The Devil You Know by Jo Goodman Read Free Book Online Page A

other one, Willa repositioned the sling on his arm and shoulder. She could actually see tension leaching out of him.His head rested more heavily against the pillow as his chin came up. The muscles in his neck and shoulders relaxed. His breathing came steady and evenly, but she did not mistake this for a sign that he was sleeping or unconscious. She had the sense that he was withdrawing, insulating himself, and that notion both puzzled and intrigued her. She settled both blankets over him, tucking the lower one around his feet and the one on top around his arms.
    The stove was in need of attention so Willa poked at the fire and added wood. She stayed close, warming her hands first and then her backside. When she turned around, she saw that he was watching her. He did not even try to pretend that he wasn’t.
    Willa stared back. “Well?”
    â€œWishing I had two good eyes.”
    Willa’s right eyebrow rose in a perfect arch. “Is that so?”
    â€œMm.”
    â€œHave a care. I could easily give that black eye a twin.”
    â€œOddly enough, I have no difficulty believing you.”
    â€œAs it should be.” Without a word regarding her intention, she rounded the bunk and retrieved the piss pot. She angled it into the lantern light and observed the quantity and color of the urine. “No blood,” she told him, tucking the pot under her arm. “You’re a lucky man.”
    When he did not comment, she glanced at him over her shoulder. He had placed his forearm across his eyes and was slowly, almost imperceptibly, shaking his head. “Having trouble believing me now, are you?”
    â€œJust trouble believing,” he said under his breath.
    Chuckling, Willa carried the pot outside and emptied it. She fell in step beside Cutter on the way back. He was carrying a supper tray, and the acrid, smoky aroma of charred stew wafted up from the bowls. Her stomach rumbled, and she hoped it tasted at least a tad better than it smelled.
    â€œHow’s Mr. Roundbottom?” asked Cutter.
    â€œHe says his name is McKenna.” Willa stopped at the pump to wash up and then traded Cutter the pot for the tray. “Israel McKenna. I think he’s telling the truth about that. If he remembers what happened out there today, he’s not saying.”
    â€œIf?”
    â€œI’m not sure he knows. He says he doesn’t. You’ll have to be careful asking around tomorrow. There’s no good reason to give him up yet. He’s not going to hurt anyone here.”
    â€œNot today,” said Cutter. “And maybe not tomorrow or the day after that, but you can’t be sure it will always be that way.”
    â€œI’m aware.”
    Cutter merely nodded and stepped aside to allow Willa to enter the bunkhouse first. He followed, dropped the pot beside McKenna’s bed, and toed it under the bunk. Willa was pushing the round table he and the other hands used occasionally for meals, and more often for cards, closer to McKenna, and he helped her situate it at the bedside.
    â€œCan he sit up on his own?” asked Cutter.
    â€œAsk him,” said Willa.
    â€œHe’s sleeping.”
    She looked over at McKenna. “He’s not sleeping. He’s listening. I think he’s genuinely curious about what we know.”
    â€œWell, damn. That’s not much.”
    Willa pushed the stool at Cutter and dragged a chair to the table for herself. She sat. “Tap him on the shoulder—the injured one.” The suggestion was enough to encourage Israel McKenna to open his eye. “See?” she said to Cutter. “Possum.”
    He nodded. “Do you need help sitting up, Mr. Roundbottom?”
    The eye narrowed, first on Willa, then on Cutter. “The name’s McKenna. Israel McKenna.”
    â€œShe told me, but I like Roundbottom. So, are you hungry? It’s stew. A little on the blackened side but still edible. Zach brewed some white willow