Maureen McKade (19 page)

Would Matt turn on her and accuse her of being no better than Dylan’s mother? Would he take it upon himself to chastise her? Would his pleasure-giving hands turn into instruments of pain?

She finished straightening her blouse, turned to face Matt, and raised her chin. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe something that wasn’t true. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”

She marched to the kitchen with purposeful strides and concentrated on frying the chicken. She refused to think about her unseemly behavior, but vowed again to keep her distance from Matt. She couldn’t trust him before, and now she couldn’t trust herself.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

Matt’s beseeching voice startled Libby and her hand flew to her heart. She glared at him. “Don’t you ever sneak up on me again.”

Libby was grateful he’d pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, so she could maintain her ire. Clad only in his underwear, she would have recalled too well the feel of his sinewy chest beneath her fingers.

He leaned against the wood box and crossed his arms in a deceptively relaxed pose. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Libby’s heart pounded in her breast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One moment you’re hotter’n a two-bit pistol, and the next you’re colder’n an icehouse in January.”

Libby’s palm flashed toward Matt’s cheek, but he caught her wrist.

“How dare you,” Libby hissed. “I resent being spoken to like I’m no better than a—a whore.”

“A whore? What in tarnation are you talking about? I’ve never thought of you that way.” Indignant fury peppered his words.

Libby jerked her arm out of Matt’s grasp. She fought back with the only weapon she had. “No? Yet I assume you had no intention of marriage if I had let you …”

Matt broke his gaze, and Libby tasted the bitterness of her costly victory. For the first time, she thanked the blind fear Harrison had left as his legacy. If she had allowed Matt the liberties he’d clearly wanted, he would have learned she’d been married—and that would have precipitated more lies.

Her stomach roiled and she bit her tongue to keep the bile from rising. No matter how hard she tried to maintain aloofness, her body betrayed her. Being a doctor, she’d been prepared for her wedding night. She had even anticipated the moment of consummation. Harrison had come to their bedroom while she
still wore her wedding dress. She’d asked him to leave while she changed into her nightgown, and she could still hear his sadistic laughter when he’d refused.

You’re my wife now and I may do as I please with you. Remove your clothes, Elizabeth.

Libby had trembled beneath his heated gaze and did as he commanded. She’d stood naked in the center of the bedroom while Harrison walked around her, examining her as critically as he would a priceless painting or a prize bull. He stroked her back, her breasts, her hips, and the juncture of her thighs. Libby’s body reacted to his gentle caresses. Lulled by his seemingly tender touches, she whimpered and reached for him. And he’d slapped her. Hard. She’d always remember the coppery taste of her own blood and the beating that followed.

The scenario had been repeated numerous times throughout the four years of the hellish marriage. She thought Harrison had destroyed her ability to take pleasure in anything related to the marital act. However, in a month’s time, Matt Brandon had effectively drawn out her sinful urges with a single kiss.

She had bungled every plan she’d made for her new life in Deer Creek. She’d allowed the town’s sheriff to caress her, after swearing never to allow another man to touch her. She’d accepted an offer from the doctor, after deciding she could never practice medicine again. And she’d become involved with Dylan and Lenore and her students, after hardening her heart against all emotional entanglements.

She’d even failed as a doctor. She had killed a man after she’d sworn to uphold the sanctity of life.

Would she forever be destined to fail?

Chapter 10

S
he had to get back to her solitary cell at the schoolhouse. Exhaustion disheartened her, and she needed peace and quiet to regain her confidence and place her priorities back in their proper order.

Libby used a fork to turn over the chicken in the skillet, focusing her gaze on the task. “As soon as we’ve eaten supper, I’ll be leaving.” She took a deep breath and turned to Matt. “I’ll continue to help you learn to read and write only if you promise not to touch me again.”

She tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.

That you’ll hate me if you learn who I really am.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Everyone’s afraid of something.”

Libby took the offensive. “What are you afraid of?”

He shrugged. “More than I care to admit.”

Stubborn green eyes parried with somber amber ones. Dylan barged in and their battle of wills ended without a victor.

“Mrs. Potts made an apple pie for us,” he announced exuberantly.

Despite her frustration with Matt and her own emotions, Libby smiled. “Why don’t you and the sheriff wash up, then we can all eat at the table.”

Dylan’s excited chatter made the uncomfortable meal bearable, and Libby focused her attention on him rather than Matt’s formidable presence. Dylan helped Libby with the dishes while Matt sat at the table, silent and watchful.

After the last piece of silverware was placed in its proper drawer, Libby faced Matt reluctantly. “I’d like to examine you one more time and make sure your lungs are clearing up.”

Opening her black medical bag, Libby pulled out her stethoscope. She slid the circular part under Matt’s shirt, against his warm chest. The dark crisp hairs tickled her fingertips and the tingle traveled up her arm and spiraled in her stomach. Noticing his quick intake of breath, she determinedly ignored her own response. She concentrated on the increased heartbeat of her patient and the almost inaudible rasp in his lungs.

Libby placed the stethoscope back in her bag. “Everything sounds fine. If your fever should return and breathing becomes more difficult, send someone for Dr. Clapper. I’m going to leave you the rest of the camphor, and I want you to use it once a day until it’s gone. You’re going to feel tired for another week or two, so get plenty of rest.”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Matt said.

Libby’s eyes widened and her mouth went dry, but his belated wink told her he’d been joking. She swallowed nervously. “Would you like me to walk you home, Dylan?”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sheriff.”

“You’d better,” Matt responded. “When would you like me at the schoolhouse, Libby?”

“Have you decided to agree to my terms?” she asked.

“I can abide by your rules. Can you?” he dared with a honey-smooth voice.

“What rules?” Dylan asked curiously.

Libby glanced at Dylan and her face warmed. “It’s a grown-up game, sweetheart.” She ignored her tripping heartbeat and looked at Matt. “Do you promise?”

Matt drew an imaginary
X
on his chest. “Cross my heart.”

She nodded. “How about Monday evening, about six?”

“Sounds fine.”

Libby donned her long woolen coat. Matt’s large hands fumbled with Dylan’s jacket buttons, and the endearing sight warmed Libby.

“Bye, Sheriff,” Dylan said.

“Goodbye, partner. Good night, Libby.”

She nodded stiffly. The cold evening air took Libby’s breath away and swept under her layers of skirts, sending a shiver racing up her spine. Dusk had fallen and Dylan led the way across the dim trail back to town. Libby sensed Matt followed their progress with his hooded eyes.

“The sheriff isn’t going to die, is he?” Dylan asked.

Libby blinked, startled by the question. “No, he’s going to be fine. You don’t have to worry about him.”

A long wisp of vapor told Libby the boy sighed heavily. “Good. I was scared he’d leave, too.”

They reached the edge of town.

“Who left you, Dylan?” Libby asked.

“This man who played cards where Ma used to work. She didn’t like him, but he was nice to me and taught me how to write my name and how to work with numbers. He called it knowing the odds, but I just called it memorizing the cards and which ones had been played.”

So that’s where he’d learned poker.
“What happened to him?”

Dylan shrugged his thin shoulders. “He got conniption.”

Libby thought for a moment. “You mean consumption?”

“Yeah. What’s consumption?”

“It’s a disease that stops the lungs from working. The sheriff wasn’t as sick as your other friend was.”

“I don’t ever want you or the sheriff to get that sick.”

Libby’s hand tightened on Dylan’s.

As they passed Pearson’s Mercantile, a burly body bumped Libby. The violet-coated woman turned, and the stuffed sparrow in her brightly colored hat nearly lost its perch. “Excuse me,” Mrs. Beidler said. “Oh, it’s you, Miss O’Hanlon.”

Instinctively, Libby shielded Dylan from her view. “Good evening, Mrs. Beidler.”

The woman peered down her pointed nose. “Who’s that with you there?”

Libby raised her chin. “One of my students.”

Mrs. Beidler examined the boy closer. “That’s Sadie Rivers’s whelp. I thought he no longer attended classes.”

“I had to take care of the sheriff,” Dylan spoke up.

“It was only a temporary arrangement,” Libby said. “I tutored Dylan in the evenings.” She sent Dylan a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll catch up to you.”

He left reluctantly.

“So he will be returning to school Monday?” Mrs. Beidler asked.

Libby returned her attention to the other woman. “That’s right. Nobody has the right to deny a child an education, and I will not allow you to dictate to me who I can and cannot teach in my classroom. I truly hope you will send Mary Sue to school on Monday, but if you don’t, the blame will lie with you, not myself.” Libby leaned closer to her formidable opponent. “I realize you have an image to uphold, Mrs.
Beidler, but you cannot use an innocent boy as a pawn to maintain your appearance of propriety.”

The older woman’s nostrils flared. “You have no idea what it’s like for me in this backward frontier town, do you? I used to be a Linden, of the Boston Lindens.”

Libby gaped.

Mrs. Beidler lifted her chin and her lips thinned with smug satisfaction. “I see you’ve heard of us. I grew up in a mansion on Beacon Hill where I wanted for nothing, and when I married Abraham, my life was all I had dreamed it would be.” Virulence spilled into her tone. “Then the war broke out.”

Libby recalled how Mrs. Beidler’s father had been accused of aiding the Confederacy, and the resulting scandal that destroyed the Linden shipping empire. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Beidler’s eyes spat fire. “I don’t want your sympathy. I had enough of that from our so-called friends. Abraham and I were forced to leave Boston, and we settled here in the middle of nowhere.”

Understanding softened Libby’s tone. “And that’s why you hate Sheriff Brandon, isn’t it? He fought on the same side that ruined your family.”

Mrs. Beidler stiffened her back. “We’ve strayed from our original discussion. If you allow that boy to attend school, I shall see to it you never teach again.”

“I wish I could change your mind. You’re so blinded by bitterness, you won’t listen to me. The only thing that’ll help you is to let go of the past, Mrs. Beidler.” Libby turned to leave, but paused. “I still feel sorry for you—but not because you lost so much. Because you refuse to see what you have here in Deer Creek. Good night.”

Libby strode away from the motionless woman and, a block later, came upon Dylan waiting for her.

“Why is she always so mean to me?” Dylan asked.

“It’s not just you, sweetheart. She’s angry at the world. Don’t let her bother you,” Libby reassured.

They arrived at their destination a few minutes later. The red lanterns on either side of the door told visitors the establishment was open for business, and they went around to the back door.

As ribald laughter from within the elaborate house filtered outside, Libby pursed her lips. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you here, Dylan.”

“It’s all right, Miss O’Hanlon. Ma hasn’t hit me for a couple weeks.” Dylan bit his lower lip, realizing what he’d admitted. “I mean, it ain’t so bad. She is my ma.”

Libby breathed a sigh of relief. Though she hadn’t seen any sign of abuse on Dylan, his unintentional confirmation eased her worry.

“It
isn’t
so bad,” she correctly gently, and squatted down so her gaze was even with Dylan’s. “And she’s very lucky to have a son like you. If I had a boy, I’d want him to be just like you.”

“Even if I’m bad sometimes?”

“I’ll tell you a secret. I wasn’t always good when I was your age either. I seem to recall a few times when I pulled some pranks that weren’t very nice, but my family still loved me. And if you did some bad things, I’d still love you. Why, I’ll bet the sheriff even got into all sorts of mischief when he was your age.”

“Really?” Dylan’s huge eyes reflected amazement.

Libby smiled. “Why don’t you ask him tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He glanced at the door and somberness claimed his pale face. “I’d best go before Ma gets mad.”

“Remember what I said. You’re always welcome to come visit me.”

Dylan nodded. “I know. Night, Miss O’Hanlon.”

“Good night, Dylan.”

He slipped inside and disappeared behind the stark walls. Feeling like she’d abandoned Dylan, Libby
stood and reluctantly headed in the direction of the schoolhouse. She paused in front of Dr. Clapper’s dark office and imagined her name below his: Dr. Libby O’Hanlon. Certainty flowed through her like a mountain stream, and deep in her heart, she knew she’d made the right decision.

She’d been granted a second chance in Deer Creek, and she vowed to follow the advice she’d given Mrs. Beidler. What she could have here would far outweigh the losses she’d suffered.

Dylan dragged his sleeve across his forehead and yawned wide. Friday nights were the second busiest night of the week. He hated them. Men who acted all-fired important during the day turned into stupid fools with the women who worked for his ma. They bragged and laughed and touched the girls’ legs under their dresses. After that, they’d go upstairs and come back down a little while later.

He sighed and carried in the last load of wood for the evening. He wound his way through the noisy couples in the large parlor. Nobody paid any attention to him as Dylan set the logs in the wood box and knelt in front of the brick fireplace to add more fuel. The loud voices rose and fell, interspersed by laughter that didn’t sound real. He usually didn’t pay much mind to what anyone said, but he heard the teacher’s name and strained to find the source.

He spied his mother and Mr. Pearson sitting close on the purple couch, the old storekeeper’s hand rubbing her leg under her skirt. Dylan leaned toward them to hear their conversation.

“She thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us, but Libby O’Hanlon just doesn’t do it honest like we do,” his mother said.

Pearson nodded. “Personally I got nothing against the sheriff, but I can’t figure how he steered a woman like her off the straight and narrow.”

“Because she’s no better than the likes of me. Who knows, maybe when Brandon gets tired of poking her she’ll come work here, then you’ll get your chance at her.” She rubbed his crotch and licked her lips. “Got yourself all excited thinking about her, don’t you?”

Dylan frowned. He didn’t understand what they meant, but he did know they were being disrespectful to Miss O’Hanlon. Indignation gave him the courage to approach the sofa where they sat touching each other.

“Miss O’Hanlon is a nice lady,” Dylan defended.

His mother glared at him. “What’re you doing in here? You’re supposed to be cleaning the kitchen.”

“I done that already.” Dylan’s stomach twisted with fear, but righteous anger spurred him on. “The sheriff and Miss O’Hanlon haven’t done anything wrong. He was sick and she stayed with him to make him better.”

“I bet I know how she made him feel better, too,” Pearson said with a wink.

Dylan stamped a foot. “She didn’t do anything bad.”

His mother lurched to her feet and grabbed his ear. He struggled to escape, but her taloned fingers twisted the tender flesh and Dylan clenched his lips together against a cry of pain. She dragged him into the kitchen and released him.

Her eyes blazed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I told you a hundred times never to interrupt me when I’m working. Get to your room and stay there. I’ll take care of you later.”

She stomped out of the kitchen and didn’t look back.

Trembling with fear, Dylan stared after her. What did she mean? How would she take care of him later? She hadn’t hit him for a long time, and he wanted to believe she’d finally decided to stop beating him. But she’d been awful mad.

He shivered anew and trudged up to his tiny cell. He threw himself on the narrow mattress. The low rumble of voices from downstairs surrounded him. In the next room, springs creaked and bedposts rapped the wall in a steady cadence. Dylan wondered what the men and women did behind the closed doors. None of the ladies bothered to answer him when he’d asked. He’d peeked in one time, and the couple had been wrestling on the bed. The sight had confused him further.

Someone hollered and the noises in the bedroom ceased. Dylan stuck his hand under his pillow and withdrew his secret friend. If his ma knew about the stuffed dog, she’d throw it away. She never liked anything he did. He snuggled the tattered animal.

He’d tried hard to do everything right and not make his mother mad the last couple weeks. He’d hoped maybe then she would start to like him a little bit and not hit him. All he wanted was a mother like all the other kids had, one who tucked him in bed at night and made him a lunch to take to school.

With no one to witness his momentary weakness, two tears coursed down his cheeks.

Early the next morning, silence awakened him. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. The rising sun cast a coral glow and Dylan smiled. He liked the way dawn’s rosy color splashed over the room’s drabness. He could pretend he lived in a real home and had bright wallpaper and cozy rugs to walk on on cold mornings.