Maureen McKade (8 page)

“It ain’t no concern of yours,” Matt answered. “Where’s Sadie?”

The woman scowled. “She’s gettin’ dressed for business.”

The kitchen door swung open and nose-tickling perfume heralded the entrance of Dylan’s mother. The maid bobbed her head at Sadie and left.

“It’s about time you get home. I suppose you been hanging around with your good friend Sheriff Brandon,” Sadie remarked.

Dylan cringed at her caustic voice. No matter how often he heard the tone, he still cowered with terror, expecting a slap or worse.

“I want to talk to you, Sadie,” Matt said.

Sadie leaned against the table, her hips thrust forward beneath the turquoise and silver dress. “I’m listening.”

Matt handed Dylan his bag of cookies. “Go on upstairs.”

Dylan glanced from his mother to Matt and nodded. He used his back to push open the door and slipped out of the kitchen. In the other room, he laid an ear against the wall and listened to the exchange.

“What is it now?” Sadie asked.

“I’m taking Dylan to school tomorrow morning,” the sheriff stated.

Dylan inhaled sharply and waited for his mother to explode. He didn’t remain in suspense for long.

“Damn you, Brandon! I got things around the house for him to do. Who the hell am I going to get to fill the wood boxes and carry water and do all the other things he does around here?”

“Hire someone. Dylan ain’t a slave, he’s your son! He deserves an education, and you got no right treating him like he’s a nobody.”

Sadie’s high-pitched laughter rang, and Dylan ground his teeth. “What’ve you been doing? Filling his head with the great things he could do if he went to school? He’s a bastard, Brandon! Bastards don’t become bankers or ranchers or politicians.”

“Do they become whores?”

A loud slap sounded and Dylan cringed. He knew exactly what it felt like. He bit his lower lip, drawing blood.

“My life isn’t any of your goddamn business, Brandon! Just like my son isn’t any of your business.”

“I made him my business. You ain’t going to turn him into a thief or a killer. He don’t deserve that. He’s a good boy. You’re so blinded by bitterness, you can’t even see that. Hell, I’ve seen dogs treated better than you treat your own son, your own flesh and blood.”

“I never wanted him. He was a goddamn mistake. When his father found out I was pregnant, he didn’t want anything more to do with me. He left me in a little godforsaken one-horse town. I begged for food until I had the brat. Tried to get rid of him, but nobody’d take him. If he’d turned up missing, they’d have known I did something to him. I had to keep him, and I’m not about to let him forget it. He owes me, Brandon, and he’s going to pay me back for as long as he lives.”

Dylan slumped to the floor, and the bag of cookies crunched below him. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he swiped at it with an angry hand. He’d always believed that his mother loved him deep down and she just didn’t know how to show it. But now he knew. She truly hated him.

“As long as I’m here, you’re going to treat that little boy like a human being. And that means he goes to school like any other kid. I’ll be here at eight to get him.”

The door slammed and Dylan straightened. He ran up the back stairs to his tiny room. He hid his new clothes under the bed and threw himself on the narrow mattress. He swallowed back tears.

Heels clicked up the stairs and paused by his door. The knob turned and his mother’s shadow filled the opening. “School isn’t going to change anything. You’re still going to be a good-for-nothing bastard.”

She stalked toward him and stopped beside his bed. She loomed above him like a circling vulture. “You ain’t worth nothing to anybody, including the sheriff. He feels sorry for you, thinks it’s his Christian duty to help. Pretty soon he’s going to forget all about you, just like a bug he stepped on. And then there’s only going to be me again. You remember that.”

“No he won’t! He ain’t going to forget about me. Him and Miss O’Hanlon, they said they’d help me.”

“So that’s the bitch’s name. I saw her last week. Thinks she’s too good for the likes of us. It won’t matter that she said she’d help. She’ll change her mind when she finds out what you’re really like. She’ll see you’re more trouble than you’re worth, and she’ll beat the hell out of you just like I got to do.”

“She’s not like that!”

Sadie smacked Dylan’s cheek, the sound ringing in the confines of the sparse room. “Don’t sass me! After the customers leave, I want you to fill the wood boxes and clean up the parlor.”

She strode to the door and paused before leaving. “You tell the sheriff I hit you and I’ll do worse next time.”

Staccato footsteps faded to silence. Only the tinny sound of the player piano and the laughter of the girls drifted into his cell. Dylan’s hand crept to his hot cheek, but his eyes remained dry and he studied his sterile surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. A rickety dresser that held only another pair of thready overalls and a couple pairs of underwear, gray from too many washings, stood in the corner. No framed pictures or knickknacks garnished his room.

He reached under his pillow and withdrew a stuffed dog, the tail missing and nearly bald from too many hugs. One of the black button eyes hung from a piece of thread. Dylan wrapped his arms around the worn animal. “Someday I’ll have a real dog and he’ll follow me everywhere I go, so I won’t ever have to be afraid again. And he won’t care that I’m a bastard.”

Chapter 4

L
ibby arrived at the schoolhouse early the next morning, making up for her tardiness the day before. Using the wood Jacob and Seth had split during their punishment, she built a fire in the stove. The room’s temperature rose steadily, and when the first student arrived, Libby removed her coat.

Twenty-three children trooped in, taking the seats they’d been assigned yesterday. The youngest were arranged across the front row and the oldest in the back, with the middle desks filled by those in between. Libby glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice: eight-fifteen, time to begin. Where were Matt and Dylan?

She stalled, straightening the books on her desk. Eight-sixteen. She wiped the blackboard free of chalk dust. Eight-nineteen. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She opened her mouth to begin, and abruptly closed it as the door whisked open.

Matt and Dylan entered and stamped their boots free of snow. Dylan appeared frightened to death, but Matt blocked his escape. Her heart went out to the boy.

“I’m glad to see you could make it, Dylan. Hang your coat and come sit right up front beside Jenny. Sheriff, if you’d like to observe for a little while, you
can make yourself comfortable at the back of the classroom.” Libby’s gaze sent Matt a silent request to sit between Seth and Jacob.

Matt removed his jacket, revealing a freshly laundered tan shirt with a black vest buttoned up over it. A brown bandanna filled the vee at his neck and worn leather chaps clung to his thighs, framing muscular hips. Libby’s heart quickened at the masculine sight.

Dylan eased himself into a seat between Jenny Olson and Paul Billings, Seth’s younger brother. Dylan’s shirt and pants appeared stiff with newness, and his shoes had no paper sticking out of them. His midnight-colored hair lay flat, obviously slicked down with bay rum. Knowing his mother wouldn’t have been so extravagant, Libby recognized Matt’s contribution. He obviously cared for the boy, and that concern severed a link in the chain of distrust that bound Libby’s heart.

Dylan’s eyes appeared enormous in his unusually pale complexion, making Libby yearn to comfort him. He seemed so terrified and alone.

Matt had taken her hint and sat between the two older boys. Hatless, Matt averted his head so she wouldn’t see the scar, and she longed to tell him she didn’t care. With or without the scar, he was one of the most decent men she’d ever met.

“Elvina, please pass out the primers to the oldest group, and Teresa, please give everyone in your section an arithmetic book,” Libby said. She handed a stack of books to each of the two girls.

“I’d like the older children to open their primers to page fifty-six,” Libby announced. “Read the story and we’ll discuss it after I’ve finished with the others. The middle group, turn to page fifteen. On your slates, do the first ten problems and we’ll correct them in a little bit. The rest of you, we’re going to have a lesson with letters and sounds.”

Matt’s thoughtful gaze followed Libby. She picked up a piece of chalk and wrote
a, e, i, o,
and
u
on the large blackboard at the front of the room. As she turned to face the children, her dark wool skirt swirled about her legs. Libby rubbed her hands across her hips and a white chalk mark smudged a slender thigh. She pointed at the letters she’d written. “Can anyone tell me what these are?”

Jenny raised her hand.

“Yes, Jenny?”

Matt leaned back in the too-small chair and crossed his ankles. He folded his arms over his chest and tried to listen to Jenny’s answer. He sent sidelong glances at Seth and Jacob, and frowned when he saw the page numbers their books were opened to.

“Miss O’Hanlon said page fifty-six, not eighty-three,” he growled.

Startled, the boys flipped to the assigned story and silently began to read. Matt studied the book over Seth’s shoulder. He moved his lips, trying to formulate the words by picking out the few letters he recognized. After a few minutes he gave up, frustrated by his inability to understand something a fifteen-year-old could. He glanced up to find Libby’s probing gaze upon him. He tried to tell himself that she didn’t know what he’d been doing, but it didn’t work. Libby was far too perceptive.

His right hand balled into a fist. How could he expect someone like Libby to be attracted to a man who couldn’t even read a simple primer? The only emotion he should expect from her was pity. Yet he recalled seeing something different in her eyes as they’d talked in Lenore’s parlor. Had he imagined the glow in her cheeks and the pressure of her hands on his fingers? Matt shook his head inwardly. The threads of passion had been there, as surely as his own heartbeat had threatened to thunder out of his chest. What if she
was
attracted to him? A shiver traveled
his spine, terrified she might be and equally frightened she wasn’t.

He shoved the unnerving thoughts aside and looked at Dylan. A smile tugged at his lips. Little Jenny Olson helped him, correcting a letter he’d written in chalk. They bent over their slates, her light blond hair contrasting with Dylan’s dark coloring.

The rest of the children worked quietly, an occasional whisper breaking the silence. Libby strolled around the classroom, her sharp scrutiny missing little. She answered questions in a kind but authoritative voice, and Matt’s respect for her jumped another notch. She passed by him and touched his shoulder in a gesture of gratitude. The innocent brush of her hand pierced him with a stab of desire as powerful as a steel blade. As she walked away, he watched the gentle sway of her skirt. Her own scent wafted in her wake, and Matt savored Libby’s sweetness. Visions of her lying in bed, with only lilacs and unbound auburn hair clothing her, reeled his senses. His fingers ached to explore the curves and crevices that lay beneath her staid wardrobe. He imagined her calling his name as he brought her over the pinnacle of passion.

“Do it!”

The hoarse whisper snapped Matt out of his erotic reverie.

Jacob leaned back in his chair and spoke behind Matt. “Go ahead, Seth, do it.”

Matt’s gaze shifted to Seth, sighting a slingshot made of a Y-shaped branch. Before Matt could stop him, Seth released the elastic band and a white projectile flew across the room, splatting on the blackboard a few inches from Libby. Her face turned to the white spot beside her, and she planted her hands on her hips. Her thunderous gaze searched the room.

Seth tucked the weapon into his back pocket.

“Give me that,” Matt ordered.

Seth folded his arms over his chest. “Give you what?”

Matt extricated himself from his seat and grabbed him by the shoulders. He hauled the boy out of the classroom into the cool but sunny morning. “Give me that slingshot or I’ll take it, and you ain’t going to like how I do it.”

With a trembling hand, Seth handed him the dangerous toy. “What’re you going to do with it?”

“I don’t aim to shoot any spitballs at Miss O’Hanlon. Fact is, I think I’m going to keep it in case anybody else starts acting up.” Matt gazed at the slingshot. “Yep, this looks to be a mighty good one, too. I could probably knock off a smart-mouth boy at fifty feet with this.”

“But I spent three days working to get it right,” Seth whined.

“The school ain’t no place for you to be fooling with something like this. What if Miss O’Hanlon had turned and you got her in the eye? You could’ve hurt her or one of the kids. Did you even think about that?”

“I was just having some fun. School’s boring.”

“It may seem boring now, but you’re going to appreciate it later on when you write a letter or read a newspaper. You should be glad you got another teacher so fast.”

Seth shrugged. “I s’pose.”

Matt released the boy. “After school, you’re going to clean the blackboards and fill the wood box for Miss O’Hanlon. You understand?”

He nodded without enthusiasm.

“Go back in there and apologize,” Matt said.

Seth opened his mouth as if to protest but instead pursed his lips.

Matt propelled him up the stairs and back into the
classroom. Silence descended and everyone turned to stare.

“Seth has something he’d like to say,” Matt announced.

Libby’s fingers intertwined and she rested her hands in front of her. “Yes?”

Seth stared at the floor and shifted his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Libby asked.

“For, uh, shooting the spitball at the blackboard.”

Giggles erupted and Seth’s face reddened.

“Quiet down, children.” Libby waited until silence resumed. “Thank you, Seth, and I assume you won’t be shooting any more spitballs in the classroom.”

Seth nodded. He slipped into his chair and glared at Jacob.

“Sorry about the interruption, Miss O’Hanlon,” Matt apologized. “I’d best get back to work. Thanks for letting me sit in for a time.”

“You’re welcome, Sheriff. Come back whenever you’d like,” Libby replied with a smile.

Matt caught Dylan’s gaze and winked. He set his hat on his head and threw his coat over an arm. With one last nod at Libby, he left the classroom.

He strode across the school yard, squinting against the dazzling sun reflected off the snow. He had enjoyed observing Libby teaching, had enjoyed it too much. She was easy on the eyes, but more than that, there was a quality about her that drew him like a bee to honeysuckle. The proud tilt of her chin, and stubborn eyes the color of mountain grass in the summer beckoned him, tempting him to forget the past. However, his wife and son weren’t easily dismissed from his thoughts. Their faces haunted his dreams and stole his peace of mind.

Gunshots brought Matt’s head up sharply. Two men were backing out of the bank. As they turned to
mount their horses, Matt saw masks covering the lower half of their faces. With a smooth motion, he withdrew his revolver and raised it to fire, but their galloping horses took them out of range. Matt holstered his Colt as he ran down the street, then jumped up the stairs to the boardwalk and into the bank.

Chaos reigned inside.

“Sheriff!”

Matt turned at the sound of his name. “What happened, George?”

“Mr. Pinkney’s been shot,” Johnson replied, his voice pitched high with terror.

Matt pushed past him and squatted down beside the bank owner. Blood stained Pinkney’s arm and Matt tore the sleeve open, looking past the splash of crimson. “He’s all right. It’s just a graze. Have Eli get it bandaged up.” He glanced over and saw a woman’s body on the floor. With the bright red coat and yellow hat, there was no doubt who it was. “Is Mrs. Beidler all right?”

A man dressed like a farmer nodded. “She fainted.”

“Anyone got some smelling salts?” Matt asked.

“Throw a bucket of water on her. That’ll wake her right up,” the sodbuster suggested.

Matt envisioned Adelaide Beidler’s yellow feathers plastered across her face, and a smile tempted his lips. He placed a hand over his mouth to rub away the smirk and he straightened. “Can anyone tell me what happened?”

George Johnson stepped forward and mopped his sweating brow. “Two men came in and stepped up to my window. They both pull out their guns, and one of them tells me he wants all the money in the drawers back here. We weren’t about to argue. I stuffed the money in a bag for him. Right then Mr. Pinkney comes out of his office and sees what’s happening. He tried to get out the back door, but one of the men shot him.”

“You recognize either of the robbers?”

George shook his head.

“Anybody else recognize either of the men?” Matt asked.

Heads shook a negative reply.

Eli pressed through the growing crowd and stooped down beside Pinkney. He opened his black bag and, with a sharp scissors, cut away his sleeve. He glanced at Matt. “I heard the commotion and figured I might be needed.”

Matt nodded. “You figured right. How’s Pinkney?”

“It’s nothing serious. You going after them by yourself?”

“I ain’t got a choice,” Matt answered with a shrug.

“Get a few others to ride with you.”

“There’s only two of them. I can handle it.”

Eli sighed. “You and that damned pride. I’ve seen enough of your blood the last few years.”

Matt strode out of the bank, aware of Eli’s muttering behind his back. He’d made a few mistakes in his time and he wasn’t proud of them, but they’d happened and he couldn’t change things. Matt often wondered if Eli still saw him as the half-dead drunkard he’d found in the alley four years ago.

He detoured to his office and retrieved his Spencer rifle and extra ammunition. Grabbing his bedroll and saddlebag, he headed to the livery. Puffy gray clouds had moved in from the northwest. He smelled a hint of snow in the air, but his long-legged stride didn’t falter.

Excitement coursed through him. He would find the two men and bring them in to face the judge. In his town, lawbreakers didn’t escape the hand of justice. To Matt, the law was the only thing in the world that was truly black and white, right and wrong. There were no shades of gray involved.

His chestnut gelding neighed a greeting and Matt swept a hand across the horse’s neck. Alamo had
saved Matt’s life more than once during the war and had come all the way from Texas with him.

“We got us a couple bad hombres to catch, partner.” Matt tightened the saddle cinch beneath the horse’s belly.

Alamo snorted.

Matt rubbed the velvety nose affectionately. “Yeah, I know there’s some snow coming, but I got a job to do. These folks hired me to take care of problems like this, and I ain’t going to let them down.”

Coaxing the metal bit into the horse’s mouth, he fitted the bridle on. He stuffed his duster in the blankets, tied the bedroll behind the saddle, then led Alamo out of the stable and mounted agily. By habit, he angled the brim of his hat lower on the left side of his face. He glanced in the direction of the schoolhouse but could see only a thread of smoke rising amidst the trees. The overpowering urge to tell Libby goodbye surprised him. Getting away for a time would help him to sort out his conflicting emotions. With a determined oath, he urged Alamo in the opposite direction.

The students scrambled for their lunch buckets, then jostled one another as they sat in small groups and ate. Libby noticed no one asked Dylan to join them and he remained in his seat, his face buried in a book. After a moment’s hesitation, she dug in her bag and her fingers closed around the sandwiches Lenore had made that morning. Probing a little deeper, she found a sack of cookies.