Maureen McKade (11 page)

The door swung open to reveal Dylan, dressed in the same clothes he’d worn to school the last two days. It appeared they’d been laundered but not pressed.

“Hello, Dylan. Are you ready to go?”

“I got to get my coat,” he replied in a whisper.

Libby lowered her voice. “Don’t forget gloves and a scarf.”

He nodded and scampered through the kitchen, making little noise across the polished floor. A couple of moments later he returned carrying the clothing. He slipped outside and Libby helped him into the outerwear. Once he was fully attired, they set off for the boardinghouse.

“Did the sheriff get back yet?” Dylan asked.

“I don’t think so. At least we haven’t seen him.” At the boy’s downcast expression, she added, “But Mrs. Potts thinks he’ll be back in time for dinner. She says he’s never missed a Thanksgiving meal at her place.”

Dylan’s vulnerable face brightened. “I hope he is.”

“Me too.”

With all the businesses closed except for the hotel’s cafe, the town appeared deserted. No more flakes had fallen since the daylong blizzard, but heavy drifts remained undisturbed in the alleys. The wooden buildings retained their white mantles, but the boardwalks had been cleared, and the street was a mixture of dirt and snow.

Libby and Dylan entered the boardinghouse and removed their coats. Wonderful aromas of turkey, fresh bread, and warm apple cider washed across them.

“It sure smells good in here,” Dylan remarked.

Libby leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Wait until you taste it.”

She hung their coats on wooden pegs and turned back to Dylan. With his hands in his pockets and a shuttered expression across his young face, he tried to
shield his anxiety, but Libby could see his nervousness.

“Come on into the kitchen. I’ll bet Mrs. Potts needs some help.” She steered Dylan down the hallway.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dylan,” Lenore greeted the boy. She leaned over to hug him, and after a moment of stiff hesitation, Dylan accepted the embrace without wiggling. “Why don’t you and Miss O’Hanlon finish setting the table?”

Looking lost, he glanced at Libby and she nodded encouragingly. “Let’s get the silverware.”

Though Libby could’ve completed the task in half the time, she showed Dylan the correct placement of the utensils. Glasses were arranged next, and Dylan filled each one with cold well water. Touching the cornucopia in the middle of the table, he eyed the centerpiece with amazement.

“You did a fine job, Dylan,” Libby praised.

She heard the exterior door open and her heart missed a beat. Had Matt returned? The light footsteps gave her answer before she saw Eli enter the dining room.

“Happy Thanksgiving there, Miss O’Hanlon, Dylan. We couldn’t have asked for a better day, could we?” Eli asked.

Libby smiled. “Actually, a little warmer might’ve been nice.”

Eli waved a veined hand. “Nonsense. This is balmy compared to Thanksgivings I remember as a kid.”

“Don’t tell me you grew up at the North Pole?” Libby asked with mock incredulity.

Eli chuckled. “Vermont, though it did feel like the Arctic sometimes.”

“Where’s the North Pole?” Dylan asked with a frown.

“It’s the place Santa Claus lives,” Libby answered. “It’s always winter there.”

“I saw Santa Claus once. He came to the house to visit ma and they went into a room together. When they came out, his beard and red clothes were gone.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the room and Libby’s mouth gaped. Did Dylan understand what his mother did for a living?

Eli cleared his throat. “I don’t think that was the real Santa Claus, son. You see, the real one would never shave his beard.”

“Oh. Then I guess I ain’t ever seen him.”

Libby, who’d regained her composure, corrected him gently. I’ve
never
seen him. Maybe you’ll see him this year.”

Dylan shrugged. “Maybe.”

Lenore scuttled out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl in each hand. “Eli, you bring in the turkey, then you get to carve it.”

“Matt usually does that,” Eli said.

“Well, he isn’t here yet, so that leaves you.”

Everyone made a couple of trips to carry all the bowls and platters into the dining room. Libby imagined she heard the table groan under the overabundance of food. Dylan’s eyes widened with wonder at the bountiful sight.

“Lenore, why don’t you say grace?” Eli suggested.

Libby caught Dylan’s eye and bowed her head. He followed her lead.

“Dear Lord, we want to thank you for bringing us together on this Thanksgiving Day and for being so generous with all your gifts. We ask you to watch over our families wherever they are. And please bring Sheriff Brandon home safe and sound where he belongs. Amen.”

Amens echoed from Libby and Eli. Dylan’s boyish voice chimed in last.

Eli balanced the carving knife in his hand a moment and shook his head. “This is Matt’s job. He
should be here doing this.” Silence hung over the table for what seemed an eternity. Eli sighed and raised the blade above the turkey. “I suppose—”

Clicking boot heels interrupted him. The door to the dining room swung open, and Matt’s familiar figure appeared.

Chapter 6

“S
heriff!”

Dylan launched himself up, knocking the chair over behind him. He wound his skinny arms around Matt’s waist. “I told my ma you weren’t dead. I knew it!”

Matt hunkered down and gathered the boy close to his chest. “A little snow isn’t going to get me,” he said huskily.

Libby barely restrained herself. She wanted to touch Matt, to prove he was real, not a figment of her tortured imagination. Five days of whisker growth surrounded his pale scar, but to Libby the jagged line enhanced the lean angles and contours of his ruggedly handsome face. His damp tawny hair brushed the top of his collar, and his clothes were clean but wrinkled, as if he’d pulled them out of a drawer and immediately donned them. He appeared tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and empathy slipped past her defenses.

Temptation overcame prudence. Libby pushed back her chair and joined Matt and Dylan. After the hours she’d spent conjuring up the worst scenarios, she craved physical reassurance. She wanted to lay her palm against his windburned cheek, and revel in the essence of bay rum and pine-scented soap.

Matt released the boy and stood. His intense gaze captured Libby and she abandoned discretion.

“Welcome home, Matt.” Libby reached up and her arms crept around his neck. She leaned into his open embrace and, cocooned within his arms, relief washed across her. She didn’t care that Eli and Lenore witnessed her momentary weakness. All that mattered was Matt’s steady heartbeat against her breast.

Though surprised by her affectionate greeting, Matt gladly accepted her warmth and softness. Libby’s auburn crown of curls tickled his chin, and lilacs and her own musky scent coiled inside him. Her rounded bosom pressed against his chest and her hips brushed his thighs. Despite his exhaustion, he longed to draw her tight against him. He ached to undo the tiny pearl buttons of her blouse, and slip a hand inside to weigh each breast in his palm.

The sound of a cough broke the amorous spell. As he drew away from Libby, an abyss gaped inside him. Libby’s warm reception had filled cracks of loneliness within him he hadn’t even realized existed. Unwilling to release the intoxicating sense of belonging, Matt stretched an uncertain hand toward her.

A tug on his sleeve pulled him back to reality. His arm fell to his side and he glanced down at Dylan.

“Mrs. Potts said you’d be here for Thanksgiving dinner, but I wasn’t so sure,” Dylan admitted with a sheepish expression.

Matt ruffled the boy’s hair. “You don’t think I’d miss turkey and Mrs. Potts’s special stuffing, do you?”

“Or your favorite pumpkin pie,” Lenore interjected. “Of course, I had to make apple strudel, too. What’s Thanksgiving if you don’t have an apple strudel?”

Matt grinned. He had grown accustomed to Lenore’s German variations to American holiday meals. “You sure you got enough food, Lenore? I’m so hungry my belly’s shaking hands with my backbone.”

“Set yourself down. I’ll run into the kitchen and get you something to eat with.” She bustled through the swinging door.

Matt held Libby’s chair for her and she sank onto it. He took the open place beside her.

Dylan sat down and squirmed. “Did you get them, Sheriff?”

“Only one,” he replied. “The other one got away with the money.”

“Maybe you can get your prisoner to tell you where he might be,” Eli suggested.

“He ain’t talking much.”

Libby’s mouth dropped open at his proclamation.

“I had to bring him in slung over his saddle,” Matt finished.

“You killed him?” Libby asked, reproach in her voice.

Mart’s frowned. “He didn’t give me a choice.”

Lenore returned to lay a plate and silverware in front of him, and resettled in her chair.

“You recognize the dead one?” Eli asked.

“Yep. He and his brother were in town about a week ago. Said they were passing through.” Matt snorted in disgust. “Passing through long enough to check out the bank. I should’ve figured out what they were doing.”

“You’re not expected to be a mind reader, Matt,” Libby inserted. “I think you did well to bring even one of the men back, considering the weather.”

Her gentle assurance surprised him and muted his self-reproach. “Thanks, but it’s my job to keep the town safe.”

“Good heavens, Matt,” Lenore exclaimed. “A body can’t expect to be everywhere at once. I swear you’re your own worst enemy. Eli, give him the carving knife. Dylan wants to see if this bird tastes as good as it smells, and Libby hasn’t eaten enough the last few days to keep a cricket chirping.”

Matt glanced at Libby. “Have you been sick?”

Libby shook her head and a flush spread across her cheeks. “I was nervous about teaching in a new town.”

“Rubbish. She was worried about you, Sheriff,” Lenore stated. “She was up to all hours pacing her room while you were gone. A person couldn’t even get a good night’s sleep, with the floor creaking like a rusty gate.”

Matt studied Libby, whose blush contrasted with the snow-white lace collar of her blouse.

Libby glared at Lenore, then looked at Matt. “Maybe I was a little worried about you, too.”

Matt’s chest constricted and he swallowed the tightness in his throat. What had he done to earn her concern? “I got to admit I was a little worried myself. I was lucky to find a place to sit out the worst of the blizzard.”

To hide his unexpected discomfort, Matt took the carving knife from Eli. After a few deft motions, slices of white turkey breast lay on the platter. Serving bowls overflowing with mashed potatoes and apple stuffing and sweet potatoes began traveling around the table, and they all heaped their plates.

Matt ate quickly and was the first to finish. Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers across his satisfied stomach. Contentment teemed through him as he savored Libby’s nearness. Dylan’s presence across the table also evoked a sense of rightness. A feeling of belonging he hadn’t experienced in years swept across him.

“We were beginning to wonder if you’d make it back, Matt,” Eli commented.

“I didn’t have a doubt,” Lenore said. “I told you he’d never miss Thanksgiving dinner. Besides, that little snow was nothing. Back when I was Dylan’s age, we had us a real blizzard. It started a couple weeks before Thanksgiving and by the second day, snow had
drifted over the entire house. We had to dig a tunnel to the outhouse and barn. We never did know when it quit snowing. We used that dogtrot between the cabin and the barn until some neighbors finally dropped in.”

“What happened? Did the tunnel melt?” Libby asked.

Lenore’s blue eyes twinkled. “Nope. The Schindlers, who lived seven miles down the old mill road, came visiting—and fell right through the roof, smack dab into the middle of our Thanksgiving dinner. Yep, dropped right in, they did.”

Laughter rippled around the table, with Dylan’s childish voice rising above them all. Matt enjoyed the sound but sobered when he wondered how often the boy had experienced lighthearted teasing.

Eli pushed back his empty plate and leaned back in his chair as well. “I bet I can top that one. Back when I was first starting out as a doctor, I lived in a small town in Kansas. I was just getting ready to sit down to have Thanksgiving dinner when there’s a pounding at the door. Albert Schmidt tells me his wife is going to have her baby, so I grabbed my bag and followed him to his place. I went in, and sure enough, Mrs. Schmidt was screaming something awful. Less than five minutes later, I’m holding a tiny baby boy who’s making as much noise as his mother. I figured the worst was past, but the missus was still hollering. Next thing I know, I’m holding a little girl.”

“Twins,” Lenore commented.

Eli shook his head. “By the time I was done, there were two boys and two girls crying at the top of their healthy little lungs.”

“Quadruplets,” Libby stated. “I remember reading about a family in Europe where quadruplets were born in every other generation. The doctors had no idea why it happened, except that it involved heredity and was related to something in the cells.”

“I didn’t realize you were so well versed in biology and anatomy,” Eli said with a canted gray eyebrow.

Libby reddened. “I have an interest in many fields, and biology happens to be one of them.”

“Which college did you attend?”

“Oh, I didn’t go to college. I went to a finishing school back east.”

“What’s the name of it?” Eli pressed.

“It was a very small school. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”

Matt noticed she avoided Eli’s gaze and her voice quavered slightly. He narrowed his eyes. “So how did you pick up all that?”

“I read whatever I can get my hands on,” she replied.

Ashamed by his inability to read but a few words, Matt retreated behind a cloak of indifference.

“What about you, Libby? Have you any Thanksgiving stories to tell us?” Lenore changed the subject, as if sensing Matt’s wounded pride.

“Nothing as exciting as yours and Eli’s,” she said. Her gaze turned inward. “But I do remember one in particular. I had been away at school and decided to come home to be with my father, since Corey had joined the Union army. It didn’t feel like Thanksgiving without him, and it was a quiet meal. Afterward, we went to the parlor to play chess. It was nearly dusk when the front door opened, and there stood Corey! His unit was camped only ten miles away, so his commanding officer let him have the evening off to come home. We got out the leftovers from dinner and this time we had more to celebrate. I’ll always remember how Corey looked, so tall and handsome in his uniform.”

Silence echoed in the room. Matt reminded himself that Corey was her brother, but unexpected jealousy flared at the idolization that glowed in Libby’s
freckle-dusted face. He yearned to see that same adoration directed at him.

“Did your brother fight against the sheriff?” Dylan asked innocently.

Libby shook her head. “No. Corey was a doctor, so he didn’t fight in battles like the sheriff did.”

“Oh,” Dylan said, clearly disappointed.

“Miss O’Hanlon’s brother worked to save lives, while I only tried to take them,” Matt said softly. “It takes a lot more courage to care for the sick and wounded than to kill, Dylan. He was the hero, not men like me.”

“That’s not true, Dylan,” Libby amended. “Men like my brother and the sheriff and thousands of others did what they believed was right. A hero is only a person who does the best he can in a terrible situation.”

Dylan didn’t appear convinced.

“More turkey, Dylan?” Lenore asked.

He nodded eagerly, and she placed a piece of white meat on his twice-emptied plate.

“Your shirt is going to pop if you’re not careful, Dylan,” Libby teased.

He glanced down at his belly and shook his head. “Nope, I still got some room, Miss O’Hanlon.”

Libby smiled at the boy affectionately and handed him a napkin. “No wonder, half your meal is on your face.”

Dylan wrinkled his nose but wiped most of the gravy and cranberry sauce from around his mouth.

Lenore looked at Matt. “Did you want some more stuffing, Sheriff?”

Matt patted his stomach. “If I eat anything more,
my
shirt’s going to bust. You fixed a fine spread as usual, Lenore. Thanks.”

“It looks like we’ll have to hold off on that dessert for a couple hours,” Lenore said. “Libby and I’ll clear the table and you men can go on into the parlor.”

Eli pushed back his chair and stood. “I got a better idea. Why don’t we help you clear the table, then we can all go into the parlor?”

Lenore winked at Libby and turned back to Eli. “I’d best take you up on that offer, since you probably won’t ask again.”

Lenore ordered everyone about like a cavalry drill sergeant as they removed the leftovers and dirty plates. Lenore washed the dishes and Dylan and Eli dried. Meanwhile, Libby and Matt secured the leftovers in jars and carried them outside to the porch. Matt lifted the latch to the root cellar and Libby went down first.

Walking down the dark stairs, she missed a step, and Matt steadied her with a firm hand. “Are you all right, Libby?”

“Fine,” she replied. “Thank you.”

With only the light from the door illuminating the small room, Matt kept his hold on her arm. The strong grasp both excited and frightened her, and a delicious shiver tingled all the way to the tips of her toes. When they reached the bottom, he released her and his withdrawal left Libby bereft.

They placed the containers on an empty shelf in the cold, damp room. Libby turned to leave, but Matt’s muscular body blocked her way.

“Did you really worry about me?” His warm breath cascaded across her cheek.

Libby wanted to lie, but she knew he would detect the deception. She nodded slowly, certain her voice would betray her.

“Nobody’s worried about me for a long time,” he said softly. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

His wistful tone brought an ache to Libby’s heart, even as his touch sent quivers of longing through her. Her legs wobbled and she thought they’d drop her in a
heap on the earthen floor. She braced her knees. “Why not?” she asked with a thready voice.

A wry smile tugged at his lips and he shrugged. “Look at me. Why would anyone worry?”

Startled by the self-deprecating question, Libby frowned. “Because you’re a good man, Matt.”

“You’ve only known me a couple weeks. How can you be so sure?”

His light caresses scattered her thoughts into disarray, and she fought to bring them back into focus. “I’ve seen how much you care for Dylan. A man who thinks that much of a boy who isn’t even his own has to have some good in him.”

“Is that the only reason?” He stepped closer until only a couple of inches separated them.

Without warning, panic lanced through Libby’s passion. Remembered helplessness seized her, and her palms grew moist. She backed into the wooden shelves as sour bile rose in her throat. “Isn’t that enough?”

Matt frowned. “What’s wrong, Libby?”

“Nothing. We’d better get back to the kitchen.”

Trembling like an aspen leaf, she attempted to duck under his arm, but Matt caught her. In the darkness, his face blurred and Harrison’s drunken leer filled her vision. Terror twisted her stomach into knots, and she buried her face in her hands to escape the grotesque sight. “Get away from me,” she cried.