Summer Breeze (15 page)

"Where'd your

mama find you, under a cabbage leaf? I was never this ornery."

"The hell you weren't," Ace said from the table.

"I heard that!" Caitlin called. "Unless you want your mouth washed out with soap, Ace Keegan, you'll stop using words like that around your son."

About to take a bite of chicken, Ace said, "All I said was hell. That's not cussing."

"It's not a word that I want our son using," his wife replied. "Imagine how that will go over on his first day at school."

"He won't be in school for another five years," Ace protested.

"Yes, and I shudder to think what his vocabulary will be like by then if you don't get a handle on your language."

Joseph glanced at Ace, awaiting his comeback. Ace just shrugged and resumed eating his meal.

Another mark on the chalkboard for Caitlin, Joseph guessed. Personally, he counted hell as being a byword and thought it was a hell of a note that a man couldn't say it when the mood struck.

After Ace and Caitlin left, which was no easy departure given the fact that Caitlin had to crawl back out through the shotgun hole, Rachel set to work tidying her living area. Concerned by the shadows under her eyes, Joseph watched through the opening from his position at the table, wishing he could help her. Mostly it was just busywork, though, putting little things precisely where they belonged, a knickknack here, a rug just there. Before leaving, Caitlin had picked up after her son and helped with the dishes, so the mess was mostly in Rachel's imagination, a result, Joseph felt sure, of her having lived in solitude so long, with little ever happening to disrupt the sameness.

"I want to thank you."

Joseph glanced up from petting Buddy to see her standing at the archway. Her shirtwaist sported spots, either from cooking, eating, or holding Little Ace when his hands were grubby. Even so, she looked beautiful. "Thank me for what?"

Smoothing a hand over the front of her skirt, she smiled and shrugged. "For making today happen. You encouraged Caitlin to come, and I'm ever so glad you did. It was lovely seeing her again."

Joseph could only imagine, and he knew that fell short. She'd been alone inside that kitchen for five long years. The thought boggled his mind. Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, with no company and no windows to look outside. If he had been cooped up alone that long, he would have lost his mind.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

She smiled again and tipped her head as if weighing his words. "Enjoyed? That only skims the surface. I can't tell you how much it meant to me. Little Ace is so darling."

Joseph rocked back in the chair. "You like children, then?"

A thoughtful look entered her eyes. Then she nodded. "Yes, I suppose I must."

It struck Joseph as being a strange answer until he

considered the fact that Rachel had been little more than a girl herself when her family was killed, and she hadn't seen any children since to actually know if she liked them.

"Well, now that Caitlin's come over to see you once, I'm sure she'll be back," he said. "When I take your eggs and cheese into town, I'll be asking Ace to stay with you. Chances are, she'll tag along."

"I hope so." Touching the jagged edges of wood, she added, "I only wish the way in and out were a little less difficult for her."

Ever since asking Caitlin to come visit Rachel that morning, Joseph had been considering that problem and had already taken the initial steps to solve it. Maybe he was wishing on rainbows, but it seemed to him that further modifications needed to be made to Rachel's hidey-hole so she might at least have occasional company. Living as she did was one thing. Even though the measures she had taken seemed extreme, he could understand her need to feel safe. But never to see anyone? There were surely people she trusted, Caitlin being one, who could drop by for coffee sometimes. Just one visitor a week would brighten her life immeasurably. Another thing that troubled Joseph was the constant darkness in which she lived. It was unnatural and couldn't be healthy. Rachel might resent his meddling, but after spending a night and morning in this aboveground tomb, Joseph itched to give her occasional glimpses of sunlight.

"I might could rig up something for you," he offered.

She gave him a curious look. "Like what?"

Still fondling Buddy's ears, he rocked back on the chair. "Has it occurred to you that your barricade didn't hold up very well under that shotgun blast?"

She paled slightly, a telltale sign to Joseph that the barricade's failings had not only occurred to her, but also troubled her deeply.

"I realize now that someone could shoot from the opposite side and do just as much damage, yes."

"Two blasts could make a hole damned near large enough for a man to walk through," Joseph expounded. "If the idea is to keep people out, you need something more than just boards."

"Like what?"

"A solid iron plate bolted to each side of every door, for starters, placed middling high where most people are likely to aim a gun. A shotgun blast can't penetrate iron. On the off chance that someone should try to blast his way in, that would slow him down considerably."

"Yes," she conceded, "I suppose it would."

"And I'm thinking about some iron bars, too, sort of like the cell doors in a jail, something made to fit over the outside of each door as added protection. You got a pad and pencil?"

"Yes." She disappeared for a moment and then returned with the items. Handing them through to him, she pressed close to the hole and watched as he sketched what he had in mind.

He gave her the drawing. "If I could find some long carriage bolts, I could sink them clear through the walls and anchor the barred doors on the inside of the house. In order to remove the exterior bars, a man

would need a hacksaw, and it would take forever to cut through even one piece of the iron."

"That would surely increase my security," she agreed.

"And even better, the barred doors could be unlocked. Caitlin may want to come a lot. She enjoys gadding about when she can get away, and she's got only one other good friend, a gal named Bess."

Rachel's eyes brightened. "Bess Halloway, Doc's niece?"

"That's the one, only now her last name's not Halloway."

"Caitlin mentioned today that she'd gotten married."

Joseph nodded. "To Bradley Thompson."

"Do his parents still own the dry goods store?" Rachel asked.

"They do. Brad helps run the place now, and Bess is teaching. With two kids of her own, plus a full-time job, Bess is so busy—even with Brad's mother helping out—that she doesn't have much time for visiting these days. Caitlin could use another friend."

"I'd love it if she chose me," Rachel said with a dreamy smile.

Joseph took the notepad from her hand. "A barred door would simplify her coming and going.

Here's what I'm thinking."

Sketching as he talked, Joseph quickly explained how Rachel's damaged archway barricade could be replaced with an extra-thick plank door, similar to the one that opened out onto the back porch.

Then barred

doors could be installed over both, and the front door of the house as well.

"You could give trusted friends like Caitlin keys to enter the house through the front door," he concluded. "Once Caitlin reaches the dining room, she could knock at the archway door, you could identify her through a peephole, and let her in, locking both the plank and barred door behind her."

"Oh, I never open my doors."

Joseph believed that it was high time she started, if only to allow a good friend like Caitlin to enter. "Ah, but with the added security of a barred door, you could look all around the dining room to be sure it was okay before you unlocked it. Then Caitlin could quickly slip inside, you could lock both doors behind her, and there you'd be, safe as two bugs in a rug."

"I might be able to handle that," she conceded. "It would be fabulous to have a friend come to see me, like a normal person does."

"It'd be safer than the setup you have now," he stressed, "with the added benefit of being able to have a visitor now and again."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Even better," he went on, "with the bars as an added barrier, you might even feel safe enough to open the back porch door sometimes to enjoy a little morning sunshine."

"And hear the birdsong?" she asked wistfully.

"That, too." The incredulous yearning in her eyes made a tiny place deep inside Joseph's chest throb like a sore tooth.
Birdsong.
He'd not had time to consider all the thousands of things that had been stripped from

Rachel's life—things that he and others took for granted. "Barred doors would be worth a try.

Don't you think?"

She sighed and shook her head. "They would be lovely, but I could never afford to have them made."

"It won't cost a thing," Joseph assured her. "Do you remember Bubba White?"

"The blacksmith?"

"One and the same. I stopped by to see him this afternoon. He's got a huge heap of scrap iron left over from when he made rails for the spur Ace built from here to Denver. At present, the iron's rusting and creating an eyesore in front of the shop, and Bubba's wife, Sue Ellen, has been pecking at him to get rid of it. As a result, he's offering the scraps for free to anyone who'll take them off his hands."

"Really?" She frowned thoughtfully. "That would cut the costs, I suppose, but there'd still be Bubba's wages to pay. I don't have much extra money."

Joseph held up a finger to interrupt. "Ah, but you're overlooking one thing. A lot of people in No Name still care about you."

"They do?"

"Of course they do. They've just never known how they might help. Bubba's one of those people.

When I told him the barred doors would be for you, he offered to donate his time to make them if I will handle the delivery and installation."

"He did?" She looked amazed. "How kind of him."

"It's not about kindness, Rachel. It's about being a good neighbor. According to Bubba, the attack on your family is the worst thing that's happened in these parts in all the years he's lived here, and he came out from Ohio back in the sixties when Colorado was still just a territory. There have been Cheyenne uprisings and the like, with greater casualties, I suppose, but at least that was during a war. What happened to your family was inexplicable, unprovoked violence that shocked the people in No Name to the core. They're as troubled as you are that the person who did it never was caught."

Dark shadows slipped into her eyes. "I figured everyone would have forgotten about it by now."

"Folks never forget something like that. Bubba is tickled pink to have an opportunity to do something nice for you. 'Some sunlight for Miss Rachel,' he said." Joseph flashed a grin. "In his estimation, it's a worthy cause, and he's more than willing to help me out. I can get everything made for nothing. All I need is a go-ahead from you."

"He actually said that?" Her face fairly glowed. "That it's a worthy cause?"

Joseph searched her eyes and saw the incredulity there. "People haven't stopped caring about you, Rachel."

"I figured they'd all decided I'm crazy."

That, too, but Joseph chose not to go there. "They care about you," he repeated. "Do you remember Sue Ellen, Bubba's wife?"

"Vaguely."

Joseph chuckled. "She's that kind of woman, sort of vague." He held up his hand. "Brown hair, about this tall, a fidgety little lady no wider than a toothpick."

Rachel narrowed her eyes as if to see into the past. "Does she have an eye twitch?"

"That's Sue Ellen. Her and Bubba have to be the most unlikely pair I've ever met, him so big and muscular, and her so itty-bitty. Before I left, she had him and their boy, Eugene, sifting through the scrap iron to find suitable lengths for your doors. I have a feeling she'll ride Bubba's ass until he gets them finished."

Rachel toyed with her collar. An expression of concern suddenly pleated her brow. "What if I can't bring myself to open the back door to let in sunlight? Will it hurt Bubba's feelings, do you think?"

The very fact that she cared about possibly hurting Bubba's feelings told Joseph more about her than she could know. "Nah. He's a tough old fart."

Her cheeks went rosy, and then she laughed. Joseph loved hearing that sound. He had a feeling that levity had been a commodity in short supply for Rachel over the last five years.

"You've a gift with words, Mr. Paxton."

Joseph figured that was her way of telling him he didn't. That was okay. He already knew that talking wasn't his strong suit. "Is that a yes, then?"

She thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "If nothing else, ironwork over my doors will make me feel safer. I'll have to send the Whites some baked goods by way of thanks. A cake and some cookies, maybe."

"There's a plan," Joseph agreed. "But that's for another day. Tonight you need to get some rest."

Moments later, he heard her bustling about. Curious, he returned to the opening and saw her carrying bedding into the water closet. He almost hated to ask. "What are you doing?"

She emerged from the closet. "Making my bed in the bathtub." At his surprised look, she gestured at the barricade. "I couldn't sleep a wink all last night. I don't feel safe with that hole there."

Joseph thought about reminding her of how difficult it had been for Caitlin to crawl through the opening. "I won't sneak in on you or anything."

"It's not you," she assured him. "Well, maybe it is, just a little. I'm not used to having someone here. But mostly it's just the hole." She lifted her hands. "I can't explain except to say that it's part of my sickness. Openness terrifies me. That's why I can't go outside."

"What happens when you try?"

She chafed her arms through the sleeves of her shirtwaist. "My heart pounds, and I can't breathe."

She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead, as if the mere thought made her breathless. "If I don't get back inside straightaway, I pass out."

Joseph couldn't imagine it. "What, exactly, are you afraid of out there, Rachel?"