More Than Meets the Eye

by Karen Witemeyer

  He eyed Dunn over the brim of his mug. “You got any big players around here?”

  Dunn shrugged. “Most of the folks in these parts don’t have much ready cash. The boys from the mill will get up a good game when they’ve got wages burning a hole in their pockets, but the rest play friendly games as a way to pass the time. Play runs deeper here than at L. A. Campbell’s place, though. I don’t put no limits on the stakes or kick people out if things get a little rowdy. Unless someone starts breakin’ up the place. That’s just bad for business.”

  “A fellow by the name of Hamilton ever play here?” Logan’s gut clenched even as he forced his expression to remain cool. He wouldn’t want the man to think him too interested in the answer.

  “Zach Hamilton?” Dunn’s eyebrows arched.

  Logan lifted the coffee to his mouth in a carefully measured display of nonchalance. “Man has the reputation of a player, and I heard he lived around here.”

  “Oh, he lives around here, all right. Probably’ll be your neighbor, seein’ as how his spread backs up to the river, too. But a player?” Dunn shook his head. “I can’t picture it. Oh, I’ve heard the rumors that he might have gambled in his younger days, but I ain’t never seen him so much as touch a deck in my place. Nowhere else in town neither, as far as I know.”

  Logan froze, the cup halfway between his mouth and the counter. Never touched a deck? That couldn’t be right. The cardsharp his father had described would never just hang it up. The thrill of the game? The addicting rush of power that came with each win? Logan himself battled the pull, and he despised the pastime. It made no sense for a gamester like Hamilton to simply retire.

  “Maybe he rides over to Ben Franklin to play,” Logan gritted out as he slowly lowered his cup. It would make sense. If Hamilton had set up permanent residence in Pecan Gap, he’d not want to stir up trouble amongst his neighbors. Beggaring them with his underhanded gameplay would make any aboveboard business dealings next to impossible. It’d be wiser to conduct his confidence games elsewhere, and Ben Franklin was only a few miles’ ride farther from the homestead than Pecan Gap. Or he could even ride to Cooper. Bigger city. More anonymity. The fact that he didn’t gamble here didn’t mean he didn’t gamble at all. It didn’t mean Logan’s scheme would fail. It just meant Logan would have to be patient. Learn Hamilton’s habits. Get under his skin. Hamilton was smart. Cagey smart. Logan would have to be smarter.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about what Hamilton does over in Ben Franklin,” Dunn was saying, “but he don’t exactly seem the socializin’ type. All them Hamiltons keep to themselves.”

  “All the Hamiltons?” The question jumped out of Logan’s mouth before he could mask his surprise. He quickly swigged another mouthful of coffee and forced his spine to soften back into a more casual position after springing to attention at Dunn’s statement.

  “There’s three of ’em.” Dunn glanced around, then placed an elbow on the bar and leaned close, lowering his voice to a raspy half-whisper. “Odd bunch. Claim to be siblings, but if you ask me, there’s no way they’re related. Not by blood. None of ’em look a thing alike. And that girl?” He turned and spat at the floor.

  Hoping there was a spittoon back there somewhere, Logan hid his repulsion at the barkeep’s abysmal manners and lowered his mug to the counter. Somehow, the coffee seemed a lot less appetizing after that display.

  Dunn swiped the back of his hand beneath his lower lip, then eyed Logan with a grim expression. “I ain’t the superstitious sort, mind you, but if I were, I’d swear that gal was a witch. A freak of nature, she is. Eyes that don’t match. And I’m not just talkin’ about eyes that are slightly different shades. No, this gal has one eye as brown as chocolate and another so bright blue, it pierces a man’s soul.” He shivered. “I can feel that blue eye of hers following me whenever she’s around. Cursing me.” He turned his head and spat again.

  Logan arched a sardonic brow. “And here I thought you weren’t the superstitious sort.”

  “Scoff if you like, mister, but you’ll see what I mean if you stick around long enough. Get those eyes trained on you, and you’ll change your tune. See if you don’t.”

  Logan didn’t care about some girl with mismatched eyes. He cared about Zacharias Hamilton. Although, if Hamilton was claiming this girl as his sister, Logan might be able to use that to his advantage somehow. His honor wouldn’t permit him to threaten her in any physical way, but if Hamilton had an emotional tie to the female, she might be a weakness Logan could exploit.

  A good card player used every weapon at his disposal to win, only two of which were the actual cards and the chips in the pot. Rattling one’s opponent with a few well-placed barbs, using the hint of a grin to sell a bluff, complimenting a player who took a round through sheer luck on his exceptional skill in order to elicit overconfidence on the next hand—they were all strategies of emotional warfare. Strategies Logan had honed to a razor’s edge.

  He pulled a coin from his trouser pocket and tossed it onto the bar. “Thanks for the coffee and the conversation.”

  “Leavin’ already?” Dunn bristled. “Ya ain’t even finished your brew.”

  “I’ll be back.” Logan winked. The barkeep might have the manners of a cockroach, but his information was solid. Best to keep him an ally for now. “I got a bit of a ride ahead of me. Time to get after it. But I hope to sample some of your other entertainments before too long.”

  “Ah.” Dunn gave him a knowing grin. He nodded toward the redhead on stage. “Like what you see in Arabelle, huh? She may not have the best set of pipes in the county, but her set of—”

  “I was thinking of the tables,” Logan interrupted. Good grief. The last thing he needed was a female in his way, complicating his mission and causing trouble. Unfortunately, the scantily clad Arabelle must have had ears like an owl, for she was clambering off the stage and heading his way with disconcerting haste.

  Tugging his hat back down over his scarred eye, Logan straightened away from the bar. “Catch up with you later, Dunn.” He offered a wave in parting as he stretched his stride, choosing speed over swagger. At this juncture, self-preservation outranked image.

  Once the saloon doors safely swung closed behind him, Logan relaxed. But only for a moment. His mind cranked through the new information he’d gained and what it might mean.

  He unhitched his horse and mounted in a smooth motion while his brain churned. Hamilton wasn’t acting as Logan had expected. He’d need to modify his timetable, adjust his plans. Learn the man’s habits and ferret out his weaknesses.

  So be it. Logan wouldn’t blow his chance to achieve justice for his father by getting in a hurry. He was willing to play the long game.

  He clicked his tongue at Shamgar and headed off at a trot. Time to investigate the homestead. He might have bought the property as bait to lure Hamilton into a high-stakes game, but it would serve equally well as a place to conduct reconnaissance.

  Hamilton wouldn’t remain a mystery for long.

  2

  “Don’t you dare bring that pig into this house!”

  Evangeline Hamilton halted her arm mid-pull, leaving the back door halfway open. Busted. She swore Seth had eyes in the back of his head and ears everywhere else. Zach might be the Hamilton sibling who intimidated everyone outside of the family, but Seth was the dictator at home.

  “He’s clean,” Evangeline cajoled. She’d bathed the mud off Hezekiah just a few minutes ago. He loved cool baths in the summer, and even she wouldn’t dare bring him inside covered in mud. Mainly because she would be the one cleaning up whatever mess Hezzy made.

  “I don’t care.” Seth’s singsong voice was deceptively pleasant, but it carried a steel undertone.

  She could usually sweet-talk Zach into giving her what she wanted, but Seth was a harder sell. Probably because Seth had been the one left behind to watch her while Zach took whatever odd jobs he could find to keep them fed in those lean years after the train wreck. That meant Seth kn
ew all her tricks.

  Evangeline quirked her lips. Well, not all her tricks.

  “I just need to grab Hezzy’s bow. I left it in my room.” She never took Hezekiah out without his bow. The bright red ribbon was the hog’s only defense against would-be hunters.

  After Zach had nearly shot Hezzy last fall, her elder brother had demanded that she either find a way to label the critter or keep him penned full-time. The bow had been the best compromise she’d been able to conceive. Not the most masculine of attire, but Hezekiah didn’t seem to mind. Not if it meant accompanying her on her afternoon jaunts. The hog hated to be left behind. He’d holler and ram the fence, breaking Evangeline’s heart with his desperation to be free.

  “Here.” A bright red bow suddenly appeared around the edge of the door. Attached to Seth’s arm.

  The scalawag. He’d snuck up on her.

  Laughing, she snatched the bow from his hand. “You must have had this on the kitchen table, waiting for me.”

  Seth stepped into the half-open doorway and grinned. “After fifteen years of your shenanigans, I’ve learned a thing or two about getting the upper hand. It’s my only defense.”

  “As if you need one.” She punched him playfully in the arm.

  “Ow!” He grabbed his shoulder and staggered back a step.

  Evangeline rolled her eyes. Really. He was six inches taller than her and carried an extra fifty pounds of muscle. To actually hurt him, she would have to go for the eyes like Zach had taught her. Or the groin. But she loved Seth to death and would never willingly cause him pain. Besides, he was the most normal of their gang, and therefore their best chance for begetting a future generation of Hamiltons. And she wanted nieces and nephews someday.

  “Did you finish weeding the sweet potatoes?” Seth asked.

  “Yep. Picked up where you left off and worked down the last three rows.” As indicated by her mud-encrusted hem. She’d cleaned the soil from beneath her fingernails and rinsed off her face during Hezzy’s bath, ensuring no dirt smudged her cheeks or nose. She might have a pet pig, but that didn’t mean she wanted to look like him.

  Seth nodded. “Thanks. I didn’t get quite as far as I hoped this morning.”

  Evangeline shrugged off his comment. “No problem. I didn’t mind the extra time. It’s a pretty day.”

  Years ago they had worked out a system. Seth would start and she would finish whatever outdoor chores were required for the day while Zach tackled the larger projects. Seth’s asthma made it difficult for him to work when the wind stirred up the dust, yet he refused to remain indoors like an invalid, so he went out first thing in the morning when things were relatively still and the air clean. He’d work until he felt tightness build in his chest, then pass the job off to her.

  “I heard your caterwauling all the way in the house.” Seth grinned as he leaned against the doorframe.

  Brothers. Critics, the both of them. As if either one of them could sing. Seth’s voice wobbled like a sick cat, and Zach—well, Zach never sang. Not even in church. So who knew what his voice sounded like? But to Evangeline, music was like sunshine. It brought things to life and made chores whiz by in a happy blur. She loved singing. The louder, the better. Hymns, popular tunes, even little ditties she made up on the spot. Didn’t matter. She’d chirp out whatever came into her heart. Sometimes in praise to God, sometimes for pure fun, and sometimes in self-defense to keep the loneliness at bay.

  “The potatoes didn’t seem to mind,” she quipped instead of following her first instinct of sticking her tongue out at him. At nineteen, she was too mature for such antics. At least in theory.

  Seth rolled his eyes. “The potatoes don’t have ears.”

  “Well, the corn plants do, and they didn’t complain, either,” she sassed.

  “Probably because their ears are still covered.” He raised a brow waiting for her comeback.

  “Shucks, Seth. You know those stalks are experts in hominy. They adore my singing.”

  He groaned.

  “Really?” She shoved his shoulder. Not that it moved much. “Come on. That was a good one. Hominy—harmony?”

  “Weak, sis.” He tried to hold a straight face, but a chuckle broke through. “Weak.”

  “Yeah? Let’s see how weak I am.”

  She hooked Hezekiah’s ribbon over her wrist, then poked Seth in the chest. Not just with one finger. She never did things by half measure. She got both pointers out and drilled him in alternating staccato motions until he backed away from the attack, throwing his hands up in surrender.

  She felt victorious until a strong force butted her from behind and knocked her sideways into the wall.

  She yelped. Seth grabbed for her. And Hezekiah found his opening. He barreled his way inside, snorting in glee as his hooves clicked across the floorboards of the kitchen in his race to the stove. He flopped down in front of the cast iron box and released a contented grunt.

  Evangeline shot her brother an apologetic glance.

  “Evie . . .” Seth’s voice lost its playful tone. “If you don’t want pork chops for supper, I suggest you get that beast out of my kitchen before I find my rifle.”

  “It’s not his fault he likes that spot so well,” she pled on her pet’s behalf.

  “No, it’s yours. Who in their right mind brings a feral piglet into the house and bottle feeds the thing? As if we don’t have a big enough wild pig problem around here, you go and bring one of the ugly things home.”

  “Hezekiah is not ugly. Besides, you know I couldn’t leave him out there on his own with no mama to protect him. His little baby squeals broke my heart.”

  Seth rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Well, he’s no baby now. He must weigh a hundred pounds or more. Barges into the house like he’s the family dog,” he grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s charming,” she countered, ignoring Seth’s snort of disagreement.

  After being abandoned and rejected time after time in her childhood, Evangeline couldn’t bear to see any creature suffer the same fate. Her adopted brothers had taken her in, fed her, raised her, loved her. She could do no less for anyone or anything in need. Even a slightly less than handsome hog.

  “Come, Hezzy.” She tapped the side of her leg, and good boy that he was, Hezekiah got up and trotted over.

  Seth shook his head. “Even comes when you call him. Crazy.”

  Evangeline bent slightly and patted the hog’s bristly black hide. “That’s because he knows his mama loves him. Don’t you, Hezzy? Such a good boy.”

  “Please.” Thick sarcasm flavored Seth’s tone as he pushed past her, grabbed a wet dish towel, and immediately mopped the section of floor where the hog had lain.

  Evangeline wasn’t offended by his need to wipe away any residue Hezzy might have left behind. After years of experimenting, they’d finally figured out that keeping the house free of as much dust and dirt as possible helped keep Seth’s lungs from getting inflamed. So they had no rugs in any of the main rooms and no bric-a-brac to collect dust, just flat surfaces they could run a rag over every morning.

  “Hezzy and I are going to explore the east woods again today over by the creek bed,” she said as she fastened the wide red bow to the leather strap Zach had fashioned as a collar for the hog.

  There was a strict family rule—she never went anywhere without first telling either Zach or Seth where she was headed. The boys didn’t think it necessary to keep her informed of their every move, so it was a bit of a double standard, but there had been that one time she’d snuck away from school during recess and gotten lost for two days after Mary Lou Edison had pulled her hair and called her a freak. Some stranger had eventually found her huddled by an oak tree and taken her to the local church to wait to be claimed. Never had Evie been so frightened. Or seen Zach so angry. If she hadn’t caught him secretly wiping his eyes while Seth hugged her, she might’ve thought he didn’t love her anymore, with all the yelling and lecturing he did. But then she realized he’
d been scared, too. Scared he’d let his family down.

  That was why she didn’t fight the family rule even now that she was a woman grown. She wanted to spare her brothers the worry. It was the least she could do after all they’d done for her over the last fifteen years.

  What she didn’t tell them was exactly what she planned to do when she went out on one of her excursions. A woman of nineteen deserved a few secrets, after all. And lately there had been evidence of suspicious goings-on near the eastern property line. Evidence of human activity. An extinguished campfire. Boot prints. Horse tracks.

  It was a mystery that needed sorting out, and she loved a good mystery. Truth be told, she loved anything that broke up the monotony of her usual routine. If she were a normal girl, she’d simply stroll to town to meet up with friends. Maybe do a little shopping. Buy some penny candy or a ribbon for her hair. Laugh and play and talk about how to gain the favor of a handsome young man.

  But she wasn’t normal. And going to town brought only heartache.

  Stares. Whispers. Not from everyone, but from enough to make her want to fold in on herself. Some of the bolder ones even spat when she walked by or crossed the street to avoid coming too close, as if her eyes might be catching. Of course, none of that happened when her brothers accompanied her. No one would dare treat her disrespectfully when Zach was around. His black stare could inspire more fear than her mixed-colored one. But when children dared each other to hit the witch with a slingshot missile or look her in the eyes to see if they’d turn to stone, a gal learned to avoid town. Her heart could only take so many hits before the bruises became permanent.

  So she sang songs to sweet potatoes, rambled with pigs, and made her own happiness wherever she could find it. And today, finding it entailed an adventure to ascertain the identity of a mysterious visitor.

  Was he friend or foe? Only one way to find out.

  Spying.

  Her pulse raced a bit at the prospect. Stealth. Danger. The risk of discovery. Oh, she’d take precautions. She wasn’t one of those heedless dime-novel ninnies who ran headlong into trouble without once considering the consequences, then fainted at the first sign of trouble. No wonder those damsels needed a man to swoop in and save the day. They failed to utilize the brains the good Lord had given them.