Maureen McKade (23 page)

“I can take care of myself.” The words came out harsher than Matt intended.

A sad smile and a mysterious glimmer in her eyes unnerved him. Why didn’t she flee at his gruff tone? Couldn’t she see he was no good for her? He wasn’t the man she thought he was. Her confidence in him was lethal. He couldn’t run from her any more than he could leave Dylan with Sadie.

“Thank you,” he whispered, close to her ear.

She shivered. “Matt, we can’t.”

“We can’t what?”

“We’re fire and water.”

“No, you’re the flame and I’m the kindling.”

He continued his assault and nibbled her perfect earlobe, inhaling the unique scent of Libby, lilacs, and chalk dust. “You even smell beautiful.”

With a whimper, she released his hand. He continued his exploration, skimming his knuckles along her jaw and down her creamy neck. Libby closed her eyes, her heartbeat pulsing under his tender pilgrimage.

Desperation seared him and white hot desire spiraled through his veins. He didn’t know where want began and need took over, but he recognized the all-consuming desire to bury himself in her welcoming heat.

Matt dropped his hat on the desk and slid his fingers up Libby’s slender arms. He lifted the shawl from her rigid shoulders and the wrap joined his Stetson. He glided his hands down her back, lingered a moment, and tentatively followed the curve of her deliciously rounded bottom.

Libby moaned and pressed her body against his burning arousal, eliciting a groan from Matt. His loins pulsed, and exquisite pain mixed with pleasure clouded his agitated senses.

Her yearning gaze met his, and Libby’s tongue swept over her luscious red lips. Unable to resist the invitation, he lowered his head, meeting her soft mouth with tender assurance. He coaxed her to lower her defenses and her lips opened to receive him. Matt drank of her honeyed ambrosia, forgetting everything but the banquet she offered.

Libby’s arms encircled Matt’s neck and drew him closer. She threaded her fingers through his hair, and her tongue played hide and seek with his. Her uninhibited action surprised and delighted him.

She moved against him in rhythmic abandon. Heavenly agony filled Matt, and he withdrew before
he lost all control. Confusion and disappointment shone in Libby’s eyes, undermining Matt’s attempt to rein in his stampeding emotions. Hunger gnawed at his gut and Libby’s responsiveness prompted his return to her willing embrace. He met her fragrant breath, and once again Matt fed his fervent appetite. Needing to taste more than her sweet lips, he planted light kisses on her dappled cheeks, not missing a single freckle in his tender quest. He trailed kisses down her ivory neck, savoring her satiny skin. He skimmed his hands up her sides, settling below her breasts and cupping their fullness.

Libby’s hips were braced against the desk. She arched her back, and her bosom strained against her blouse. With trembling fingers, Matt opened the buttons and his palm swept over her thin chemise. Her nipples pebbled in reply. She moaned deep in her throat, and Matt echoed her keening sigh. He tugged the white ribbon, liberating her milky whiteness. Deliberately, he lowered Libby’s garments, and she drew her arms out of the sleeves. Matt’s greedy gaze drank in two perfect globes with a small rosy circle on each peak. The tempting morsels beckoned him, and he lowered his head. His tongue laved one succulent mound, then moved to the other and back again. He pressed his surging hardness against Libby and she whimpered her own need, tightening the coil in Matt’s stomach.

He inched the hem of her skirt upward, his hand skimming over her black cotton stockings. The practical hose couldn’t disguise the smooth curve of her calves, and the blood surged in his veins. He caressed her dimpled knee while his lips continued to suckle her coral-tipped crests.

“Matt.” Breathy rapture textured Libby’s voice. Her fingers laced behind his head and drew him closer.

Matt explored her lithe legs and encountered the
opening of her drawers. He invaded the slit with a gentle hand. He stroked her silky inner thighs, and the scent of her excitement wafted upward. Her response increased his hunger, and his fingers crept toward the source of her heat.

She feathered her fingertips across his face, followed the scar’s path, and hesitated.

Matt stiffened, and reality cleared away the fog of desire. He pulled back, suppressing his body’s longing with a powerful shudder. He’d been a fool to think his disfigurement could be set aside like an old hat.

He lifted his gaze and forgot to breathe. Libby stared at him with wide, luminescent eyes; her breasts lay like ripe fruit ready for harvest. Strands of auburn hair framed her anguish-filled face. He swallowed and took a deep breath. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the soul-stirring vision before him.

Libby deserved better than a man who couldn’t even please his own wife.

With a vicious oath, he nabbed his Stetson and pivoted away from the bewitching picture that would forever be etched in his memory, then fled.

Chapter 12

S
hock flooded Libby, and she tugged her chemise and blouse over her nakedness. Buttoning her shirtwaist with trembling fingers, she fought threatening tears. The center of her femininity throbbed with unfulfilled frustration, and Libby understood a part of what Lenore had told her. She ached to have Matt complete what he’d begun, and dispel the last remnant of mindless fear Harrison had instilled.

She stood on shaky legs and wrapped her discarded shawl around her shoulders. Why had he left her? His desire had been evident.

Libby struggled with conflicting thoughts. She’d tasted the heady flavor of passion Lenore described, but Harrison’s painful lessons lurked, casting doubt on her newfound appetite. Perhaps she’d been too eager, and Matt had been disgusted by her willingness. Or were her feelings a natural part of being a woman? Matt had seemed to enjoy her participation in the sensual journey, until he’d abruptly stepped away. There had been no revulsion in Matt’s smoky eyes when he left. Instead, she’d recognized a need as deep as her own … and something else.

Libby frowned. What had caused him to pull back? Her face burned with remembered pleasure at his caresses. She’d wanted to please him, too, and her
fingertips had traced his handsome face. She’d paused on the old injury, and her heart had swelled with an empathy so strong the emotion had taken her breath away. The next moment Matt had moved away, leaving a cold void where his strong, hard body had been. What had she done?

The answer came with a gasp. The scar. He always angled his head in such a way to keep the mark hidden, and every time she’d touched the jagged line, he’d retreated behind a mask of coldness.

Libby’s gift as a caregiver had been evident even as a child, when she’d assisted those weaker than she. She prided herself on being a healer and often sensed the pain people couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit, yet she hadn’t realized the true extent of Matt’s scar. She’d seen only the external mark, not the deep festerings on his soul.

Since the moment she descended the stagecoach in Deer Creek, her predominant concern to hide her past had repressed her natural sensitivity. However, the innate compassion refused to be buried, and she’d journeyed out of the black void. Dylan, Lenore, Eli, and Matt had unknowingly given Dr. Elizabeth O’Hanlon back her identity.

Libby paced the length of the schoolhouse. She owed Matt the greatest debt, for teaching her that not all men were like Harrison. And she knew how she would repay him—she’d tell him he didn’t have to be self-conscious about his scar.

No, he wouldn’t believe her. She’d have to show him. A smile nudged her lips. She knew exactly how she would accomplish her task.

Sunday morning, Libby entered the small church with Dylan clutching her hand. She sensed the congregation’s curious gazes upon them but refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her anxiety. They joined Lenore and Eli in a middle pew.

Lenore patted Libby’s gloved hand and whispered, “Good to see you, honey.”

Libby smiled gratefully.

The service began with a hymn, and ended an hour later with another song. People filed out and visited in small groups. Lenore, Eli, Libby, and Dylan lagged behind the others.

Dylan heaved a sigh of relief. “Do we have to do this every Sunday?”

Libby nodded. “You’ll get used to it.”

He wrinkled his nose, but didn’t argue.

“You and Dylan are coming over for Sunday dinner,” Lenore said.

Her statement left no room for argument.

“What do you think, Dylan? Would you like to go over to Mrs. Potts’?”

A crooked grin appeared on his bruised face. “Do you have pie?”

“Dylan,” Libby chided.

Lenore took his hand. “I always have pie for handsome young men.”

Libby and Eli followed them out of the building.

“Did you stitch him up?” Eli asked in a low voice.

Libby nodded, and rage as cold as the winter day brought a tremor to her voice. “When Sadie hit him, he must’ve fallen back and bumped his head.”

“By the looks of it, you done a fine job.”

“Thank you.”

“I suppose your father taught you how to suture?” Eli asked curiously.

Defensiveness replaced the remnants of anger. “Yes, he did.”

“He was a good teacher.”

What would Eli do if he learned she held a medical degree? Would he patronize her, like most of the other male doctors she’d known? Or would he treat her as an equal? She sidled a gaze at the gray-haired doctor
and suspected he would grant her the courtesy afforded a fellow practitioner.

They paused outside at the bottom of the stairs. As Reverend Sonder turned to greet them, his smile lost its benevolence. “Mrs. Potts, Dr. Clapper. Always glad to see you at worship.”

“A wonderful sermon on forgiveness, Reverend,” Lenore said. “Maybe next week’s could be on the evils of gossip.”

The preacher pursed his colorless lips.

“You remember Miss O’Hanlon, the schoolteacher, don’t you?” Lenore went on.

“Miss O’Hanlon,” he said stiffly.

“The young man with her is Dylan Rivers.”

“I recognize him.”

Libby’s temper soared and her hands clenched into fists.

“Eli, would you mind taking Dylan on over to the house?” Lenore suggested.

“Sure. C’mon young fellah, maybe we can find a few cookies hidden in the kitchen,” Eli said.

Dylan glanced at Libby and she forced a smile. “Go on. We’ll be along in a few minutes.”

The boy nodded, though he seemed to sense the tension among the adults.

Eli and Dylan crunched across the snow to the boardinghouse.

Libby turned to Reverend Sonder. “I don’t care how you treat me, but that boy has done nothing to deserve your condemnation.”

The cleric opened his mouth to reply, but Lenore beat him.

“Do you remember the parable of the good Samaritan?” she asked the white-collared man.

“Of course,” he replied tersely.

“Let me tell you about Deer Creek’s good Samaritan,” Lenore began. “Miss O’Hanlon took it upon herself to care for Dylan after his mother nearly beat
him to death. Before she came here, nobody else in this town, including you, did much of anything for that innocent lamb. We were so caught up in our self-righteousness that we refused to see what was happening in front of our noses. May heaven forgive us.”

A scarlet flush spread across Reverend Sonder’s round face. “Mrs. Potts—”

Lenore continued without acknowledging him. “It took someone like Miss O’Hanlon to open our eyes to his plight. I say you’d best start living what you preach, Reverend—or we’re going to have to look for a new shepherd for our flock.”

Lenore put her hand through the crook of Libby’s arm. “Come along, dear. We should get back to the house before Eli and Dylan eat everything in sight.”

Once out of earshot of the preacher, Libby giggled. “I thought he was going to have a fit.”

“Humph! Would serve the old hypocrite right for acting like he’s better than everybody else. I’ll bet Mrs. Beidler bent his ear about you and Matt and Dylan.”

Libby sobered. “We can control Mrs. Beidler’s tongue about as easily as we can the weather.”

“I don’t know who’s worse, Adelaide or Sadie. Both of them hurting a boy guilty only of being born on the wrong side of the blanket, and that not even his fault. It’s a crying shame.”

Libby grimaced. “Yesterday he came over to the schoolhouse shortly after I got back from visiting with you. His mother must have hit him two or three times. She could’ve killed him, Lenore.”

“There, there, honey. Everything’ll work out fine. I can keep Dylan at my place. I’ve got more than enough room.”

Maternal protectiveness surged in Libby. “I want to keep him with me.”

“For how long?”

“I want to adopt him.”

Lenore didn’t seem surprised. “The judge may not let you. They’re shortsighted on things like unmarried females keeping kids that aren’t their own.”

“I don’t care what the court says, I’m not letting him go back to Sadie and that—that whorehouse. He’s suffered enough.”

“Mrs. Beidler isn’t going to like you having the county’s most notorious madam’s son with you.”

Libby shrugged. “She was going to find some excuse to fire me anyhow. At least this is a worthwhile reason.”

“Then you and Dylan would have to move into the boardinghouse. What a shame.” Lenore’s triumphant smile belied her words.

“After all the work I’ve done on the Christmas pageant, I hope I can finish this week with the children. The party is Saturday night.”

Lenore nodded distractedly. “Christmas Eve. Why doesn’t Dylan stay with me through this week? You can tell Adelaide you’re going to quit at the Christmas shindig, then you can move back in the boardinghouse and be with Dylan.”

Libby pondered the proposition. “The teacher’s quarters
are
awfully small, and as long as Dylan’s with you, I’ll know he’s safe.”

Lenore squeezed Libby’s arm. “It’s settled then. That reminds me, I’ve got something to show you after dinner.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.” The glimmer in Lenore’s merry eyes puzzled Libby.

Crossing the threshold into the house, Libby was assailed by the mouth-watering aroma of a pot roast. After removing her warm coat and hanging it on a hook in the hallway, she and Lenore walked to the kitchen.

Dylan and Eli sat by the table, the cookie jar between them.

Libby placed the lid on the crock. “You’d better save some room for dinner.”

Lenore tied an apron around her waist and handed Libby another pinafore. “Put this on so you don’t get your good clothes mussed.”

Libby did as Lenore said, and jumped in to help with the meal.

“Eli, Dylan. Make yourselves useful and set the table. Remember to put down a place for Matt, too,” Lenore called out.

“The sheriff’s coming?” Dylan asked Eli excitedly.

They went through the door and Libby didn’t hear Eli’s reply. Her knees wobbled. “Matt’s going to be here?”

Lenore opened a jar of green beans and poured them into a kettle. “He’s always here for Sunday dinner.”

Libby added more flour to the bubbling gravy. “Dylan will be happy to see him.”

Lenore chuckled. “I reckon he won’t be the only one.”

“I’m not sure happy is the word I’d use.”

Lenore dropped a dollop of butter on the vegetables. “Anxious?”

“A little.”

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“There aren’t many men around like him, Libby. You’d be a fool to push him away,” Lenore stated.

Libby stilled her stirring and she recalled how she’d done the opposite the night before. “I know.”

“Well, at least you’re thinking on it.” Lenore scrutinized her. “Matt came over to the schoolhouse looking for Dylan last night, didn’t he?”

“That’s right.” Libby concentrated on a lump in the creamy mixture.

Lenore slapped her thigh and crowed. “I told you he knew how to treat a woman, didn’t I?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Libby retorted. The heat in her face didn’t come from the stove top.

“If you’re embarrassed, you don’t have to tell me a thing. I can read that glow in your cheeks.”

Libby refused to be baited. “How did Matt get his scar?”

Lenore sobered. “Eli said the war.”

“He’s sensitive about it, isn’t he?”

“If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a hundred times, he worries about it too much. Granted, it isn’t very pretty—”

“Pretty is for women,” Libby interrupted. “I don’t see anything wrong with the way he looks.”

“Then tell him.” Lenore clucked her tongue. “Sometimes men can be as dense as bread pudding.”

“If I simply told him his scar didn’t bother me, he’d never believe me. I’ve got a plan.”

“I hope your idea works. If it doesn’t, keep in mind you might have to resort to a two-by-four to get it through his thick skull.”

A deep-timbered voice sounded, and Libby’s heart kicked her chest.

“Sounds like Matt’s here. Let’s get the victuals on,” Lenore said. “You slice the roast and I’ll get the rest out.”

Lenore carried the last of the serving bowls to the dining room as Libby finished carving the meat.

The door opened behind her.

“Lenore, I’ve finished cutting the roa—” She turned and the words died in her throat. “Matt.”

His tawny hair was curled above his shirt’s collar band, and the scent of bay rum washed across her. He studied her without revealing his thoughts, but Libby didn’t need to know. Her own mind conjured up tempestuous visions from the evening, and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Sadie sure as hell did a job on Dylan,” Matt stated with undisguised anger.

Libby blinked and focused on the present. “He looks better than he did yesterday.”

A muscle in Matt’s jaw flexed. “Dammit! I should’ve kept him away from her after I knew what she was doing.”

“We all thought your threat worked. It’s not your fault, Matt.”

“I should’ve known.”

“Like you should’ve known those two men were going to rob the bank?” She shook her head. “Don’t torture yourself over things you couldn’t have foreseen or prevented, Matt.”

She stepped closer to him and his shoulders stiffened.

“I’m paid to know,” he stated.

Tentatively, she touched his forearm and flinched at the rigid muscles beneath her hand. “You weren’t hired to guess people’s intentions.”

A tremor passed through his powerful body. “But Dylan could’ve been killed.”

The pain in Matt’s expression distressed Libby, and she realized he cared for Dylan as profoundly as she did. Her grasp on his arm tightened. “Then it’s my fault as much as yours. I knew what Sadie was capable of, and I didn’t take Dylan away from her either. We won’t let her near him again, Matt.”

“You two bringing the roast or not?” Lenore hollered from the dining room.

“We’ll take care of Dylan together,” Libby reiterated softly.

She intentionally brushed his scar with her knuckles and ignored his instinctive flinch. “Could you carry the platter in?”

He nodded and picked up the oval plate.

Libby smiled to herself. Her battle to heal his scarred soul had begun with a victorious skirmish.