Maureen McKade (3 page)

A knock sounded on the door, startling her. Her heart hammering against her ribs, she called out with a shaky voice, “Who’s there?”

“Mrs. Potts sent me up with the tub, ma’am.”

Libby’s shoulders sagged in relief and despair. Would she ever know peace again?

*      *      *

After her bath, Libby descended the stairs with hesitant footsteps. As her stomach rumbled, she unerringly followed the smell of cooking food. “Can I help you with anything?”

Lenore whirled around and clapped a hand to her stained apron bodice. “My goodness, you took a couple years off my life, honey.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d see if I could help.”

The robust woman placed a huge bowl mounded with mashed potatoes in Libby’s grasp. “Take this on into the dining room and put it on the table. I’ll get the meat and join you in a minute.”

Libby balanced the heavy dish in her hands and used her hip to open the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room. Three men pushed back their chairs and stood. Libby froze.

Lenore entered the room with a platter of roast beef and rescued her. “Miss Libby O’Hanlon, this is George Johnson, Virgil Tanner, and Dr. Elias Clapper. Gentlemen, this is Deer Creek’s new schoolteacher.”

Appearing as somber as his black broadcloth suit, Johnson held a chair for Libby. “Won’t you sit down, Miss O’Hanlon?”

“Th-thank you, Mr. Johnson.” Libby set the bowl of potatoes on the table and accepted the seat beside him.

Lenore sat at the head of the table, with Dr. Clapper to her right.

The men’s gazes scorched Libby and panic threatened her precarious composure. She wrapped her trembling hands together, hiding them in her lap.

Johnson tucked his cloth napkin into his shirt collar. “What do you think of our fine town so far, Miss O’Hanlon?”

“I—” Libby’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I really haven’t been here long enough to form an opinion.”

“Surely you must have a first impression.”

Libby raised her head and forced her momentary alarm to recede.

“It’s wet and it’s cold,” she replied curtly.
With enough mud to make a hog think he’d died and gone to heaven.

Johnson frowned and his lips drew together.

“At least she’s honest,” Dr. Clapper interjected. Kindly blue eyes studied Libby. “Arriving this time of year must be a shock if you’re not used to Montana winters.”

Libby forced her hand to remain steady as she spooned green beans onto her plate. “Actually, I’m not unfamiliar with cold winters. It’s just that the dampness is a little strange.”

“So where are you from, Miss O’Hanlon?” Tanner asked.

“Ohio.”

“What brings you this far north?”

Once again, Lenore rescued Libby. “Would you let the poor girl eat? She hasn’t had a decent meal in days. Go ahead, honey, dig right in. These lummoxes can hold off with all their fool questions until you’ve filled your belly.”

“I am a bit hungry,” Libby admitted.

She picked a golden brown biscuit from the towering plate and spread pale butter across the surface. The first bite melted in her mouth. Libby closed her eyes in ecstasy and savored the delicate flavor. It seemed like forever since she’d eaten a homemade meal. Eating hot food fresh from the kitchen and sitting at a table with others was an experience she hadn’t realized she’d missed.

She swallowed the flaky morsel, and opened her eyes. The sheriff’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. The biscuit settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach.

“Hope I ain’t too late for some of that fine cooking of yours, Lenore,” he said.

“Howdy, Matt. You just pull up a chair over there by Libby, and I’ll grab you a plate and a cup of coffee.” Lenore bustled into the kitchen.

From beneath lowered lashes Libby observed the sheriff, who appeared as rumpled as he had earlier. His tawny hair was plastered to his forehead and a hat line encircled his crown. The sleeves on his wrinkled tan shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing an undershirt that covered his sinewy forearms.

Despite her efforts to remain aloof, Libby allowed her gaze to travel down his powerful chest and trim waist. A holster, held in place by a rawhide strip tied around a muscled thigh, accented his lean hips. Her examination moved upward to his weathered face, planed with well-defined contours and angles. An uncertain look softened the stony visage.

Matt settled on the vacant chair next to her. “Evening, Miss O’Hanlon,” he greeted with a tentative smile.

With a dry lump in her throat, Libby bobbed her head.

Lenore returned and set a plate and a cup of steaming coffee in front of the sheriff. “You dig right in, Matt. There’s more’n enough for everyone.”

“Thanks, Lenore. Looks mighty good, as usual.”

Libby’s appetite fled with the arrival of the lawman. She sipped her coffee and nervously tucked a few loose strands of hair into her chignon, concentrating on the talk that swirled around her.

“Glad to see you made it, Matt,” Eli said. “Must’ve gotten your work caught up, eh?”

“Something like that.” Matt’s hooded gaze moved to Tanner. “How’s that ranch of yours doing, Virgil?”

“Not bad, considering winter’s coming. The almanac says it’s going to be a tough one,” the leather-faced rancher replied.

“How many head of cattle do you have, Mr. Tanner?” Libby asked.

“About four hundred. Plan to have a thousand in five years. Maybe you’d like to take a ride out to the ranch with me sometime. The buildings are just getting started, but in no time it’ll be something to see.”

“Oh, no thank you, Mr. Tanner. I’m sure my teaching responsibilities will take most of my time.”

“If you’re interested, Miss O’Hanlon, I could escort you about town and give you a tour of the bank. I’m a clerk there,” Johnson spoke up.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but as I said, I believe I’ll be much too busy for such things.”

Libby took another bite of her biscuit and glanced over to find the sheriff studying her. Despite the warning in her head to look away, Libby’s gaze didn’t waver. She searched his eyes, expecting to see what she’d seen in Harrison’s. However, there was no hungry lust, only a wariness which reflected her own.

“Libby tells me she’s not interested in getting hitched,” Lenore said. “Why, when I was her age, I was married and had a couple young’uns swinging from my apron strings. But I suppose times are a’changing. A woman can be a teacher or a nurse and don’t have to get married if she’s a mind.”

“She could even run her own boardinghouse,” Eli commented with a quirked eyebrow.

“You know I’ve worked too long to give all this up, Eli. I’m not about to get hitched again.” Lenore looked at Libby. “Eli’s been coming around for a couple years now. Keeps thinking he’s going to wear me down, but I like being independent.”

Libby nodded. “I value my independence, too.”

Johnson dabbed at his face with his napkin. “But a woman was made to be a wife and have children. It says so in the Bible.”

“Seems to me a lot of them women in the Bible weren’t married neither,” Matt said. “Look at Martha. She lived with her brother and took care of him.” He aimed his fork at Johnson. “Nothing says a woman has to get married if she don’t want to.”

Libby’s eyebrows arched. “I’m perfectly capable of defending my position, Sheriff.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Miss O’Hanlon. I was only saying what I think.”

Heat suffused her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not accustomed to men agreeing with my sentiments.”

“I always figured a person’s got the right to choose their own life. Fact is, I respect you and Lenore for doing what you do.”

“Thank you,” Libby replied after a moment of surprise. Though she knew she should ignore him, she studied Matt through lowered lashes. She tried to see his scar, but he kept his head at an angle. It occurred to her that he did it purposely, to hide the disfigurement from prying eyes. She glanced away, ashamed by her morbid curiosity.

“Could you pass me the beans, ma’am?” Matt asked Libby.

She handed the china bowl to him. As he turned to accept it, Libby spied the mark on the side of his face. The jagged white slash followed the edge of his hairline, ending at the curve of his jaw. She imagined the pain he must have endured when he received the wound, and her stomach clenched.

“Did Jack Windler’s murderer ever get caught?” Virgil Tanner asked Matt.

“Yep,” he replied. “I got a telegram from the sheriff in Corrine telling me he had Rosen in custody. Seems Rosen killed another man down there.”

“Do you figure he’ll be hung?” Tanner asked.

“More’n likely, though it’s a mite late. He should’ve
been hung a few weeks ago, before he killed anyone else. Murderers are about the lowest kind of vermin there is.”

A piece of roast stuck in Libby’s throat, and she choked. A hand pounded her back, dislodging the chunk. She swallowed and the meat slid downward.

“Are you all right, Miss O’Hanlon?” Matt asked.

Libby dabbed her tearing eyes with her napkin. “I think so,” she said hoarsely.

Matt returned to his chair. “You’d best chew that meat a little better,” he suggested roughly.

Libby nodded, though no amount of chewing would have helped. If the sheriff knew she was a killer, he wouldn’t have been so quick to act. A rope or a piece of Lenore’s roast beef: it wouldn’t have mattered to him how she atoned for her crime.

“Is everybody ready for dessert?” Lenore asked.

“As long as it’s your apple pie,” Eli replied with a wink.

Playfully, Lenore slapped his shoulder. “If it was up to you, it would always be apple pie. But, then, it’s my own fault for spoiling you. Come along and help me, Libby.”

Libby pushed back her chair and stood, surprised when the sheriff also rose. She had assumed by his appearance that he had few manners. Harrison had been a handsome man, and courteous, but she’d later learned of the evil hidden beneath the thin veneer of propriety.

Libby shivered with remembered fear. She glanced up to catch the sheriff’s steady gaze upon her, and straightened her spine. She followed Lenore into the kitchen, the hair prickling at the back of her neck.

“Could you get the plates? They’re in there.” Lenore pointed to Libby’s right.

“Of course.” She opened the cupboard door and retrieved six plates. She set them beside the pie tins on the kitchen table.

“Are you feeling all right, honey? You look a bit peaked,” Lenore commented, slicing a pie into fourths.

“I’m fine, Lenore.”

“Maybe choking like you did scared you some. I was eating this steak one time, and next thing you know I couldn’t breathe. My late husband, Willard, God rest his soul, up and squeezes my waist real tight. Now I tell you, that meat just went flying across the room.” She shuddered. “I’ll always remember what it was like not to be able to get any air into my lungs.”

Libby smiled. “It was a bit scary, but I’m all right now.”

“Did I tell you Mayor Beidler and his wife are coming by to meet you this evening?”

Libby’s breath caught in her throat. “No, you didn’t.”

“Adelaide Beidler will want to check you out. She personally inspects all the new teachers. Fact is, she’ll be wanting to see your papers, too.”

The dessert plate slipped from Libby’s hand. Shards of china and pieces of apple pie spattered across the kitchen floor.

What papers?

Chapter 2

M
att burst into the kitchen and glanced between the two women. Libby knelt beside the mess she’d made.

“Everything all right in here?” he asked.

“Fine,” Lenore assured him. “Libby just dropped a plate. I don’t think that’s a lawbreaking offense, so you can go back in there with the other menfolk.”

“I’m sorry, Lenore,” Libby whispered.

Matt stepped toward Libby. “You’re white as a sheet, Miss O’Hanlon. Are you feeling sickly?”

Two spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “I’ll be fine, Sheriff.”

Matt scowled and angled his head to hide the scar from Libby’s view. “I didn’t mean nothing, Miss O’Hanlon. It’s just that you don’t look too good.”

Her gaze remained averted from his. “Thank you for your concern, Sheriff. Perhaps I am feeling a bit out of sorts. After I get this cleaned up, I think I’ll go lie down.”

“I’ll take care of this, honey. You just go on up to your room,” Lenore volunteered.

“I’ll help her,” Matt interjected. “You go and take that pie out afore you got a rebellion on your hands.”

Lenore glanced between Matt and Libby. She nodded and scuttled out of the kitchen.

Matt squatted down beside Libby. She inched away, obviously revolted by his disfigurement. He cursed the scar. She was so close he could smell lilacs in her securely bound hair. She wore a plain brown skirt with a dull yellow blouse, but Matt recognized the womanly curves beneath the unflattering clothing.

As he picked up a piece of broken china, his fingers brushed Libby’s sleeve. Her mouth parted slightly and the tip of her pink tongue brushed her lower lip. Matt concentrated on the morsels of apple pie littered across the floor. He noticed an apple slice stuck to Libby’s stocking-clad ankle, and he reached for it.

Libby flinched and her hand lashed out, grazing Matt’s arm, but he barely noticed it. He stared at Libby. She hunched her shoulders and scooted away from him like a crayfish darting under a rock. Her freckles stood in stark contrast across her pale cheeks, and her eyes resembled those of a caged animal.

“I’m sorry, Miss O’Hanlon,” he said gently. She remained immobile. “Miss O’Hanlon. Libby?” Why didn’t she answer him? Was she that sickened by his scar? Or was her reaction caused by something else? During the war, he’d seen empty gazes in men who’d witnessed horrors too terrible for their minds to comprehend. But accidently touching her ankle wasn’t so horrible, was it?

She blinked and recognition seeped back into her expression. She scrambled to her feet. “How dare you!”

Matt blinked at the abrupt transformation. He pushed himself up. “I was just helping you clean up this mess.”

“By touching my—my ankle? I’d hardly call that helping. It was more like taking advantage of a helpless woman.”

Matt snorted. “Helpless! You’re about as helpless as a she-grizzly protecting her young. And I got news for
you, lady, you ain’t that sightly that a man’s going to lose his head over you. There was a piece of pie on your ankle.”

“Oh.”

At her subdued reply, Matt regretted his sharp retort, but he couldn’t apologize. He didn’t dare let her know he had wanted to remove the pins that bound her hair, and explore the curves beneath her proper clothing.

He gritted his teeth against the vision his imagination created. “I think we got it about cleaned up.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You’re welcome, Miss O’Hanlon.” He paused, still puzzled by her strange behavior. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Libby fingered the broken china, and her gaze skittered from the floor to the cupboards behind Matt. “Just fine, Sheriff. Why don’t you go on into the dining room and join the others?”

“Ain’t you coming in for pie?”

The corners of her lips quirked upward. “I think we just cleaned up my piece. But that doesn’t mean you have to miss out on yours.”

The tilt of her stubborn chin was softened by the bare hint of a smile. Her green eyes twinkled. He stared at her full, sensual lips, then quickly looked away, wondering if he appeared as foolish as he felt.

He splayed a hand through his collar-length hair and listened to the voices from the dining room, then scowled. “Sounds like the mayor and his wife are here.”

Libby frowned. It appeared she was about to ask him a question, but she remained silent. She studied the door leading to the dining room with a troubled gaze.

“Have you met the Beidlers yet?” Matt asked.

“No.” Libby dropped the dish fragments in a round
barrel. “And I don’t believe I’ll meet them this evening either. Good night, Sheriff.”

Libby whirled around and slipped through the door that opened into the front hallway. Pausing in the doorway, she faced Matt one more time. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff. And your concern.”

Puzzled, Matt stared after Libby. He prided himself on his ability to size up a person in one measuring glance, but he couldn’t figure her and that worried him. One moment she seemed scared of her own shadow, and the next she acted like a tomcat defending his territory. It made little sense, and Matt didn’t like mysteries in his town. Not even one as beautiful as Miss Libby O’Hanlon.

Libby tiptoed up the stairs and into her room. She closed the door with a quiet click, breathing a sigh of relief. She’d escaped. She’d expected to be questioned about her teaching credentials, though she hadn’t figured it would be the first day she arrived in town.

Libby settled into the Boston rocker and wrapped her arms around her waist. What was she going to do? The only certificate she had was her medical degree, and nobody must know about that. She had no doubt Harrison’s housekeeper had given the lawmen a detailed description of her, including her skills as a doctor. It was even possible Sheriff Brandon had a paper on her in his office. Libby shook her head. No; if he had recognized her, he would have arrested her.

She could lie. She could tell the mayor and his wife she’d lost her papers on the long stage trip. She had traveled many miles, and it wasn’t impossible to lose one bag in that distance.

Another lie, another foot deeper into the pit of deceptions. But it was either lie or be hung for killing her husband, and Libby had no desire to walk through the fires of hell any earlier than she had to.

She had to keep her distance from the sheriff. He
would undoubtedly receive information on her, and despite his coarse speech, she suspected a shrewd mind lay beneath the unpolished surface. She had glimpsed the intelligence in his somber eyes and it made her uncomfortable. Her first impression of him had been that of a backwoodsman lacking common courtesy. He hadn’t even removed his hat when she’d stepped out of the stagecoach. Yet this evening he’d been a gentleman, and there had been traces of kindness in his demeanor.

Until he’d touched her ankle.

Remembered fear rippled across her skin. Libby stood and paced. Perhaps the contact had been an innocent gesture, but the terror it unleashed reminded Libby how much Harrison had stolen from her. At the top of that long list was trust.

She paused in front of the fireplace and bent down to toss another log into the orange flames. Sparks popped, and glowing cinders erupted. Libby sank to her knees in front of the blaze, holding her trembling hands out to the warmth. As she stared at them they blurred, replaced by the image of Matt’s tanned fingers and blunt, clean nails. The calluses on his palms told Libby he was a man who had lived a hard life. Yet she suspected those same hands could gentle a colt or soothe a child’s pain. Or tenderly make love to a woman.

She closed her eyes but found no respite from the sensual image. She remembered the tangy smell of leather and horses that seemed as much a part of him as his quiet strength. The intensity in his amber eyes both attracted and repelled her. She had never met a man so full of contradictions.

Her eyes flew open. What was she doing? He represented the law, and she was a murderer. She was also a highly educated woman, while the sheriff had probably never seen the inside of a classroom. As long
as she used her brains, she could keep one step ahead of Sheriff Matthew Brandon.

However, if she allowed her traitorous emotions to participate in the battle of wits, Libby wasn’t so certain she could maintain her advantage.

Lenore waved a wooden spoon at Libby. “Now, you dress warm. These Montana winters are pretty rough on folks who aren’t used to them.”

Libby tied the strings of her fur-lined hat under her chin. “I’ll be fine, Lenore. I’m not exactly a shrinking violet.”

Lenore brushed a hand across her forehead and left a streak of white flour. “Fiddlesticks! You should be glad you can look most men in the eye.” She chuckled. “Shoot, I wish I could stare down a few of them galoots myself, but God didn’t see fit to give me more’n he had to. Of course, He did give me a tad extra around the middle.”

Libby smiled and fitted the last button on her long coat through its hole. “You’re right, Lenore. I may as well look at the bright side. Well, I’d best go over to the schoolhouse and acquaint myself with the primers. Thank you for telling the mayor and his wife I was feeling poorly last night.”

Lenore returned to mixing her batter. “That was nothing. Serves Adelaide right for bothering you the first night you’re in town. I swear, that woman doesn’t have the sense God gave a jackass. She wanted to go up and see you, but Matt told her in no uncertain terms you weren’t to be disturbed.”

“The sheriff said that?”

“Don’t look so surprised. He’s actually a pretty nice fella underneath all the gruffness. Reminds me of a dog we once had. Had half an ear tore off and he limped something awful, but he was the most good-natured and loyal creature on God’s green earth.”

“What happened to him?”

“Killed by a bear saving my son Samuel’s life.” Lenore dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “The sheriff’s a lot the same way. He wouldn’t think twice about jumping into a fray to save a person’s life, even if it meant sacrificing his own.”

Libby thought of his eyes alit with compassion. The image discomforted her and she blinked the picture away. “Did Mrs. Beidler say anything else?”

“Yep. She said she’d be seeing you soon. Then she gives me this look like I’m supposed to pass on her majesty’s message.” Lenore sniffed. “As if I don’t have anything better to do than play messenger for Queen Adelaide.”

Libby grinned wryly. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
And this time I’ll be ready for her.

Lenore laughed. “Don’t let her bother you. She’s all hot air.”

“I won’t. I’ll see you at noon.”

Libby lifted a hand in farewell and slipped out into the pristine white snow that obligingly camouflaged the dingy mud. She squinted against the bright sparkle, filling her lungs with the crisp air. Her footsteps lightened.

Today she began a new life away from the perversities of Harrison Thompson. It was time to set the past behind her. Her sole regret was that she could no longer practice medicine. An ache panged in her chest, casting a shadow across her heart. She had wanted to be a doctor since she was five years old, when she’d first accompanied her father on his daily calls. Her father and Corey had engendered in her the confidence she’d needed to endure the taunts by her male classmates and the cold disdain from her professors. Her idealism had vanished, but her dream had persevered. Graduation day had been bittersweet. She had attained a lifelong dream, but her beloved father and brother hadn’t been there to share her joy. They’d
died before knowing her triumph, but their legacy remained with her. She’d graduated with honors and never doubted her abilities.

Until Harrison had stripped away her self-assurance. She hated what he’d done to her; but after the first few beatings, she’d surrendered her body. Her heart and mind were hers, though, and she’d guarded her precious memories zealously.

The log schoolhouse lay at the edge of Deer Creek, separated from the rest of the town by a copse of birch trees. The secluded location appeared frosty and inhospitable, but Libby envisioned laughing children playing tag in the meadow beside the school. She climbed the stairs into the building. Inside, the air was bitterly cold, colder than outside. Libby made the black potbellied stove in the center of the classroom her first destination.

Twenty minutes later warmth seeped into the room, dissipating the chilliness. Libby removed her hat and tossed it on the desk. After exploring the desk-crammed room, she discovered back quarters containing a bed, a smaller stove, and evidence that her predecessors had lived there.

“You the new schoolmarm?”

Libby’s head jerked up and her hand flew to her thundering heart. Standing inside the doorway was a boy about seven years old, with ebony hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

She lowered her hand. “Yes, I am. Are you one of my students?”

The boy slid his hands into faded overall pockets. “Naw. I don’t go to school.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

Libby placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, so you’ve learned all there is to know. I’m surprised no one has asked you to teach the other children.”

“I know the important stuff, and who’d want to be a dumb teacher anyhow?”

“I would. I’m Miss O’Hanlon. What’s your name?”

“Dylan.”

“That’s a nice name for a handsome young man.” Libby noted his ragged jacket and the bony wrists, which extended beyond the end of the sleeves. Newspaper peeped out of holes in his shoes, and his raven hair hung past his collar, obviously a stranger to a comb. No gloves covered his hands and the air had reddened his cheeks.

“Would you like to help me?” Libby asked.

Dylan shrugged and dragged his sleeve across his runny nose. “Not really. I just come over to see what you looked like.”

Libby squelched a smile. “Do I pass your inspection?”

“You’ll do. But then I don’t like no teachers.”

“I don’t like
any
teachers.”

“If you don’t like teachers either, then why are you here?”

Libby smothered her laughter. “No, I mean it’s
any
teachers, not
no
teachers. I was correcting your grammar.”