Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) by Laura Anne Gilman Page A
Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
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his head, laughing a little, although she didn’t know what she’d said that was so amusing. “You don’t offer to mentor someone because it’ll be easy, Isobel.”
“Then why did you?” Whatever agreement he’d made with the boss—and he had made an agreement, she knew it: a low thrummingin her veins when she thought about it, the knowledge where once she wondered—it had come after he’d made his offer to her. She’d been no one to him then, just a girl taking away his drink, a saloon girl he didn’t even think was pretty.
“I was born here,” he said. Izzy had no idea what that had to do with anything, but she’d learned to listen in the saloon and not interrupt, to let people get to their point in their own time. “Grew up in a little town just south of Fort Victoria.”
Fort Victoria was outside the Territory, only just, where the local tribe allied with the French and skirmished against the British and Americans alike. She tried to remember the last time the fighting had crossed over into the Territory: four years, maybe closer to five. There had been riders coming into Flood on a regular basis with reports, and finally the boss had saddled up and ridden out, then come home weeks later, tired and mean, but the trouble stopped.
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
“Then why did you?” Whatever agreement he’d made with the boss—and he had made an agreement, she knew it: a low thrummingin her veins when she thought about it, the knowledge where once she wondered—it had come after he’d made his offer to her. She’d been no one to him then, just a girl taking away his drink, a saloon girl he didn’t even think was pretty.
“I was born here,” he said. Izzy had no idea what that had to do with anything, but she’d learned to listen in the saloon and not interrupt, to let people get to their point in their own time. “Grew up in a little town just south of Fort Victoria.”
Fort Victoria was outside the Territory, only just, where the local tribe allied with the French and skirmished against the British and Americans alike. She tried to remember the last time the fighting had crossed over into the Territory: four years, maybe closer to five. There had been riders coming into Flood on a regular basis with reports, and finally the boss had saddled up and ridden out, then come home weeks later, tired and mean, but the trouble stopped.
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
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