candle to you. So here’s what I’m wondering. Are you just naturally distrustful or is it a consequence of experience?”

  Willa regarded him without expression. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  * * *

  Annalea wanted to ride out with Willa and Israel, but Willa said it would have to be another time and remained firm in the face of her sister’s escalating arguments. She came within a hairsbreadth of sending Annalea away from the table, but Happy intervened with a quelling look in Annalea’s direction and that was that.

  That her father made an effort at all was impressive. Willa thought about that as she matched Israel’s steps toward the barn. “He’s changed some since you arrived,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, though.”

  “Whom are we talking about?”

  Willa realized Israel had not been privy to the thoughts that preceded her statement. There were times she wondered about that. It seemed to her that he had uncanny prescience where she was concerned. She recalled occasions when her thoughts were barely formed and he was suddenly speaking on the exact subject she had in mind or he was beginning a task that she was only on the verge of giving him. It was disturbing.

  He disturbed her. Her mind wandered when she was around him, the business at hand forgotten as she considered his eyes, his mouth, the loose-limbed way he held himself. Equally troubling, her mind wandered when he was not around. It was not so easy to identify the cause of the frisson under her skin or the ache that began in her chest and spread to that space between her thighs. His physical presence could not account for the whole of it. He exerted a subtler influence. What she finally acknowledged, reluctantly and unhappily, was that Israel McKenna reminded her she was a woman.

  “I was talking about Happy.”

  Israel hunched his shoulders against a blast of cold air that sent an eddy of powdery snow in his direction. His eyes darted sideways. “I’ve noticed you rarely call him ‘Pa’ or ‘Father.’ Why is that?”

  What it was, was something she did not care to talk about. “He prefers it to Shadrach.”

  “I imagine. He told me why he’s been called Happy all his life, but it doesn’t explain why you call him that.”

  “No. It doesn’t.” She had nothing more to say on the subject and waited to see if he would let it go or stir it with a stick.

  “All right,” Israel said easily. “In what way has Happy changed?”

  “He pays more attention to Annalea,” she said. “Or maybe it’s that he gives her better attention than he used to.”

  “Why would my arrival bring about that kind of change?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t even know if you have anything to do with it, but you came, and he’s different. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  “Maybe he’s not different at all,” said Israel.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe what’s changed is how you see him.”

  “Hmm.” She was inordinately relieved to reach the barn. “You’re going to ride Gal. You think you can manage him?”

  “I think I can.” Galahad was a three-year-old black gelding whose name was shortened to Gal when he ceased to be a stallion. “I treat him like he’s still a king,” he told Willa. “And he treats me with contempt.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She pointed out the tack she wanted him to use. “When you’re on his back, you need to be the king and you need to let him know it. He’ll respond to that. He still has plenty of spirit, but he’s not wild and unpredictable the way he used to be.”

  “That’s what got him castrated?”

  “Uh-huh.” Willa grinned as Israel paused, his hand hovering over the saddle blanket. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

  He looked over his shoulder at her, one eyebrow raised. “It does a lot more than that.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Laughter bubbled to her lips and spilled over like the froth on a cherry phosphate from Maxwell’s soda counter. She was aware that not only was he still watching her from under that raised eyebrow, but he had somehow managed to raise it another notch. It was when the vaguely wicked grin appeared that Willa reined herself in. He ought not to look like that, she thought, or at the very least, he ought not to look at her like that.

  He had remarkably brilliant blue-gray eyes. She had seen that at the occasion of their introduction, and her opinion of them had not changed. She could hardly admit to herself that it had been something of a relief when the one eye was swelled shut for a time. Owning to that made her seem weak in character, when the larger truth was that those eyes, or rather the way he looked at her out of them, made her weak-kneed.

  She did not know what accounted for him being able to bring everyone else into his fold. He was not overtly charismatic, but he did have an easy way about him that she supposed people might call charming. Whatever it was, in the two months Israel McKenna had been at the ranch, he had captivated Annalea, earned Zach’s respect, Happy’s trust, and John Henry’s devotion. Even Cutter had come around and stopped poking at him. No one called him Mr. Roundbottom anymore.

  Willa thought of herself as a holdout, but there were times, like now, that she suspected she was merely holding on. Her laughter abruptly ended.

  Israel watc
hed her a moment longer. “All right, then,” he said. “We’re done with that.” He picked up the saddle blanket and laid it over Gal’s back.

  Feeling a little foolish, Willa stood as though rooted. It wasn’t until Israel asked if she needed help with Felicity’s bridle that she was moved to go to her mount. She watched Israel out of the corner of her eye while she brushed Felicity before she settled a blanket on her.

  Israel worked with an economy of motion that Willa admired. He moved easily and confidently around Galahad, with a familiarity that she had not observed before. He put the stirrup and girth over the saddle and then hoisted the saddle onto Gal’s back. She opened her mouth to remind him to set the saddle so the horn was on top of Galahad’s withers, and closed it again when he adjusted it to the correct position and made certain the saddle was lying evenly on the blanket. He released the stirrup, pulled down the girth, and then slung it under Gal’s belly so that it fit behind the gelding’s front legs. Gal snorted, moved a little restlessly, but Israel did not balk and Gal quieted. In short order, Israel fed the cinch strap through the rings, then tucked and tugged it to take up the slack.

  He was already outside, mounted and waiting for her, when she finished. Willa stood at Felicity’s shoulder and held the reins in her left hand. Some sixth sense caused her to look up suddenly, and she saw a hint of amusement in the line of Israel’s mouth. He did not even try to mask it. In fact, his narrow smile became a grin and the dimple that maddened her with its irregular appearances showed itself at the right corner of his lips.

  “Well?” he asked. “Did I earn passing marks?”

  Willa felt her cheeks grow warm and did not thank him for it. She put one foot in the stirrup and her hand on the horn. With the unconscious agility and grace of long practice, she put a spring in her step that helped her swing her right leg up and over Felicity’s back. She landed as gently in the saddle as a wren on a perch.

  “Let’s see how you ride,” she said. “Then we’ll talk about your grade.” Eyes forward, her body a straight line from ear to heel, she squeezed Felicity with both boot heels and clicked her tongue. “Try to keep up.”

  It was not very long before she was flying.

  Chapter Six

  Israel could feel Galahad’s muscles bunch as he prepared to give chase, but he held the horse back. Gal might have the strength and speed to catch Felicity, but not with Israel on his back. There was a surer way to come alongside Willa, and it was not to give her the race she wanted. It was to make her wait.

  It was not exciting, but it was smart.

  Israel held Galahad to an easy walk, making the gelding’s rhythm his own so he was not working against his horse but with him. If Cutter was right, and he had ridden out with the men who tried to kill him, then eight weeks ago was the last time he had been on a horse. Before that, the best he could do was guess. It made sense that he had arrived in Jupiter by train; therefore, when he searched his mind going backward, he figured he had not ridden in well over a year. He reasoned he was going to be sore tomorrow, but he was damned if he’d let Wilhelmina Pancake know.

  Israel and Gal eventually came abreast of Willa and her mount. Felicity was pleased to see Galahad and sidled close enough to nose him until Willa pulled her back. In contrast, Israel noted, Willa was in no manner pleased. She had her teeth set tightly enough to make a muscle tick in her jaw. Her anger ran to cold, not hot, so her face was not flushed with high color but drained of it. Her dark eyes glinted, but it was because they were frozen over. Her gaze, when it settled on his face, was implacable.

  Israel was careful not to show that he was satisfied with this outcome.

  “Well,” she said finally, pulling Felicity around, “you stayed in your saddle.”

  He pretended to be oblivious to her sarcasm and went so far as to inject a touch of pride in his voice when he responded. “I did, didn’t I?”

  Willa snorted. She put her heels into Felicity’s sides and said, “Walk.”

  Israel nudged Gal to do the same. “How far is it?” he asked.

  “A mile and a bit.”

  He nodded. “I can’t get a sense of the place in my mind. It’s close to a stream?”

  Willa waved a hand to indicate the land around them. “It looks like this. High grass, clusters of trees, mostly pine, a rise not too far distant, and yes, there is a stream. A run, we call it. Potrock Run. There was no powder on the ground then, but snow was in the air.”

  “How will you know the place now?”

  Willa shrugged. “I just will. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “Except for the time you were in Saint Louis.”

  Her head snapped sideways in his direction. “What?”

  The sharpness she managed to summon for that single word caught Israel by surprise. His eyebrows lifted, but he said evenly, “I thought you were in Saint Louis for a couple of years, or did I misunderstand?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  She posed this question less sharply than she had the previous one, but Israel could not miss that she was still guarded. He did not like giving Annalea up, but he did not see that he had a choice. Willa probably suspected the source of his information anyway. “Annalea mentioned that you attended a school for girls there.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I think it was in regard to her practicing good manners when you’re around.”

  Willa turned her head to face forward once more. “Hmm,” she repeated.

  “She said you’ve threatened to send her there.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Willa’s shoulders relax. Still, it was a long time in his estimation before she spoke, and he wondered if she was regretting her initial response.

  “Promised, not threatened,” Willa said at last. “And I might do it yet.”

  Israel could not gauge how serious she was. He decided the wiser course was not to ask for clarification. He would have liked to ask her about the school, about her experience there, but he deemed both those subjects to be untouchable for the moment. Instead, he said, “I suppose you’re familiar with every inch of your land.”

  “I don’t know about every inch, but I have a good sense for the lay of it. If you’re still here in the spring, you’ll be able to ride out with Zach and Cutter for roundup.”

  Spring seemed a long way off just now. There had been two significant snowfalls since his arrival, but Zach had been quick to point out that neither should be confused with the heart of winter. They were sideshows, not the main event. “You’ll take on new hires then, won’t you?”

  “Yes. At least four.”

  “Ever have a woman come looking for a wrangler job?”

  “No. Never. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  Willa glanced at him. Cynicism exaggerated the slant of her mouth so that it was almost a smirk. “Just wondering, hmm? You sure you don’t want to tell me that kind of curiosity is part and parcel of being a newspaperman?”

  “Former newspaperman,” he said, “And maybe it is, but I’m not writing a story.”

  “Damn well better not be,” she muttered.

  Israel’s chuckle stayed in the back of his throat, where he could cover it with an abrupt cough and clearing. He was aware of Willa’s suspicious regard, but he gave her no reason to comment.

  Willa’s attention turned once again to the trail, and she pointed ahead of them and to the left. “There’s the run. We’ll follow it about a quarter of a mile. The place where Annalea found you will be around the first easy bend we come to.”

  Israel followed the line of her finger pointing to the run and then continued along the bank. He could not yet see the bend she was talking about. “I never got a good sense of what Annalea was doing out here.”

  “We probably seem farther away from the house than we actually are. This is just a meandering walk for her and John Henry, but I recall th
at she said she was looking for water.”

  “Well, she found Potrock.”

  Willa smiled, nodded. “I know. I pointed that out to her. She did not think it was very funny. She had some idea that she was going to discover an underground source. Apparently she found what she claimed was a divining rod and was using it to guide her.”

  “That would be the two-pronged stick she poked me with,” he said dryly.

  “You remember that?”

  “I do. I would have been satisfied just then if she had left me for dead. Instead she gave me a good poke to see if I was done.”

  “Annalea is thorough.”

  “Hmm.”

  Willa drew back on Felicity’s reins and the mare stopped. “Here we are.”

  Galahad also halted his forward progress. Israel slowly looked around, first in the immediate area where they were standing, and then farther afield. He noted the rise and ridge she had talked about, and knew from previous conversations that he had been dragged down from it, but the path he might have taken was unknown to him.

  “Nothing about this place is familiar. Are you certain this is it?”

  “This is it.”

  He nodded slowly as he continued to survey the ground around him. He pressed his left knee into Galahad’s side and the horse turned right. Israel kept up the pressure, moving Gal steadily in a clockwise circle. He kept Willa as his center point when he widened the route.

  She watched him, turning in her saddle to follow his progress. He made two loops before she asked, “Anything? Anything at all?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you disappointed?”

  “Some, yes. You?”

  “Same. I thought . . .” She shook her head, released the breath that had lodged in her throat. “This probably had no chance of working.”

  He gauged that her sense of failure was as keen as his. Disappointment was merely the word they were hiding behind. “Maybe if we ride up to the ridge,” he suggested. He watched her glance uncertainly in that direction and added, “What would be the harm? Unless you think we might run into your neighbors?”