“I’ve worked cattle.”
“Cattle are easier.”
“Fair.”
“And the position has remained vacant for three years.”
“Poor advertising?”
“Excellent standards.”
His mouth moved again.
Lou pointed toward the bunkhouse.
“Take the job that pays.”
He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat.
“Emmett Roe.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“My name. Seemed overdue.”
“Lou Tarrant.”
“I know.”
That bothered her.
“How?”
“Asked at the stage stop.”
“About work?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Emmett picked up the broken board beside the chute.
“You’ve got nails?”
Lou watched him.
The conversation, apparently, was finished.
Roy came beside her.
“He’s strange.”
“So are you.”
“I think he likes you.”
“He’s been here four minutes.”
“Five.”
“Go shovel the sick pen.”
Roy’s face fell.
“You always give me the worst job when I’m right.”
“You haven’t been right yet.”
Lou walked toward the house.
Behind her came the unmistakable sound of Emmett beginning to repair the broken gate without being asked.
That was the first dangerous thing about him.
The second was that he repaired it properly.
By the end of the first week, Lou had learned several things.
Emmett Roe did not talk merely to prove silence could be defeated.
He woke before Roy.
Fed his own horse.
Checked the remuda before breakfast.
Repaired things from the inside out instead of covering damage and waiting for someone else to discover it.
He never borrowed a tool without returning it.
He could sharpen a blade properly.
He did not complain about the coffee.
That last quality made Lou suspicious.
The coffee was terrible.
Perch had brewed it before the accident, and Perch believed good coffee should be capable of dissolving horseshoes.
On Emmett’s third morning, Lou found him drinking from a tin cup outside the barn.
“How is it?”
He swallowed.
“Coffee.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
He looked into the cup.
“Hot.”
“You’re a coward.”
“Forty dollars a month doesn’t buy honesty before sunrise.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Emmett glanced toward her.
Not smug.
Simply pleased.
That irritated her more than smugness would have.
Lou walked away.
Behind her he said, “Good morning to you too.”
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
The ranch improved around him in increments.
A dragging barn door began closing smoothly.
The windmill stopped squealing.
A mare Lou had considered selling because of chronic lameness began walking evenly after Emmett found a small stone embedded deep beside the frog.
Roy improved too.
That surprised Lou most.
The boy had come to Bitter Brush the previous spring after his father died.
Perch knew the family and persuaded Lou to hire him.
Roy worked hard but made mistakes quickly and then hid them badly.
Most experienced cowboys responded by humiliating boys like him until embarrassment became education.
Emmett did not.
When Roy tied a poor knot on a pack saddle, Emmett untied it.
“Tie it again.”
Roy did.
“Wrong.”
Roy’s ears reddened.
Emmett untied it.
“Again.”
By the fifth attempt Roy had it.
“No speech?” Roy asked suspiciously.
“About what?”
“How stupid that was.”
“You already know it was stupid.”
Roy stared.
Emmett handed him the rope.
“Teach me something I don’t know.”
The boy smiled.
Lou watched from the porch.
Perch followed her gaze.
“He’s good.”
“He’s employed.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
Lou looked at the old foreman.
“Your leg bothering you?”
“No.”
“It will if you keep talking.”
Perch smiled.
He had known Lou since she was twelve.
Threats no longer impressed him.
“You could do worse.”
“At what?”
“Hiring.”
“I already hired him.”
“Not what I meant.”
Lou walked inside.