Lorraine Heath (29 page)

“Perversion doesn’t come garbed any differently than you or me. You can’t look at a man and tell what’s in his head or on his mind. I have seen the most upstanding men in other communities do things that would turn your stomach, and I only learned about them because they went too far and needed my services.”

Dallas felt the impotent anger swell within him. “Is there anything you can do for the boy?”

Dr. Freeman shook his head. “The hurt he’s had on the outside is healing, but it’s the deep pain that he’s gotta be feeling on the inside that concerns me, the scars he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life.”

“I won’t be taking him back to town,” Dallas said with determination.

“I’ll let his father know—”

“You leave his father to me.”

Rawley Cooper knew he had made a big mistake. All the doctor had wanted to do was look at him.

Rawley couldn’t remember what he’d said, but he knew the exact moment that the doctor figured out what Rawley thought he wanted to do to him.

He’d thought the skinny man was going to puke on the floor, and Rawley knew they wouldn’t let him see the pretty lady now. They knew he was dirty on the inside and out.

He heard the door open. He bundled up his shame the same way that he’d bundled up his clothes. He turned from the window.

Mr. Leigh filled the doorway. “Put on your clothes, boy.”

Rawley nodded and did as he was told. He’d thought about putting them on before, but the doctor hadn’t told him to so he’d decided to wait. He was forever doing what he wasn’t supposed to do.

When his fingers had skipped over the two buttonholes in his shirt that no longer had buttons belonging to them, and he had buttoned the top button at his throat, the button that nearly gagged him but made him feel protected, he lifted his gaze back to the towering man.

Mr. Leigh stepped into the hallway. “Come with me, boy.”

Taking one last look at all the fine and pretty things in the room, he slowly walked into the hallway. Mr. Leigh was standing beside an open door that led into a corner room.

“Stop dragging your feet. My wife is anxious to see you.”

Rawley’s heart felt like the fluttering wings of a butterfly he’d once cupped in his hands. Mr. Leigh knew the truth about him—he could see it in his eyes—and he was still going to let him see the pretty lady. He hurried into the room before Mr. Leigh could change his mind.

Then he stumbled to a stop.

The lady was sitting in the bed, looking like an angel. She smiled softly and held out her hand. “Rawley, I’m so glad you could come visit me.”

He edged closer to the bed, and she waved her hand. “Give me your hand.”

He shook his head. “I ain’t clean.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

He knew she thought he was talking about dirt, but he was talking about something so filthy it touched his soul. Tears burned his eyes when he shook his head this time.

Mr. Leigh walked to the other side of the bed and stood near his wife. “It’s all right, Rawley.”

Rawley dared to lift his gaze. Mr. Leigh nodded.

He took a step closer and touched his fingers to the lady’s hand. She closed her hand around his. Her hand was warm and soft and swallowed his. He wondered if his ma’s hand had been like this.

The lady tugged gently and he moved closer. She brushed her fingers over his brow. He’d never been touched with such gentleness.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded. “The boxes didn’t fall on me.”

“I’m glad.”

He suddenly remembered all the screaming that had been going on, all the blood, all the yelling about the baby. “Where’s your baby?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Mr. Leigh dropped his gaze to the floor.

“He’s in heaven,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Rawley croaked as the tears he’d been fighting to hold back burst through. “I’m sorry.”

She drew him close and pressed his head against her bosom. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But he knew it was. If only he hadn’t cried out. He knew better than to cry out.

The lady rocked him back and forth while he cried. He didn’t know he had so many tears. When he stopped crying, her gown was wet but she didn’t seem to care.

For the longest time, he simply stood beside her and let her hold his hand.

When the lady fell asleep, he helped Mr. Leigh bring the blankets up to her chin. Through the window, he could see that night had fallen. He followed Mr. Leigh through the house, through big rooms, until they came to the kitchen.

Austin sat at a small table, slurping stew.

“Sit down, boy,” Mr. Leigh said.

Rawley slid into the chair. He was embarrassed when his belly growled like an angry dog. Austin smiled at him. Mr. Leigh put some stew into a bowl and placed it in front of him.

“Go on, boy, eat,” Mr. Leigh said.

Rawley squirmed. “Ain’t got no way to pay for it.”

“What happened to that dollar I gave you?”

“I buried it. They built a hotel on top of it. Didn’t know they were gonna do that till it was too late.”

Mr. Leigh rubbed his mustache. “That must be why the hotel is such a success. Maybe we ought to change the name to the Lucky Dollar Hotel.”

Rawley shrugged.

“Go on and eat, boy. You made my wife smile. That’s worth more than a dollar to me.”

Cautiously, Rawley brought a spoonful of stew to his mouth. Normally he ate whatever his pa left behind, which usually wasn’t much. He’d never had his own bowl before. His own food. His mouth and belly wanted him to eat fast, but he forced himself to eat slow, to pretend he had his own food every night and could eat as much as he wanted.

When he finished eating, Mr. Leigh made him take a bath and put on some of Austin’s old clothes. He told Rawley that Austin had been eight years old when he’d worn the clothes. Since the clothes fit him, Rawley wondered if that meant he was eight years old. He wondered if it meant that he’d grow to be as tall as Austin.

Because he knew he couldn’t outrun or outfight Mr. Leigh, Rawley followed him back up the stairs to the room where he had been earlier, where the doctor had looked at him. Mr. Leigh stopped and held something toward Rawley.

“Do you know what this is?” Mr. Leigh asked.

“A key.’”

“Do you know what it’s used for?”

“You lock the door so I can’t get out.”

Mr. Leigh walked into the room and inserted the key in a hole on the other side of the door. “From now on, this is going to be your room. You close the door and turn the key so no one can come in this room unless you want them to.”

“Not even you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Not even me. Give you my word.”

Mr. Leigh walked out of the room and closed the door. Rawley shoved the key farther into the hole and turned it. He heard the echo of a click.

He waited and listened hard. He heard Mr. Leigh’s boots hitting the floor of the hallway. He heard them on the stairs. Then he heard them not at all.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, guiding him. He walked to the bed, removed his boots, and crawled beneath the blankets.

They smelled clean and fresh, just like he did, and crackled beneath him.

He stared at the door for the longest time, at the shadow of the key in the lock. When his eyes drifted closed, for the first time in his life, he slept without fear.

Dallas walked through the swinging wooden doors of the saloon. The scent of freshly poured whiskey and stale cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils.

Come Saturday night, he wouldn’t be able to walk through the saloon without bumping into someone, but tonight only the dregs of his town were here.

Several men played cards at a table. A man sat alone at a corner table nursing a whiskey. Another man stood at the bar, his arms folded across the top.

“Come on, barkeep, give me a whiskey,” he said, his voice raspy.

“I don’t sell liquor on credit,” Beau said as he dried a glass, then held it up so the candles in his chandelier could dance over the glass. “Why don’t you head on home, Cooper?”

“ ’Cuz I ain’t drunk enough.”

Dallas strode to the bar and slapped a coin on the counter. “Whiskey.”

Beau set a glass in front of him and poured a long drink, then walked to the other end of the bar. Cooper’s black gaze darted to the glass. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips.

“Wouldn’t consider buying me a drink, would ya?”

“Nope, but I want to talk to you about your son.”

“Rawley?” His lips spread into a distorted grin. “You don’t hardly look the type to be interested in Rawley, but then what a man is on the inside don’t always show on the outside.” He leaned closer and his rancid breath billowed out like a cloud of dust.

“Five dollars for twenty minutes. Twenty dollars you can have him all night.”

Dallas had hoped, prayed, that Dr. Freeman had been wrong. He made no attempt to keep the loathing out of his voice. “Can we discuss this outside?”

Cooper sneered. “Sure. You don’t want people knowing your pleasures. I can respect that. Know how to keep my mouth shut, too.”

He staggered out of the saloon. Dallas found him beside the building. A lantern hanging from a pole sent a pale glow over the man as he held out his hand.

Dallas had never hit a man. He’d never used anything but his voice to make a man listen and obey, to make a man squirm when necessary, to make a man regret he’d chosen differently.

But tonight, his voice just didn’t seem to be enough. He brought his arm back and slammed his knotted fist into Cooper’s nose.

Cooper squealed like a wild hog and reeled back, blood spurting through his fingers as he covered his face. He hit the ground and cursed as he staggered to his knees.

Dallas waited until Cooper was again on his feet before burying his fist in the man’s paunchy gut. When Cooper bent over with a grunt, Dallas drove his fist into the man’s chin.

He heard the satisfying sound of bone cracking. Cooper landed flat on his back, moaning and crying. “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me again!”

Dallas crouched beside the pitiful excuse for a father, grabbed his shirt, and jerked him upright. Cooper cried out. “No more!”

Dallas glared at the bloody carnage. “Stay the hell away from Rawley or the next time I’ll use my gun.”

“He’s my boy!”

“Not anymore,” Dallas said as he shoved the man back to the ground. “Not anymore.”

Dallas watched as Rawley shoveled the eggs and biscuits into his mouth. It had taken Dallas ten minutes to convince the boy the food was for him, that he was being given another meal.

Once convinced, Rawley had plowed through a plate of eggs and four biscuits, as though afraid the offer would be rescinded. Dallas had little doubt the boy had been offered a lot in his life that was quickly taken back.

Dallas planted his elbows on the table and slowly sipped the black coffee from his cup. That morning, when he’d taken Dee her breakfast, he had told her that the boy was going to be staying.

“I want him to stay, Dallas, but we can’t go about deciding what’s best for people. Rawley might have been happy where he was. I don’t think he was, but you can’t take him away from it without knowing.”

She was right, of course. Dallas had taken her away from her home without knowing—or caring—if she wanted to leave. He seemed to have a habit of deciding what people should do with their lives. Asking never entered his head.

When Rawley had shoved the last bite of biscuit into his mouth and downed his glass of milk, Dallas set his cup aside. He glanced at Austin before shifting his gaze to Rawley. “Rawley, I have an offer for you.”

Distrust plunged into the boy’s eyes, and he looked like he might bring up his breakfast.

“I need a helper,” Dallas hastily added.

Rawley furrowed his brow. “A helper?”

“Yep. I’ve got a big ranch, a lot of responsibilities. Sometimes, I don’t have time to do everything. I need someone who can help me take care of things.”

“Like what?” he asked.

Dallas’s stomach knotted. A boy Rawley’s age shouldn’t know enough about life to have suspicion marking his gaze.

“Take care of the damn prairie dog, for one thing.”

“I’m good at that.”

“I know you are. I also need someone who can oil my saddle, brush my horse, someone to keep my wife company while I’m checking on the ranch. For your trouble, you get to sleep in that room upstairs, eat all the food your belly will hold, and you get a dollar a week.”

Rawley’s black eyes widened in wonder. “You mean a dollar a week to keep?”

“To keep, to spend. It’s up to you. Just don’t bury it. If you want to save it, we’ll put it in the bank.”

Rawley’s brow furrowed, and he gnawed on his bottom lip. “My pa—”

“I talked with your pa last night. He said it’s fine if you want to stay here and work for me.”

Rawley nodded vigorously, his black hair slapping his forehead. “I do. I can work hard.”

“I know you can, son.” A sharp pain stabbed through Dallas’s chest. He hadn’t meant to call the boy that. His son was lying in the cold ground. He shoved the chair back and stood. “When you’ve finished eating, you go on upstairs and ask Mrs. Leigh to read to you. She likes reading out loud.”

In long strides, he left the house before he changed his mind about letting the boy stay. The boy couldn’t replace his son—no one, nothing could.

Standing at her bedroom window, Cordelia gazed at the land that looked as cold as her heart, as empty as the place inside her where a child had once grown.

Sometimes, she imagined that she could still feel him kicking. She would press her hand to her stomach, remembering all the times Dallas had laid his large hand beneath her navel and waited, his breath held, for the moment that would join the three of them. The tender smile he had bestowed upon her when the movement came. The warmth of his lips against her flesh as his mouth replaced his hand, kissing her gently, making her feel precious.

Precious because his dream was growing inside of her.

The tears surfaced and she forced them back. She was tired of crying, tired of the ache in her chest that she knew would never leave, tired of longing for the dreams that would never be.