Dance with the Devil

grade.”
        “So will their car be,” the waitress said, swiping at the top of the counter with a damp rag.
        “But I can't stay here when I'm expected-”
        “Let me call around to see if I can find Mike Harrison. He's got a Land Rover that's equipped to go anywhere.”
        “I wouldn't want to cause trouble-”
        “Mike wouldn't be troubled,” the woman assured her. “He likes to show his machine to people, like a grown man with a toy-and he'd surely want to meet the town's newest resident. I'll warn you, though, that you'll have to endure a wild ride up the road to Owlsden; Mike doesn't spare the thrills when he gives someone their first demonstration ride in that crazy buggy.”
        “If you really think he wouldn't mind,” Katherine said, “I'd appreciate his help. I'll pay him well enough for his trouble.”
        “No need to pay,” the woman said.
        “But-”
        “I doubt he'd take your money, seeing as how he has more of his own than he can ever easily spend. His father owns a lot of timberland on up the valley and two of the largest planning and processing mills in the mountains. Nearly everyone in Roxburgh has worked or now works for him.”
        “I see,” Katherine said. “But if he's who you say, he's probably busy with-”
        “He hardly ever does a decent day's work,” the waitress said, though her tone was not sarcastic but warm, as if everyone looked kindly upon Mike Harrison's sloth. “I'll get him on the phone. Be back in a snap.”
        She walked along the counter and said something to the man at the short-order grill, then disappeared into the kitchen where, apparently, the telephone lay.
        Katherine finished her coffee and placed enough change on the counter to cover the cost plus a generous tip to compensate the woman for her telephoning as well as for her counter service.
        By then, the waitress had returned. “Found him,” she said. “He says he'll be delighted to take you up there.”
        “Wonderful!” Katherine said, thinking about the treacherous road she would have had to try again if Mike Harrison had not been available or willing.
        “He says to give him fifteen minutes to get his Land Rover and be here.”
        
        The time passed quickly as she waited in the cafe for Harrison, mostly because the waitress was a talker -and a good one, relating one anecdote about Harrison, the town, the Roxburgh-Bolands, after another. She was the kind of woman who laughed a great deal and who would have looked out of place without an apron around her waist, a grandmotherly type whose gossip was never malicious. Katherine knew that, whenever she had a day off and wanted to get a bite to eat outside of Owlsden, she would come back here for the conversation as much as for the food.
        At a quarter of seven, with darkness full upon the land now and the snow falling just as fiercely as ever, Michael Harrison arrived at the cafe, his hair laced with snow, his face pinched into a bright red heartiness by the brisk fingers of the wind. He was a tall, rugged-looking, handsome man, only a couple of years older than Katherine. His face was cut in Roman lines, with a high, broad forehead, well-set blue eyes, a straight, thin nose, firm lips and a chin cut square and strong. His shoulders were wide, his carriage that of a man who knows how to handle himself in any situation.
        He crossed the cafe and actually did a modified, courtly bow to her, something she had never expected to find here in the wilds. His smile was positively dazzling. “You're our new resident?”
        “Katherine Sellers,” she said.
        “I'm Mike Harrison, and I'm pleased to meet you.”
        “Me too,” she said. She had swiveled away from the counter on her stool, but she had not risen. He was such a gentleman and made her feel-even after that brief exchange-like such a lady that she felt she ought to abide by more ancient traditions of manner and remain in her seat.
        “I didn't know Lydia was hiring a new secretary.”
        “Companion, actually,” Katherine said.
        “I told her how much she'll like working for Mrs. Boland,” the waitress said. “Couldn't find a kinder lady.”
        Katherine noted that, as the waitress spoke, a strange look passed across Mike Harrison's face, held more behind his eyes than in them, concealed but still partly evident. It was a look of irritation at what the waitress