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"Table for yourself, or do you mind sharing?"
"Prefer my own company."
The man put his finger to his lips. "Nod's as good as a wink to a blind man,
friend. This way." He pushed between the tables, exchanging banter with his
customers. "You passing through?"
"Yeah. Come up from Glenwood Springs. Meeting some people in a few days." Ryan
was impressed with the incredible speed at which he'd gone from being a
stranger to becoming a friend.
The menu offered what sounded like real good cooking. There was duck with a
sauce made from oranges;
turkey stuffed with cinnamon apples; breast of goose with mushrooms; steaks of
all shapes and sizes with a range of about eight different vegetables.
Ryan picked the duck, choosing sweet corn and creamed potatoes with butter and
mashed carrots and snow peas, selecting iced lemonade to go with the food.
The place was three parts full. There were several locals, probably
storekeepers and folks working in offices, as well as a scattering of miners
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and trappers.
Carl was rushing around, busier than a one-legged man in an avalanche. The
thin-faced woman with glasses visible in the kitchen had to be Joanna. She
caught Ryan looking at her and gave him a distracted smile and a half wave of
the hand.
The food was brought by a chubby young woman in a flowered print frock and a
checked apron, who unloaded her tray with professional expertise, reeling off
what everything was as she did so.
"That everything, mister?"
"Lemonade?"
"Sure. On the way. Enjoy your meal."
Ryan did.
Everything was delicious, cooked to perfection. As he was polishing off the
last mouthful he again caught
Joanna's eye and gave her a double thumbs-up, getting a broad smile in return.
"Couldn't have been better, Carl," he said, as he was settling his bill.
"Sure you can't make room for a dessert? You seen the special list?"
"I don't even have the room for a single grain of chocolate rice, thanks."
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"Not the key lime pie? Or the French almond silk pie? The black cherry
cobbler? The blueberry meringue with vanilla ice cream or fresh cream? The
strawberry gteau with a brandy syllabub? Grapefruit sorbet with a sweet
raspberry-liqueur? There must be something to tempt you, brother."
Now he'd gone from friend to brother.
Half the things on offer were alien to Ryan. "I don't think that I could Mebbe
a small, and I mean small, portion of the black cherry cobbler."
"We got five other kinds of cobbler. There's"
Ryan held up his hand. "No. Don't push it, Carl. This may be a mistake and
I'll have to go lie down for an hour to recover. But bring me the cobbler."
The small portion hung over the side of a large dish, soaked in thick cream.
Ryan was three parts through it, when he felt the coldness of steel against
the back of his neck.
"One move and your face ends up blown into your plate, stranger. We want to
talk to you about what happened to some friends down the Glenwood Trail."
From brother straight back to stranger.
EVERYONE IN THE HOUSE had finally gone to bed, leaving the fire piled high
with enough wood to last most of the night.
And the half circle of panting wolves still sat patiently outside the big
window.
Krysty lay on the sofa beneath a couple of blankets. Most of the bedding had
gone to the upstairs sleepers, where the cold was beginning to bite.
She had lain awake for some time, plagued with worry that something had gone
wrong for Ryan and
Dean, finally slipping into an uneasy sleep, only to be jerked awake by a dull
thumping sound.
There was nothing to see when she looked around, the bright flames dancing off
the reflecting glass. Jak was still asleep across the room from her, his white
hair tinted pink by the fire.
Another thump, much louder, made the room rattle.
Jak woke, blinking. "What was that?"
Krysty was up on her feet, walking toward the window. "Something knocked
against" she began. "Oh, Gaia!"
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It was the wolves.
One of them was just moving away, limping a little, and now the pack leader
was coming at a rush. He charged through the snow, jaws wide, eyes flaring,
straight for the glass.
It weighed at least three hundred pounds, and Krysty knew instantly that the
window wasn't going to stop it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A mirror on the wall opposite Ryan enabled him to see the three men behind
him. He cursed his lack of caution, lulled by the excellent food.
Three men. The one holding the short-barreled revolver at the base of Ryan's
skull was average height.
His face was lean with oddly thick lips. A deep scar seamed his left cheek. He
looked to be around thirty, and his two companions were both much younger.
They put Ryan in mind of the gang of three that had ambushed them on the
trail.
"You come from Glenwood, mister?"
Ryan continued to eat the last few forkfuls of his cherry cobbler, using his
fork in his left hand to shove some of the final crumbs of pastry together.
He glanced up, trying to make a combat judgment of the trio. Neither of the
younger men had blasters drawn, though they were wearing revolvers in
holsters. They were obviously content that their older companion had the
situation well under control.
Ryan took a sip of lemonade, laying the spoon down for a moment. "Glenwood.
Yeah."
"When?"
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"Three, four days back."
"How come it took so long? Was you on foot?"
"Yeah. I was with my young son. Taking him up to the school over yonder."
"Brody's place?"
"That's the one."
"You see anything of some good friends of ours? Some good, good friends?"
"They got names?"
"Joey. And a couple of kids."
He turned his head. "What was their names?"
"Eddie and Manuel."
"Right. They went off to try and get somesupplies and stuff. And they don't
come back."
"Been plenty of snow behind me. Could be they got caught in that."
One of the younger men nodded in the mirror. "That might be right, Gordy."
"I don't know. Looks like this outlander's the only person come up in the last
week. There was that old man and the girl going down with their burro."
The kid on the left giggled. "But we know they weren't going to make it to the
Springs, don't we, Harve?"
The other teenager laughed, showing a strange dental arrangement where every
other black and rotting tooth was capped with gold, reminding Ryan of a piano
keyboard.
"Should be back," Gordy insisted, pressing the muzzle of his blaster harder
against the back of Ryan's head. "And this son of a bitch is going to tell us
about it."
Carl had spotted the disturbance and bustled over, wiping his hands on his
apron. "What's going on here?"
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"Butt out, asshole!" Gordy snarled, his eyes still locked on Ryan's face in
the mirror. "Got us some business with the outlander here."
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