Maureen McKade (6 page)

What am I doing gaping like an adolescent girl?
She ordered herself to look into his fathomless eyes. “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Matt’s hooded eyes twinkled. “I’m just as much to blame. Maybe I’d best escort you back to Lenore’s so you don’t get lost again.” His expression sobered. “You shouldn’t be out this late on a Saturday night. There are a lot of ranch hands in town, and most of them ain’t seen a women in some time. No telling what they might do.”

Libby’s embarrassment faded and indignation filled the void. “I thought you said men didn’t find me very ‘sightly.’ ”

Matt glanced down at his boots. “Some men don’t care what you look like as long as you’re a female.”

Bewildered hurt laced through Libby. “Why should
she care if Matt didn’t find her attractive? She should be relieved—but she wasn’t. “Thank you, but I can find my own way back.”

She turned and, holding her shoulders stiffly erect, marched away. Matt fell in step beside her.

“I said you needn’t put yourself out, Sheriff,” Libby reiterated in a taut voice.

“No problem, Miss O’Hanlon. I was headed that way anyhow.”

Despite his quietly assuring words, Matt was a formidable man, and Libby’s defenses remained in place. Her elbow brushed his arm, and through her coat a tingle spread upward. The night’s cold disappeared, replaced by a warmth from within. Her gaze slid down Matt’s profile, and she tried to muster disapproval of his whiskers and unruly hair. However, the heat only spread to her stomach and lower. She ached to touch his thick hair, to see if it slipped through her fingers like the whisper of silk. Her traitorous mind wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Would they be warm and gentle, or harsh and demanding? Libby’s stomach fluttered and her breathing intensified.

“We can slow down if you’d like,” Matt said.

“What?”

“This ain’t a race. We can slow down some so you ain’t breathing like a lathered horse.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right. I’m fine.” Mortified, Libby concentrated on the pinch of her left shoe, the small hole in her glove, the tie-down of Matt’s holster on his muscular thigh.

Ignore his anatomy!

Libby began to count to one hundred. At nine, she wondered if he had dimples when he smiled. At twenty-two, she wondered how his whiskers would feel against her cheek if he kissed her. At thirty-nine, she wondered how his hard body would fit against hers. At forty-five, she gave up counting.

“Sorry I ran out on you when that strutting pea-hen came to the school the other day,” Matt said.

Libby forced the sensual musings aside and brought the present into focus. “After talking to her, I don’t blame you. I only wish I could’ve run out, too.”

Matt chuckled. “The Beidlers figure they’re royalty here. Heard tell he come from a rich family back east. Married Adelaide and was expecting to live a soft life. But they lost everything in the war, so they up and moved west. Ended up settling here in Deer Creek.”

“Must’ve been difficult for them to adjust, after having had everything,” Libby said softly.

“You sound like you know how they feel.”

Startled by his accurate observation, Libby laughed nervously. “No. I have a good imagination.”

“So, are you all ready for school to start?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you never taught before.”

The hair on Libby’s neck prickled. “What makes you say that?”

Matt shrugged. “Just a feeling.
Have
you taught before?”

Libby’s gaze fixed on a twinkling star in the evening sky. “Of course. I’m not some young girl recently out of the classroom.”

They stopped in front of Lenore’s gate.

“Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate you escorting me home, though I don’t think it was necessary.”

Matt touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “My pleasure, Miss O’Hanlon.”

She slipped into the house. His gut told him she hadn’t answered truthfully, but why would she lie? Libby O’Hanlon wielded pride like a warrior carried a shield, and she might view her inexperience as a sign of weakness.

His gaze probed the rooming house one last time. He would keep a close eye on Deer Creek’s new
schoolteacher in the event she needed assistance. Recalling flashing green eyes, and the sway of her nicely rounded derriere beneath the drab skirt, Matt smiled. Compared to breaking up saloon brawls and throwing overly zealous drunks in jail, watching her would be paradise.

Chapter 3

L
ibby’s eyes flashed open and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her nightgown was tangled around her like a mummy’s wrappings. Bits and pieces of the nightmare drifted in her mind, becoming more elusive as consciousness replaced sleep. But the desperation remained, reminding Libby she was a prisoner to the past.

She sat up, her back against the pillow. Hazy visions of Harrison and a scarlet belt raised to strike her lingered. Matt had been there, too. He’d attempted to stop Harrison, and the leather strap became a fireplace poker used to strike him. The blood flowing on the marble floor was no longer Harrison’s, but Matt’s.

A rapid knock on the door roused her from the chilling vision. “Libby, honey, are you awake? It’s after seven.”

Lenore’s announcement chased away the terror-filled scenes. Today was the first day of school and she would be late.

“Oh, no!” Libby threw back her covers and leapt to the floor, disregarding the cold wood beneath her feet. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

She splashed cool water from the ceramic basin on
her face and quickly dressed in a navy skirt, white blouse, and dark blue sweater. A black ribbon at her neck completed the somber outfit. Libby whisked a tortoise-shell hairbrush through her auburn tresses and created a snug coil at the back of her neck. She examined her reflection in the mirror above the dresser and pinched her cheeks, giving color to her pale face.

Grabbing her bag of books and the long caped coat, she hurried out of the room. She flew down the stairs and into the dining room, where she met the stares of George Johnson and Virgil Tanner.

“Uh …, good morning. Excuse me, but I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning.” Libby rushed into the kitchen, nearly bowling over Lenore. “I don’t have time to eat.”

Lenore firmly steered Libby to a stool beside a high table. “You sit down and eat some oatmeal. You don’t need your stomach telling you and the whole class that you haven’t eaten anything. Those kids are going to see how much they can get away with, and you’re going to have to lay down the law right fast.” Lenore snorted. “And fact is, a person works better if they have a good rib-sticking breakfast. That oatmeal is guaranteed to stick to anything. Why, I even used it to put up wallpaper one time. Worked darn good, too.”

Despite her anxiety, Libby laughed. “That wall must’ve had an interesting texture.”

Lenore’s cheeks dimpled and her blue eyes twinkled. “Willard didn’t mind. He swore that was all my oatmeal was good for anyways.”

Libby surreptitiously wiggled her spoon free of the sticky mass. She had to agree with the late Willard Potts.

Lenore wrapped a sandwich in brown paper. “Put this in your bag so you have something to nibble on over lunch.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Lenore waved a hand. “Pshaw, someone’s got to watch out for you. Why, last night I thought you were going to come right through the floor with that pacing. Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine.”

Libby didn’t explain her sleeplessness was more complicated than worry over teaching. How could she tell Lenore about the unladylike thoughts she’d harbored when Matt had escorted her home Saturday evening? How could she face Lenore if she told her about the sensual images that kept her tossing most of the night? How could she confess her fascination with Matt Brandon when she didn’t even understand it? “I hope I didn’t keep you awake.”

“Don’t worry about that, dear. I can sleep through anything. One time, I even slept through one of them funnel clouds. Guess it was quite a thing to see. Blew John Randall’s prize bull right out of the barn and landed him in the middle of Abe Landy’s heifers. Abe sure had a passel of calves that year. Sure wish I would’ve seen that tornado.” She sighed heavily. “Anyhow, I was just worried about you.”

Unexpected moisture filled Libby’s eyes and she clasped Lenore’s pudgy hand. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”

“I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you. You and the sheriff are like two peas in a pod that way. Both of you have that same sad expression when you think no one’s looking, but I seen it. Everyone has to put up with a measure of hurt in their lives, but sometimes God gives some folks an extra measure. But then He gives them friends to ease the burden, too.”

Uncomfortable with the topic, Libby valiantly finished her oatmeal and slipped off the stool. “I’d best get over to the school. The children are going to have to keep their wraps on until I have the fire going well. I
was hoping to make a better first impression than showing up late and making them sit in a cold room.”

Lenore patted Libby’s arm. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Wishing she had some of Lenore’s optimism, Libby bid her farewell.

Fresh snow glittered like a field of diamonds. No clouds littered the cerulean sky, but sun dogs ringed the yellow orb. Her footsteps crunched across the still street, her breath leaving a white vapor trail behind her.

The familiar path seemed longer than usual, and Libby cursed the long wool skirt that impeded her progress. Apprehension grew with every step. As the school came into view, the butterflies in her stomach became circling vultures. She hurried inside and shoved the door shut behind her. A wave of heat and the comforting smell of woodsmoke greeted her.

Who’d made the fire? The empty room shared no secrets. She checked the woodbox and found it overflowing, just as she’d left it, yet someone had obviously filled the stove. Whoever had done the good deed had also ensured she wouldn’t run out of fuel.

Before she could ponder the mystery further, the door opened and admitted a pretty blond girl with cherry cheeks and shining blue eyes.

“Good morning,” Libby greeted. “I’m your teacher, Miss O’Hanlon. What’s your name?”

“Jennifer Olson, but you can call me Jenny.” A perfect smile brought dimples to her cheeks.

Libby returned the friendly expression. “Why don’t you find a place to sit while I get ready?”

“Thank you, Miss O’Hanlon.”

Jenny’s polite manners brought a glow to Libby’s mood. If all her students were as courteous, teaching would be easier than she’d expected.

A whoosh of cool air announced another arrival. A
tall towheaded boy stood with the door open, allowing the cold in and the warmth out.

“Could you please close the door?” Libby called out.

He shrugged. “I suppose I could.”

He remained where he was, an insolent grin on his adolescent face.

“Close the door now.” Impatience sharpened Libby’s tone.

“Come on Jacob, do like Miss O’Hanlon says. It’s getting cold in here,” Jenny added.

“Already the teacher’s pet?” Jacob retorted.

“That’s enough, Jacob. Do as I said and sit down,” Libby ordered.

He heaved a tremendous sigh and did as ordered. He slumped in a seat and stared at her.

“What’s your full name?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he tipped his head. “Jacob Olson.”

“He’s my brother,” Jenny admitted in an embarrassed voice.

Libby nodded and wondered which one was adopted.

By eight o’clock, the room hummed with excited whispers. Libby wrote her name on the blackboard and the students quieted. She rubbed her damp palms on her skirt furtively and hoped no one noticed her hands trembled. “Good morning, and welcome back to school.”

“Sit down and have some buttermilk and cookies. You look like you could use some cheering up,” Lenore greeted Libby.

Libby heaved an exhausted sigh. She dropped her bag on the floor and removed her coat. “That sounds wonderful.”

“How many students showed up?”

“Twenty-three, but it felt like one hundred and twenty-three.”

“I only had seven of my own, but I can tell you they aren’t always the little joys from heaven the preacher says they are. They can be downright devils when they got a mind to be contrary.”

Libby nodded and dipped a cookie in the glass of milk. “Seth Billings and Jacob Olson had a mind to be contrary all day. No matter what I said or did, they had an impudent reply. And that Mary Sue Beidler figures she’s the queen of the classroom since her mother is queen of Deer Creek.”

Lenore clucked her tongue. “And she’s the spitting image of Adelaide, too. I hope you didn’t let those scalawags get away with sassing you.”

Boot heels echoed on the wood floor and the kitchen door swung open. The sheriff appeared, and Dylan poked his head around Matt’s waist. “Afternoon, ladies. I thought Lenore might have a couple cookies to spare.”

“You know darn well that Monday is cookie day. No need to act so innocent,” Lenore scolded with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Guilty as charged.” Matt winked at Libby.

Libby laughed at his unrepentant expression.

Lenore turned to Dylan. “You hop on to that stool next to Miss O’Hanlon and I’ll get a plate of cookies just for you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Potts.” Dylan scrambled up beside Libby.

Matt removed his hat, keeping the scarred side of his face averted. He hitched himself up on a stool so he and Dylan flanked her.

Matt’s arm brushed hers and Libby’s skin tingled. His jacket radiated the cold, fresh scent of winter and wood smoke. A clean shirt and bandanna replaced the wrinkled worn clothing of the previous days. However,
the change she found the most appealing was the disappearance of his whisker growth. “You shaved.”

He grinned crookedly and awareness curled in the pit of her stomach. “I had my yearly trip to the bath and barber.”

Lenore set a plate of cookies and a large glass of milk in front of Dylan. “He knew you’d be here, so he got all gussied up.”

Matt’s freshly shaven face reddened and Libby’s cheeks grew warm, though not with embarrassment. To cover her discomfiture, she turned to the boy. “I didn’t see you in school today, Dylan.”

He shrugged. “My ma had some chores for me to do. ’Sides, I told you I don’t like school.”

He lifted the glass to his lips and emptied the contents in a few gulps. A white mustache remained above his upper lip, and he dragged his worn coat sleeve across his mouth.

“But you’d get to play with children your own age,” Libby argued.

A whole cookie disappeared into his mouth, and it was a full minute before he could answer. “Naw. I like to play by myself.”

Libby glanced at Matt and he shook his head in warning, his expression telling her she didn’t know all the facts. She drew her eyebrows together in question and again Matt gestured a negative reply. Her attention returned to Dylan. “I’d like you to come to school.”

He stopped chewing and his sober eyes studied her with an intensity beyond his seven years. “Why would you want me there? I’m a—” he stumbled, “a troublemaker. My ma says so.”

Lenore laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your ma doesn’t mean it, dear. How could anyone as sweet as you be a troublemaker?”

Dylan’s face flushed and he fidgeted. “The kids’ll
laugh at me. I ain’t never been to school before. They’ll call me dummy and … well, other things.”

Moisture gathered in Libby’s eyes, and she clasped her hands in her lap to keep from hugging the boy. “Some children can be cruel, Dylan, but not all of them are like that. And I’ll be there to help you.”

Dylan’s eyes sparkled, but the light vanished a moment later and he shook his head. “I better not. Ma won’t like it.”

Matt cleared his throat. “How did your first day of school go, Miss O’Hanlon?”

Libby frowned and studied the child a moment before answering him. “I was telling Lenore I’ve got a couple of boys whose mouths are bigger than their feet.”

Dylan stifled a giggle.

“Them the two I saw chopping wood out back after school?” Matt asked. “The Olson boy and Hank Billings’ oldest?”

“Those are the ones. I thought some physical labor outside might make them a bit more inclined to keep quiet inside.”

Lenore withdrew a sheet of cookies from the oven. “You’re probably going to need a horsewhip for those two. I think they were the ones who drove Miss Kingsley and Miss Vanderhoff to marry so fast. Spare the rod, spoil the child, that’s what I say, and that’s what happened with them two boys. Their folks were so tickled when they were born, they gave them anything they wanted.”

“They’re just plain mean,” Dylan said with a full mouth, scattering a few damp cookie crumbs across the table.

Lenore refilled Matt’s coffee cup. “That could be, too. I seen it happen. A boy from a good, God-fearing family turned like a rabid dog, became a thief and murderer. His poor folks, they didn’t know what they done wrong, and I told them sometimes it happens
and it isn’t anybody’s fault. The boy ended up in a hangman’s noose and I can’t say I was sorry.”

“She’s right, Dylan,” Matt said. “It don’t matter who your folks are or where you come from. What matters is which trail you follow.”

Libby listened to the conversation and wondered about Dylan’s background. “Where do you live, Dylan?”

Matt interrupted his reply. “I’ll bet if you asked Mrs. Potts real nice, she’d get you another glass of milk. Miss O’Hanlon, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

His enigmatic expression confused Libby. He led her into the sitting room, where a crackling fire burned brightly in the hearth.

“What is it you need to show me, Sheriff?” Libby kept her voice cool, though Matt’s nearness had her more than a little heated.

He closed the door. “There’s something you need to know about Dylan. He ain’t exactly like the other kids.”

Libby remembered his threadbare clothing and her tone softened. “He shouldn’t be ashamed that his family doesn’t have much money. He can’t help that.”

“His ma is the richest person in town.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Dylan lives in a …” Matt’s rugged face reddened. “His ma is a madam.”

Libby’s forehead furrowed and she repeated impatiently, “I don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath. “Dylan lives in a whorehouse, and his ma owns it and the girls inside.”

Libby’s cheeks burned. “You mean, she’s a—a soiled dove?”

“More like a dirty buzzard.”

“B-but why does he wear rags if his mother has so much money?”