by Jo Goodman
So, yes, he had meant to punish her. And for a few days after he’d had her, he thought that’s what he had done, but it had been borne home to him over the course of weeks, and months, and now years, that she had turned the punishment on its head. How else to explain that Wilhelmina still haunted his thoughts?
Malcolm’s gaze slid from his glass to the letter. Maybe. Maybe there was yet some way he could influence her to come around and take Eli as her husband. It would not happen immediately, but in time she could be made to see the sense of it. And once the young widow took his son to her bed, it would not be long before he had her as well.
The corner of Malcolm’s generously carved mouth curled as he reflected on Eli’s recent success in Saint Louis. Perhaps his son would be a more appealing matrimonial candidate once Willa saw him as someone other than the clumsy lover who had betrayed her to his father.
Malcolm turned his attention back to his glass. He slowly raised it to his lips and gave over all of his thoughts to the matter of what Eli and that no-account Jesse Snow were up to.
* * *
“Who the hell is Israel Cord McKenney?” Eli demanded. He poked his forefinger at the offending name hard enough to slide the ledger to the edge of Pastor Beacon’s desk. He let the pastor fumble to catch it before it toppled to the floor because he was already pivoting to face Jesse. “Do you know that name? Some kin to Danny McKenney?”
Jesse shrugged. “I’m still new to these parts. I’m not even sure I know who this Danny fellow is.”
“Jesus,” Eli swore under his breath. His eyes darted to Beacon. “Sorry, Pastor.”
William Beacon’s eyes expressed their usual astonishment. “If you’ll have a seat, Eli, and give me a moment, I can explain. Your friend there, too. I do not care for people hovering.”
Jesse murmured an apology and dropped into a chair more quickly than Eli.
Beacon turned the ledger so the entries were facing him. He waited for Eli to sit before he began. “This is my writing. My wife despairs of my penmanship, but then she does not have to read my sermons, only listen to them.” He placed his finger beside the name that Eli had meant to abuse with his anger. “Here. This is Court, not Cord, and McKenna, not McKenney. Does that help?”
“Not a whit. Who is he?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question. He is Mr. McKenna. Miss Wilhelmina’s husband.”
“And I’m sure you understand a lot more than that. Where did he come from?”
“I performed a ceremony, Eli, not an investigation.”
Eli felt heat rising in his face. He was damned if he was going to allow the bug-eyed Beacon to get the better of him, but belligerence still ran through his tone. “So where did you perform this ceremony?”
“At the Pancake homestead.” Beacon held Eli’s suspicious stare. “You were expecting another answer, I take it.”
“Maybe.” He’d hoped Willa and her intended had traveled to Lansing, been seen by other folks. He did not trust Beacon to give a good accounting of what transpired. Even a man of God could be a liar. “So you must have been there awhile, enough time to learn something about this Mr. McKenna.”
“I think it’s been a while since you’ve been to a wedding. Even in church, it doesn’t take long.”
Eli pointed to the book. “But it was all legal?”
“Oh, yes. I took all the proper papers. It’s documented in the courthouse now, if you’re interested. Of course, that’d be a ways to go on horseback since the train isn’t running yet. I confess I’m surprised you made it here from Big Bar. I would have supposed the snow would have prevented that.”
“We came from Jupiter.”
“Still, a difficult journey. I understand your interest, given the number of times you asked after Willa’s hand, but wouldn’t it have been easier to simply inquire at the valley?”
Eli’s chair scraped the floor as he thrust it backward and jumped to his feet. “We’re done here,” he said. “C’mon, Jesse. We have a name. That’s what we came for.”
Jesse stood, started to follow, then held up his hand. “I’ll be right along. There’s something I want to ask the pastor now that I’m here.” He shifted back and forth on his feet when Eli hesitated. “It’s kinda personal. Do you mind?”
Eli released a long sigh full of suffering. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be outside.”
Jesse waited until the door closed before he turned to Beacon. “It’s not about my salvation, if that’s what you were thinking, but it is personal.” When the pastor merely turned over his hand, inviting him to continue, Jesse did. “This is just between you and me, right? Eli won’t know what we discussed?”
“Not a word.”
Jesse stood behind the chair he had been sitting in and braced his arms on the curved walnut rail. “I got my reasons for needing to know what this Israel McKenna looks like. If he’s who I think he is, then I’m honor bound to tell Eli. It could be real important. I swear to you that Eli would kill me if I didn’t say something, but I got to be sure. It’s a man’s reputation we’re talking about.”
“I don’t think you have any reason to be concerned. He was a likable fellow and welcomed by all of them.”
“Humor me, please,” said Jesse. “If he is who I think he is, it’s what makes him likable that makes him dangerous.”
Beacon rubbed his chin and looked Jesse Snow up and down. The cowboy stayed still for it, but his eyes were restless. “Why don’t you describe him to me, and then we’ll see where we are?”
“All right. I guess I have to say right off that he’s a good-lookin’ fella. I don’t know anyone who ever had a different opinion. He’s got maybe an inch on me, so you know he’s tall. Dark hair, dark enough that you could mistake it for black, especially since he’s got these little silver wings at his temples.”
“Silver wings?”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed in response to the pastor’s becoming fractionally wider. “That’s right. But I got the feeling you know what I’m talkin’ about. Silver threads.” He straightened, pointed to one of his temples. “Right here.” He paused, but Beacon said nothing. “Fair-skinned, though I’d wager that’s changed some since I saw him last on account of him working the ranch.”
“I never said he was working the ranch.”
Jesse had relaxed enough to chuckle. “I’m not acquainted with the Pancakes, but nothing I ever heard about them makes me think they’d welcome someone into their fold who doesn’t know ranching.”
Beacon did not confirm that one way or the other.
“If none of that seems familiar,” said Jesse, “that’s only because I ain’t got around to telling you about his eyes. He’s got these uncommonly colored blue-gray sparklers that’d pierce you as soon as look you over. It’s a fact that women warm to him right off because he’s got those eyes. There’s no doubt in my mind that Miss Pancake did the same, but I’d be careful about concluding that she did all those other women one better by snaring him. If McKay was snared, then it—”
“McKenna,” said Beacon.
Jesse looked at him blankly. “How’s that again?”
“You called him McKay. It’s McKenna.”
“Right. A rose by any other name. Is that how it goes? I’m right about him, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know if you are right about him, but the description fits.”
Jesse took a deep breath, nodded, and let that breath ease out of him. “Thank you, Pastor. That’s all I needed to know. You can trust I’ll make sure McKay’s wife comes to no trouble because of him.”
William Beacon stared at the closed door. “McKenna,” he said as if Jesse were still in the room. “His name is McKenna.”
* * *
Israel demonstrated the correct fingering for “Beautiful Dreamer” while Annalea followed every key strike with rapt attention. “I’ll write dow
n the notes for you. You have a good ear, but you should learn to read music.” The sheet music Evie Pancake left behind had been printed on cheap paper and was yellow with age and rough-edged from turning the pages. Annalea was loath to touch it for fear of destroying it altogether. Early on, Israel had found a hymnal in the piano bench, but Annalea did not have much interest in learning those pieces, although she liked them well enough when he played them for her.
He stopped playing and they both looked up when Willa came in. He merely raised his eyebrows to pose the question. Annalea was the one who gave voice to it.
“Is he back?” she asked. “Zach’s here?”
“He is.” She removed her gloves, coat, and hat and placed them over the arm of the sofa to deal with later. “I just came from the bunkhouse. I’d hoped you would have started dinner, Annalea.” She looked past Annalea to Israel. “And I thought you would be helping.”
“Music sustains the soul,” he said.
Willa ignored the mischief stirring in his blue-gray eyes. “Maybe so, but you need stew and a loaf of bread to sustain the stomach.”
“She has a point, Annalea.” He gave her a gentle shove to move her off the bench. “You start. I’ll be in to help.”
“I know what’s going on,” she said, standing. “A tick gets removed with more care for its feelings.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Willa. She swatted Annalea on the fanny as she passed. “But I’ll keep that in mind the next time I am plucking one out of your scalp.” When she was certain Annalea was out of hearing, she joined Israel on the bench. “Zach delivered the invitation, but he had to give it to Buster Rawlins. Buster wouldn’t allow him to go to the house, but I have confidence that he will deliver the invitation.”
“What about Eli?”
“Buster said he was in Jupiter collecting contracts for Malcolm. He’ll do what Mal tells him to do.”
“So Zach didn’t stay for Malcolm’s answer.”
“No. We’ll have to wait on that. Zach did stay long enough, however, to inquire after Samuel Easterbrook. Seems there is no such person working at Big Bar, at least no such person using that name.”
“Ah.”
“Zach shrugged it off, made out like he could have the name wrong since Easterbrook owed him money, and what man volunteers his proper name when he owes money to a stranger. Buster didn’t blink, so I think Zach left no suspicions behind. Zach also asked if they’d been having trouble with rustlers at Big Bar. He told him we were experiencing some.”
“All their horses are accounted for?”
“They are. Whatever else Easterbrook is, he is not a horse thief.”
“Huh. I’d comment on the man’s peculiar scruples, but that’s better left in the hands of someone in a position to cast stones. I’m supposing that since Zach’s only getting back now, he did manage to get into Jupiter. Did he cross paths with Eli there?”
“No. As a matter of fact, he didn’t. He didn’t speak to the Cuttlewhites either.” One of Israel’s hands still rested on the keys and now he depressed them in a dark minor chord. She laid a hand on his to keep him from playing it again. “He spoke to Noah Cuttlewhite. That’s their son. He met up with Noah in the saloon, got to talking about this and that, and realized he didn’t need to take it a step further. Noah knew everything his parents did, or rather, everything we wanted to know.”
She removed her hand. “There was a rolling poker game on the train. It began long before the Cuttlewhites boarded in Denver, but they told Noah that they were hurried through the car where it was taking place, so they had only a brief look at the players. I think the pot received most of their attention because Noah described it as big as a platter and piled as high as a turkey. In spite of that, they also saw someone they recognized.”
“Then it wasn’t me.”
“No. It was Eli Barber.” Willa could not recall that she had ever seen Israel confounded, but that was the expression he turned on her. “That’s right. You were playing at the same table with Eli. Israel, you might still harbor doubts, but I don’t. You were in that game because of Eli. Everything Eli knows, he learned at the feet of his father. Malcolm tried to take the valley from Happy by besting him at cards, and I believe the folks who say he cheated to get what he thought would be a winning hand. Eli would do exactly the same. I think you observed him cheating and joined the game to even the odds for everyone.”
“I don’t know that my motives would have been as high-minded as that, but you’re right, I could have easily decided to join a game like that.”
“Good. That is settled more easily than I had dared hope. As for the rest, Noah said his parents thought the game ended in Lansing, not Jupiter.”
“So Eli might have left the train early. Why would he do that?”
“Because he lost. That’s what I think. He wasn’t ready to go home.” Willa’s fingers wandered over the keys without pressing any one of them deeply enough to make a sound. “There’s something else, Israel. Noah told Zach that he had almost the same conversation with Eli only a day earlier. Not only did Eli not deny that he was part of the game, he asked Noah if his parents recognized anyone else at the table. It could be argued that he was concerned they saw you later in town.”
“A lot of things could be argued, but we’ll stay with that. Did Eli share any particulars about the game, perhaps who won? Who lost?”
“I had the same question, but no, Eli didn’t say. Noah admitted that he had not thought to ask as he was caught up in a game with Eli, Danny McKenney, and Paul Beetleman at the time. That means something to me, Israel. It means I’m right about Eli losing. He is not a noisy braggart when he wins, but somehow he always manages to let people know nonetheless. And when he loses? Not a word of it. Ever. That’s why he didn’t speak up. He lost, Israel, and you won. Everything on that table when the Cuttlewhites passed through, and more besides, was what was in the second case.” She shook her head, chuckling lightly. “Maybe your winnings filled both cases. You might have had to throw your clothes out.”
“It’s hard to imagine pitching them was any kind of loss. Judging by what I was wearing when I walked into the Viceroy, it doesn’t seem I bought anything in Chicago suitable for working on my brother’s ranch.”
Willa leaned over and bussed him on the cheek. When she came away, she was smiling. “I thought the very same thing.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Is that you, Eli?” Malcolm bellowed when he heard the back door open. “Get in here and bring those contracts with you. I want to see them first, and then you and I are going to discuss a few things.”
Eli handed his outerwear to the cook and took the contracts folder to his father. Malcolm was behind the desk in his study, several ledgers open in front of him. Eli stood opposite and waited for him to put his hand out or indicate where he wanted the folder.
“Right here,” said Malcolm, jabbing at one of the pages of a ledger.
Eli put down the folder. “I’m going to clean up for dinner.”
“Sit. This won’t take long.” He looked up and looked his son over. “I guess you’ve been wearing those clothes the whole time you were gone.”
“Yes, sir, and I am itching to get out of them.”
Malcolm was unsympathetic. He pointed to the chair, opened the folder, and read through the contracts for unacceptable changes. The task required half the time he took for it, the main purpose being to make Eli squirm.
“It appears to be all in good order,” he said, pushing the contracts and ledgers aside and folding his hands together on top of the space he had cleared. “You are slow in returning. Was there a problem?”
“Mother Nature.”
“Hmm. I have something for you to read.” He opened the middle drawer of his desk, withdrew Happy’s invitation, and held it out. “I’ll give you a moment.”
Eli took it and read, and then
read it again. “Do you take this seriously?”
“I do. I don’t know why it’s come to us now, but yes, I think it’s a serious offer. Maybe Willa’s marriage has something to do with it. The timing suggests it might.”
“I don’t—”
Malcolm interrupted. “Who the hell is Samuel Easterbrook, Eli?”
Eli blinked. “I don’t know. Who the hell is he?”
“Zach Englewood delivered that invitation. Buster intercepted him before he got to the house and took it off his hands. Zach asked after someone named Samuel Easterbrook, said the man owed him money. Apparently the fellow told Zach he worked for us. Buster cleared that up, but it got me to thinking that this Easterbrook could have lied to Zach, or he could have lied to us.”
“I never heard the name before. You want me to ask around the bunkhouse?”
“No. Buster will do that. I was wondering what you might know.”
Eli shrugged. “You mind if I get a drink?” He returned the invitation to Malcolm’s desk. “If I can’t change my clothes just yet, a drink will serve to get my mind off what feels like a hair shirt.”
Malcolm waved him to the decanters he kept on a side table. “I’m set on accepting the invitation, Eli. It’s a chance to finally make peace with the Pancakes.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“What I want is to have both ranches under a single brand.”
“I don’t see how that can happen now that Willa’s married.”
“You need to take the long view, Eli. Did you ever think how fine Wilhelmina would look in black?”
* * *
Calico stood beside Quill at the hotel’s registration desk, looking around while he signed the ledger and took possession of the key. Two young men, identical in features, carriage, and attitude, stood at the foot of the staircase looking as if they meant to fight for the privilege of carrying her bag to the room. They were already elbowing each other in anticipation of Quill giving them permission.
