by Jo Goodman
“Mm-hmm.” She drew it the air with her fingertip. “Long bar beside an uppercase B. Everyone’s shown it to me now and again, even you, and I’ve seen it on Big Bar cattle that get through a fence and into our herd. John Henry and me chased a few strays back in our time.”
In other circumstances, Willa might have been able to muster a smile, but not now. Not when it concerned the Barbers. “You’ve never crossed the fence line, have you? Never gone onto Big Bar land?”
“No. Never. I wouldn’t. Pa said the trolls would get me.”
“Ah. The trolls. I’d forgotten. Did you ever believe him?”
“No, well, not for a long time, but I figured it’d be bad if I trespassed, so I never did. Not once.”
“Good girl.” Willa patted the hand Annalea still rested on her shoulder. “Let’s go in the kitchen. I promise you, I’ll eat quickly, and then we’ll go find someone to tell. Hell, Annalea, we’ll find everyone.”
* * *
It was a slog through the new powder and drifts, some of them as high as Annalea’s shoulder. Willa kept her close. Someone had already run rope lines from the house to the outbuildings in the event of a sudden squall. They’d all heard stories of people frozen twenty yards from shelter because they’d lost their bearings in a blizzard.
Annalea observed that anyone looking down on the ranch must see something that resembled a spider’s web with all the buildings being tethered to it like so many flies. Willa couldn’t disagree, and it was another reminder that Annalea saw things from a perspective that others missed.
Willa and Annalea crossed everyone’s path except Israel’s. When they inquired as to his whereabouts, Happy, Cutter, and Zach all had a different idea about where he’d gone. Not one of them believed he had left the valley, but that hardly reduced the area she would have to cover to find him. The only thing they agreed on was that he was strapped and carrying extra ammunition in his pockets. That certainly suggested that he had gone somewhere for target practice.
Willa decided that she would saddle Felicity and head out, while Annalea shared her very interesting observation with everyone.
* * *
Jesse Snow stepped outside the bunkhouse when he saw Eli trudging toward it. Today was not the day they had talked about riding into Jupiter. That was supposed to be tomorrow, but Jesse had a feeling that last night’s squall had contributed to Eli changing his mind. The heir to Big Bar was just too damn impatient to follow his own plan. Eli was afraid that another storm would block the road and they wouldn’t get to Jupiter inside of a week.
Jesse yanked up the collar of his coat and tucked his chin. He slapped his hands against his arms to keep warm while he waited for Eli and used his body to bar the way when Eli would have made straight for the door.
“Gotta talk here,” said Jesse. “There are a couple of fellows in the bunkhouse. Hammond and Keller. If you’re looking for me, then we need to talk here.”
“I’m looking for you. Where’s Buster?”
“In the smokehouse with Adam Rockwell. What is it?” Just as if he didn’t know.
“I want to go to Jupiter.”
“Your father all right with that?” Jesse was not surprised that Eli took offense to the question. “Sorry, but I’m not crossing Malcolm.”
“It was his idea. He’s been waiting for some contracts. Weather’s got him aching, so I’m going to ride in and see if they’re there. Just that easy.”
“And did you clear it for me to go? I know you ain’t asked Buster yet, and he’s also got to say it’s all right with him.”
“Buster won’t raise an eyebrow. My father already approved it. There’s nothing much for you to do around here anyway. The way I figure it, it’s up to the cows to take care of themselves when it gets like this.” He jerked his head toward the barn. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
Jesse sighed heavily and his breath made the cold air visible. “Let me get my hat and gloves. I’ll be right behind you.”
* * *
Quill McKenna put an arm around his wife’s shoulders as they stared at the vast network of tracks on the map in the Denver rail station. East of the Mississippi the railroads were an intricate web, fanning out from business hubs on the Great Lakes like Toledo, Detroit, and Chicago, and on the Mississippi like Saint Louis and New Orleans. Farther west, the network dwindled to single tracks on a lonely journey across the Great Plains, the Rocky Mountains, and the Great Basin to the Pacific coast.
“If I stare at it too long,” said Calico, “I start seeing double of everything. Have you ever been through Des Moines?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know you don’t want to go through it twice.”
“Friendly people,” he said. He put up a hand, staving off her attempt to contradict. Des Moines was not worth a dispute. “Just concentrate on Denver. We know Israel made it this far.”
“If you hadn’t thought to ask about a rolling poker game, I don’t think the rail men we talked to would have remembered him. Until that game got underway, no one looked twice at your brother. From Chicago to Saint Louis, I get the sense he was about as noticeable as a penny in a change purse.”
“True.” Quill used his finger to trace tracks running from Denver to points west and south on the map. “I can’t decide if I want to congratulate him for making it as far as Saint Louis without taking up a game, or if I should plant my fist in his face for not avoiding cards the entire journey.” He shook his head, feeling frustration beginning to get the better of him. “Look at us standing here, better than a hundred miles from where we belong, trying to decide which one of these damn arteries he might have taken out of Denver.”
Calico leaned into her husband as she followed the finger tracings he made. She said practically, “Well, we know he didn’t arrive in Temptation, and we’ve made inquiries as we traveled from there to here, so I think we can safely eliminate that line.”
“I’m going to pretend that’s helpful,” said Quill, “and there aren’t seven other routes he could have taken. If he won at the table, and I told you that he usually does, then he might not have boarded another train immediately. He could have very well taken his winnings and found a fancy hotel and a fancy woman and stayed in the city until his luck or his money ran out.”
Calico nodded reluctantly. “I was thinking along the same lines, but here is my suggestion for what to do about it. We are going to find a fancy hotel and get a room for a couple of nights while we ask around after your brother. We should be able to learn enough to set us on the right track—literally—especially now that we know Israel took up the name ‘Buck McKay’ again.” She stepped away from Quill and searched his face. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
He tried to shrug it off but Calico’s sharpening green eyes told him he was unsuccessful. “Let’s just say it makes me less hopeful for him.”
“I understand. Maybe you’ll feel differently after we find you a fancy woman.”
Chapter Twenty-three
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 wa
s 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.”