DEVIL'S GATE II




January 1925

"Hi," Brisco County, Jr. said to his son as he rode up to the house. "What's up?" He was surprised to see Will sitting without a book in his hand. His son usually spent most of his spare time reading.

"Oh, " Will dropped his feet from the porch rail and set the front legs of his chair down. "Just thinking."

His father grinned. "Anything in particular?"

"I'm trying to think of a way to get Birdie to quit her job."

"Join the club," Brisco said, rolling his eyes. "I've been trying for years."

Will's eyes widened. "Really?" He thought his dad was proud of what Birdie had accomplished as a Treasury agent.

"Don't get me wrong," Brisco continued as he dismounted. "She's done a terrific job catching counterfeiters. Fourteen of them, or so I've been told." He grimaced. "But she's been far too lucky. Just call it a gambler's hunch. I'm afraid her luck is going to run out. You know Birdie. She runs headlong into things and doesn't think about the consequences."

"And she refuses to work with a partner," Will agreed. "Someone like Bowler to watch her back like he watched yours."

"Exactly," his father said, dropping into a chair. "So what are you planning?"

"Well," Will sighed. "I've had this idea in the back of my mind the last six months about a side business. The only problem is that the manager of the Rainbow Mine has been making noises like he's gonna quit, so I'm probably going to end up managing both mines. I won't have time to run the side business."

"And that's where Birdie comes in?" Brisco asked. His son nodded. "So what's the side business?"

Will scowled. "That's the problem. It's books."

Brisco laughed out loud. "Then you do have a problem. Birdie and books. There's a combination that goes together like cats and dogs." He noticed that Will wasn't laughing with him. "Why don't you tell me what you plan to do and I'll see if I can think of a way to help."

"We're just about ready," Kate said, pulling the pan from the oven. "Could you go call everyone in for dinner, please?"

"Sure," Birdie said as she finished setting out the plates. She stepped out onto the porch and found her foster father and brother with their heads together. Both started and looked up guiltily when she appeared.

"What are you two are plotting?" she asked, not missing the look that passed between Brisco and Will.

"Nothing," Will replied. Birdie didn't believe him for a second.

"Uh-huh," she said skeptically. "Aunt Kate says it's time to eat. Where's Daniel?"

"I'll get him," Will offered as he stood. "He's working on the car." He stepped off the porch and, taking Max's reins, led the horse to the barn.

"Make sure he puts all the parts back where he found them," Brisco called as he followed Birdie into the house.

"Yes, sir," Will grinned.

Two days later, Will clung to Birdie's back as she steered the motorcycle towards Caryville. She'd offered him a lift home and now Will was silently cursing himself for agreeing. Birdie drove fast and recklessly; Will wondered if she was deliberately trying to scare him or if she always drove that way. Birdie even let him drive for a while. Will was embarrassed when he popped the clutch at first, but he soon got used to the rhythm of foot and hand. As much as Will liked riding horses, the speed of this mechanical beast was intoxicating. When Will stopped in a town called Pine Tree, Birdie thought he just wanted to trade places again.

"We'd better find a place to eat," he said, looking around. "It'll be dark by the time we get to Caryville, and nothing will be open."

"How about there?" Birdie pointed to a well-lit diner down the street.

"Okay," Will said as he shouldered his knapsack.

The diner was warm and bright inside. Will didn't realize how cold he was until he entered the building. His face tingled from windburn. They sat at a table and ordered food and coffee.

"So, what are you going to do next?" Will asked softly, so the other diners wouldn't overhear.

Birdie rested her chin in her hands. "It's up to my boss," she sighed, resigned. "I'll probably end up going under cover again."

"You sound like you don't like it," Will observed.

"It gets harder each time to pretend to be someone you're not, especially for months at a time," Birdie explained. "And it's dangerous to let your guard down, even for a minute. I spend so much time being someone else that I'm beginning to wonder where the real Birdie got to." The waitress slid their plates onto the table, causing them both to sit back abruptly. The food was hot and smelled wonderful; their conversation halted temporarily as they started to eat.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Birdie asked, wistfully.

"No," Will answered so quickly that she was prompted to ask why.

He paused in the act of cutting his meat. "My reason doesn't make for pleasant dinner conversation," he said carefully. "Let's just say it had something to do with the war and leave it at that." That, and the fact that every time I think of the future, I see you with me. A chance comment a few weeks ago made Will realize that he was hopelessly in love with Birdie. The fact that Birdie saw him as a foster brother only made him miserable.

Birdie shot him an annoyed look. "You used to tell me all your secrets," she said quietly.

Will snorted. "Says she who's been playing spy for years and didn't tell her family." He smiled at Birdie to show her that he didn't hold it against her.

She looked startled for a moment, then shook her head and smiled. "I just didn't want you Countys to show up and save the day. I wanted to do it on my own."

"Obviously, you have," Will said. "Dad said that you've arrested fourteen counterfeiters in your career. Pretty impressive."

Birdie expected a pissing match. She hadn't expected a compliment. When she looked across the table at Will, he raised a questioning eyebrow. The smile Birdie gave him made Will certain that if he died that moment, he die a happy man.

Will climbed off the motorcycle in Caryville. "Thanks for the lift," he said.

"Aren't you going to invite me up to your cabin?" Birdie asked.

Will feigned horror. "What? And ruin my reputation with the ladies in this town?" He grinned. "I have to get my keys from the sheriff first." He walked down to the sheriff's house and returned ten minutes later with the keys.

"Go on ahead and open up," Will said, tossing the keys to Birdie. "I'll get Dixie and the mules and follow you."

"Okay." Birdie stashed the keys in her coat pocket, kicked the motorcycle to life and roared off.

By the time Will arrived at Devil's Gate mine with his mare and the six mules, Birdie had opened his cabin, started a fire in the fireplace and the small stove, and was sorting through the mess they'd left behind.

"Damn," Will said as he entered the cabin. "I'd forgotten what a mess this place was." One of the miners was involved in a counterfeiting ring; he'd held Will captive in the mine while turning Will's cabin upside down. Mac Henderson hadn't found the currency plates Will had hidden in the cabin, but that didn't stop him from tearing through Will's belongings like a tornado.

"Help me with this," Birdie said, indicating the overturned bed. Together, they set the bed on its feet. Then they righted the wardrobe.

"Where are the keys?" Will asked. "I ought to check the other buildings before I take my coat off."

"On the table." Normally, Birdie would balk at getting stuck with clean up duty. But considering she was the cause of this mess, Birdie felt obligated to straighten everything.

Will returned before she was finished, carrying a pail of water in one hand and a mattress from the bunkhouse over his other shoulder. He set the pail next to the stove, then spread the mattress on the floor near the fireplace. Then he filled the coffeepot and set it on the stove.

"Is that for me or for you?" Birdie asked, nodding to the mattress.

"For me, silly," Will replied as he picked up cans of food from the floor and set them back in the cupboard. "You're company." He nodded towards the bed and grinned wickedly. "Just check for mice before you get in." Will laughed when Birdie turned pale.

"Here," Will said later, handing Birdie a cup of coffee. As he turned to go, she touched his arm.

"You can smoke in here," Birdie said. "I'll make sure you don't fall asleep." Will poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down in front of the fire. He'd fallen asleep once and nearly burned down the cabin; he was leery of smoking inside after that.

Birdie stared at the fire and thought about the man sitting beside her. She was so certain she knew Will. Over the past three weeks, Birdie realized that Will was different. She wasn't sure whether Will had actually changed, or whether she still expected him to be the teenager she remembered. They hadn't spent much time together in the last eight years, so it was understandable if he'd changed. Lord knows they'd both had their plates full. Birdie had spied for the Allies during the war and now worked for the Treasury Department busting counterfeiters. Will had fought in the war, gone to engineering school, and now managed Devil's Gate mine.

"Uncle Brisco said that you were thinking of starting a side business," Birdie said as she stared into the fire.

"Uh-huh," Will answered. "But I haven't got all the details worked out yet." He sighed and drew on his cigarette. "And it'll probably not even work unless I can get an employee I can trust to run it right." You were right, Dad. It is just like fishing.

"Why can't you run it?"

"The manager of the Rainbow Mine, which it over that way about ten miles," he pointed north. "Got a better offer somewhere else and is thinking about quitting. I'm pretty sure the owner will have me manage both mines if Martin leaves."

"Are you happy about that?"

"Yes and no. Rainbow is a much more complicated mine with a lot of engineering problems." Will sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But, God, those stamping machines. That constant pounding would drive me insane after a while. Although I'd probably continue to live here and just ride over to Rainbow on the ore truck a couple a days a week."

"What are stamping machines?"

"All the gold in both mines is embedded in quartz. We mine the quartz, run it through the stampers to pulverize it, then use cyanide to remove the gold from the quartz. Most mines run them night and day."

"Why don't you have stampers here, then?"

"When we opened this mine last spring, the production was about nil. The owner decided to haul what little we found over to Rainbow, which is in full production. Now that we're into the vein, not just digging tunnels and shoring up ceilings, we've just about matched Rainbow in production."

"So what's your side business?" Birdie asked, wondering how they got off track.

"A library."

Birdie looked at Will in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I am most certainly not," Will countered. "The closest library is over in Placerville. Too far away. Practically everyone on this crew reads, but books are hard to come by." He smiled. "We have a badly battered copy of The Odyssey that gets passed around in this camp. I'm sure everyone's read it three or four times."

Birdie was puzzled. "But how would you make any money?"

"Subscriptions."

"Now I'm really confused," Birdie said. "Explain this to me."

"Interested people would buy a subscription to use the library," Will explained patiently. "That subscription would allow them to borrow a book from the library for a short period of time, say a week or ten days. They would be fined it they returned the book after the due date."

"But where would you get the books?"

Will grinned. "That's the fun part. Well, for me it is." He rose from the chair and dug through the pile of papers that they'd set near the fireplace as trash. "Ah-ha," Will said, pulling out an old newspaper. "Look at this." He showed Birdie the paper.

"Obituaries?" Birdie hoped that Will would explain his mad way of thinking.

"Estates always have boxes of books to get rid of," Will said. "You'd just have to ask. I think most people would sell books cheap just to clean out a house. I'm guessing as word gets around people will eventually contact me and ask me to dispose of their books."

"Okay," Birdie said. "So you want an employee to read the obituaries and go find books?"

"No," Will answered. "I can look for books on my days off. I need someone to mind the library. I'm guessing it could be open Tuesdays through Saturdays, and the employee could have Sunday and Monday off."

"So what would the employee do?" Birdie asked, curious

Will tried hard not to smile. Time to bait the hook. "Whoever ran the library would have to sort through the books, keep them shelved in some kind of order, take in subscriptions, and collect fines." He laughed. "I just had a bizarre thought. Could you see Uncle Bowler collecting fines? He'd point that sawed-off shotgun at someone and say, 'You're overdue on your book. Gimme ten cents.'"

Birdie giggled. She could just picture Bowler doing that.

"You never told me your reason why you never think about the future," Birdie said finally.

Will muttered something about "damned County nosiness" and flicked his cigarette butt into the fire. "There was a fellow in our outfit named Ned Markham," he said, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire. "He had a wife and a small son. He was always talking about his boy. Big plans about what schools he was gonna attend, contacts he'd make, stuff like that. Ned wanted his son to be Prime Minister some day."

Birdie was afraid to ask. "So what happened?"

"We were in a fire fight," Will said. Birdie could tell by the way he stared into the fire that he was reliving the moment as he spoke. "We'd been firing so many rounds that our hands were burnt by the carbines. Ned was between Pence and me. All of a sudden, Ned just fell over. He'd been shot right between the eyes. The odds of that happening," Will shook his head in amazement. "Were huge. We were standing in a trench, with only the tops of our helmets showing. That bullet could've gone eighteen inches either way and have gotten Pence or me. But no, it got the guy with everything to live for." Will finally looked up. "I guess I'm afraid to make plans for the future because if I do, God or Fate or whatever would decide that it's time for me to die."

"But surely you're safe now that the war is over."

Will laughed in disbelief. "If you haven't noticed, we dig holes in the earth up here. There could be a cave-in, an explosion of trapped gasses; I could fall into a hole. Even Dixie could bolt and clothesline me on a tree branch."

Birdie stared at him. "I can't believe you're so fatalistic."

The corner of his mouth quirked into a lop-sided grin. "That's what I get for hangin' around Uncle Bowler," Will said. He stood and tossed more wood into the fire. "So what's it like being a Treasury agent?" he asked out of curiosity.

Birdie sighed. "It used to be a game, like chess. Your opponent made a move, then you'd make a move, he'd make a move, and you'd make a move. The interesting part was trying to figure out your opponent's moves, two, three times in advance. And not give yourself away in the process."

"So what's it like now?"

"Since Prohibition started, it's changed the whole game. Now you have people bringing booze in from Canada and Mexico, people running stills---all of them believing it is their God-given right to have alcohol. It all seems to have upped the ante as far as crime. The Treasury isn't cracking down on booze out here in the wilderness; it's more concerned about the mobsters running whole cities with booze and counterfeit money." Birdie grimaced. "But try telling that to a fellow up here in the boonies with a still. He'll shoot first and ask questions later."

"So why not work with a partner?" Will asked.

Birdie gave a mirthless laugh. "You know me. I work by the seat of my pants. I couldn't explain to a partner what I had in mind; I just make it up as I go along."

"But still---,"

"Yes, I suppose that would be safer, she murmured. "Especially after the last two missions."

Will was astounded to see fear on her face. He couldn't recall a time when he'd ever seen Birdie afraid. It was one of the things he'd always admired about her---her lack of fear. "So what happened on the last two missions?" he asked quietly.

"I almost got you killed," Birdie replied, her eyes downcast.

"Stop thinking that right now." Will said sternly. "Mac Henderson had no intention of killing me. He was waiting you to show up, so he could hurt you and make me tell him where I hid the currency plates."

"But I brought it on you!" she protested.

"I'd have found those plates regardless," Will argued. "Seeing as Mac stuffed them in the generator and made it overheat. It was just like Dad's always saying," he said, shaking his head in wonder. "Some criminals do stupid things as if they want to be caught." Birdie nodded in agreement.

"What about the job before?" Will asked cautiously. "What happened there?"

Birdie blew out her breath and wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's not pretty."

"I can handle it," he said quietly. The look Birdie shot him: fear, pain, and disgust, made him blink in surprise. "I think."

"I was trying to get a lead on some counterfeiters over near Fresno," Birdie began as she stared into the fire. "And I quickly found out that if you want information in that town, you had to talk to Big Mike."

"Big Mike?"

"He has his fingers in everything: extortion, robbery, contraband, murders, you name it. I figured that he'd be the one to get information about the counterfeiters. I just had to find out what Big Mike would demand in payment."

"The Treasury authorizes bribes?" Will asked in amazement.

Birdie shrugged. "Sometimes. But money wasn't what he wanted. Big Mike has a predilection for teen-aged boys."

"Bird." Blood drained from Will's face when the implication hit him. "Your hair. You told me cut your hair because you'd been posing as a boy."

Birdie nodded solemnly. "I'd never forgive myself if I sent a child to that monster. I went instead." Her hands twisted in her lap.

Will pulled his chair closer and took both of her hands in his. "Did he hurt you?"

Birdie's look was bleak. "I-I think I killed him. I got the information I needed, but when I tried to leave, he grabbed me. Shoved me against a table and tried to pull off my trousers."

"Didn't you have a weapon?" Will said hoarsely. "Couldn't you fight him off?"

"He was as tall as you," Birdie said miserably. "And outweighed me by a good hundred pounds. His goons patted me down, so I didn't have a gun. All I had was a shiv in my sleeve." She looked at Will then, her face showing the surprise and disbelief that she must have felt then. "It all happened so fast. I dropped the knife into my hand and swung backwards." Tears began to spill down her face. "I hit him. I-I don't know where. I just ran. God," Birdie shuddered and covered her face with her hands. "I can still smell him, still taste the fear in my mouth," she sobbed.

Will put his arm around her. Birdie's tears were seriously unnerving him, and he knew there wasn't a thing he could say to make her stop. Will silently handed her his handkerchief. He could only be here now for her, let her cry it out.

Birdie leaned against his shoulder. "I told my boss that my cover had been blown and that I needed to get out. I never found out what happened to Big Mike." She swiped angrily at her eyes. "I could've asked around, but-"

"Shhh," Will whispered. "As long you're all right. That's all that matters." He silently vowed to find out Big Mike's whereabouts. The bastard better be dead. "You walked into the lion's den and lived to tell about it." Birdie heard admiration in his voice.

They must have fallen asleep, because hours later Birdie woke to find they were still sitting side by side in front of the fireplace, his arm across her shoulders. Will stirred beside her. He swore ripely and pulled his arm to his chest.

"What's wrong?" Birdie asked, concerned.

Will grimaced in pain, flexing his hand. "My arm fell asleep." He stumbled to the mattress, pulled off his boots, placed his glasses carefully on the floor near his head, and lay down. He was asleep within minutes.

Birdie smiled wryly as she slipped under the bed covers. My hero. But, she had to admit, he hadn't ranted, he hadn't vowed revenge, he'd just held her while she cried out her fear and disgust. The ball of acid she'd been carrying inside the past year was dissipating; maybe now she could stop looking over her shoulder for shadows.

Birdie woke to find herself alone in the cabin. She wrapped herself in the blanket and stumbled to the window. The cabin windows were high on the wall; she had to stand on tiptoe to look out.

Will had obviously fed the mules and his mare. They were tearing strands of hay from a rack in the middle of the corral. Birdie splashed some water from the pail on her face and went in search of Will.

The bunkhouse door was still locked, but the cookhouse wasn't. Coffee brewed on the stove, but the rest of the room was still a mess. As Birdie poured herself a cup, the light above her head suddenly flicked on. She dropped the coffee with a yelp. Where the hell is he?

She followed the noise to a small building beside the cookhouse. As she pushed open the door, Birdie was assaulted by the thump of the generator. "What are you doing?" she yelled.

Will popped up from behind the generator. He had a streak of grease on his face. "What?" The glare Birdie gave him had him feeling for the cut-off switch. The silence made them both blink.

"What are you doing?" Birdie snapped.

"Overhauling the generator," Will replied warily. She looked angry enough to take a swing at him. "That's why I needed to be back here before the crew."

"Must you do it so early?" Birdie grumbled.

"Early?" Will began to grin. "It's nearly ten o'clock. I've put in a good four hours on this."

"Ten?" Birdie grasped his wrist and looked at his watch. "It can't be!"

"Some of us don't have the luxury of sleeping in." Will couldn't resist the jab.

"I must have been more tired than I thought," Birdie said, scrubbing her face with her hands. "I haven't slept that late in ages." What worried her was that she'd slept so deeply that she hadn't heard Will get up and leave the cabin. She couldn't have that happen when she went back to her job---she'd have her throat cut in a week. Birdie knew that to survive she'd have to relearn to sleep with one eye open.

As Birdie swept the cookhouse, Will fished through the supplies and cooked them a strange but edible breakfast.

"What are you going to tell the crew about Henderson?"

Will shrugged. "I guess I'll tell them that he got himself arrested over the break and won't be coming back." He looked around the room. "I can tell everyone that the raccoons got in here and tore everything up. They'll believe that. I'll have to take the truck to town for supplies, so at least we can have a decent meal. Probably ought to make a list."

The bunkhouse wasn't nearly as messed up as the other buildings. As Birdie remade the beds, Will put the men's belongings back into their trunks.

"Don't be too neat about it," Will cautioned. "They'll be suspicious if their belongings are put away perfectly."

"Don't worry," Birdie laughed. "I have three brothers. I know how men are."

Will dropped a trunk lid on his hand, and his oath made Birdie misinterpret his pained look. That's all I am to her. A brother.

The next morning, Birdie managed to wake up when Will did. She helped him by making coffee and setting the table while he cooked breakfast. At least they had eggs and bacon now.

"You're going to have to show me how you do that," Birdie commented. Will gave her an odd look, then looked down at the skillet.

"Nothing to it," he said simply. "If the eggs break when you flip them, you just scramble them. They cook pretty fast, though. Don't leave them alone or they'll burn."

After breakfast, Will went back to his cabin to shave, looking into a fist-sized mirror he'd propped up on a shelf. Birdie hovered behind him, standing on tiptoe to try and see what her hair looked like.

Will finally stopped and pointed to a chair with the straight razor. "Sit down, will you?" he commanded. "This is hard enough for me to do without you hovering. I'd like to live through this, if you don't mind."

Chastened, Birdie sat. "Shaving's hard for you? I thought you'd be used to it by now."

"Well," Will said. "The top part is okay, but doing my neck is a bear. My peripheral vision is so bad that I have to shave my neck by feel."

It amazed Birdie at how pragmatic Will was about his war wounds. She was sure she wouldn't have been so calm if the tables were turned. Uncle Brisco told her that Will had come home from France angry and confused, but a long trip with Uncle Bowler had changed him.

"I don't know what Bowler said to him," Brisco commented. "But I'm grateful. Will's an entirely different person now."

"Let me try." Birdie offered. She almost laughed when Will wavered for a moment at her comment. Then he shook his head.

"No thanks. I think I'd rather die by my hand than by yours."

Birdie held her hand up, palm level with the floor. "Look. Rock solid nerves." Then she made her hand shake, laughing when Will visibly paled. He swore under his breath and went back to shaving.

"Can I at least talk?"

Will wiped the blade carefully on the towel slung across his shoulder. "As long as you don't expect wordy answers." He tilted his head to the side and started to shave his chin.

"How much salary would you pay someone to run your business?"

Will stopped and stared at her. "Why do you ask?" he said cautiously. This was too good to be true.

Birdie looked down as if she were ashamed. "I'm thinking about quitting my job, but I want to have another job lined up before I do. And I'd have to find a place to live."

Will thought a moment. This was one of the things he and his father had discussed. They wanted the salary to be enticing to Birdie, yet not so high as to make her suspicious. Will did some quick math in his head.

"Twenty dollars a week without board, eighteen if you live in the upstairs room. And I'll lend you money to buy furniture if you want."

Birdie looked at him wide-eyed. "You can afford that?"

Will shrugged. "I have a whole bag of silver nuggets in the bank in Clark's Landing that I haven't even touched." He didn't tell her that he already owned an entire storefront building in Caryville. "I usually go prospecting on my days off, so I have money to spare."

"So," Birdie said. "When can I start?"

"How about today?"

They took the truck down to Caryville. Will unlocked the storefront, then stepped back to let Birdie in ahead of him. Stacks of books littered the floor, and the only furniture seemed to be a desk and a three-legged chair.

"I need to build shelves," Will said, looking around the room. "And fix the chair. But that shouldn't take a day or two."

"What's it look like upstairs?" Birdie asked.

Will handed her the keys. "Go see for yourself." Birdie went back outside and unlocked the door to the upstairs apartment. The floorboards creaked above Will's head.

Birdie returned to the ground floor to find Will pacing off the floor and writing in his notebook. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Trying to figure out how much lumber I need for shelves." He looked up. "What do you think of the apartment?"

"It's filthy." Birdie saw Will's face fall and smiled to reassure him. "But it has definite possibilities. Does the yard behind go with the building?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"It looks like someone had a garden back there once." Birdie shoved a pile of books aside and sat on the edge of the desk. "Might be nice to raise vegetables there."

"Why Birdie," Will grinned, cocking his head. "You sound so domestic."

"Yeah," Birdie swung her feet and smiled at the floor in embarrassment. "Well, maybe it's about time."

Will left to get lumber and Birdie began sweeping and dusting. She was thinking about how to furnish the apartment when a shadow crossed her path. Birdie looked up to see a woman standing in the open doorway.

"Hello," she said.

"Good morning," the woman replied. She was four or five years older than Birdie, her dark hair fashionably bobbed. She wore, in Birdie's opinion, an absolutely stunning dress. This was a woman, like Birdie's foster mother Kate, who looked great in whatever she wore. "I hope I'm not interrupting," the woman said, her eyes moving around the room.

"No," Birdie said carefully as she leaned on the broom. She felt like a street urchin next to this beauty. "We're just trying to get cleaned up in here."

"We?" the woman arched a perfect eyebrow.

"Oh, hi, Miz Eloise," Will said, coming in the door carrying wood planks. "How are you today?"

"Just fine," Eloise simpered. "What are you doing here, Mr. County?"

"A little side business," Will answered politely. "We're going to start a library."

"Why that's delightful!" Eloise exclaimed. "Just what this town needs. Are you quitting the mine?"

"No," Will said as he set the lumber on the floor and leaned it against the wall. He dusted his hands on his trousers. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Miss Eloise, I'd like you to meet Birdie Callahan. She's going to run the library."

"Oh, the girls will just love this," Eloise fawned over Will after she politely shook Birdie's hand. "You know we don't get much business until late afternoon, so this will keep them from getting bored. Things have been pretty slow while your crew's been gone." Unseen by the pair, Birdie rolled her eyes.

"They'll start coming back tomorrow," Will informed her, his eyes never leaving Eloise's face.

"That's wonderful," Eloise smiled like a contented cat. She ran her hand lightly down the side of Will's face and, to Birdie's astonishment, he blushed. "Stop over at the house and we'll conclude our business arrangement." As she turned to leave, Eloise shot Birdie a look that said: I can have any man I want.

Oh. Birdie's jaw dropped in surprise. She's a prostitute. Will watched Eloise walk across the street until she disappeared from sight. Then he shook his head in wonder and went back to work. Birdie suddenly felt an irrational attack of jealousy. He's a grown man. He can do what he wants with whomever he wants.

Birdie continued to clean while Will built shelves. If he thought she was a little abrupt with him during the afternoon, he just chalked it up to the cleaning she was forced to do. By late afternoon, the library was finished, and Birdie had shelved what books they possessed.

"I need to go," Birdie had been stewing all afternoon about how to tell him.

"Go?" Will looked up in surprise. "Go where?"

"To Placerville," Birdie replied. "To get my things. If your crew is coming back, I can't sleep in your cabin anymore. And I need tell my boss that I'm quitting."

Will shrugged. "Go tomorrow. I'm going to be all day picking up the men from the train station."

"No," she said carefully. "I'm going tonight. I should be back day after tomorrow."

Will looked up sharply, but then figured it wasn't worth arguing about. "I suppose we need to go back up to Devil's Gate to get your motorcycle," he sighed.

Birdie concluded her business early and drove back to Caryville the next afternoon. She parked the motorcycle in the shed behind the store and let herself into the apartment. The trip to Placerville had been a sobering experience. Her boss seemed happy that she was quitting; Birdie wondered if the problems on her last two missions were to blame. Birdie was also amazed at what little she owned. She moved so often that she'd been forced to travel light. Anything of value she kept back in her old room in Aunt Kate and Uncle Brisco's house.

Aunt Kate. Birdie wondered if she should call her foster mother. Kate could probably make some curtains and some sheets for her apartment. Birdie decided to use her bedroll until she could contact Kate about bedding. Marveling at how quickly she was becoming "domesticated", Birdie packed the remainder of her things into a box and mailed it to herself in Caryville, in care of Will County.

When she entered the apartment, she found that Will had gotten a bed frame for her. No mattress covered the strings tied across the frame, so Birdie mentally added it to the growing list of things for Kate to make. I'll be in debt for months, she thought wryly.

Will had cut a few twigs of spruce and had stuck them in a tin can. The piney fragrance filled the room. Nothing was blooming this time of the year, but Birdie was touched by his thoughtfulness. There was a note under the can: It's not much, but it's home.

"Yes, indeed," Birdie murmured. She started to open the window for fresh air when she saw Will and another man pull up to the house across the street. Birdie backed away from the window a bit so Will wouldn't see her if he chanced to look up. Eloise greeted the two men at the door. They doffed their hats and entered the house.

Birdie unloaded her gear, trying not to think about where Will was and what he was probably doing. She dropped everything at least once and finally gave up in frustration. Birdie pulled the bed frame close to the window and sat down to wait.

And wait. Almost an hour later, Will and the other man emerged from Eloise's establishment, carrying birdcages in each hand. They were laughing and their faces were flushed. They put the cages in the back of the truck, ran a rope through each cage, and tied the rope to the truck bed. Will and the other man then got in the truck and, waving to Eloise and several other women who'd followed them outside, made their way to the mine road.

By the time Will's companion returned alone to town and turned the truck toward the train station, Birdie was steaming. She hauled the motorcycle out of the shed and drove up to the mine.

Will spread the receipts out on his desk and was copying them to his ledger when he heard the motorcycle. Birdie's back? he thought happily. He opened the door just as Birdie stormed in. Will caught her wrist when she swung at him. Furious, Birdie tried to hit him with her left fist. Will grabbed her other wrist and pushed her against the wall to subdue her.

"Don't even think about kicking me," he warned.

"Let me go, damn you," Birdie snarled.

"Not until you tell me what you're pissed off about."

"I saw you." Birdie struggled in his grasp.

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"You and that, that, that," Birdie wished he'd let go of her arm so she could hit him. "Woman," she spat.

"Woman?" Will was completely baffled. "What woman?"

"Eloise."

"Eloise?" Will frowned. "What's Eloise got to do with anything?"

"Don't lie to me!" Birdie cried. "I saw you two together! I--"

Suddenly, everything made sense. "Where were you?" he demanded. Twisting one wrist behind her back, Will frog marched Birdie over to the table.

"In the apartment. Let go!"

"No," Will said firmly. "I'm not stupid, Bird. You'll slug me." He nodded to the ledger and said, "Read this."

"January twelfth. Paid ten dollars to Eloise McKinnon for care of birds during mine shutdown." Birdie twisted to look at him. "What birds?"

"Mine canaries," Will replied. "They would have died up here while I was gone. Eloise looked after them."

"But-"

"Gryff and I went down to get them today. He dropped one of the cages and it took us damn near an hour to catch one of the canaries and get him back in his cage." Birdie relaxed, so Will gently let go of her.

"But I thought-" Birdie turned to him.

"That I was in love with Eloise?" Will laughed in disbelief. "That's ridiculous! I'm in love with you."

The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. They stared at each other in stunned silence. Finally, Will removed his glasses and tilted his chin.

"Now you can hit me," he said softly.

Birdie gaped at him for a moment longer, then fled.

When the redhead ran out of the cabin, kicked her motorcycle to life, and roared away, Amos Barton dropped the bowl he was stirring and hurried to Will's cabin, certain he'd find the engineer in a pool of blood. As he neared the cabin, Will stepped outside.

"You okay, Boss?" the cook asked, skidding to a halt. Will looked a bit shell-shocked. "I was afraid I'd find you full of holes."

"I wasn't worried about that," Will said grimly, staring at the cloud of dust moving down the hill. "I was worried about her right hook."

Amos was flabbergasted. "She hit you?"

Will turned and blinked as though waking from a trance. "No," he said. "I've known her most of my life. It's just that she tends to swing first and ask questions later." He scowled. "I was hoping I'd have more time before the shit hit the fan."

Amos laughed and clapped Will on the shoulder. "My mamma use to always say, 'They ain't never enough time.'" He nodded down the hill. "Leave her be for a day or two. Let her think it over. She'll come around."

"You don't know Birdie. This'll probably make her run as far away from me as possible."

"What happened?"

Will looked glum. "I told her that I loved her, Amos."

"Oh no," the cook said in sympathy. "Sounds like you got it bad, son."

"I know," Will sighed.

"I thought you'd drive the car," Birdie said as Brisco County, Jr. rode into the ruins of Gold Creek.

Her foster father shrugged. "It's such a nice day that I thought I'd stretch Max's legs a bit." He patted the chestnut's shoulder. "Too much feed, too little exercise." Max harrumphed and swished his tail angrily. "Only kidding, Max," Brisco grinned as he dismounted. He threw the reins up over the saddlehorn so they wouldn't get tangled and let the horse graze.

Brisco sat down next to Birdie on what was left of the mill foundation. "Why'd you want to meet here?" he asked.

"I thought we'd meet half way," Birdie replied. "Besides, this is my hiding spot. You are probably the only person who'd remember this is where I came from."

Brisco looked around at the brush that had grown and covered what was left of Gold Creek. Birdie could tell that he was seeing the town as it was when he rescued a ten-year-old girl from a well, some sixteen years before. "It doesn't bother you to come here?" he asked.

"It's comforting some how. It's quiet and I can think." Birdie smiled and shook her head. "Sometimes I think the first ten years of my life were a dream, that my life started when I came to live with you and Aunt Kate."

Brisco frowned. "That's not fair to your mother," he said, pointing to the millstone that served as the tombstone for the fifty-seven people who died when a forest fire claimed their town.

"Oh, I didn't mean that it was a bad dream," Birdie said. "It's just that my memory is so hazy about that time in my life that it doesn't seem real." She looked over at Brisco. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," he replied. "It's probably because there's no one left to remind you of that time. You have me and Kate and the boys to remind you of things that happened later."

"I come up here sometimes to talk to Mama," Birdie said quietly. Then she grinned. "And she's a great listener." Brisco chuckled beside her. "I don't know why, but I always feel like I get an answer to my problem when I tell her."

"So why have me tag along?" Brisco asked.

"Because I want to know why you and Will want me to quit my job," Birdie said sharply.

Brisco sighed. "I'm afraid for you," he said gently. "It's not that I think you can do the job. You've proven time and again that you're capable." He frowned and looked off to the distance. "There used to be a code of sorts among the bad guys. They'd lie, steal, and cheat, but they followed set rules of behavior." Brisco smiled grimly. "I suppose it kept them from killing each other more than they did." His smile faded. "Now, they shoot first and ask questions later. They don't consider the consequences of murder, especially a lawman. And you've got bootleggers that didn't exist in my day."

"I know," Birdie said glumly. "I've been shot at by a few."

Brisco frowned at her admission. "Then understand why I asked Will to find you a job."

Birdie shot him a puzzled look, then stood and began to pace. "You sound like Charlie, my boss. When I told him I was quitting, he said he wasn't surprised. Ngghh," she said angrily, gritting her teeth and punching her fist into her palm. "He said it was about time I decided to settle down and have babies." Birdie turned and looked at Brisco. He was grinning from ear to ear. She stomped over to him and poked her forefinger into his chest. "Not you too!" she snapped.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," Brisco said affably.

Birdie threw up her hands in disgust and stomped over to the tombstone. "See what I have to put up with?" she asked her dead mother, pointing to the man who'd since become her father.

"So you don't want to work for Will," Brisco said, shrugging. "Big deal. Work somewhere else."

"But you don't understand," Birdie countered. "Will told me he loved me." Brisco didn't seem surprised, and that made Birdie wonder if everyone in the world knew but her.

"Do you love him?" he asked carefully.

"Yes. No. I don't know," Birdie said, exasperated. She plopped down beside Brisco and scowled at him. "You don't seem surprised."

"Oh, believe me," Brisco replied. "When Daniel informed me that Will was crazy about you, I thought he was nuts. Then my lovely wife told me the same thing later. She said that I had to be blind not to see it." He put his arm around Birdie's shoulders. "Give me a break, will you? I still have trouble seeing you kids as adults." He chuckled. "My dad used to piss me off by treating me like a child, and here I am doing the same to you."

Birdie leaned into him. "I don't know what to do," she said quietly.

"If you don't love Will, tell him," Brisco said cautiously. "It'll hurt, but he'll get over it. Just don't let him railroad you into something you're not ready for. Do it on your own terms."

Four days later, Birdie drove up to Devil's Gate. When she knocked on Will's door, the camp cook hailed her from the cookhouse.

"He ain't there, Miss," Amos Barton said. "It's his day off. He's up the creek a ways." He pointed up the mountain.

"Thanks," Birdie said. "How far?"

The cook shrugged. "Probably not far. He didn't take his horse."

Birdie walked around to the back of Will's cabin and followed the creek up towards its source. It wasn't long until she smelled cigarette smoke. Birdie spotted Will's hat poking up above the bank. Quietly she crept up behind him.

Will sat on an overturned bucket, swirling mud around in a gold pan, his cigarette sending a lazy plume of smoke into the air. Birdie could tell by the set of his face that he was deep in thought and hadn't heard her approach.

"Hi," she said finally. Will yelped and dropped the pan. He swore and scrambled into the creek after the pan before it swirled away. As Will waded back to shore, Birdie saw him carefully mask the hope on his face.

"Sorry," she said, genuinely ashamed of sneaking up on him.

"What do you want?" Will glared at her, although he felt his heart lightening. Birdie coming back here had to be a good sign, didn't it?

"A minute of your time."

"Okay," he said warily, offering her a seat on his bucket. As she sat, Will squatted down beside her and, dipping the pan into the mud, began to swirl the mixture.

"How much did I make you lose?" Birdie asked.

Will shrugged. "I pan so I can think. The gold I find is just secondary." As if to prove a point, he reached into his coat pocket and gave Birdie a small glass vial.

Birdie held the vial up to the light. It was half-full of gold flakes swirling in water. "How long did it take you to get this much?"

"Off and on since you left."

"That's a lot of thinking."

"Uh-huh," was all Will said.

"So," Birdie took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than she thought. "I went to see Uncle Brisco." She watched with some satisfaction as his face fell. "He told me that you two cooked up the library job so I'd quit the Treasury Department." The surprised look Will gave her confirmed her suspicion. It had been Will's idea; Brisco just went along with it and offered to take the blame. "And while I appreciate the sentiment behind your little ploy," she said, her voice hardening to steel. "I hate it when people do things behind my back."

"We were afraid your luck would run out," Will said softly, as an apology. "We," he stopped and closed his eyes. "I just couldn't bear to see you hurt."

"I know," Birdie said, leaning into him. "I felt the same way when you went to France." Will went very still beside her. Since she never told Will why she'd spent the war as a spy, it had obviously never occurred to him that she did it to keep him alive. Birdie glanced at him. Will looked as if he hadn't slept in days. He had several days' growth of beard; either he'd been too tired to shave or too afraid to have the razor in his hand. The swirling motion Will made with the pan seemed automatic, as though his hands were working separately from his body. He looked so lost that Birdie felt an overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him and tell him that everything would be all right.

No, she cautioned herself. This is going to be on your terms.

"I have two propositions," Birdie said. Will raised an eyebrow in question, but didn't speak. "The first one is that I will run your library, but only as your business partner, not just an employee."

"Okay," Will said, visibly relieved. "Have James draw up a contract and I'll sign it." Will was afraid of what the second proposition might be; he was so tense that his head began to throb.

"And then there's the other thing," Birdie continued. "Us."

"I know," Will said. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down into the pan. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I put you on the spot, and for that I'm sorry. I can't change the way I feel, but if it isn't what you want, I'll back off."

Birdie punched him in the shoulder. "Oh, don't be such a martyr, Will. I'm not saying I don't want this to happen. I'm just saying that everything in my life is so crazy right now. I don't want to be herded into this. I want to take it slow."

"What do you mean?" he asked warily, rubbing his sore arm.

"Court me," Birdie said. "Treat me like any other girl you've met for the first time."

"Court you?" Will repeated, slowly becoming aware of what she was offering. He looked at her sharply, eyes widening. "You're serious?"

Birdie shook her head as though she were trying to teach a fool. "Of course I'm serious. This concerns the rest of my life. Our lives."

Amos Barton watched as Will and the redhead emerged from the woods near Will's cabin. He was carrying the bucket, she the gold pan. At the door, she traded the pan for the library keys he'd dug from his pocket. Will watched as the redhead climbed aboard her motorcycle. She said something to Will that Amos couldn't hear, but he could tell from her face that she wasn't angry. Will had lost the tension in his shoulders that he'd been carrying for days. He smiled a tired smile and waved as the redhead sped off. The cook was dying of curiosity, but he knew better than to ask Will what happened. Will entered his cabin and shut the door behind him.

Will County was bouncing between sheer exhaustion and the high only love can bring. He picked up a book from the table and stretched out on the bed to read it. He let the book drop to his chest as he rubbed his tired eyes with his free hand.

Hours later, Amos Barton knocked softly on the cabin door. He was puzzled. The cabin was dark, and Amos thought maybe Will had gone down to Caryville. But Will's horse was still in the corral. When he got no answer, Amos pushed the door open carefully and held the lantern up to light the room. He was startled to find Will stretched out on the bed. The young engineer was so quiet that at first the cook was afraid he was dead. But on closer inspection, Amos saw the rise and fall of the book on Will's chest. Will wasn't dead, just dead to the world. Then the cook saw the smile on Will's face.

"Pleasant dreams, Boss," Amos said, grinning. He left the cabin and quietly pulled the door shut behind him.