Maureen McKade (12 page)

He released her arm. “Sorry.”

The contrite voice wasn’t Harrison’s, and Libby raised her head warily. She blinked and Matt coalesced into view. What happened? Why had she thought Matt was Harrison? A different kind of fear took hold of her: fear for her sanity.

Embarrassed by her strange outburst, Libby couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Matt retreated a couple steps. “I understand. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He moved back to allow her to pass without brushing him, and she gave him a tremulous smile. Libby wished she could confide in Matt, but she couldn’t tell him the truth without revealing her crime. The horrible secret must remain buried with Harrison.

They found the kitchen empty and walked down the hallway. Libby noticed Matt kept his distance, and he looked at her as if she’d grown horns and a tail. She didn’t blame him. She couldn’t even explain what had happened. One moment she’d been experiencing wondrous sensations she’d never known existed; and the next, fear had plummeted her into the past. Married to Harrison, Libby had convinced herself all men were like him, obscene groping creatures who inflicted pain to enhance their pleasure. Although Matt and Harrison were both men, the similarities ended there. She had thought Harrison the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, but she’d learned the devil owned many masks. Matt’s granite-carved face could hardly be called beautiful, but the sharp angles and lines added a depth of character Harrison had sorely lacked. In the short two weeks she’d known Matt, Libby recognized the decency rooted deep within him, and that goodness drew her like a clear lake beckons a thirsty man.

Dylan met them at the door of the parlor and dragged them into the warm, cheery room.

“How about poker?” Dylan suggested.

Theatrically, Libby arched an eyebrow at Matt. “Poker? Have you been corrupting this boy? Isn’t that against the law?”

Matt turned the scarred side of his face away from Libby. “Don’t blame that on me. I figure one of his mother’s friends taught him.”

Matt’s shuttered expression bewildered Libby. The
kind, gentle Matt, who’d touched her like no man had ever done, had disappeared, replaced by the distant sheriff she had first met. He didn’t retreat, but his gaze distanced her as skillfully as if he had stepped away.

“We were wondering if you two got lost down there,” Lenore commented from her favorite chair.

Libby laughed weakly. “That was my fault. I wanted to see what you had on the shelves.”

Eli’s gray eyebrows drew together as he tamped the tobacco down in the pipe’s bowl, but he didn’t comment.

“Maybe the sheriff will teach you how to play checkers,” Libby suggested to Dylan.

He turned beseeching eyes to Matt. “Will you?”

As Libby’s gaze collided with Matt’s, she caught a glimpse through the windows of his soul, but too quickly Matt drew a curtain across them. Her heart constricted at the ragged pain reflected in the rich depths. What burden did he suffer in stoic silence? What could bring such torment to a man so seemingly strong and fearless?

An icy chill slid down her spine. The incident in the cellar reminded her of her precarious situation. She couldn’t risk allowing her friendship with Matt to continue. She had nothing to offer but lies, and instinctively, Libby knew Matt was a man who tolerated many things, but never outright deceptions. If he learned the truth, she would only add to his buried grief, and that would hurt her as much as him.

She picked up a book and settled on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. Despite her vow to distance herself from Matt, her attention strayed to him and Dylan who sat cross-legged on the floor, a small table between them. Matt showed the boy how to set up the checkerboard and where the pieces went. In a few short games, Dylan mastered the rules and crowed zealously when he claimed Matt’s lost pieces.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“I wonder who that could be,” Lenore mused. She pushed herself up and left the room. Low voices sounded, and Lenore returned a few moments later.

“Eli, Stephen Miller’s wife is going to have her baby,” she announced.

Eli got to his feet and eased the kinks out of his back and legs. “Isn’t there a law that says babies can’t be born on holidays?”

“Sorry, Eli, but I ain’t ever heard of one like that,” Matt said. “You want me to ride over with you?”

“No reason to.” He leaned over and pecked Lenore on a plump cheek. “Thanks for dinner.”

Lenore waved an impatient hand. “You go on now and bring another healthy baby into this world.”

“I’ll stop by for dessert when I get back to town,” Eli said.

“Provided you don’t have to deliver four babies,” Libby said with a mischievous grin.

“I hear that only happens once in a lifetime.” Eli limped out with an arthritic gait.

Lowering her bulk into her chair, Lenore heaved a tremendous sigh. “He’s getting too old to be running off any hour of the day or night to take care of sick folks.”

“Maybe he could get another doctor to come to Deer Creek,” Libby suggested.

Lenore picked up her knitting needles. “He wouldn’t think of it. Still figures he’s a spring chicken, when he’s getting to be an old rooster. Maybe I should just set him down and tell him he’s getting too long in the tooth to continue like he’s been doing.”

Matt moved into a high-backed rocker. “You know that won’t set very well with him, Lenore. He’s lived in Deer Creek ever since the town raised its first building, and the folks here trust him. You can’t be telling him that he ain’t good enough to do his job
anymore. If you do, you may as well shoot him through the heart.”

“I know. It’s just that I worry about him.” Lenore looked at Libby. “Why don’t you read one of those dreadful dime novels to us?”

“Are you sure you want to hear about Texas Jack and his band of cutthroats?” Libby asked with a smile.

“Yeah!” Dylan shouted enthusiastically. He threw himself on the couch next to Libby. The checker game lay forgotten, pieces staggered across the board.

“How about you, Matt?”

“Sure,” he said curtly.

Unexpected hurt erased Libby’s smile. She opened the book and angled the pages so the kerosene lamp cast a smoky light across the words.

Libby brought the story to life with a voice that rose and fell dramatically, and her small audience breathlessly followed the tale of the infamous outlaw. Lenore’s half-finished afghan lay in her lap, and Dylan looked over Libby’s arm at the pictures in the book. Matt had tipped his head back against the rocker, his countenance thoughtful.

Half an hour later she finished the tale. Her gaze slid across the room to Matt, and tenderness welled within her. He slept soundly, and his face appeared younger and more vulnerable without his defenses in place. She turned to Dylan, pressed a finger to her lips, and whispered, “Shhh, the sheriff’s asleep.”

Dylan nodded. “He must be tired.”

Lenore pushed out of her sturdy chair and held a hand out to Dylan. “Let’s you and me go see if there’s anything to eat in the kitchen.”

Dylan went along eagerly and they tiptoed out of the room.

Left alone with the slumbering Matt, Libby memorized each ridge and hollow of his rough-hewn face.
His broad chest rose and fell, accented by a soft snore. Muscular legs covered by tan trousers were stretched out in front of him, and his booted feet were crossed at the ankles. Long fingers that ended with clean, blunt nails were intertwined, and his smooth-backed hands lay in his lap. She tried not to think about his light caresses on her cheek, but the hot liquid that pooled in the center of her being mocked her. Compassion, coupled with longing, created a hunger she didn’t know how to appease.

Ragged coughing interrupted her heated perusal.

She leaned forward on the settee and waited until Matt regained his breath. “It sounds like you’re coming down with the ague.”

“It ain’t nothing but a chill.” Matt stood and stretched.

His brown shirt molded his wide shoulders and lean torso, drawing Libby’s appreciative gaze. A pale butter-yellow scarf tied loosely about his neck accented his sun- and wind-darkened skin. His solid body reminded Libby of a sleek lion, deceptively languid but able to spring at a moment’s notice.

“Where’d Dylan go?”

“Lenore took him into the kitchen.” Libby untangled her legs and rose. “What do you say we go join them for some coffee and pie?”

He tipped his head slightly and motioned for her to precede him. Another spate of coughing from Matt accompanied them and Libby pursed her lips in concern. But she held her tongue, knowing she had to put a halt to her curiosity.

“I suppose you want some of my strudel,” Lenore said. “Dylan claims he likes it better than pumpkin pie.”

Libby smiled at the apple mixture around Dylan’s mouth. “Is there any left?”

“Of course.” Lenore sounded insulted. She cut a
hefty piece of the German dish, scooped it onto a plate, and handed the dessert to Libby. “Now what about you, Matt?”

“My usual, Lenore. It ain’t Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie.”

“That’s what you say about Christmas, too,” Lenore said.

She divided the pie into fourths and served Matt one of the substantial slices. Libby poured three cups of thick black coffee and refilled Dylan’s glass with buttermilk.

Matt put away two pieces of the spicy pumpkin pie and finished his coffee. “I’d best get back to the office. What do you say I walk you home, Dylan?”

Conflicting emotions crossed the boy’s face. “Ma’ll probably be looking for me.”

“Didn’t you tell her where you were going?” Matt asked.

Dylan shook his head.

Libby spoke up. “He had to sneak out since his mother never would’ve approved of him coming here for dinner.”

A muscle clenched and unclenched in Matt’s grizzled jaw. “Why don’t you ask Lenore for another piece of pie, Dylan? I got to talk to Miss O’Hanlon for a minute.”

Puzzled, Libby allowed Matt to steer her back into the empty parlor. He closed the door.

Matt paced the area in front of the fireplace. Abruptly, he stopped a few feet from Libby. “Do you know what Sadie’s going to do to Dylan when she finds out where he’s been?”

Startled by the accusatory tone in his voice, Libby’s posture stiffened. “She wouldn’t dare hurt him. Besides, I thought you’d be glad I asked him over.”

“I would’ve liked it better if Sadie knew about it.”

“I told you, she wouldn’t have let him come.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Exasperation crept into Libby’s tone. “You know what she’s like. She doesn’t like you or me interfering with her son, and she sure wouldn’t have liked him spending the holiday here.”

Barely controlled anger sharpened Matt’s tone. “And now she’s going to take it out of Dylan’s hide.”

“But you warned her that if she beat Dylan again, you’d take him away.”

“If I know about it.”

“Surely Dylan would come to you if she hurt him.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about that little boy, do you? He’s lived with these beatings all his life, and even though she’s a sorry excuse for a mother, Sadie’s the only family he’s got. Besides, she threatens him with more of the same if he tells. You know how much courage it took for him to sneak out today and come over here, knowing that he’d probably pay for it tonight?” Matt’s forefinger punctuated his words.

Hot tears pricked the back of Libby’s eyelids. “I didn’t know.”

“That’s right. You didn’t. Now I got to take him home and hope I can put the fear of the devil into Sadie so she won’t hit Dylan.”

“I’ll go with you. I’ll explain to her it was my fault.”

Cold fury hardened Matt’s features. “I think you done enough. I’ll take care of it.”

He spun on a worn boot heel and threw open the door. His footsteps clicked down the hall with a menacing cadence.

Misery settled upon Libby like a heavy cloak. She had wanted to make Dylan happy, allow him to enjoy a holiday like a normal child. Had that been so wrong? Matt had been right. How could she have been so stupid to think Sadie wouldn’t punish Dylan when she learned where he’d been?

She closed her eyes and a tear trickled down her cheek.

“Miss O’Hanlon?”

Her eyelids flickered open and she dashed the moisture away. Shifting from one foot to the other and wearing his too-small coat, Dylan stood in the doorway. A fond smile loosened her stiff features. “Are you going home now?”

Dylan nodded. “The sheriff said I had to thank you.”

Thank me for getting you in trouble with your mother.
To hide her self-contempt, Libby knelt and tied his scarf snugly about his neck. “No, I want to thank you for sharing yourself with us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will someday.” Libby leaned forward and gathered him close. Expecting him to resist the embrace, she was surprised when his arms encircled her neck. “Thank you for coming.”

She released him and gazed at his sober expression. “If you ever want to come over and see us, just drop in. I can guarantee Mrs. Potts will have the cookie jar full.”

“Okay. Goodbye, Miss O’Hanlon.”

“Goodbye, Dylan. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

Dylan waved and scurried away. From the kitchen, Matt’s low voice and Lenore’s vibrant tones flowed into unintelligible static, but the farewells sounded clearly. Silence descended upon the house. Like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, Libby entered the kitchen.

“I’ll wash the dishes if you’d like to go and sit down,” Libby volunteered.

Lenore, her hands already submerged in soapy water, shook her head. “You can dry.”

Libby plucked a towel from a rack near the warm stove, then lifted a plate out of the rinse water.

The matronly woman remained uncharacteristically silent.

When Libby’s conscience shouted so loudly she
could no longer ignore the accusing voice, she spoke. “Do you think Dylan’s mother will punish him?”

“Hard to say with someone like her. She’s about as predictable as a rabid skunk.”

“Matt said I was wrong for going behind her back and helping Dylan sneak out.”

Lenore’s hands stilled. “Is that what you think?”