Maureen McKade (24 page)

George Johnson and Virgil Tanner had taken Sunday dinner with friends, so only the five of them
gathered around the table. After Lenore said grace, they helped themselves to the abundant food. Matt sat on Libby’s right, tilting his head to lessen the jagged line’s visibility. She longed to hug him like she did Dylan and whisper that he didn’t have to worry.

“Matt, could you pass the gravy?” Libby asked.

He grunted and handed her the bowl. Her fingers lingered on his and Matt snatched his arm back as if he’d been scorched.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly.

Matt tried to remain silent during the meal, but Libby wouldn’t allow him to withdraw. Unknowingly, Dylan helped in her task.

“Hey, Sheriff, did you see the new colt at the livery?” Dylan asked.

“What?” Matt asked absently.

“The colt at Davis’s livery. Did you see him?”

“Nope. I haven’t been over there lately. You weren’t getting in Harley’s way, were you?”

Dylan shook his head. “Nope. He don’t like me much, just like Mr. Pearson. But at least he don’t come sit with my ma like the old storekeeper does.”

Libby shared an understanding glance with Matt.

“I hear Miss O’Hanlon said you could live with her,” Matt said.

Dylan grinned and nodded.

“You know, you could stay with me if you wanted to,” Matt offered.

Libby shot Matt a frown.

“Why can’t all three of us live together like a real family?” Dylan asked excitedly.

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Lenore remarked.

Libby glared at the older woman. She turned to Dylan and softened her features. “Only a man and woman who are married can live together.”

“Horse apples,” Lenore muttered.

Libby ignored the remark. “Mrs. Potts said you could stay with her this week if you’d like. That’ll give
you time to decide who you’d rather live with, the sheriff or me.” Glass shards jabbed Libby’s heart at the thought of losing Dylan before she even had him.

Dylan’s bruised face appeared troubled, and Libby clasped his small hand in hers. “Don’t worry, Dylan. We’re all your friends, and no matter who you choose to live with, you’ll still be able to visit the sheriff or me whenever you’d like. Everything will work out fine, sweetheart.” She forced a smile. “Why don’t you and Mrs. Potts and Dr. Clapper go to the parlor? The sheriff and I will clean things up.”

Before Matt could protest, Lenore spoke up. “I think that’s a fine idea. It’d be nice to have an evening off from doing the blamed dishes. Eli and Dylan and I’ll go play some rummy.”

Matt scowled but Libby ignored him. She swung through the kitchen door with an armload of bowls, and Matt followed her, his hands laden with dirty plates. Working together, they cleared the table, and Libby poured water from the kettle on the stove into the large wash pan.

“Do you want to wash or dry?” Libby asked.

Matt looked at her as if she’d asked him if he preferred a rattlesnake’s bite to a scorpion’s sting. “I’ll dry.”

She nodded tersely and dipped a plate into the hot liquid. “Why did you do it?”

Matt frowned. “Why did I do what?”

Libby’s neck bowed and she leaned against the sink. “Why did you tell Dylan he could stay with you?”

“Because he can.”

Libby’s gaze stabbed him. “But you knew I wanted him with me.”

“Maybe I want him with me, too.” Matt’s well-defined chin thrust forward.

The air vibrated between them.

Libby relented and she sighed. “I hate to see Dylan
have to make such a decision, since I know he cares for both of us.”

“Maybe we should do like he said and all of us live together,” Matt said.

Libby searched his face for a sign of teasing, but smoldering heat from his eyes scalded her. Her insides melted and flowed like molten lava. She whisked her gaze to a corner of the kitchen and back to the wash water. If only they
could
be a family, man and wife.

“No matter what Lenore thinks, we can’t do that without getting married.” Her voice carried a breathiness she couldn’t disguise. “And marriage is the farthest thing from my mind.”

Why the hell had he made the fool-headed suggestion? One wife had been more than enough to sour Matt on the institution of matrimony, yet disappointment dropped like a cannonball in his gut. He crushed the hurt her words wrought and tried to dispel the bitter despair, but nothing quenched the hunger her nearness aroused.

The steam rose, curling the loose tendrils about her face. Matt ached to touch an auburn ringlet and sprinkle kisses across her flushed cheeks. Sternly, he set aside the urges and concentrated on wiping the dishes. He reached for a cup and his fingers brushed hers. Time stopped. Matt stared into Libby’s dazzling eyes for a breathless moment, remembering a passion he couldn’t ignore. He broke the spell first, but trembled from the heated exchange. The memory of Libby’s unveiled breasts and the tentative touch of her soft lips on his challenged his control. He took in deep draughts of air to cool the fire in his blood.

Matt finished drying the dishes, though every moment was a test of his control.

Libby placed the last item in the cupboard and turned to Matt. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“What?”

Libby took the towel from his hands and dipped a corner of the cloth in the rinse water. She raised herself on her toes and lightly dabbed his cheek. Pleasure streaked through Matt like a tornado spinning across a field. She feathered over his scar and he froze. Matt refused to gaze into her eyes as her whisper touch followed the jagged line. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t see her disgust and he could pretend it didn’t bother her.

A gentle finger raised his chin. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Matt.”

The words were spoken so softly he thought he imagined them. Swallowing his fear, he focused on Libby’s faint freckles and moved upward. No revulsion greeted him. Didn’t the scar affect her like it did other women? He searched the golden flecks for a sign of deception, but guilelessness reflected in the green depths. Had she become a master at hiding her emotions?

“I think I got it.” Her gentle breath fanned across his jaw.

Her closeness played havoc upon his overtaxed senses, and tempted him to forget he swore he’d never touch Libby again. His tense muscles spasmed with the effort of restraining the impulse to forge a tender trail of kisses from her lush lips down the graceful arch of her pale neck, to the succulent treasures hidden by her demure white blouse.

He stepped back to escape her bewitching spell. His body throbbed and burned, oblivious to his entreaties to ignore her potent allure.

“Here’s your towel,” she said.

Matt blinked and reached for the cloth. Their hands met, and the contact frayed the last thread of his willpower. He wrapped his arm around her waist and jerked her against his chest. He stared into her startled eyes and nearly lost himself in their wide-eyed innocence.

“Don’t tempt me, Libby,” he growled. Matt tightened his hold, flattening her soft body against him, and his mouth covered hers with bruising fierceness. She whimpered and a degree of sanity returned to Matt. He released her as swiftly as he’d taken her. “Don’t play games with me, or next time you’ll have to finish what you start.”

Moisture lent a luminescent glow to Libby’s eyes, and Matt nearly capitulated to the unexpected tenderness that welled within him. He swore under his breath and spun out of the kitchen like the demons of hell chased him.

Matt continued down the hall, out the front door, and leaned on the porch rail. The cold air irritated his lungs and he coughed raggedly. The pain in his chest replaced the misery of his unsatisfied body. He shivered in winter’s embrace, welcoming the numbness that spread through his limbs.

What did Libby hope to accomplish by her sweet gestures? Why did she act as if the scar didn’t repel her? He pounded the wood with a fist and swore. Damn her for making him think she cared. He could handle her disdain, even her indifference, but not this seduction by concern.

Matt stood outside until he was certain his emotions were back under control. He heard Dylan’s laughter from the parlor and joined the others. Lenore sat in her favorite chair, while Eli and Dylan played checkers by a small table. Libby had settled on the sofa and appeared engrossed in a Godey’s lady’s book.

“We thought you got lost out there,” Lenore said.

“I just stepped out for a breath of fresh air,” he replied.

“Come play checkers with me, Sheriff,” Dylan called. “I beat Dr. Clapper three times.”

Eli stood and stretched. “Good idea. I’m about ready for my Sunday afternoon nap.”

Matt took Eli’s place across from Dylan, and Eli moved to the other end of the couch and picked up a two-week-old newspaper.

“You want red or black, Sheriff?” Dylan asked.

Matt grinned at the boy’s exuberance. “I’ll take the red.”

Dylan turned the board and Matt made his first move. He studied the boy while they played. Matt’s son Joshua would’ve been a year older than Dylan if he’d survived scarlet fever. He knew Dylan could never replace Joshua, but he filled an emotional void that had remained empty since one-year-old Joshua had died.

Three games later, Dylan remained the checkers champion.

“You’re too good for me, partner,” Matt said.

“Miss O’Hanlon, why don’t you play checkers with the sheriff? I’ll watch and make sure he doesn’t cheat,” Dylan offered.

“The sheriff doesn’t like to play games with me,” Libby said.

“Why?” the boy asked curiously.

Libby gazed steadily at Matt. “He’s afraid he’ll lose.”

“I thought
you
were scared of losing,” Matt said.

Libby stiffened. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge before, and I’m not about to start now.”

Matt arched an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

Libby rose from the davenport. Excitedly, Dylan relinquished his chair to her and scrambled onto another one.

“Miss O’Hanlon gets the black pieces. Those are the lucky ones,” Dylan exclaimed.

Libby smiled at the boy. “Thank you.”

“Traitor,” Matt muttered though his tone was tempered with a wink. “Ladies first.”

Libby tilted her head in acknowledgment.

She made her first move, then looked at Matt. As
the game progressed, Matt’s attention wandered from the board to Libby with increasing regularity. He remembered her satiny heat beneath his fingers, and the taste of her full breasts.

Libby jumped one of his red pieces and her rosy pink lips quirked upward in victory. “Do you still think I’ll lose?”

“The game isn’t over yet,” Matt replied, his gaze on her tempting mouth.

Libby flushed and cast her attention back to the checkerboard.

Matt took his turn. “King me.”

Libby scowled.

“I’ll do it,” Dylan volunteered. He crowned Matt’s disk with a captured red piece.

“Ready to surrender?” Matt asked.

Libby shook her head. “I never give up when the cause is worthwhile.”

Matt frowned in consternation. What kind of cat and mouse game was she playing? What did she want from him?

His gaze drifted back to her freckle-dusted face and soft alluring eyes. Understanding glimmered in their fathomless depths, and Matt had the impression she’d peeled away the curtains of darkness to see the innermost recesses of his soul. He resisted squirming beneath her scrutiny. Nobody had the right to strip away defenses he’d spent years building. Another look into her gently probing expression melted his resentment. No woman but Libby had ever looked at him with such unassuming acceptance.

“It’s your turn, Sheriff,” Dylan said impatiently.

Matt shook off his troubling thoughts and brought his attention back to the game. A few moves later, he took her last checker.

“He beat you, Miss O’Hanlon,” Dylan said with surprised chagrin. “I thought you’d win with the lucky pieces.”

Libby tousled his soft hair. “That’s all right, Dylan. The sheriff may have won this round, but there’s always another time.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “How many rounds are there?”

“As many as it takes for me to win.”

“Libby, dear, there’s something I want to show you,” Lenore called. She hefted her plump body out of a chair and led Libby out of the parlor.

Matt glanced at Eli. “What’s going on?”

Eli shrugged. “Women things, I suppose.”

“What are women things?” Dylan asked curiously.

Matt grinned. “Yeah, Eli, what are women things?”

“You know, frippery things women like to jaw about,” Eli muttered and turned the page of his newspaper.

Dylan sent Matt a bewildered look.

“Don’t ask me, partner. I figure if we ever get to understanding females, we’re going to be in a heap of trouble.” He stared after Libby and wondered what she and Lenore were up to. With a shake of his head, he set aside his interest in their activities. “How about another game? I’m feeling lucky.”

“Let’s play poker,” Dylan suggested excitedly.

“I don’t think Miss O’Hanlon would approve of you gambling.” The boy’s enthusiasm deflated, and Matt reconsidered. “Why not? If the women can do women things, then us men can do man things. Eli, you want to join us?”

Eli set aside his paper and stood. “Sure. Been awhile since I played, but I figure it’ll come back fast enough.”

“We can use the checkers for chips,” Dylan said.

“Good idea,” Eli said and sat down by the table.

Dylan divided the red and black wood pieces into thirds and gave each person his share. He took the cards and dealt with a fluid motion that impressed Matt.

“Who taught you how to handle cards like that?” Matt asked.

“A man I used to know,” Dylan replied. “Ante up.”

Matt threw in a chip and studied Dylan’s serious face. The boy’s concentration surprised him, and unease furrowed his brow. They went around the table twice and Matt called. Dylan revealed three of a kind, and Matt and Eli threw their cards down.

“Beginner’s luck,” Eli murmured.

Matt wasn’t so certain. “Did you play poker a lot with this man?”

Dylan raked in his winnings. “Some. He said I was a natural. What did he mean by that?”