Maureen McKade (25 page)

“He meant you have a talent for it,” Matt replied.

“If the first hand was any indication, he was probably right,” Eli said.

Matt’s disquiet grew. “Poker is only a game like any other, son, and we don’t play it seriously.”

Dylan flashed a bright smile. “I know. I think it’s fun, especially when I win. I just remember which cards were played.”

The enthusiasm in Dylan’s expression melted Matt’s unease. Dylan’s boyish pleasure was a delight to see. He’d endured more than most children, and too often he looked at the world through eyes aged far beyond his years.

Matt dealt the next round and they continued until Eli ran out of chips.

“Looks like I’m flat broke,” Eli said.

Dylan giggled. “We weren’t playing for real money. You can have some of mine.”

“No thanks, Dylan. I’m getting a mite sleepy, and since I haven’t had my nap yet, I figure I’d best get to it,” Eli said.

He moved to the settee, sank down, and closed his eyes.

Dylan yawned widely.

“Looks like you could use some sleep, too,” Matt said.

“I’m not tired.”

Matt stood and stretched. “That’s too bad, because I think I’ll be taking a snooze myself, so you won’t have anyone to play poker with.”

Matt lowered himself to the couch and propped his feet up on a padded footstool. The wind rattled the shutters, but inside, the comforting fire crackled in the hearth. The homey atmosphere soothed Matt and he closed his eyes.

A few moments later, Dylan planted himself next to Matt. “Maybe I could use a few winks, too.”

Matt’s lips twitched at his solemn confession.

Dylan pillowed his head against Matt’s side and warmth flowed through Matt like a chinook breeze on a frigid winter day. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around the boy’s skinny shoulders and Dylan snuggled closer, laying his small hand on Matt’s chest.

Matt studied the boy and a sense of rightness filled him. The ugly bruise on Dylan’s cheek sharply contrasted with his cherubic countenance. Matt’s hold tightened protectively around the boy.

And for the first time in years, Matt allowed somebody inside the fortress surrounding his heart.

Chapter 13

L
ibby and Lenore returned to the cheery parlor to find Dylan and the men sound asleep.

“Looks like Eli wasn’t the only one who needed a Sunday afternoon nap,” Lenore whispered.

Libby nodded, her attention focused on the man and boy on the sofa. She fought the overwhelming impulse to join them, to sit on Matt’s other side and press herself close to his warm, secure body.

“They look like father and son, don’t they?” Lenore asked.

The lump in Libby’s throat prevented her reply.

“I’m going to make some coffee.”

Libby swallowed the fragile emotion. “Do you need some help?”

“You sit down and relax, honey. The day I can’t put on a pot of coffee by myself, is the day they lay me in the ground. When it’s ready, we can dish up dessert.”

Lenore bustled out of the room and left Libby among the napping men. She knelt in front of the fireplace and tucked her skirt around her legs. She added another log and embers popped and sparked, sending a cascade of orange cinders spiraling up the chimney. She breathed deeply of the wood smoke, an aroma rich with memories. She recalled Sunday afternoons she’d spent as a child. Her father would settle
into his favorite chair to read the newest medical journal. He’d be asleep within minutes, and Libby and her brother would entertain themselves with a card game or backgammon. Corey had taught her to play mumblety-peg, and they’d often slipped outside to see who could make the blade stick in the ground the most times.

Moisture clouded her gaze and loneliness welled up, erasing the temporary contentment she’d gained in Deer Creek. She had nobody but herself to trust, and Libby grew weary with the constant fear of discovery. Since she’d killed Harrison, she’d lived in the shadow of deceit. She hated to mislead the people she’d come to care for, but if they learned of her horrible crime, her world would again be smashed into a thousand pieces.

The alternative demanded she be punished for her deed, and Libby refused to accept that option. For the four years she’d lived as Harrison’s wife, she’d served her sentence. She took a steadying breath and swept an impatient hand across her eyes. Elizabeth Thompson no longer existed, and a new beginning in this Montana wilderness beckoned Libby O’Hanlon. She’d be a fool to ignore the invitation.

She stood, brushed a few gray ashes from her skirt, and eased herself into a wingback chair. Libby intertwined her fingers and laid them in her lap. As she rested her gaze on Matt and Dylan, her heart swelled with fondness. Matt’s chin touched Dylan’s dark crown, and his arm curled protectively about the boy’s too-thin shoulders. The scar angled down Matt’s relaxed features, and Libby wished he could remain as unconcerned about the mark while awake.

Her fingernails dug into her palms. Matt deserved better than he gave himself credit for, and she was determined to help him overcome his pointless self-deprecation.

She hadn’t intended on becoming ensnared in her
own plan. With every gentle touch, her pulse skittered out of control. With every glance into his whiskey-colored eyes, she became intoxicated by the smooth burn of desire in their depths. With every soft, reassuring word, she longed to press her mouth to his and taste the passion hidden beneath.

Libby had to tread carefully and safeguard her feelings, or she would repeat the mistake of the night before. The line between compassion and passion was a fine one, and she prayed she wouldn’t step over the divider again. A doctor did not become emotionally involved with her patient, and Matt had to be healed of the misplaced shame his scar engendered. But the memory of his tender caresses and inflaming kisses tempted her to forget her duty and drown in his passionate possession.

Matt’s eyelids flickered open, and Libby steeled herself against his potency. She pressed a finger to her lips and whispered, “Dylan’s asleep.”

Matt nodded and his smoldering gaze roamed across her, leaving a scorched trail in its wake.

She forced herself not to squirm beneath his steamy inspection. “Lenore’s making some coffee to have with dessert.”

“Are we going to do the dishes again?”

Libby’s cheeks warmed, but she raised her chin defiantly. “If you’d like to.”

Lenore entered the room carrying a tray covered with plates of pie. “Libby, could you help me with the cups?”

Relieved to escape Matt’s scrutiny, Libby followed Lenore to the kitchen. They returned a few minutes later and found everyone eating pie.

Lenore chuckled. “Nothing like pecan pie to wake a body up.”

After Libby finished the last of her coffee, she set the empty cup on her dessert plate. She glanced out
the window into the late afternoon’s dim light. “The days are so short.”

“Before you know it, they’ll start stretching out again,” Eli assured.

“It won’t be soon enough.” Uncharacteristic lethargy filled Libby, and she stood. “I’d better get back to the schoolhouse and make sure I’m ready for tomorrow’s classes.”

Dylan hopped to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

Libby knelt in front of him and clasped his thin arms. “You’ll be staying here with Mrs. Potts, remember?”

Dylan slid his small hands into his overall pockets and stared at the floor. “Oh yeah.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll see me tomorrow at school.”

His chin lifted. “I’ll be all right.”

Libby pulled him close and smelled the faint scent of carbolic acid in his downy hair. “I know you will, sweetheart, but I’m going to miss you. I want you to be good for Mrs. Potts. Before you know it, I’ll be moving back here.”

“What if my ma comes looking for me?” Dylan asked.

Fear skittered through Libby and she glanced at Matt.

“You stay right here with Mrs. Potts,” he answered. “I don’t want you to go anywhere with your mother. Do you understand?”

“Do you think she’s sorry she hit me?”

Libby’s eyes glazed with unshed tears.

Matt squatted down in front of Dylan and laid his large, gentle hands on his shoulders. “I don’t think so, son. You see, your mother has a sickness that makes her do bad things to you, and she won’t ever get better. But you got me and Miss O’Hanlon and Mrs. Potts and Dr. Clapper. We all care for you, and want to make sure you don’t get hurt again.”

Dylan frowned worriedly. “Am I bad because I don’t ever want to see her again?”

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Libby reassured.

Dylan appeared relieved and he looked at Matt with beseeching eyes. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“You can count on it,” Matt said. He held out his hand and Dylan shook it. “You do as Mrs. Potts says.”

“I will,” he promised solemnly.

Matt straightened. “I’d best be heading home, too.”

“You escort Libby to the schoolhouse first,” Lenore commanded. “It’s not safe for a young woman to be out walking alone.”

“But I’ve walked alo—” Libby began.

“Matt will take you home, honey,” Lenore interrupted.

Libby glanced at Eli and found his attention focused on a piece of lint on his jacket. Her gaze caught Matt, but she was unable to read his shuttered expression.

“Let’s get going,” he said gruffly.

In the hallway, they tugged on their warm coats and thanked Lenore for dinner. Dylan hugged Libby, then Lenore put her arm around the boy and they waved goodbye.

Libby stepped outside. The chilly wind whisked her breath away. Beside her, Matt coughed raggedly. “Are you all right?”

Matt nodded and gasped for air. He steered her in the direction of the school and they walked in silence.

“Your lungs still hurt, don’t they?” Libby asked.

“Some.”

“Have you been using the camphor?”

“Yep.”

His curt answers stung Libby and she studied him with a sidelong glance. His canvas coat fell to his ankles and emphasized the width of his shoulders and his slim hips. The worn brown Stetson sat low on his forehead, giving his hooded eyes a sinister look, but
Libby recognized the defensive tactic. She knew him too well to be scared off by the harsh expression.

“I feel terrible leaving Dylan with Lenore,” Libby confessed.

“He’ll be fine.”

“Do you think Sadie will go after him?”

The angles of his face seemed carved in granite. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

Libby grabbed his arm and halted their progress. “You aren’t going to do anything drastic, are you?”

“Like give Sadie a taste of what she done to Dylan?”

She shuddered at his glacial tone, but answered with equal coldness. “Matching violence with violence never solved anything.”

He smiled without humor. “Maybe not, but it’d make me feel a whole lot better.”

Anxiety furled in her stomach. “Matt.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t do everything I’d like to.” Matt’s eyes glittered and his sultry gaze settled on her mouth.

Libby recognized his desire, and she swept her tongue across her dry lips. Her heart kicked like a mule, her chest constricting painfully. A tendril of hair whipped across her face and she impatiently tucked the strand under her fur hat. She ignored winter’s bracing bite, centering her attention on the man beside her.

Suddenly a gun exploded and Matt knocked Libby to the ground. More gunfire, and a bullet thudded into the wall behind them. She struggled to breathe under Matt’s weight.

“Stay down,” he hissed in her ear.

His solid body disappeared from her back, and cold air rushed into her lungs. Matt ran in a half-crouch across the street and ducked behind the livery. Three more shots brought Libby’s head up sharply and her heart skipped a beat. What if Matt had been led into a
trap? Trembling, Libby raised herself to a kneeling position. She searched the town for a sign of movement, but only curious people peeked out from doorways and windows.

Ominous silence tested Libby’s patience and she straightened behind a support pole to peek around the rough wood surface, her concern for Matt outweighing the fear for her own safety. The deadly calm frightened Libby more than the rapid-fire ambush had, and she cautiously moved down the boardwalk’s steps to the frozen ground below.

“I thought I told you to stay put,” Matt said with irritated concern, and Libby’s heart tripped over itself.

He stood in the livery doorway and she hurried to his side, but his stiff posture stopped her from hugging him. She clenched her hands in front of her body. “Are you all right?”

“He got away.”

“Did you see who it was?”

Matt shook his head and lifted his revolver to dump the spent cartridges. He replaced the empty cylinders with bullets from his gun belt. “It had to be somebody out to get me. No one would want to shoot you.”

What if the attacker had been a bounty hunter who held a paper on her? Her stomach pitched and her mind reeled. She could have been the cause of Matt’s death.

“Libby, you look like you seen a ghost.” Matt’s disembodied voice floated around her.

“I’m not used to getting shot at.”
At least that was the truth.

Matt cursed. “I’m sorry, Libby. Let’s get you home so you can warm up.”

He took her arm and led her away from the barn. His strength bolstered Libby, and she pulled away from him.

“I’ll be all right, Matt.” She avoided his gaze to
hide her guilt. “Don’t worry. I’m not the fainting type.”

He didn’t appear convinced and walked close beside her. Matt entered the schoolhouse first. “It’s empty. I’ll get a fire going.”

She followed him to the back room and wrapped her arms around her waist. The area seemed smaller with Matt’s towering presence, and Libby shivered with more than cold. Matt lit a kerosene lamp, and she perched on the edge of a hard chair.

With an economy of motion, Matt filled the stove with wood and sparked the dry pieces of kindling he laid around the bottom. The flames’ heat radiated outward to chase away the brisk chill.

“Do you want some coffee?” Libby asked.

“Sure.”

Libby readied the pot, placed it atop the stove, and leaned back against the crude counter. Matt stood beside a window and carefully peered out. Boiling water and the occasional sputter of liquid on the hot surface accented the tense silence in the room.

Libby’s nerves stretched taut and her head pounded. Had the ambush been for her or Matt? If the attacker had been a bounty hunter, wouldn’t he simply go to the sheriff’s office and tell Matt who he was after? There would be no reason for him to hide his intentions.

She poured coffee into two cups and handed one to Matt.

“Is anybody out there?” Libby asked.

Matt’s hawkish gaze scanned through the glass pane. “It’s getting too dark to tell.”

Libby tightened her fingers into a fist. “What if he was after me?”

Matt swung his startled gaze to her. “Why would anyone want to kill you?”

Libby shrugged weakly. “There are people in this town who disapprove of me.”

Matt snorted. “Mrs. Beidler isn’t going to have you shot because she doesn’t like you.”

Despite the coolness of the room, a few beads of sweat formed on Libby’s brow. “Why would someone come after you?”

His bleak look captured Libby. “I’ve done a lot of things in my time, including killing people.”

“But that was the war.”

He shook his head. “I used to be a Texas Ranger before the war, and I killed my share while riding with them. I’ve had to shoot a few folks since I pinned on this sheriff’s badge, too. All those dead people had friends and family. There’s no telling who might be after me.”

Libby shuddered. What if Matt
had
been the intended target? Her stomach knotted and she tightened her arms around her middle.

The doctors in the east took a dim view of shootings in the uncivilized frontier, berating the blatant disregard for life. But Libby lived in that world, where guns were a common commodity. She’d seen firsthand how good people sometimes had no choice but to use violence to attain peace, and though she couldn’t completely condone the practice of swift justice, she understood the reasons.

Matt misread her silent reverie. “I’m sorry if I offended your tender sensibilities.”

Libby ignored his biting sarcasm. “You didn’t. Sometimes people have to do things they don’t want to when the only option is their own death.”