Maureen McKade (22 page)

Five minutes and a few feeble protests later, Dylan lowered himself into the warm water. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

Libby swung around and noticed the washcloth
Dylan held in place. She fought a smile and handed him a block of lye soap. “Scrub.”

Dylan stared at the lump in her palm like it was a squashed frog. He glanced up at Libby, sighed a surrender, and took the bar. “Do I have to wash my hair, too?”

Libby shook her head. “Not with those stitches in there.”

He grinned widely.

Libby busied herself with tasks in the classroom, and fifteen minutes later Dylan appeared in the doorway. The clean trousers and shirt she’d loaned him hung on his small frame.

“I never knew a woman who wore pants before,” Dylan commented.

“I used to wear them when I went riding or when I had work to do outside,” Libby said. “I think it’s about time you went to bed, young man.”

“But I slept all day.”

“How about if you lie in bed and I read to you? I’ve got a new dime novel,” Libby bribed.

Indecision resolved into a reluctant nod. “But you got to read the whole thing.”

“But I
have
to read the whole book,” Libby corrected. “And I suppose that’s only fair if you stay awake.”

“I’m not a kid,” he said, lower lip thrust forward.

“Even grown-ups get tired,” Libby said.

Dylan lay on his side in Libby’s cot with the covers tucked around him. Libby moved a chair next to him. “Do you think your mother will come looking for you tonight?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Libby brushed a fine strand of black hair back over his ear. “I know you don’t, honey. Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”

He moved his head back and forth on the pillow.

Relief tugged at Libby, but a part of her mind warned her the confrontation was only delayed. Sadie wouldn’t accept Dylan’s desertion without a fight. Libby needed Matt’s support, but the hour was too late to find him. She’d have to tell him tomorrow.

Now she had a promise to keep. She opened the book and her voice filled the quiet of the temporary sanctuary.

“Thanks,” Matt said to the bartender. He carried the two cups of coffee back to the table he shared with Eli and resumed his seat. He scanned the room. Nothing appeared amiss, and Matt’s vigilance relaxed. “I should be over at the Slipper. That’s where trouble usually blows up.”

“They survived last week without you. I’m sure they’ll survive one more night,” Eli said. “Same goes for Sadie’s place.”

“You seen Dylan lately? I thought he was going to come over to my cabin today, but he never showed up.”

Eli shook his head. “I was out at the Bronsen’s this morning and I didn’t see hide nor hair of him this afternoon. I wonder what he’s up to.”

Matt frowned. Dylan said his mother hadn’t touched him for a couple weeks. What if her temper had snapped and she’d made up for lost beatings? Unease grated his nerves.

“Doctor Clapper?” One of the cowhands from the Circle T stood by their table.

“What is it?” Eli asked the weaving man.

“It’s Jonas. He’s moanin’ something awful, and he got his arms wrapped around his gut. I think he’s dyin’.”

Eli stood. “Where’s he at?”

“Back by the privy.”

Eli looked at Matt and sighed. “Probably too much whiskey. I’ll see you.”

Matt tipped his head in reply. Eli and the Circle T wrangler moved out of the saloon. Disquiet grew in Matt. Dylan wouldn’t disappear unless something was wrong. He shoved out of his chair and followed in Eli’s wake.

A few minutes later he entered the red-light house. Deep voices and high-pitched laughter met his ears, and he grimaced.

A tiny blonde wearing only a chemise and pantalettes greeted him with a Southern accent. “What a nice surprise, Sheriff.”

Matt eyed the scantily clad girl and frowned disapprovingly. “Your folks know you’re here, Becky?”

Becky’s lips thinned and her coquettishness disappeared, as did her drawl. “They don’t care. One less mouth to feed. You want to talk to Sadie?”

“Not if I can help it. I’m looking for Dylan. Have you seen him?”

Her black-powdered eyelashes swept downward. “Not since this morning.”

She turned away, but Matt caught her arm. “Where is he?”

Becky glanced over her shoulder nervously. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me.”

“I said I didn’t know.”

“You know something you’re not telling me.” Matt tightened his hold on her.

Becky sent another anxious look toward the parlor. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “This morning—”

“Get back to work, Rebecca.”

The girl’s face blanched at Sadie’s command. She twisted out of Matt’s grasp and ran into the gaudily decorated room.

Sadie held a cheroot in her tobacco-stained fingers. “Accosting my ladies? I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so randy after a week with Miss Prissy O’Hanlon. Shame on you, Sheriff.”

Red dots of rage danced in Matt’s vision and he crushed his hat brim in his hand to keep from slapping the smug expression from her painted face. “I’m looking for Dylan. Where is he?”

“Good question. He didn’t show up this evening. I figured he was with you.”

He didn’t believe her. “Where’s his room?”

Sadie’s expression dropped its haughty mask and Matt noticed a flicker of apprehension. Cold contempt blanketed her expression once more. “You have no right going up there.”

Matt stepped closer to Sadie. “I got every right. Nobody’s seen him all day, and I’m thinking maybe you had something to do with it.”

“He’s my son.”

He arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “That’s never stopped you before.”

“Get out.”

“Not until I check his room.” Matt pushed past her and took two steps at a time up the staircase.

Sadie followed, yelling obscenities at his back. Matt ignored her and the silent, gawking customers in the parlor. He opened doors indiscriminately, interrupting a couple involved in a vigorous tussle in one bedroom.

“Pardon me, Mayor,” Matt said.

At the end of the hall, Matt almost missed a room built into a corner alcove. He entered the tiny storage space and immediately knew he’d found what he was looking for.

Sadie grabbed his arm. “Get out or I’ll have you thrown out.”

Hot anger erupted in Matt. “My prisoners have better quarters than this. How the hell can you treat
Dylan like he’s no better than a slave? He’s your own damn son!”

She released his arm and her blue eyes blazed insanely. “That’s right, he’s my
damn
son! I damned him when he was born, and I swore he’d live to regret the day he ruined my life.”

“He didn’t ruin your life. You did that to yourself!”

Matt’s gaze fell on the bed, and he leaned over to pluck the pillow from the thin pallet. A brownish red stain colored the rough material, and he heaved the straw-filled square against the wall. With trembling fingers, he clutched Sadie’s arms and shook her like a rag doll. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t kill him, though I wish I would’ve.” Virulent hatred vibrated through her words.

Matt let go and stepped back. “When I find him, I’m keeping him with me. You aren’t ever going to touch him again.”

Matt spun on his heel and stomped out of the stark bedroom. Fear for Dylan’s safety thrummed through him. In her madness, Sadie could’ve done anything to him. Matt turned a deaf ear to Sadie’s rantings and passed the milling people at the bottom of the stairs without acknowledging their presence. Most of them had to have known what she did to Dylan, but no one had protected him. Matt’s stomach churned with revulsion and he continued out the door.

“Sheriff!”

Matt paused in the middle of the street and Becky joined him.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Becky shivered and wrapped her skinny arms around her waist. “This morning I saw Sadie go into Dylan’s room. I hid around the corner and I saw her hit him real hard a couple times. I think he hit the back of his head against something sharp, because he was bleeding pretty bad.”

“How bad?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I told him to go to see the doctor, but I don’t know if he did or not.”

“Eli was out of town this morning and he said he hadn’t seen Dylan.” He glared at Becky. “Why didn’t you try to stop her?”

Moisture spiked her eyelashes. “I got no other place to go, Sheriff.”

Sympathy slipped past his fury. “Look, I can help you go far away from here and start a new life.”

She shook her head. “I’m a whore, Sheriff, and there ain’t nothing else I can do. But just because I’m a whore don’t mean I like Sadie hitting Dylan. He reminds me of my little brother.”

“Do you know where he went?” Matt asked gently.

“No, but I think he left before lunch.”

Matt touched her cheek with a gloved hand. “Thanks, Becky. You’d best get back in before you freeze.”

“I hope you find him and keep him far away from Sadie.” Becky dragged a hand across her eyes, smearing the black powder, and hurried back to the house. Matt set aside his pity for the girl and concentrated on his search for Dylan. Where would he have gone?

He crossed the street to Lenore’s house and knocked on the whitewashed door. A few moments later, Lenore appeared in the doorway.

She pulled him inside. “Matt, what in the world are you doing out at this hour? Lord almighty, you could catch your death again if you aren’t careful.”

“Is Dylan here?”

Lenore blinked at the abrupt question. “No. He’s missing?”

Matt nodded. “Nobody’s seen him since before noon.”

“Have you checked the schoolhouse?”

“Not yet.”

She shoved him back into the wintry night. “Then
get going. If he’s not there, find Eli and he’ll help you search.”

“Thanks.”

Matt’s boot heels echoed crisply on the frozen boardwalk, and his breath wisped a vaporous cloud. His main concern was to find Dylan, but the prospect of seeing Libby sidetracked his thoughts. Her absence in the cabin the night before hadn’t dulled his passion for her. Dreams of her in his bed haunted him while he lay awake. The same images followed him in slumber. The memory of her ripe fullness filling his palms and the sweetness of her kisses taunted him. Even while he worried about Dylan, his mind swirled with visions of Libby.

A lantern glowed dimly from a window of the looming schoolhouse, and Matt’s step faltered. Matt Brandon, veteran of the Texas Rangers and the War between the States, feared a woman. If the threat weren’t so real, he would’ve laughed. Libby had coaxed feelings out of him he thought he’d buried forever. Squaring his shoulders, he walked the last hundred feet and entered the classroom like he was confronting a Comanche raiding party.

Libby’s eyes widened. “Matt, what are you doing here?”

Matt’s breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered against his ribs. The lantern on the desktop wove golden strands through her hair, and her intelligent eyes glowed with the brilliance of a mountain meadow in the spring. A mousy brown shawl covered her upper body, but Matt’s memory needed little encouragement to recall the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her slender waist.

He removed his hat and angled his head so his scar remained hidden in the shadows. “Dylan’s missing.”

Libby stood and crooked her finger. “Come here.”

Puzzled, he joined her. She led him to the doorway
of her quarters and pointed at the bed. Matt’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he recognized Dylan. He heaved a sigh of relief.

“I thought Sadie hurt him,” Matt said in a low voice.

Libby’s voice, a mere whisper away from him, replied, “She did.”

Matt followed her back into the classroom.

Libby leaned against the solid desk and crossed her arms. Worry webbed her forehead. “He showed up here this morning with contusions on his face.”

“You mean bruises?”

Libby nodded. “He also had a lump and a bad cut on the back of his head. I finally got him to admit his mother had beaten him again.”

“I saw blood on his pillow and thought Sadie had …”

“No, she didn’t kill him this time.” She stared at Matt with the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cub. “I won’t let you take him back.”

Surprised by the determination in her voice, Matt blinked. “I don’t aim to let her near him again.”

Her body relaxed and she sighed. “Thank you. I was so afraid Sadie might show up tonight and force me to give him to her.”

She reached over and opened a desk drawer, revealing a double-barreled derringer. “I didn’t plan on letting her take him.”

He raised his hand to touch her but dropped his arm to his side. “You should’ve come to me, Libby. I don’t want that boy hurt any more than you do.”

“You’re not completely recovered yet.”

Matt sensed she wasn’t totally honest with him. “You still don’t trust me.”

Libby’s unwavering gaze met his. “I trust you, Matt.”

Instinctively he knew she spoke the truth, and the
knowledge buoyed him. His fear for Dylan appeased, Matt’s attention focused on the woman before him.

The lantern lent her a golden red halo and shadowed each contour of her upturned face. Her firm jaw curved to a delicate but stubborn chin. The peach glow from the lantern brushed the hollow between her neck and shoulder, and Matt wanted to press his lips against the tantalizing valley.

“What’re we going to do about Sadie?” Libby asked.

We.
Her faith blanketed him in warmth. “Don’t worry. I can handle her.”

Eyes flecked with gold dust met his gaze. The air between them sizzled. He feathered the back of his hand across her velvety cheek, and her eyelashes fluttered under the sensual invasion.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Sadie could be dangerous.”

His danger didn’t come from Sadie. Libby held the power to harm him as nobody else could. He should step away before she recognized the weapon she possessed, but his feet refused to obey. “I’ll protect you and Dylan. I promise.”

Her grip tensed. “Who’ll protect you?”

His throat tightened. Nobody but Libby would’ve thought of his well-being. Her concern was only another reason he needed to protect himself.