Maureen McKade (7 page)

Anger clouded Matt’s visage and his eyes blazed.
“Because she’s a selfish shrew who figures Dylan’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

Righteous fury flooded Libby. “What about his father? Doesn’t he have any say in the matter?”

“Nobody knows who his father is. Sadie drifted into town a few years ago with Dylan and bought the house where she runs her business.”

“Then we’ve got to take Dylan away from her. He can stay with me until we find him a proper home, a place where he won’t be mistreated.”

“You’d do that for a boy you hardly know?”

“No child deserves that kind of treatment, and I’d be just as bad as his mother if I did nothing.”

Matt studied her indignant posture and resolute expression. If a child she barely knew could evoke such a passionate response, how would she respond to the man she loved?

He gently took her hand and noted with relief she didn’t recoil from the touch. “We can’t take Dylan away without evidence. But Sadie’s used a strap on Dylan more than once. I seen the scars on his back. I told her if she does it again, I’m taking him away from her. I don’t know if I can keep him away, but I’m going to try my damnedest.”

Libby’s eloquent eyes bespoke her concern for Dylan, and Matt’s grasp tightened.

“If anybody can do it, you can,” she said softly, squeezing his hand in return.

Her gaze captured Matt, suspending him in bittersweet agony. No fear showed in her trusting eyes.

The grandfather clock’s pendulum ticked with each arc. Sounds from the kitchen faded into oblivion, and Libby’s gentle breathing became the center of Matt’s universe. Her fingers remained in his hands, but misgivings assaulted him.

He would disappoint her, replace the trust in her eyes with disillusionment. It had happened before. It
would happen again. She believed he could make everything right, but he was no hero. If she knew how he’d come to live in Deer Creek, disenchantment would supplant her blind faith.

He stepped back, and for a second Matt thought he saw disappointment in her wide eyes, but he dismissed the impression. “I’ll try to make sure Sadie don’t hurt him anymore. That boy’s been through enough.”

“Do you think you can get him to school?”

“I’ll try, but I think he’s right. The kids are going to be mighty rough on him. They can be real mean when they don’t know otherwise.”

“What about the teachers before me? Didn’t they try to get Dylan to come to school?”

“They never figured he was worth the bother,” Matt replied bitterly. “You’re the first teacher I seen who cares enough to try.”

Libby’s hands balled into fists. “That makes me so angry I could spit tacks! Dylan has no say in who his parents are, and people shouldn’t expect him to be held accountable for their mistakes.”

“I’ll get him there tomorrow. If it don’t work, what’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure something out. I won’t let Dylan miss out on an education simply because no one, including his spiteful mother, cares.”

Matt smiled gently. “You and me care, and we’ll make sure he gets what he needs.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Call me Matt.”

Libby tipped her head. “Is it acceptable for the spinster teacher to call the sheriff by his first name?”

“Only if she lets him call her by her given name.”

“Fair enough, Matt.” An impish grin touched Libby’s lush lips. “Besides, who cares what Mrs. Beidler and her flock of busybodies think anyway?”

“I suppose we should get back to the kitchen before Lenore and Dylan wonder where we got off to.” He opened the door and ushered Libby ahead of him.

As they entered the kitchen, Matt asked, “You about filled up there, Dylan?”

“He’d better be,” Lenore said. “He’s eaten nearly every cookie that came out of the oven.”

“I ain’t ate that many,” Dylan defended.

“I haven’t eaten that many,” Libby corrected.

He groaned. “There ain’t anything wrong with ain’t, is there, Sheriff?”

“It ain’t proper,” Matt said firmly, then realized his mistake. “I mean, it isn’t proper.”

He glanced at Libby and, to his surprise, met a soft smile. A sheepish grin twitched his lips. “Maybe some learning wouldn’t hurt me neither.”

“You’re always welcome to come to school,” Libby said.

He shook his head. “A mite late for that, I’d say.”

“It’s never too late to learn, Matt. That reminds me—I have a bit of a mystery for you. I overslept this morning, and when I got to school the stove was already fired up. Do you have any idea who would’ve done that? I’d like to thank him.”

Dylan pointed at Matt. “The sheriff and me got it going. He was kinda worried when you didn’t show up, so we started the fire for you. He said we could surprise you on your first day of teaching.”

Matt shifted from one worn brown boot to the other. “Anyone ever tell you you got a big mouth, Dylan?” he growled. He slanted a glance at Libby. “It wasn’t anything. We were up and making rounds when I noticed the chimney wasn’t smoking, so I figured we’d help you out.”

“You did and I thank you both. It was very thoughtful.” Libby’s warm gaze clothed Matt and Dylan with gratitude.

To cover his embarrassment, Matt turned to the
boy. “C’mon, Dylan, we’ve used up our welcome here. Lenore ai—isn’t going to give us any cookies next time if we eat her whole batch today.”

Matt closed the top button of Dylan’s jacket and helped him with his scarf, all the while aware of Libby’s contemplation. He straightened and realized he’d forgotten about his scar, forcing Libby to endure the sight of his disfigured face for most of the visit. He tossed on his hat and angled the brim downward. His lips thinned, angry with himself.

“Thank Mrs. Potts for the milk and cookies,” Matt said stiffly to Dylan.

The boy dutifully did as he was told, then said goodbye to both women.

“You come back anytime, and bring that stubborn sheriff with you. There’s always room for a couple more at the dinner table,” Lenore said. She handed Dylan a cloth sack and whispered, “There’s a few oatmeal cookies in there for a snack later.”

Matt touched two fingers to his hat. “Thanks for the cookies, Lenore. They were right tasty. Good evening.”

“Good night, Dylan. Good night, Matt,” Libby said.

He risked a look at Libby’s face, risked seeing the disgust over his blatantly exposed scar. However, only concern showed, as if she noticed his curtness and was puzzled by it. Either she was adept at hiding her feelings, or the puckered tissue truly didn’t bother her.

He forced himself to relax. “Good night, Libby, and tomorrow I’ll do like we talked about.”

“Thank you.”

He placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and steered him out the back door.

“What was that all about?” Lenore asked curiously. “What’s this Matt’s going to do tomorrow?”

“Just a little favor.” Libby grabbed her long-abandoned
bag and coat. “I’d best run upstairs and get some homework done before supper.”

“What’s that girl up to?” Lenore spoke aloud in the empty kitchen. Her frown was replaced by a sly smile. “So they’re calling each other Libby and Matt now. Well, things are right on schedule. It’s been years since Deer Creek’s had a Christmas wedding.”

Dylan kicked at a frozen dung heap and grinned when a turd flew across the street.

“You ought not to do that,” Matt scolded. “Don’t go ruining them good shoes right off. Your ma wasn’t too keen on you getting them the way it was.”

Dylan frowned and stuck the hand not holding the bag of cookies into his overall pocket. “Ma ain’t too keen on anything I do.”

“Was she glad to see you yesterday after I brung you home?”

“I guess. She didn’t say much.”

“What’d she do?”

Dylan’s fingers curled into his palm. He shrugged, not wanting the sheriff to see his fear. Only crybabies got scared. “She didn’t hit me or nothing like that, but she was plenty mad. She said I was getting too big for my britches.”

“Them overalls are getting a mite short on you,” Matt teased. “Maybe we should go on over to Pearson’s and see if he’s got any clothes your size.”

Dylan glanced at the sheriff, certain he was still funning him, but the man looked serious. “What’ll Ma say?”

Matt shrugged. “When I take you home, I’ll have a talk with her. Fact is, I’m going to ask her if you can go to school tomorrow. How would you like that?”

Excitement woven with uncertainty threaded through Dylan. “I don’t know. What if the kids laugh at me?”

“You ought not to be worried about them. Why, I’ll
bet you’re smarter’n most of them already. You just need to catch up on your numbers and letters and then you’re going to leave them behind.”

“You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t.” Matt drew an imaginary
X
on his chest. Cross my heart.”

Dylan weakened, torn between apprehension and eagerness. “Would you go with me?”

“I’ll pick you up at your ma’s and we’ll walk over together.”

“Then you’ll stay for a time?” He gazed at the sheriff hopefully.

“If you want me to, I will.”

“It won’t be so scary knowing you’re there, too.”

Matt hunkered down beside him and laid his hands on Dylan’s shoulders. “You don’t ever have to be scared of anything. I’ll always be here to help you.”

Dylan blinked back unwanted tears. Nobody had ever looked out for him before. He glanced down at the boardwalk patched with ice and snow, and scrubbed his eyes with a fist. “I ain’t ever scared,” he mumbled.

“I know that, son. But everybody gets a little worried some time or another.”

Dylan’s gaze shot to Matt. “Even you?”

Matt smiled crookedly. “Especially me.”

“What do you worry about?”

The sheriff straightened and they continued walking down the boardwalk. “About you and what your ma does to you when she’s mad.”

Dylan’s shoulders drew back. “I don’t cry.” Bitterness crept into his young voice. “I think she likes it when I cry, so I stopped. She don’t hit me so much anymore.”

“I want you to tell me if she ever hits you again.”

The sheriff’s low voice sounded angry and a shiver chased up Dylan’s arms. He studied Matt’s grim face and knew the fury wasn’t directed at him. He sighed
in relief. “You going to talk to her tonight about me going to school?”

Matt nodded. “Yep, but first we’re going to buy you some new clothes.”

Steered into Pearson’s Mercantile, Dylan paused inside the door. He barely registered the sound of the cowbell’s clang. He inhaled deeply of the store’s rich aromas: coffee beans, leather harnesses, and vinegar. Colors jumbled into a blur and he tried to separate them, but only succeeded in getting dizzy.

“Evening, Sheriff,” Pearson greeted. He sent Dylan a glare and his eyes narrowed.

Dylan drew closer to Matt and eyed the storekeeper suspiciously.

“Evening. You got any of them ready-made clothes here that would fit Dylan?”

“Still trying to make a silk purse out of a hog’s ear, I see,” Pearson remarked with an arched eyebrow.

Matt’s arm tightened around Dylan’s shoulders. “You got any or not?”

“I’ll check.” Pearson shuffled to the pile of clothing.

“What’d he mean by trying to make a purse out of a pig’s ear?” Dylan whispered to Matt.

“He didn’t mean nothing by it. He was just being a busybody.”

Pearson poked around for a few minutes and returned with a pair of brown trousers and a matching wool plaid shirt. “These should about fit him.”

“Got a place he can try them on?” Matt asked.

“He can go into the storage room there, but make sure he don’t take anything.”

“Go on, Dylan. See if they fit.” Matt handed Dylan the clothing and gave him a gentle shove in the right direction.

Dylan thrust the bag of cookies Lenore had given him into Matt’s hands and clutched the stiff material. He hurried into a room nearly bursting with supplies. It took him a few minutes to remove his old overalls
and wriggle into the new outfit. His fingers fumbled with the pants opening and he left his shirttails hang. He’d never worn anything besides overalls before. He pushed aside the curtain.

“Those don’t look too bad,” Matt said. “Tuck the shirt in, see how it looks.”

Dylan shoved the tails into the waistband, revealing the misaligned buttons at the front of his pants.

“I couldn’t get them right,” he mumbled.

Matt smiled. “As long as they fit, don’t worry about them now. Tomorrow morning I’ll help if you need a hand. Put your overalls back on.”

Dylan nodded. A few minutes later he emerged and joined Matt.

“If you want my opinion, I think it’s a big mistake, putting him in—” Pearson began.

“Keep your opinions to yourself,” Matt interrupted. “Let’s go, Dylan.”

“What about my clothes?” Dylan asked.

“They’re already taken care of. Put’em in this here bag.”

Matt opened a sack and Dylan noticed a few items already in it. “What else did you get?”

“Socks and long underwear. Winter’s coming.” He handed Dylan a pair of mittens. “You’ll need these, too.”

Tentatively, Dylan touched the soft leather. He grinned at the sheriff and pulled them on his cold-roughened hands. He placed his trousers and shirt on top of the underwear, then took the package from Matt.

“Good night, Pearson,” Matt said.

“Night, Sheriff.”

Darkness enveloped the town, though pools of light spilled out of a few buildings along the main street. They strolled away from the mercantile and, with the sheriff beside him, security teemed through Dylan. However, when they turned down the street leading to
the brightly lit house, dread weighted his hunched shoulders. He dragged his feet, postponing the moment he’d have to face his mother.

“It’ll be all right, Dylan. I’m with you.”

Matt’s firm voice bolstered his flagging courage. He clutched the precious clothing closer to his chest and went around to the back door where he and Matt entered the kitchen.

“There you are! Miz Sadie was wonderin’ what happened to you,” the dark maid scolded.

“Me and the sheriff went over to Mrs. Potts and had some cookies,” Dylan replied defiantly.

“What do you got in that there bag?”