Maureen McKade (17 page)

Sleep still eluded her a couple hours later, and she welcomed the task of feeding the fire. Dancing orange flames relegated the black night to the corners of the cabin, and heat spilled out to chase the chill away. Tightening her hold on the quilt wrapped around her shoulders, Libby tiptoed into Matt’s room. He snored quietly. She laid her hand on his weathered forehead but didn’t find a hint of fever. Relieved, she smiled in the darkness.

She smoothed a few stray locks of hair from his temples and her fingers tingled under the silky strands. As she allowed her curious gaze to drink in the strong lines of his ruggedly handsome face, the knot in her stomach grew. With a feathery-light touch she traced the angle of his jaw, pausing a moment on the endearingly familiar scar, and her heart cried for the awful pain he’d endured. She recalled the horror stories her brother had told her of the tent hospitals during the war and the suffering of the men because of the lack of morphine. If Matt had received the injury
fighting for the Confederacy, she suspected he’d been one of those who’d had to bear the agony without benefit of an anesthetic. She wondered about the other scars she’d seen when she’d removed his shirt. How violent a life had Matt led?

Libby shivered and pulled her hands into the warmth of her quilt, but she couldn’t drag her sight away from Matt. So different than Harrison, yet how could she be sure Matt wouldn’t become the beast her husband had? Her heart told her Matt could never hurt a woman, but her mind remembered too clearly how gentleness could turn to cruelty in the blink of an eye. She admired Matt for his goodness and strength and the security he brought to her, even as she feared he’d turn against her if he knew what she’d done. He must never learn her secret, for Libby wouldn’t be able to bear his disgust.

Her eyelids drooped and the soft bed beckoned her again. What harm could there be? Wearing her clothes and wrapped in a quilt, she could lie on the blankets beside him. No one would know, and she would awaken before Matt and move back to the floor in the early morning. Too exhausted to fight the temptation, Libby went around the bed and carefully lowered herself to the mattress beside his comforting strength. She sighed blissfully and closed her eyes.

The dim glow of dawn’s coral light greeted Matt’s bleary gaze. He stared out a frost-rimed window and tried to shake the last vestiges of sleep. Embers glowed in the hearth in the other room, and he debated the lure of the cozy bed and the knowledge he should stoke up the fire. Awareness of warmth on one side of his body made him turn his head. He blinked. He had dreamed of Libby O’Hanlon in his bed, but never believed his wish would come true. She lay curled against his side, her face pressed into his shoulder and her long hair fanned across the pillow. If he believed
in heaven, he would’ve believed her an innocent angel sent down to test his restraint.

A daintily curled hand rested beneath her chin and her eyelashes brushed her rosy cheeks. Full lips were parted slightly, and she snuffled softly with each breath. Matt smiled tenderly, wondering if she knew she snored. A light smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose spilled outward, dappling her cheeks. Matt’s memory of her satiny softness begged for another stolen caress. As his calloused thumb feathered across her features, passion surged through his blood. He hadn’t slept a night with a woman since Rachel, and he’d forgotten what it was like to awaken beside soft contours and a beautifully sculpted face.

He frowned. Though he desired her, a primitive protectiveness insinuated itself, and the urge to hold her overruled his virile needs. He didn’t want to feel more than simple lust. He had loved a woman once, and she had destroyed his heart with blatant affairs and sadistic taunts about his maimed face. Rachel had had no qualms about informing everyone he was no longer man enough to satisfy her.

He studied the arch of Libby’s brows and the perfect earlobe exposed to his hungry perusal. Everything about her drew him like a bear to honey, and he’d probably get stung just as badly. She’d made her revulsion for the damned scar plain enough, but the disgust didn’t dull his ardor for her. Why did he torture himself?

Libby sighed and her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes widened and she attempted to escape, but the quilt effectively kept her prisoner.

“Good morning,” Matt said.

“This isn’t what you’re thinking,” Libby said breathlessly.

“And what am I thinking?”

Flustered, Libby rambled. “I don’t know, but it’s not that. I couldn’t sleep on the floor and I was really
tired, so I lay on the bed. I planned on waking up before you so you wouldn’t think what you’re thinking.”

Laughter bubbled out of Matt. “Relax, Libby. I wasn’t thinking anything.”
Liar.

“Oh.” She relaxed. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I haven’t gotten much sleep lately, and I was afraid I’d fall asleep during school if I didn’t get some rest.”

“Have you been staying here every night since I’ve been sick?”

Libby nodded. “Dylan couldn’t, without getting in trouble, and I didn’t trust anyone else.”

“Is that the only reason?” Matt asked, his voice intimately low-pitched.

Libby paused long enough to send hope spiraling in Matt. “Why else?”

He propped his head on his hand and gazed down at Libby’s flushed face. “Did you know you snore?”

The red in her face deepened to scarlet. “I do not.”

Matt grinned mischievously. “I heard it. I also noticed you have very nice earlobes, Miss O’Hanlon.” He slowly lowered a hand to her thick tresses and wrapped a fat curl around his finger. “Why do you hide such pretty hair in an ugly bun?”

Libby blinked. “It wouldn’t be proper to wear it loose.”

“Well, I think it’s downright indecent not to. You’re a beautiful woman, Libby, and you ought not be ashamed of that.” The tempestuous coil slipped off his forefinger, and he traced the slope of her cheek. “Have you ever been kissed?”

He could see the question caught her off guard, but after a moment she nodded. “Once or twice.”

“Did you like it?” Matt didn’t know why he asked the question, though he truly wanted to hear her answer.

“It was all right.”

“Just all right?” He continued to stroke her rosy cheeks, her defiant chin, and her silky neck.

Libby murmured an incoherent reply.

“Do you want to find out if a kiss can be better than ‘all right’?” Matt whispered.

Her wide, luminous eyes swathed a path straight to Matt’s soul. He wanted to kiss her so badly he trembled with the need, but the wish to soothe her fears dominated. “Don’t be afraid. I’d never do anything you don’t want me to. I couldn’t,” he said honestly. He cupped the side of her face in his palm, his thumb making tiny whorls across her flushed cheek. Her breaths grew quicker, more strained, and Matt’s heart pounded in his ears. “Are you afraid of me, Libby?”

“No,” she murmured.

Matt accepted her acquiescence with a groan of passion. His head lowered to hers, and his lips met her stiff mouth. Gently he kissed her, holding back the urge to plumb the depths of her sweetness. After a few moments of exquisite torture, Libby relaxed. Her pliant lips became a playground for Matt’s sensual games, and Libby became an active participant.

His nostrils flared with her womanly scent, and when her mouth opened to invite his plunder, he accepted her timid offer. He craved more of her innocent charms and arched his body against hers. Too many blankets separated them, and Matt blindly reached for the quilt hiding her softness from him. His knuckles grazed her firm breast, and he brushed the plump underside gently, deepening his kiss. Could he trust himself to stop with only a taste of heaven?

Libby pressed against his chest and wrenched her mouth from his. “No, stop!”

Matt stared down into feral eyes. Confusion overtook passion. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? What is it you don’t want me to do?”

“Don’t ask me. Please.”

Her broken sob stabbed his gut, and a tear rolled into her hair to twist the knife even deeper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you—”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s me, not you.” Libby wrestled with the quilt, jumped off the bed, and dashed out of the bedroom.

Matt’s concern mounted with each second of oppressive silence, and he risked rising. He steadied himself with a palm against the wall and shuffled to the doorway to lean against the wood frame.

Libby knelt in front of the fireplace, jabbing at the embers with a black poker.

“Libby, I’m sorry if…”

She froze in the middle of prodding the glowing red coals.

Matt noticed her preoccupation. “What’re you doing?”

She dropped the iron rod, scrambled to her feet, and stared at the tool as if it were a writhing snake.

Chapter 9

W
eak as a newborn calf, Matt stumbled to Libby’s side.

“Libby, what’s wrong? What is it?” he asked in a low, urgent voice. He peered into her vacant eyes, and the sensation that someone walked over his grave sent a cold shudder up his spine. He gripped her arms and shook her gently. “Libby!”

Awareness filtered back by degrees, and she blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. Her glassy eyes settled on him and confusion retreated. “What in the world are you doing? You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

Matt refused to budge, fear for her strange behavior hardening his tone. “What was
I
doing? What were
you
doing, is a better question. I thought you went loco.”

“What do you mean?”

With his free hand, he pointed at the fireplace poker. “You dropped that like it come to life, then stared at it like it was going to jump up and bite you. What happened?”

Her shoulders stiffened beneath his arm. “It was hot.”

The words lacked conviction.

Matt’s concerned anger ebbed and he studied Libby’s pale face. Her frightened eyes appeared tired
and drawn, with dark circles beneath them. Gone was the self-assuredness he’d admired, but the vulnerability that replaced it triggered a much deeper response. Protectiveness surged through him, and he swore silently. He wanted to remove the shadows that haunted her face, but he was helpless unless she told him about the specters. “Libby.”

Despairing eyes peered at Matt, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Tell me about it. I’ll help you any way I can.”

A single tear tracked down her cheek. “I can’t.”

Matt swallowed the hurt. “You don’t trust me.”

Libby’s hands tightened on his arm; anguish glistened in her eyes. “I do trust you, and if I could tell anyone, I’d tell you. But I can’t, Matt.”

“I want to help.”

A desolate smile claimed Libby’s lips. “Nobody can help me.” She trembled, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Hold me.”

She turned into Matt’s comforting arms and laid her cheek against his bare chest. The steady rhythm of his heart lent her the will to halt the tears threatening to crack the dam of restraint. Safe in Matt’s snug embrace, Libby felt protected and cherished. The heat of his body warmed her, and for the first time since she’d killed Harrison, tranquillity eased her troubled mind. She’d thought she could live with murder on her conscience, but the remorse and guilt would not remain buried.

Matt believed in right and wrong, black and white. He thought her a good person, but if he learned her secret she would no longer have his friendship. And she realized she needed his quiet strength more than she had ever needed anything else before.

She raised her head and found his lips a scant few inches from hers. Thunder pounded in her ears, and the hungry look in Matt’s eyes brought a quiver to her knees. Her fingers curled against his virile chest, the
dark hairs brushing her knuckles. The realization that he was clad only in the lower half of his long underwear increased her heart’s cadence. His musky scent enveloped her, and the evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh. She repressed the now-familiar panic, daring the dark currents raging within her. She wanted him to kiss her again, and that acknowledgment brought no fear. Libby lifted her hand, tracing Matt’s jaw with a light finger as she had done while he’d slept. Tenderly, she paused on the scar, and his body stiffened.

Matt’s smoldering gaze disappeared, replaced by a shuttered expression. “I’d best get back to bed. Guess I’m not as strong as I thought.”

Mortification filled Libby. “I’m sorry, Matt. You’re right. You shouldn’t be up.”

With his arm around her shoulders, Libby helped him back to his room. He stretched out on his back and she averted her gaze, remembering too well his hard, probing flesh. She covered temptation with the blankets and shame heated her cheeks. What must he think of her? She’d slept beside him and almost begged to be kissed.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Libby murmured and scurried away.

She couldn’t face his disgust at her brazen behavior. In her selfish desire to taste his tantalizing lips, she’d completely forgotten about his weakness. A doctor did not become emotionally involved with a patient—especially when he was a lawman and she a murderer.

Dylan trotted into the cabin as the smell of coffee filled the room and oatmeal bubbled on the stove.

“Good morning,” Libby greeted, grateful to have Dylan’s presence as a buffer between herself and Matt.

“Morning,” he responded and made a beeline for the bedroom.

“Did you wipe your shoes before you went traipsing across the floor?” Libby called.

Dylan shook his head and returned to the rug in front of the door. He carefully scraped the snow from his soles, then hurried to Matt’s side. “Morning, Sheriff. You look a lot better.”

Matt smiled. “I’m feeling better, partner. Did you have breakfast?”

Dylan shook his head. “Ma’s never up when I leave.”

“Does she know you’re staying with me during the day?”

The boy concentrated on unwinding the scarf from his neck. “Nope. She doesn’t care what I do.”

Leaning against the doorjamb, Libby frowned. “Doesn’t she ever ask where you’ve been?”

“She don’t care,” he reiterated.

Libby blinked, and for a split second, she shared a concerned glance with Matt. She pressed back her worry and turned to Dylan. “You must be starved. Take off your coat and come have some oatmeal.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and dashed to the table. Libby set a bowl of hot cereal and a plate of biscuits in front of the boy.

“You got any jam?” Dylan asked.

Libby arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He flushed. “Could I please have some jam?”

“I think I might be able to find some.”

She discovered a small crock of strawberry preserves on a cupboard shelf and set the jar in front of Dylan.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She called to Matt. “Would you like some strawberry jam on your biscuits, too?”

“Sounds good,” he replied.

Libby carried Matt’s breakfast on a tray fashioned from a flour-keg cover, and set the meal on the small table beside his bed. She removed her apron. “I think
you’re strong enough to feed yourself. I have to get to the schoolhouse.”

“Aren’t you going to eat first?”

Libby couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m running late this morning.”

Matt shrugged and reached for his coffee cup. “Suit yourself.”

His indifference brought stinging moisture to Libby’s eyes. She returned to the table, where Dylan shoveled oatmeal sweetened by sorghum into his mouth.

“The sheriff’s doing much better, but he still needs sleep. Rub camphor on his chest once this morning and then once this afternoon,” she instructed.

Dylan wrinkled his nose. “That stuff stinks worse than a wet polecat.”

Libby smiled. “I know, but if we want the sheriff to get well, we have to use it.”

The boy nodded reluctantly.

“Maybe you can read your lessons to him if he doesn’t mind,” she suggested.

His expression brightened considerably. “Okay.”

“Don’t forget you have arithmetic problems and your cursive to do, too. When I come back after school, we’ll go over what you did and we’ll have a lesson in geography.”

“Don’t worry, Miss O’Hanlon, I’ll get my work done.” He glanced at the nearly empty wood box and sighed. “I suppose I’d best bring in some wood, too.”

She leaned down and hugged Dylan’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

Libby returned to the cabin after school had been recessed and followed Dylan and Matt’s laughter to the bedroom door. They didn’t notice her arrival, and she observed their enthusiastic game of checkers. The afternoon sun slanted a golden glow across Dylan’s dark head, bent close to Matt’s tawny hair. For a
precious moment, Libby imagined them her family, and the thought sparked a painful longing. She took a deep breath and forced a stiff smile. “I’m back.”

Dylan grinned a welcome. “Hi. I’m beating the sheriff again.”

Libby approached them. “How many games have you played?”

Matt glanced up and his expression subtly shifted from boyish enthusiasm to masculine scrutiny. Libby dipped her head, afraid she’d see disgust in his face.

“Eight and he’s bested me five of them,” he replied.

Dylan jumped Matt’s last two kings and Matt raised a wry eyebrow. “Make that six.”

Despite her discomfort under Matt’s perusal, she smiled fondly at Dylan. “It looks like he’s as good a student at checkers as he is with his school lessons. How did the rest of the day go?”

“The sheriff snored like an old bear,” Dylan remarked.

“I’m not the only one who snores,” Matt said, his twinkling gaze on Libby.

Her face warmed with his teasing, and relief made her light-headed. His morning coolness had evaporated, leaving no disdain in his ruggedly handsome features. “You shaved.”

“Dylan helped me,” Matt reassured. “You were right. I never would’ve been able to do it alone.”

Libby cocked her head and noticed powdered alum dotting his neck. “It looks like your razor needs some sharpening, or the barber needs more practice.”

“I got to hold the razor and everything,” Dylan said, excitement lacing his tone. “I can’t wait until I get whiskers.”

“You’ve still got a few more years to go. No need to be in such a rush to grow up,” Matt said.

“You did very well for the first time,” Libby complimented the boy.

Dylan tilted his head and studied Matt. “It was kind of hard and I was kind of scared. I didn’t want to give him another cut.”

Matt blanched at his casual remark. He didn’t want to draw attention to the scar, especially in front of Libby. “Did you show Miss O’Hanlon the work you got done today?”

Dylan hopped down from the bed and hurried to the table. He returned a few moments later with a handful of papers. “I did my ’rithmetic and I showed the sheriff how I write my name.”

Libby looked at the top sheet and smiled. “You’ve done a fine job. We’ll look at these closer after we eat. Let’s get this cleaned up.”

She leaned over Matt and picked up the red and black checkers. The scent of lilac soap and chalk dust wafted across him. He pretended to search for more game pieces, while his hungry gaze roamed over the swell of her breasts and down the inward curve of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips below the staid brown wool skirt.

“I think we got them all,” Libby said, and turned to Dylan. “What do you say you help me with supper while the sheriff gets some rest?”

Dylan followed Libby to the kitchen, but his reluctant backward glance told Matt he would’ve preferred to stay with him. He couldn’t blame the boy; peeling potatoes wasn’t nearly as exciting as listening to Texas Ranger stories. Though if Matt had a choice, he would’ve chosen the boring task as long as Libby worked beside him.

Libby closed the school door behind her and tightened the ties of her hood under her chin. She pressed her hands into the deep pockets of her ankle-length gray coat. A sun devil curved around the cold yellow disc in the western horizon, looking like a faint
circular rainbow. A few stubborn leaves rustled from bare tree branches, but nothing else stirred across the white barren land.

She shivered, wondering if purgatory resembled the desolate Montana wilderness. A lonely cry sounded overhead, and Libby searched the sky for the brave soul who dared winter’s silence. An eagle soared in slow, lazy circles high above the snow-encrusted landscape. The solitary bird’s flight kindled a sense of kinship in Libby, and her gaze followed the eagle’s progress until her nose grew numb.

Reluctantly, she stepped off the stairs and trudged toward Deer Creek. Her boots crunched through the thin, icy crust of the snow, giving her something to listen to besides the keening song of loneliness in her soul.

Matt grew stronger with each passing day, and by the end of the week, her time with him would be at an end. The realization both relieved and saddened her. She’d grown accustomed to having another person around, and being honest with herself, she liked that person to be Matt.

As she emerged on the main road into town, a wagon passed by. Libby glanced up, recognizing the thin woman on the buckboard as Jenny’s mother. Raising her hand in greeting, she smiled. Mrs. Olson turned away, but not before Libby noticed a marked coolness in her expression.

Libby pondered the puzzle and walked down the boardwalk. She noticed the Olson’s wagon in front of Pearson’s Mercantile and, since she needed coffee anyway, decided to speak to Mrs. Olson to learn if she’d inadvertently insulted her. The cowbell’s clang announced her presence and the four people inside turned to stare.

She smiled hesitantly. “Good afternoon.”

Only Mr. Pearson acknowledged her greeting. He
came out from behind the counter and rubbed his hands over his apron front. “What can I help you with, Miss O’Hanlon?”

“I need some coffee,” she replied.

“Is that all for you today?”

She looked into Pearson’s beady eyes. “I’m not sure. I think I’ll look around for a few minutes.”

“If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know.”

Libby ignored his lecherous wink and moved past the row of canned goods and black kettles. She paused beside Mrs. Olson, who appeared engrossed in looking at bolts of cloth. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Olson.”

“Miss O’Hanlon,” she responded curtly and stepped away from Libby.

She tried a new approach. “Jennifer is a joy in class. She learns so quickly.”

Pride flickered in the older woman’s eyes. “We are proud of her and would like her to
continue
to attend school.”

“Surely you’re not going to keep her home, are you?”

“That’s up to you.”

Libby’s mouth gaped at the abrupt dismissal. What had she done to deserve the woman’s snub? And why would Jennifer’s attendance be dependent upon her? Did Mrs. Beidler’s tyranny extend to all the inhabitants of Deer Creek? By the time Libby regained her aplomb, the Olsons and the other woman had left.

“Did you find anything else, Libby?” Pearson asked.