The Listening Sky (8 page)

“Then what I’ve got to do is get rid of her before he gets here.” Colin spoke lightly, but his brows puckered in a frown.

“That’ll be easier said than done.” T.C. took his hat off the peg in the hall and slapped it on his head. “My guess is that
she left Ramon for some reason other than that she couldn’t live without you.”

“You really know how to take a man down a peg or two.”

“You know what I mean. Patrice is a mercenary bitch, but she’s no fool. She knows that Ramon will follow her here. Maybe she
thinks you will kill him and leave her a widow. She’ll have all that money and be rid of Ramon.”

Colin laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You know something, friend? I had the same thought.”

“Let’s go see Bill. I heard thunder. Is it raining?”

“Not yet, but there’s thunder clouds and heat lightning all around.” Colin slapped his hat down on his head. “Damn! Women
are more trouble than they’re worth.”

A grin danced around the corners of T.C.’s mouth.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

B
ILL
Wassall, known as Sweet William because of his fondness for sweets, hated the cold weather and vowed to hibernate like a
bear in his cookhouse until spring. He had spent most of his life cooking for freight haulers in Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico
and had come north with his friend Colin Tallman thinking to stay only a month or two. That was a year ago.

Sweet William also had a liking for women… all of them, young and old, pretty or not. He liked talking to them, doing for
them, teasing them. His head was bald except for a fringe of gray hair, his teeth were almost gone, and he suffered from stiff
joints. Yet Bill had a twinkle in his eyes, a quick wit and a glib tongue. His friend Colin said that if there were no humans
or animals around for him to talk to, Bill would talk to a stump.

“I got a treat for a pretty little gal.” Bill placed a piece of brittle brown candy on the edge of Stella’s plate. The girl
looked at him with frightened eyes and bent her head so low her chin rested on her thin chest.

“Thank the nice man, Stella,” Mrs. Henderson urged.

“That’s a’right, ma’am,” Bill said cheerfully. “This place takes some gettin’ used to. Have a bear claw. Mrs. Winters makes
a fine bear claw. Almost as good as mine.” He sent the woman a teasing grin and forked a golden-brown fried cake out of a
dishpan, dropped it in a bowl of sugar and rolled it around. “Fellers that came in to supper wiped out this whole pan. Said
if they didn’t eat ‘em, they’d use ‘em fer sinkers. That’s when they thought I’d made ‘em,” Bill said aside to the women.
His laugh made his stomach jiggle. “Ya should’a seen the red faces when I said the woman here made ‘em.”

“Buddy!” Mrs. Winters, her face flushed from the heat of the cookstove, turned from the boiling kettle of grease where she
was frying the dough. “You’ve had two pieces of candy. That’s enough.”

“Ah… shoot, Ma!”

“No backtalk, young man.”

As soon as Mrs. Winters turned back to the stove, Bill winked at the boy and slipped him a small piece of the brittle brown
sugar. Buddy scooted around the tables, then darted out of the way when the door opened and two men came in, bringing with
them the cool smell of wet cedar trees. They gawked at the women, then hung their wet coats and hats on the pegs in the wall.
The one who tried to slick his hair down with his palms was a tall, thin man with a receding chin and weak watery eyes. The
other one was the man who had tried to make Jane’s acquaintance at the stage station.

At the sound of the rough male voices and the scraping of boots on the plank floor, Stella dropped her spoon and turned her
face into her mother’s arm. Mrs. Henderson’s shoulders went rigid, but she didn’t turn and look at the men.

“Somethin’ smells larrapin’! I’m hungry enough ta eat the ass-end outta a skunk.”

“Hush yore mouth!” Bill said sharply. “Watch yore manners. Ladies is here.”

“Beg pardon, ladies.” The one who spoke had a growth of dark whiskers shadowing his cheeks.

“You been up to the north camp?”

“Yeah. Could get a storm. Clouds looks like a sonofa—” The word cut off abruptly. The man stepped over the bench and sat down.

“Rain?” Bill began dishing beans and deer meat onto a large tin plate. “Once it starts a-rainin’ in this blasted cold country,
it takes a week or more for it to stop. That’ll put the kibosh on the buildin’ T.C.’s plannin’ on havin’.”

“We heared somethin’ about a fair. When’s it goin’ to be?”

“After the buildin’. Between now an’ snow.”

“Boss man said he’d give us all a day off fer it. Hell! I ain’t seen no dancin’ since the hogs ate my little brother.”

The dark-whiskered lumberjack laughed uproariously at his own joke. He looked toward the back of the room where Jane sat,
and his hot eyes moved slowly over her in an attitude of open appraisal. The disrespectful way he stared first at her and
then at Polly, who was next to her, raised Jane’s hackles. It was as if he were choosing a whore.

For a minute rage clouded her mind. Then reason returned. The men had been told the women were here to be courted and wed.
In all honesty she couldn’t blame the lumberjack for staring at them. It was Kilkenny’s fault for bringing her and the rest
of the women here under false pretenses.

As the man’s eyes roamed curiously over Jane, she met his look with frosty composure. Then, to her dismay, the rogue winked.
Indignation registered in every line of her slender body, but he seemed immune to her obvious rejection. He got up from the
table, walked over to her and made a courtly bow.

“Ma’am, my name is Bob Fresno and I’m puttin’ my bid in fer the first dance on fair day.”

Jane met his eyes unflinchingly. He was a handsome man in a devilish sort of way. Black eyes, black curly hair falling down
over his forehead, even white teeth. He was confident of his charm and probably had had a good deal of success with the ladies.

“I’ll not be here on fair day. You’ll have to put your bid in someplace else.”

“I’m plumb sorry to hear it. Ya got a man waitin’for ya?” He glanced down at her ringless hand.

“That’s none of your business, sir.”

“I ain’t so sure, ma’am. Bob Fresno ain’t one to backpedal when he sees somethin’ he wants.”

Bill came around the table and shoved a pan of biscuits in the man’s hands, taking with him the cloth he’d used to protect
his hands from the hot pan.

“Gawddamn!” Bob Fresno dropped the pan on the table. “You old… bas… old— That’s hot!”

“Sure it is.” Bill turned and winked at Jane. “Sit down and eat ‘em before they cool off. And keep—”

Bill would have said more, but Kilkenny stuck his head in, looked around and then came in followed by another man as tall
as himself who wore a broad-brimmed hat and a frontier-type shirt.

“Some no-good, shiftless son of a gun left the gate open. This hungry lobo came wandering in outta the woods.” T.C.’s usually
somber face was smiling.

“Colin! Gal-dam!” Bill made his way between the tables to shake the man’s hand. “You doin’ a’right, lad?” The two banged on
each other in obviously real affection.

“Good, Bill. You? T.C. treatin’ you all right?”

“He’s as ornery a scutter as ever cut a trail.” Bill was excited, his laugh was loud. “How’s your ma and John? Give me the
lowdown, son.”

“Grandpa Rain died—”

“Ah… law!” Bill exclaimed sorrowfully. “I’m just as sorry as I can be to hear it.” He placed a comforting hand on Colin’s
shoulder.

“It was a blessing in a way. He’d grieved somethin’ awful over losing Grandma Amy and was goin’ downhill fast. I think he
was ready to go. It was hard on Pa and the rest of the family.” Colin Tallman hung his hat beside the door and slipped off
the wet poncho.

“How’s yore sister and Dillon?”

“Jane Ann had another young’un. Makes three now. And Dillon joined the Texas Rangers. Ma says he’s out sowing his wild oats
but someday he’ll come home and run the ranch.”

“She’s probably right.” Bill laughed and his belly moved up and down beneath the apron. “You young’uns had ‘bout as much chance
a puttin’ one over on yore ma as ya had puttin’ socks on a rooster.”

“I won’t argue that. Dish me up some grub, Bill. I could eat a bear.”

“I’ll get right at it, boy. If I’d a knowed ya was comin’ I’d a made up a peach cobbler. Remember how ya’d lap ‘em up on that
trip
across the Indian Nations?’

“Sure do, Sweet William.” Colin pinched Bill’s cheek between his thumb and forefinger. The cook jerked away and scooted back
behind the serving table.

“Ah… now. Cut it out—”

Jane had watched and listened to the exchange, as had the others in the cookhouse. Colin Tallman was a ruggedly handsome man.
His voice was softer than Kilkenny’s and had a faint flavor of the South. Their presence filled the cookhouse, making Jane
anxious to leave.

She finished her meal and carried her plate and Polly’s to the pan of water that sat on the long table in the back of the
kitchen. On the way to get her cloak she was stopped by T.C., who stepped from around a table into her path. He was so close
that Jane had to tilt her head back to glare at him.

“Did the women get settled in?”

“Of course,” she retorted in a low voice. “And without a clue as to what you have planned for them.”

“Want to bet?”

His devilish grin irritated yet fascinated Jane because it changed his whole persona. Through the tangle of his black lashes,
she could see the gleam in his silver eyes.

He enjoyed baiting her!

“Excuse me.” Jane went to the door. T.C. followed.

“Hold on. Miss Jane Pickle,” he murmured for her ears and the man’s standing beside him. “Meet my good friend, Colin Tallman.”

Jane heard the note of laughter in T.C.’s voice and was determined not to furnish him with more entertainment. She smiled
up at Colin and held out her hand.

“Colin, this is Miss Pickle.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Pickle.” Colin clasped her hand briefly.

“Thank you,” Jane said sweetly with a frozen smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll take Mr. Kilkenny’s latest
victims
back to the
hotel.”

“Victims…?” Colin’s brows furrowed and he shot a glance at Kilkenny.

T.C.’s eyes were still on Jane’s face. “The lady and I have a difference of opinion.”

Colin gave his friend a puzzled look and held the door open for the women who followed Jane out onto the porch. In the near
darkness he and T.C. stood beneath the shelter and watched them hurry from the cookhouse to the building next door. Then Colin
turned back to T.C.

“What’s that all about?”

“She doesn’t like it here.”

“What’s so strange about that? I don’t much like it here myself.”

“She wants me to send her back to the station.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Send her.”

“No.”

Colin looked sharply at his friend following the blunt answer. There was a sudden wall of silence between them. After a moment,
Colin opened the door and stepped back into the cookhouse.

Jane was tired all over. She had spent most of the day lounging around waiting to be summoned by Mr. T.C. Kilkenny. She would
much rather have been doing hard labor. And now, longing for a moment of privacy, she could feel herself the center of attention.
The women’s quarters were abuzz with the news that she was not going to be a permanent resident of Timbertown.

“Why’er ya not wantin’ to stay?” Sunday asked, then hurried on. “It’s excitin’ to build a town. You got book-learnin’. You
could be the teacher—”

“I don’t want to be a teacher.” Jane walked to the end of the room. Sunday followed.

“Mr. Kilkenny brought us here as prospective wives on the pretext of having jobs for all of us. I’m not interested in taking
one of his loggers for my life’s mate. And it doesn’t take half an eye to see that he doesn’t have enough work for all of
us.” Jane’s fingers found the folded notes in her pocket; she hoped her explanation seemed plausible. She didn’t dare tell
Sunday the
real
reason she had to leave.

“Most of us come here to get away from somethin’, Jane. My pa wanted me to take a namby-pamby, pot-bellied man ‘cause he owned
five hundred acres free and clear. My sisters got to choose ‘cause they was prettier than me.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true. Shoot fire, Jane. We ain’t so dumb’ that we didn’t figure it out a mill and lumber camp would have single men.
How do ya know ya won’t fall for one of ‘em? Yo’re ‘bout the prettiest one here. I seen one of ‘em givin’ ya the eye—that
black-haired one wearin’ the felt hat. ‘Course, I’d not have him if ever’ tooth in his head was a gold nugget”

“Sunday,” Jane turned her back on the chattering women in the room and lowered her voice. “I’m leaving as soon as the all-powerful
Mr. Kilkenny allows me transportation back to the station. I’ve a favor to ask. After I’m gone will you keep an eye on Polly?”

“Yo’re really goin’?”

“Will you look out for Polly?” Jane asked again.

“She’s havin’ a young’un, ain’t she?”

“Yes, and she’s scared.”

“She a widder?’

“No. A teamster raped her in a rooming house back in Laramie.”

“The dirty, stinkin’ pissant! She ain’t much more’n a young’un herself.”

“Barely sixteen.”

“Poor kid,” Sunday said sorrowfully. Then she brightened. “Polly’s pretty. It won’t be no trouble a’tall for her to find a
husband… even if she is expectin’.”

“She doesn’t want a husband.”

“Don’t be worryin, Jane. T.C. won’t make her take a man she don’t want.”

“T.C.?”

“Why don’t ya like him?”

“There’s not time to go into that. It’d take all night.” Sunday’s wide-spaced eyes reflected her thoughts. She was puzzled.
Then, abruptly, her expression changed.

“You like him! My sister, Tuesday, was like that. She claimed to
hate
Arnold Moody until he started lookin’ at our other sister. After that she fell all over herself being nice to him. Butter
wouldn’t melt in her mouth when she was ‘round him. They married. Now she gets a kid ever’ ten months. I told her he was randy
as a billy goat but she wouldn’t listen.”