Ryan looked at the mountain of food, passing half the trout to Krysty, taking the other half himself. “I reckon it’ll keep us going for a while.”
“We got some good desserts, as well. Take some pride in my pies, I do.”
“What you got to drink?” J.B. asked.
“Mostly beer. With beer as a second choice. And milk as the third choice.”
They all chose beer.
Doc broke the munching silence. “The trouble nowadays is that food is killing the art of conversation.”
Mildred laughed through a mouthful of steak-and-bacon pie. “Last few days have been either feast or famine, haven’t they? Eating in two good eateries. And in between living off rocks, gravel and rainwater.”
“Prefer beer to rainwater.” Ryan grinned.
At that moment the door of the restaurant inched open, making everyone look around. A heavily built, middle-aged, unshaven man peered in, blinking at the bright light from the oil lamps, staring at all of them, his eyes returning to Krysty.
“Little Krysty!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “My firstest and bestest girl.”
She stood, hand dropping in an automatic reflex to the butt of her Smith amp; Wesson 640. Then her green eyes widened in surprise, recognition slowly dawning.
“Gaia! It’s Carl. Carl Lanning. Herb’s boy.”
The man shut the door quickly behind him, after a glance to make sure that nobody was close by or watching him. He walked over to sit at the table, ignoring Ryan and the others, holding out a hand for Krysty to shake.
“Little By the gods! Never thought I’d ever set eyes on you again, Krysty. That’s”
The sentence trickled off into stillness. The woman who ran the Brown Burro had appeared from the kitchen, and then spun on her heel and vanished again.
Ryan studied Carl Lanning. Krysty had told him how, when she had been an adolescent girl in Harmony, under her mother’s tuition, she had decided that the time had come for her to lose her virginity. And Carl Lanning, about her age, son of the blacksmith, had been the chosen candidate.
She had seduced him, using him for her own purposes. But it had affected Carl and he had jumped to the conclusion that they were as good as engaged. Almost married. He followed her everywhere around the ville and neglected his chores until she’d finally driven the message home that she was going to leave Harmony one day and would leave it as a single woman.
Carl was a year or so older than Krysty, but he appeared at least twice that. His face was weathered and his eyes had the floating dimness, like watery eggs, of heavy drinkers. His features looked as if they were set in stone and he had a nervous tic, a nerve twitching beneath his left eye. It was possible to see behind the rapid aging that he had once been a handsome youth. Ryan’s guess would have put him on the scales now at the two-fifty mark. He reckoned that Carl probably stood around five feet nine inches tall.
The handsome youth had vanished under the weight of far too many glasses and bottles.
“So,” Krysty said. “After all these years. To meet up like this. Let me introduce you to my friends, Carl.”
“Sure thing. I guess I knew you’d come back one day, Krysty. Folks said you’d flown the coop forever and a day. But I told them no. Knew that one day Harmony’d pull you back. Though there’s been changes.”
She nodded. “We can talk about that in a moment. First off, this is Ryan Cawdor. Mildred Wyeth and”
“Yeah, good to meet you.” He interrupted her without even a token nod to the others. “Changes, Krysty. By the gods, but that’s true enough!”
Krysty persisted with the introductions. “John B. Dix, Jak Lauren and the old guy’s Doc Tanner.”
“These changes all started”
But Doc wasn’t going to let Carl get away with such rudeness. “I fear that I have no time for any man who uses vulgar words and vulgar language and vulgar manners, Mr. Lanning. But I assume that you are under stress and I will make allowances. I am pleased to meet any friend of Miss Wroth.”