Maureen McKade (2 page)

Matt blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Everybody says that you’re mean as a skunk without a peter.”

Matt pressed his lips together and smothered a chuckle.

“They say that nobody would dare cross a man that looks as mean as you,” Dylan continued, seemingly unaware of Matt’s mirth.

“As long as folks don’t break the law, I don’t care what they think of me.”

“Folks say you got that scar in a duel fighting over a woman.” Dylan stared at Matt, his expression asking for a denial.

A muscle twitched in Matt’s jaw. “Folks is wrong. I got it in the war.”

Dylan’s eyes glowed. “You fought against them dirty Rebs?”

“I
was
a ‘dirty Reb.’ ”

The boy’s adam’s apple bobbed. “I didn’t mean nothin’.”

“That’s all right, Dylan. I came up here after the war to get away from all that, so I guess I ain’t a Reb anymore.” He straightened in his chair. “Don’t you think it’s about time you headed home? Your ma’s probably looking for you.”

Dylan’s expression told Matt he’d rather face a nest of rattlesnakes than confront his mother. He sighed in resignation: “I s’pect you’re right.”

He clomped to the door and paused, glancing down at the new shoes. “I sure hope I grow into them fast.”

Matt joined the boy at the door and settled a hand on his shoulder. “I reckon you’ll grow into them faster’n you can say Texas two-step. Remember what I told you—if your ma don’t like you having them shoes, have her come talk to me.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow to sweep again.” He paused as if he realized he sounded too eager. “I mean, I do owe you for the shoes and all.”

“Sounds good, partner. Hurry on home so you don’t get soaked.”

Dylan shuffled out and went down the boardwalk, then stopped and turned to look at Matt. With his threadbare overalls and forlorn gaze, Dylan looked like a lost puppy. After a few moments, he shrugged and shambled away.

Matt leaned a forearm against the doorjamb and hooked his thumb in the well-worn holster around his denim-clad hips. His gaze searched the gun-metal gray horizon, but the mountains were hidden by layers of snow-bloated clouds. He hated these dreary days when his only companions were memories.

Maybe he should take his own advice and get a dog.

Libby O’Hanlon scampered across the street, her breath wisping in the cool air. She paused in front of the boardinghouse and shifted the portmanteau from one gloved hand to the other. A chilly wind whipped under her layers of petticoats, and she shivered with cold. And fear. When she’d spotted the sheriff’s badge, it was as if a fist had closed around her lungs, suffocating her. The last few months of running and hiding like a hunted animal would have been for nothing if he had recognized her. But he hadn’t. She was still safe. For now.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Libby rapped her knuckles against the door.

Footsteps crossed a wooden floor. The door swung open, and a woman as stout as a whiskey barrel confronted her.

“I’m looking for a room,” Libby stated.

The woman’s round face split with a welcoming smile and she ushered Libby inside. “You’ve come to the right place. Goodness gracious, you’re chilled to the bone. We’d best get you warmed up before you catch your death. I tell you, this weather up here is about as predictable as one of them French soufflés. I
mean, you just never know what to expect when you open the door. But then, that’s what’s so exciting about living here. Kind of a change from that boring routine of city living, don’t you think?”

Libby nodded, though her head swirled with Gatling-gun chatter. “Yes, I suppose. Are you Mrs. Potts?”

The woman flattened a sausage-fingered hand to her ample bosom. “My goodness, I haven’t even introduced myself, have I? Lenore Potts is my name, and you’d best call me Lenore if you know what’s good for you.” The twinkle in the older woman’s eyes belied her threat.

“I’m Libby O’Hanlon.”

“The new schoolteacher! Why, blessed be the day. I swear, we’ve gone through two teachers since September. Just can’t keep a one. There’s a shortage of good women hereabouts, and the men just gather around them like bees to honey as soon as they arrive. Next thing you know, they up and marry, leaving the children behind.” She paused for a breath. “And look at you, pretty as a button. One gander at you and the menfolk are going to trip over themselves to see who can propose first.”

Libby stiffened. “As I told your sheriff, I have no plans of marrying, so you can rest assured the children will receive an education.”

“You met Sheriff Brandon? Hope you weren’t scared off by that horrible scar. A lot of folks think he’s no better than the outlaws in his jail, but you can’t go by looks, that’s what I say. Why I knew a fella once, as handsome as the day was long, but underneath them good looks he was rottener than month-old apple pie. Beauty’s only skin deep, and that’s the truth of it. Not that the sheriff is ugly; no sirree, because he’s a fine-looking specimen as men go. Shoot, once you get to know him a little better, you won’t even notice that little scar. And I’ll tell you a
secret; if I was a few years younger, I’d set my hat for him myself. But don’t you go telling Eli.”

Libby’s head spun. “Excuse me, Mrs. Potts, but—”

“Now what did I tell you? My name is Lenore.” The older woman smiled apologetically. “I been doing it again, haven’t I? Eli keeps telling me I should do more listening than talking, but it just doesn’t seem to sink in. I guess I been talking for so long, it’s near impossible to change now. And here you are, tired and wet and wanting a room to lie down and get some rest. Come along, honey, and I’ll show you which one you can have.”

Lenore led Libby up a wooden staircase and to the first room at the top of the stairs. She swung the door open. “I hope it’ll do.”

Libby stepped inside. A fire burned low in the hearth, warding off the chill of the damp day. A round, braided rug covered a portion of the shiny hardwood floor. A tan ceramic pitcher and basin painted with whirls of intertwined flowers sat on an oak stand. Situated in the far corner, below one of the two windows, was a feather bed, topped by a patchwork quilt. A Boston rocker with a seat cushion stood next to the bed, and Libby envisioned many quiet evenings in the chair.

Her attention returned to the landlady. “It’s lovely, Lenore. It reminds me of the room I had as a young girl.”

Lenore smiled broadly and her eyes nearly disappeared into folds of skin. “I thought you might like it. Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes while I put water on for your bath. You look like you just spent the better part of a week in a stagecoach.”

Libby smiled for the first time since she’d arrived in Deer Creek. “I have. And a bath sounds heavenly.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“I had some soup and bread at the last stage stop.”

“If you get hungry before supper, you just come on
down to the kitchen. There’s always something for hungry folks to chew on.” Lenore turned and faced Libby again. “By the way, supper is at six. Breakfast is served at seven, and lunch at noon. The cost of the room includes all three meals.”

“That sounds just fine. Thank you.”

The door closed behind Lenore.

Libby sank onto the bed and closed her eyes, grateful there was no motion involved. After five days of continuous travel by stagecoach, her muscles were stiff and sore. The roads from North Platte were alternately muddy and frozen, and she was told she’d been lucky they hadn’t run into any blizzards on the route. However, Libby’s only concern was that she’d arrived without discovery.

When she’d descended the stage and seen the lawman, Libby had been certain she’d run out of luck. Fortunately, there’d been no recognition in the sheriff’s rough-hewn face. In fact, she thought she’d detected a note of admiration in his gruff manner.

She crossed the floor, sinking to her knees in front of the hearth. Pulling the sodden hat off her head, Libby regarded the plumed creation in her hand a moment. The feather drooped, and the small brim had lost its stiffness. She wrinkled her nose, then tossed the hat into the fireplace. The hungry fire devoured it with a flare of orange.

Staring at the hypnotic flames, she wished her tattered past could be as easily discarded as the ruined hat. She closed her eyes, remembering the day that had changed her life forever.