“Physicality. Huh. I like that. You read that somewhere, Willet?”
“Shut up,” he said tiredly. “How much have you had to drink? I saw you posing for a photograph with some young gal on your arm. You think that’s wise?”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Doyle lifted his hat, raked his hair, and set the hat back. “You see her?”
Willet didn’t ask who “her” was. He knew. “Sure did. More important, I saw who’s with her.”
“Huh? Doyle looked around before he recalled Ellie Madison’s diminutive stature. The press of people around the tables, the roasting spit, and the liquor bar was too thick for him to find her without standing on tiptoes or stepping up to the porch. He gave up, trusted that Willet would tell him. “So? You gonna keep me on pins and needles?”
“Natty’s here.”
“What?” In contrast to Willet’s quiet answer, Doyle’s response was loud enough to turn heads.
“Would you mind yourself?” Willet hissed. “You damnwell heard me so there’s no point in asking ‘what’ like you don’t know what I said. And I don’t care if it surprised you, keep it to yourself.”
“What’s he doin’ here?” asked Doyle. “He see you? You talk to him?”
“I don’t know if he’s seen me. I’ve been doin’ my best to stay clear, so you better believe I haven’t talked to him.”
“Damn.”
“I really wish you hadn’t danced with the bride, Doyle. Kinda hard to believe he didn’t see that.”
Doyle shrugged. It was done and there was nothing he could do about it. “Where is he now? I don’t see him.”
“He’s got a beard. Looks a mite different than you’re used to.”
“A beard, eh? Don’t reckon I’ve ever known him to have one.” Doyle didn’t think the beard was particularly important in locating their former partner. In contrast to Ellie Madison’s petite stature, Natty Rahway was almost six feet and should have been easy to spot. “Damn, where’d he get to?”
“I don’t know. I lost him. Ellie, too. They could have gone inside the house. Maybe the barn. I noticed Ellie hasn’t been much for helping, so I asked about it. Casual-like, you know. Seems she left Twin Star. Not long ago, but she’s here as a guest. She took a job at the Butterworth Hotel.”
“The Butterworth. Huh. Ain’t that somethin’?” He thought about it a little longer. “Why d’you suppose she did that?”
“Couldn’t say. But I have a mind to ask when we cross paths. And we will. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
• • •
Phoebe sank into the chair that Handy pushed against the backs of her knees. “Thank you. Oh, sweet Lord, thank you.”
Handy stepped around the chair so she could see him and gave her a wide toothy grin. “You want I should get you something to eat? To drink?”
“No.” The thought of eating or drinking anything at thispoint in the day made her slightly queasy. She had had her fill three times over, and in spite of the chemisette she was wearing under her corset, the stays were gouging her.
The sun had dipped behind the mountains and dusk was settling. There was a group of guests who left in the late afternoon, most of them with children in tow, but there were still dozens and dozens of people congregating in small groups of three and four, grazing at the long tables, dancing around the bonfire that Scooter and Ralph built where the spits had been. Les Brownlee and his fellow fiddlers were indefatigable with a seemingly endless repertoire of melodies at their fingertips. No one had been able to call out a song they couldn’t play, or at least one they couldn’t make up.
“Have you seen my husband?” Phoebe asked Handy. She liked saying “my husband” and used it whenever she could instead of his given name.
“I saw him go into the bunkhouse a while ago. Some fellows hustled him in there. Wedding shenanigans, Mrs. Tyler said, but I think there might be a card game. Leastways I heard Mr. Tyler say so, and he’s gotta nose for sniffin’ out a card game.”
Phoebe looked around and saw that Ben, Scooter, Ralph, Arnie, and Johnny all seemed to have disappeared. Most likely it was shenanigans, but she said, “Cards? At my wedding reception?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Phoebe could not muster the energy to affect even mild annoyance. She patted the bench beside her chair. “Sit here, Handy. Is Mr. Tyler in there with my husband?”
“No. His missus got a firm grip on his arm and steered him away.”
She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to learn how to do that.”
