The Devil You Know Read Free Page A

way in spite of the fact she was five years his senior and his boss, at least in practice, and she was careful to treat him as fairly as she did the other hand and not encourage any nonsense.
    Annalea, though, did encourage nonsense, and took every opportunity to make faces behind Cutter’s back but with Willa in her open line of sight. Annalea would pucker her lips and make a parody of kissing. She also liked to hug herself and pretend to engage in what she imagined to be a passionate embrace. In the first instance, she looked like a fish trying to capture a wriggling worm; in the second, she looked like the wriggling worm. Thus far, Cutter had not caught her out, but odds were that he would eventually, so Willa saved the scold that Annalea was certainly due and waited for the more enduring lesson of natural consequence.
    Cutter removed his sweat-banded hat and ran one hand through a thatch of wheat-colored hair before he settled it on his head again. He grinned at Willa. “You want me to give it another try?” he asked.
    â€œGive what another try? Getting thrown?”
    He flushed but held his ground. “I thought I’d—”
    â€œI know what you meant. Lead her around, let her walk off the jitters, and then take her to the barn and wipe her down. And talk to her while you’re doing it. You don’t talk to the animals nearly enough, Cutter. Miss Dolly will respond to your voice if you sweeten it a bit.”
    Cutter regarded her skeptically but kept his questions to himself. He dusted off his pants and shirt and dutifully started walking toward Miss Dolly.
    Willa chuckled under her breath when the mare sidledjust outside of Cutter’s reach as he approached. “Sweet talk, Cutter,” she called to him.
    â€œIs that what you want, girl? Sweet talk?”
    At the sound of the smooth, tenor tones of her father’s voice at her back, Willa shifted so sharply on the fence rail that she nearly unseated herself. “I thought you were making supper.”
    â€œI
am
making supper. Just stirred the pot. No harm leaving it alone for a minute. I saw Cutter take a fall and thought maybe I should check on the boy myself.”
    â€œHe’s fine, Happy.”
    Simultaneous to Willa’s pronouncement, Cutter yelled over. “I’m fine, Happy.”
    Willa returned her attention to Cutter but spoke to her father. “See? You have it twice over. Better go check on that pot because it won’t stir itself.”
    Happy shrugged, and except to reach for a flask inside his scarred leather vest, he didn’t move. “Feeling a chill,” he said by way of explanation, although Willa had given no indication she knew he had his flask in his hand. “So what about that sweet talk? You lookin’ for some of that from Mr. Cutter Hamill?”
    Willa pretended she hadn’t heard him.
    He’d been christened Shadrach Ebenezer Pancake at birth, but family lore had it that he carried on with so much chortling gusto that it was only right and natural that he should be called Happy. Since he had answered to the name all of his life, most folks did not know he had another, which suited Shadrach Ebenezer just fine when he was a youngster, and later, when he was a husband and then a father. But now that he was a widower, barely a father, and usually a drunk, he wore the name like a hair shirt, and that, too, suited him in a dark, humorless fashion.
    Happy sipped from the flask, capped it, and returned it to his vest. He folded his arms and set them on the top rail a short distance from where Willa sat.
    â€œYou should have a hat on,” said Willa without glancing down. “Wind’s picking up.”
    He nodded. “Going back in directly.” Still, he didn’t move.
    Willa sighed. “You already burned supper, didn’t you?”
    â€œI might’ve scorched the biscuits.”
    â€œStew?”
    â€œI expect most of it will be good if we