Stealing Jake (6 page)

He watched her for a moment longer before lifting the pot from the stove and carrying it to the table. He fished the shucks out and placed them on a towel.

Livy poked the soggy-looking mess with her spoon. “How on earth do you intend to make a doll out of that?

He laughed, more a grunt of amusement than anything. “You’ll see. Just watch.” He picked up a husk. “First, you shape the head.” His strong hands balled up a piece of corn husk, making short work of the task. “Once you get it about the size you want, you fold two husks over the ball and tie it off at the neck with a piece of string. See? Hand me that yarn.”

Livy measured off about six inches. “Is this enough?”

“Plenty.”

Livy rested her chin in her hand, stewing over the street kids like a cat worrying a mouse. “Have you found any of the street kids yet?”

“No.” He squinted at her, his intense stare making her squirm. “Have you?”

“No.”

His brows drew together in a frown. “You been wandering around at night again?”

She shook her head, able to answer him truthfully. This time. His scrutiny made her squirm, not because of the questions he asked but because it made her aware of her everyday dress, patched and faded, and that she’d barely had time to run a brush through her hair that morning before pinning the mass up out of the way.

He turned back to the job at hand.

“Okay, now we make the arms. Here.” He handed her three pieces of husk. “You’d better do this part.”

“Me?” Livy sat up straighter. “What do I do?”

“Just braid ’em. Like pigtails.”

She complied, and Jake threaded the braid crosswise through the layers of the bodice. Then he picked up two corn husks and fitted them over the shoulders like a shawl, crossing and gathering the pieces at the waist. “How does that look?”

“Perfect.”

“Tie a piece of string here while I hold this in place.”

Livy did as Jake instructed. Her fingers brushed against his, and she felt the warm, rough texture of his hands. Her eyes flew up to meet his gaze, and he gave her a lopsided smile. Her heart did a slow somersault in her chest, and for a moment, Livy thought she might not be able to draw breath again. For the first time, she noticed tiny flecks of gold in his green eyes. He had the most amazing eyes she’d ever seen. She could stare at them for hours. His eyes flickered, shifted, focused on her mouth. She drew in a sudden breath and looked away, breaking their connection.

Unnerved, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind. “You won’t send them back to Chicago, will you?”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The boys. You promised to let me know if you found them, remember?”

“I said I’d think about it.” His expression turned almost fierce. “Why are you so worried about these boys?”

“Why shouldn’t I be concerned? They’re children.”

Jake leaned forward. “Livy, we’ve been over this already. They’re little hoodlums. Well, they’re not so little. Mostly, they’re half-grown youngsters who aren’t interested in finding a job and contributing to society.”

She bristled. “They are not. They’re children, just like the Hays children and Mary and little Grace.” Every child deserved a chance. Those boys were babies once. Toddlers. Some mother’s little man. Who knew what horrific incident, what horrible sickness had torn them from their families and tossed them on the streets like leavings from a slop jar?

“You’re looking at this through rose-colored glasses. You can’t save every child that crosses your path.”

His words pierced her heart, and tears pricked her eyes. She knew she couldn’t save them all. She couldn’t save the two who’d mattered the most. But he didn’t understand, and the only way to make him would be to tell him the truth about her past.

And she’d left her past in Chicago.

“I can only try,” she whispered.

He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, then cupped her face in the palm of his hand. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She froze, the warmth of his hand caressing her cheek. His green eyes darkened, and he stared at her lips. He wanted to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the rough texture of his fingertips. She lowered her gaze, focused on his lips.

He moved. Or did she?

Oh, Lord.
She didn’t want this, did she? Not after Katie.

A burst of childish laughter came from the parlor. They jerked apart, the spell of attraction shattered. Livy sat ramrod straight and refused to look up. Her heart raced as her mind scrambled to figure out what had just happened between her and Jake.

Seconds ticked by before Jake cleared his throat and picked up the doll. “All right. Now she’s beginning to look presentable, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Livy barely managed to get the word out. What if he had leaned forward to kiss her? What would she have done? Would she have let him . . . or slapped his face for being so forward?

“Um . . . do you have any flour?”

She blinked, ignoring the questions banging against her brain. “Flour?”

“Yeah.” He rummaged around in his sack and brought out a handful of soft, golden corn silk. “Mix some flour and water together to make a paste. This little lady needs some hair.”

Thankful for something to occupy her, Livy controlled her shaky fingers, stirred up a batch, and handed the paste to Jake. He looked so calm, as if he wasn’t going to kiss her moments before. She bit her lip. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Her sister’s words came back to haunt her.

“Stolen kisses lead to more than you need or want.”

She’d do well to remember that. She clasped her hands in her lap and concentrated on the doll.

Jake dabbed a small amount of the sticky goo on the doll’s head and added silk to create a halo of golden curls. Next, he made a bonnet, letting the curls peek out from underneath. Finally he trimmed the ends of the skirt and stood her up in the middle of the table.

Livy touched a finger to the doll. “Oh, she’s beautiful!”

“Yes, she is.”

She looked up. Jake stared at her instead of the toy, his gaze skimming lightly over her face.

Her breath caught. He meant her.

Livy’s heart fluttered as her cheeks warmed. She lowered her gaze, afraid of what he’d see in her eyes—that when he said it, it made her feel beautiful in a way she never had before. She stared unseeingly at the corn-husk doll as a place deep in her heart she hadn’t even known was wounded began to heal.

Chapter Five

Coffee.

Jake needed coffee in the worst way. Skinner had kept him up all night. Singing. Or caterwauling, to be more accurate. He hadn’t heard a peep from the man’s cell in over an hour, so either Skinner had died or he’d fallen into a drunken stupor. And to tell the truth, it didn’t matter which, so long as the drunkard kept a sock in it.

Jake had already gulped downed two cups when the door opened, letting in a blast of frigid air.

“Man, it’s cold out there this morning.” Sheriff Carter shuffled inside and made a beeline for the stove.

Jake tilted his chair back and took a sip of the hot brew. “Looks like we got another foot of snow.”

“I don’t know how much more of this we can take.” The older man huddled close to the firebox, his hands extended toward the warmth. “Did you have a quiet night?”

“Mostly.” Jake jerked his head toward the back of the jail. “Skinner and a couple of strangers are sleeping off a drunk back there. Finally.”

“Skinner?” Sheriff Carter shook his head. “Don’t reckon that boy’ll ever learn.”

“Reckon not.”

They both looked up as the door opened and Sam McIver stepped inside, a frown on his normally cheerful face.

“Morning, Sam.” Sheriff Carter held up the blackened pot. “Coffee?”

“No thanks.” The mercantile owner took off his hat and stomped snow from his boots. “Somebody broke into the store last night.”

“Really?” Sheriff Carter’s eyebrows shot up. “What all did they take?”

“A case of beans, several jars of sausages, some blankets. And a Dutch oven, of all things.” McIver twisted his hat.

Jake snorted. “Nobody’s going to get very far toting a Dutch oven.”

“That’s what I thought. It’s bound to be that riffraff from Chicago.”

“Now hold on, Sam,” Sheriff Carter reasoned. “You don’t know that for a fact.”

“I told my boys to keep an eye on ’em if they came in the store. They’ll steal you blind.” McIver slapped his hat against his pants. “I’m telling you, it’s them. Look at the stuff they took. And if we don’t do something about it, they’re going to take over the whole town.”

“All right. I’ll send Jake over to take inventory of everything that’s missing, and we’ll try to find the culprits.”

“I’ll be waiting.” McIver stomped to the door and let himself out.

“Sam’s mighty stirred up.” Jake moved to the window. The storekeeper stormed across the street, ignoring friendly greetings from the few folks already opening up shop.

“Reckon he has a right to be.”

Jake rubbed his jaw. What if McIver was right? What if the street kids had broken into the mercantile? Livy would be disappointed. She wanted to believe those boys were sweet little mama’s boys, when they were well on their way to becoming faces on the wanted posters on his desk.

“You think it was those kids?” Jake topped off his coffee and took another sip.

“Who else could it be?” The sheriff eased into his chair, leather creaking as he adjusted his weight. “Chestnut’s growing like a newborn Jersey calf. That’s one reason I needed some help this winter, not to mention I’m getting too old for this. Why, before the railroad came through, I’d head home for some shut-eye after I let Skinner out of jail. If someone needed me, McIver’d send Gus or one of the boys to get me.”

“The discovery of coal hasn’t helped things either.”
In more ways than one.

If it hadn’t been for the coal mines, his father would still be alive. Jake would be scratching out a living at the farm instead of fighting to keep crime off the streets of Chestnut. He might even be married by now with a family of his own. But he’d never found a woman he wanted to settle down with.

Until now. Big blue eyes and a slightly crooked smile beckoned him.

“You’re right about that. Chestnut, especially shantytown, has tripled in size in the last year.”

“At least they’re tearing down some of the burned-out shacks to make room for new buildings. That’s good.” Jake tamped down thoughts of his family, drained his coffee, and grabbed his coat. Worrying about the past—and what the future might hold—would get him nowhere fast. “I might as well go on over to Sam’s and take a look. He’s fit to be tied.”

Sam McIver’s two strapping sons were shoveling snow off the walk in front of the store when Jake arrived.

“Morning, boys.”

“Morning.” The eldest, Will, sported a black eye as big as a fistful of coal.

“What happened to you, Will?”

The boy, on the verge of manhood, scowled. “Nuthin’.”

“You get in a fight with those boys roaming the streets?”

“No. Pa said not to have nuthin’ to do with them.” Will ducked his head and kept shoveling. His younger brother did the same.

“I see.” Jake shrugged. He’d only asked out of curiosity. Boys got into tussles all the time.

He pushed open the door to the mercantile, a tinkling bell announcing his presence. The sound reminded him of Livy. He scowled. Everything reminded him of Livy. He couldn’t seem to think of anything else.

He’d gone soft over a woman.

Sam McIver rested his palms on the counter and glared at him. People enjoyed shopping with Sam, who was usually easygoing and friendly. But not this morning. He looked like a tornado intent on destroying the town. Jake couldn’t blame him. He glanced around the tidy establishment. Canned goods lined the shelves; dry goods were stacked head-high in the back. Farm tools hung from hooks on the far wall. A place for everything and everything in its place. Nothing scattered about, turned over, broken, or destroyed. The thief seemed to know his way around the store pretty well from the looks of things.

Jake turned to McIver. “Did you discover anything else missing?”

“Besides the foodstuffs I mentioned earlier, they took a bone-handled skinning knife and a gold-plated pocket watch I ordered for Mac MacKinnion. Both cost a pretty penny. I didn’t realize they were gone before because I’d left them under the counter here.” Sam slapped his hands against the flat surface, his eyes flashing. “I tell you, Jake, we’ve got to round these boys up and ship them back to Chicago. If they’ve taken to stealing knives, there’s no telling what they might do next.”

“I don’t blame you for being upset, but until we have some proof, I can’t go off accusing just anybody.” He didn’t even know where the boys were. They were slippery as the sun perch in Chestnut Creek. “And besides, what about all the folks who’ve showed up looking for work in the mines? It could be any one of them.”

Sam huffed.

The shopkeeper’s mind was made up, but Jake needed more than a gut feeling. He shoved his hat back. “How’d they get in?”

“Through the back. Come on, I’ll show you.”

McIver led the way through a jumbled storage room, the clutter at odds with the neatly organized store out front. Faded bolts of cloth lay on top of each other on an old steamer trunk. Stacks of overstocked crates leaned haphazardly toward the narrow aisle leading to the rear door. A keg with
PICKLED HERRING
printed in large letters sat to Jake’s left.

Jake scowled. “Pickled herring?”

“Somebody accidentally shipped it here. I haven’t been able to sell it to anyone. Wish that riffraff would’ve taken that with them.”

The back door hung ajar, the bitter cold sucking the warmth right out of the room. Making his way toward it, Jake hoped he didn’t knock a stack of crates over. He didn’t have a hankering to be buried alive under a hundred pounds of pickled herring. His gaze swept over the doorframe, noticing the lack of splintered wood or any marks showing a forced entrance.