Chasing Clovers (18 page)

She opened the door, and smelled the coffee. Hopping to the stairs, she stood there for a few moments wondering how she was going to get down them.
She took a deep breath and braced her arm on the rail. She pressed her shoulder into the wall and hopped down one step. It was one step, and she was still on her feet, not sprawled out on the floor. Even though she'd have reached the bottom a lot quicker, that was not the way she wanted to arrive there.

She took another deep breath
―the coffee was calling to her―and she hopped down the next step and the next, until she was on the main floor. She hobbled into the kitchen, her good leg tired from limping down the stairs. She was relieved when she spotted her crutch propped up against one of the chairs at the kitchen table. John was seated in the chair next to it.

"
Oh." She stumbled backwards, grasping the wall to catch her balance. She wasn't prepared for a conversation with him. What was she going to say? With her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, she chewed nervously. She figured she'd have more time to be composed, rehearse something to say that had nothing to do with last night.

"
Help yourself to a cup of coffee. I just made it," he told her without turning around.

She gripped
her crutch, relieved to take some of the weight off of her good leg, and hobbled over to the wooden counter, to pour a cup. "Why aren't you out in the fields?" she asked, her back to him. It was much easier if she didn't have to face him.

"
Well, there was some trouble last night."

"
What kind of trouble?"

She
forgot all about her meltdown last night and faced him. His hands massaged his face, and she noticed for the first time how tired and rundown he looked. If she didn't watch it, she'd soon be telling him to go take a nap.

"
Rusty was found dead up in the east pasture last night," he said.

"
What happened to him?"

"
Lead to his horse was wrapped around his neck." His eyes were focused on the table.

She
pressed against the counter and stared at him. Used to seeing him as a force to be reckoned with, she thought he looked worn out and defeated inside his blue checkered shirt.

"
What a terrible accident," she mumbled.

He
shook his head. "It was no accident, Livy."

She put her crutch under her arm balanced her coffee in her other hand and limped over to the table. Afraid to ask, but
pushing the words out any way, she said, "What do you mean it wasn't an accident?"

He brought his head up to look at her. His sad brown eyes were framed with dark circles. "Someone killed him."

The coffee scalded her throat when she swallowed, and
she couldn't stop from coughing.

"
I expect the sheriff here any minute." John's hands were clasped together on top of the table. "Clive sent one of the boys out to get him last night."

"
Why would anyone want to kill Rusty?" She wasn't blind to the violence that happened in the world―she had experienced it firsthand―but she didn't think it would happen out here, in the middle of nowhere.

"
Don't know."

"
Do you know who did it?"

"
No."

He sighed and
dropped forward to rest his head in his hands.

The kitchen seemed to close in on her, and she could feel panic begin. "Are any of us in danger?"

He was silent a moment. "Someone tried to come into the house last night."

Her eyes grew wide.

"
You need to stick close to the house for a while."

"
What about the children?" She was surprised by her own words and that she'd thought of the children first.
Could I be capable of caring for them?
The thought overwhelmed her, and her panic intensified.
Breathe, in, out.

She
coughed, her chest growing heavy and her breathing shallow. Someone had tried to come into the house.
Were any of them safe? What if someone hurt the children?
Her stomach dropped.
What about Emma? Am I betraying her if I care for another child?
No one was to ever take her place, ever. No one was to make her feel these things again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
.

"
Are you okay?" John asked.

She glanced up at him, and knew by the look on his face that she hadn't hidden the attack very well. Only able to nod, she reached with shaky hands for her coffee, her throat closing.

"
You don't look okay."

She tried to smile.

"
Do you need something? Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head. She didn't want him concerned, didn't want him to help her. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but nothing came out except short puffs of air.

The uneven grooves from the wooden table irritated her wrists, annoying her arms as they shook.

"
Here, I'll get you a cool cloth. Your face is beet red." He stood.

"
It's okay, Pa." Ben came into the kitchen. His navy blue pajamas were wrinkled from sleep. "She's havin' a breathin' attack." The child pushed a chair up to the counter. His skinny arms jacked the pump handle up and down. Gurgling, the metal pipe ejected water into the glass he held. Jumping down from his chair, Ben handed the glass to Livy.

"
She needs a glass of water is all."

Livy took the cup from Ben's hands. Close to hyperventilating, she chugged the water. It felt cool in her throat, and she could feel it flow all the way down to her stomach as she battled the war going on inside of her.
Breathe, in, out, in, out, in, out.

"
It's okay, Miss Livy. Take deep breaths," Ben told her, as he patted her shoulder.

She listened to the boy, inhaling through her nose and exhaling out her mouth, her eyes on Ben the whole time.

John hadn't said a word up until now. "How did you know what to do, Son?"

Ben didn't look at his father, instead he stared at her. "Cause it's happened before."

Her breathing slowed
to normal, and she was finally able to speak. "Thank you," she whispered to Ben. Not ready to look up at John, she averted her eyes.

"
What's a breathing attack?" John asked.

Her stomach ch
urned at his question. She wiped at the perspiration on her forehead.

"
It's when your heart beats real fast and you can't catch your breath," Ben said. "Right, Miss Livy?"

She
took two more cleansing breaths. Her back straight, she sat stiffly in her chair.

"
Why do you get them?" John asked, his brown eyes searching her face.

"
I…I…well," she stuttered.
What am I supposed to tell him? I can't tell him the truth. Not yet. Not ever.

"
Have you always had them? Are you ill? Do you need medication?"

So many questions and none pertained to why she suffered with them
.

He leaned over the table toward her
.

Lie. Tell him you
've always had them and they are incurable.

"
I...I have―"

A loud knock at the front door saved her from answering him
.

"
We'll finish this conversation later," he said, pointing his long finger down at her.

Livy bobbed her head like a child who had been scolded. Her loose hair hung heavy down her back, and she stretched back fingering the brown locks. After John left, she placed her head on the table. She was thankful for the interruption. He had a way of getting under her skin and causing her to lose control. The events of last night came rushing back to her and she proceeded to bang her head on the table.

"
What are ya doin', Miss Livy?" Ben asked.

She'd forgotten about the boy and brought her head up to look at him. "Oh, I'm trying to cause amnesia that's all."

"
Amneeza?" the boy repeated.

Livy laughed
at his effort to say the hard word.

"
It's actually pronounced am-nees-ee-uh."

"
What's that?"

"
It's when someone can't remember anything. You have to hit your head real hard for it to work though."

"
Why would you wanna do that?"

Because I don
't want to have to deal with your father. Because I've told so many lies I can't keep track anymore.
"I don't," she reassured him. "I was only kidding."

"
Oh."

She
knew he didn't understand why she'd kid about hitting her head, and she decided not to discuss it further. "Would you like me to make you some breakfast?"

Ben
's little face perked up. "Yes ma'am!"

John opened the front door, not at all surprised to see Sheriff Bootly standing on the other side, cowboy hat in hand. He never really liked the lawman. Boots was a drunk, and he smelled like the pigs on the Jefferson's farm, foul and rotten. The NWMP had let him stay on as Sheriff in Calgary, giving him the occasional job to keep him busy. But everyone knew they were the ones who ran the town and kept the order.

He
realized that the familiar smell of stale liquor was absent from Boot's breath this morning. He examined the law man, and noticed the greasy strings of hair on the top of Boots head had been combed, and his clothes weren't wrinkled and stained.

Curious,
John asked, "All dressed up for me, Boots?"

"
I sure could use a coffee, Taylor," he said, peering around John.

Realization dawned as to why the sheriff appeared so clean today. He must have heard about Livy. He shook his head as a possessiveness he'd never felt before stole over him. The sheriff didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell with her. She was his.

"
Come on in." Stepping to the side, he allowed the large man entry.

Boots patted his hair and wore a toothy grin on his fat face as he strolled past John. They entered the kitchen as Livy was preparing Ben and Emily's breakfast.

She put a smile on her pretty face.
"Good morning. You must be the sheriff."

Boots' eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head when he glanced at Livy, and John had to restrain from punching them back in.

"
Howdy, ma'am." Boots stuck out a meaty hand and shook Livy's.

"
Are you hungry, Sheriff?" she asked.

Boots rubbed his round belly where the too small shirt threatened to burst. "Why thank you ma'am, I reckon I am." He pulled out a chair while she poured him a cup of hot coffee.

John watched as the other man ogled Livy. He went and placed his arm around her tiny waist, and planted a light kiss on her cheek. "I'll take a coffee too," he whispered in her ear.

"
If you would take a seat, Mr. Taylor," she whispered back, her voice tense, "I would kindly fill your cup."

He
winked at her, and took a seat across from Boots.

"
So what seems to be the problem, Taylor?" Boots asked in between long glances at Livy.

Yup, Boots fancied
her
. Damn his luck. He'd had a hell of a time reaching her, now he had to compete with the sheriff.
Irritated with the other man, and his obvious attraction to Livy, John answered in a gruff tone, "Rusty, one of my hands, was found dead last night."

Ben dropped his fork onto his dish, making a loud clanking sound.

"
I reckon it was no accident if I was called," Boots said.

"
Nope. It wasn't."

"
Any ideas on who might've done it?"

"
Don't know that either." John glanced over at Livy. He knew she was listening as she fried up the eggs. "But someone tried to break into the house last night."

Ben dropped his fork again, and Livy handed him a clean one.

Boots turned from Ben to address John. "Think it might be the same person?"

Damn, the lawman was actually
doing his job. Boots usually didn't take these things too serious, and he had him figured for a coward.

"
One of my hands said he saw someone sneaking around, in fact he swears it was Danny, a boy I hired a month ago."