Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) (11 page)

She hadn’t paid much attention at the time, finishing up her schooling and more interested in the looks she was getting from the oldest Turville boy. Now she wondered what had happened, what she might have learned if she’d been paying attention.

“And you took to the road when you were old enough?” Some folk stayed where they were put until it was time for them to be planted six feet down. Some didn’t. Obviously, he hadn’t.

“Not right away. My ma sent me off to school.” He paused, then went on. “Back East, down in Virginia, then Philadelphia. And before you ask, it’s just . . . It’s a place. Noisy and crowded and strange, but no stranger than anywhere else. I spent two years there, studied at the bar, and then came home.” His tone said that was all he was going to say on the topic and she’d best respect that if she had sense. “I suppose I could have used what I learned there, but setting out my shingle didn’t call me. And I’m not cut out to be a judge nor a marshal; too many rules.” There was a dark glimmer in his eyes, like he’d said something that wasn’t quite funny. “So, I took to the road on my own. Been on it ever since.”

Despite the warning tone, Izzy had to ask. “Ever think about going back there? East, I mean.” She thought about what Ree had said, how many people were out there, and still couldn’t imagine it.

“No. I belong here.” He flicked his gaze up over her. “You do, too. And that’s why I offered. Because . . . I could see the Road in you.”

Izzy had no idea what he meant, but it warmed her nonetheless, in a way she hadn’t felt since the boss told her she’d have to leave.

Gabriel lay on the too-flat mattress, the thin, stiff blanket pulled up to his chest, and stared at the ceiling, although it was too dark in the bunkhouse to actually see it. The only noise came from one of the other boarders snoring, a heavy, wet noise occasionally broken by a cough or grumble as the man turned in his sleep. No matter that he’d spent most of his life inside walls and under roofs, it still made him uneasy to be cut off from the sounds of the night. He ached to be outside, under the stars, where he could breathe.

There was no sound from where Isobel slept. She had come back from the baths looking slight and vaguely bedraggled, her long hair damp around her shoulders, despite a thorough toweling. No matter how much time she’d spent in the hot water, she’d be more sore than she could imagine in the morning. But there was no point in coddling her. There was a pressure in him to get her back out on the road. All her fierceness, the bone-deep strength he saw in her, wasn’t enough to toughen her for what was to come. She couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t doubt. All pretense to civility and law went by the wayside the moment she chose her way, even if she didn’t know it yet.

I would be in your debt if you did this,
the devil had said.

Debt was a two-edged blade. Gabriel wanted no debt-owed from the devil, only payment. And only if he succeeded. Only if he turned this girl-child into a rider. If he taught her to harden against the dust
and sun, the bad food and hard beds, to be harder than the folk she’d find. If he showed her how to become whatever it was the devil intended her to be.

Gabriel’d seen potential in her, certain. Had seen the promise, the wildness of the Road, clear in her face. But this . . . This was too much to ask. This was far too much to demand of a child, even if Isobel thought it was what she wanted. But he’d agreed, had of free will taken what was offered, had been caught by the thing he’d determined not to ask for only to have it offered, for the cost of a thing he’d have done for free.

He should have known a devil’s Bargain would be a damned uncomfortable thing.

There were no windows where they’d slept, and Izzy opened her eyes to pitch dark, unable to remember at first where she was or how she’d ended there. Slowly, the dark was lightened by the soft glow of lamps set in niches along the walls, mimicking the rising of the sun, and she remembered it all: making her Bargain, leaving Flood, coming to Junction with Gabriel. . . .

She lay in her narrow, unfamiliar bed, listening to the sounds of the others getting up and moving around, so different from the morning sounds she was accustomed to, the cluck of chickens and the subtle sounds of bodies moving belowstairs. These voices were deeper, masculine, boots hard on the floor next to her, laughter boisterous, not hushed. The air brought not the tang of hot metal and baking bread but gingery hair tonics and Castile soap.

She knew that she should get up as well, wash her face and brush her hair, dress for the day. Her body had other ideas.

“Isobel?” Gabriel’s voice, just beyond the screen.

“I’m awake.” She tried to shift her body again and couldn’t hold back a groan this time. Even her skin hurt, all the way down to the bone.

“I’ve brought some willow bark tea. It’ll help with the aches.” There was a pause. “Isobel?”

“Please,” she said, and he came around the screen even as she was sitting upright, pulling at the collar of her night rail where it had shifted while she slept. He averted his eyes, trying not to look at her, and she laughed. “I hadn’t thought you for the delicate type.”

It seemed as though her laughter reassured him, his shoulders relaxing even as he handed her the cup. The heavy stoneware was warm, and she cupped both hands around it for a moment, as though the hot water alone was enough to ease her body.

“I suppose I revert back to my upbringing when in civilized surroundings,” he said, and this time he met her gaze briefly, the edges of his eyes pulled into his smile.

The deep red tea was bitter, but the warmth felt even better in her throat than it had in her hands, and if she was drinking, she didn’t have to think about how uncivilized she must seem. She’d been raised in a saloon; she’d seen drunk, half-naked men reeling through the halls before one of the girls could corral them or Iktan toss them out on their ear; she’d been raised among women who were as comfortable in their skins as a bird was in its feathers. If he thought she needed to be treated like a delicate town flower . . .

She scowled down into the tea. If he thought that was what she was, he was gravely mistaken.

“That should help,” Gabriel said, and she startled, then realized he was talking about the tea. She’d finished it, even the bitter dregs, without noticing. He took the mug from her, stepping back a bit. But was looking directly at her now, which was a relief. “Wash up and get dressed. I’ll settle the bill and meet you outside for breakfast.”

It might have been the tea, or simply that she was more awake now, but getting out of the bed was easier, although she was still stiff and sore, particularly in her shoulders and hips.

It made her slightly dizzy to realize, as she fastened ties and laced her boots, that only a day had passed since they left Flood. That two
days before, she had been serving drinks and folding linens, worrying over what her future would bring, impossibly confident that once she turned sixteen, everything would be easier.

Izzy sat down on the edge of the cot to braid her hair, fingers moving in familiar patterns, the motion soothing her thoughts, until the braid was tied off with a leather thong. She started to pin it up, the way a grown woman should, then remembered the feel of sweat on her scalp the day before, how heavy her hair had felt, and left it down instead. It felt strange, but when she turned her head and felt the weight of the braid brush against her back, it made her almost smile.

Gabriel met her in the hallway. He was wearing a different shirt this morning, this one brown and open at the neck. The dust had been cleaned off his boots and long coat, but there were still mud splatters on his trousers from where they’d forded the creek. The memory of him as the casual, flirtatious cardsharp was so at odds with the man standing in front of her, that first man might as well not have existed.

Maybe the girl she’d been, Izzy-as-was, didn’t exist anymore, either? It would explain the way she felt, confused and hazy.

“Feeling better?”

She nodded, attempting to hide her aches, but must not have been convincing enough.

“Don’t worry. Food will help.”

Food did help, even though the bread was nowhere as good as Ree’s, and the meat too greasy. The coffee was strong enough to singe her tongue, and the familiar note of chicory washed away the grease and the last lingering taste of the willow bark tea. The dining room was far busier than it had been the night before, the long tables seating men filling their stomachs as though they wouldn’t see another meal for days, intent on their own thoughts, or reading a broadsheet boasting the latest news. There were two women at another table, apart from the others. They ate more delicately, their heads together, speaking
quietly. Izzy watched them, curious. One wore a brown traveling dress, high-necked and demure, with a small leather case on the ground next to her feet. The other woman was older, with silvering hair tucked into a neat coil, but she was wearing trousers and a collared shirt much like Gabriel’s, a leather coat folded across the back of the chair next to her. They, and she, were the only females in the room. Izzy wondered if the woman in trousers was local, or also a traveler, and if so, had she stayed at the roadhouse as well? But asking such questions without an introduction would be rude.

“We’ll be leaving after breakfast?” she asked Gabriel instead, hoping to get some detail of where they would be heading once they left town. She was like the mule, trotting along in Gabriel’s trail. Her entire life, she’d done exactly that, taking orders without hesitation or doubt; it should not itch at her now. And yet it did.

“Soon enough,” Gabriel said. He’d been watching the people, too, and she wondered who had caught his attention and why. She didn’t know how to ask, though; the easy comfort of the day before was gone, like morning mist once the sun rose. Her stomach felt tight, and she pushed the remains of her meal away, no longer hungry.

Although anything to put off getting into the saddle again seemed a good idea to her, the insides of her thighs and her shoulders still aching, she couldn’t imagine why they would delay longer in Patch Junction.

“What are we doing, then?”

Gabriel grinned at her, and the spark of mischief in his eyes both reassured and alarmed her. “Shopping.”