Jane Bonander (3 page)

Mahalia shrugged expansively. “It’s nothin’. We just ain’t rented that room out in months, is all.”

“We need the money, Mahalia, and the weather is cooling off. Also, the back stoop slopes so far down on one side, I’m afraid someone will take a tumble. The extra four dollars a week will help toward fixing it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said in her most subservient voice. “If you say so.”

Libby threw her a jaundiced look. “Say what’s on your mind, Mahalia. You will sooner or later, anyway.”

Her assistant gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence. “What could be on my mind, Miss Liberty?”

Libby squirmed. Mahalia used formality only when she was making fun of her.

“Why, it don’t matter a whit that he’s the nicest piece of male flesh that’s passed through Thief River in months, now, does it?”

Feigning indifference, Libby took a sip of her coffee. “I really hadn’t noticed.”

Mahalia’s snort was anything but delicate. “Shore, and you didn’t notice them clear blue eyes, either, or them wide, hard shoulders. Did you notice his thumbs?”

Libby gave her a puzzled glance. “His thumbs?”

The schoolmistress entered the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of tea. Cyclops was pressed close to her ankles, purring loudly.

She took a chair across from Libby, making room for the cat on her lap. Since her arrival in July, she’d bonded both with the battered one-eyed cat Libby had rescued from the dump, and with Dawn. Libby attempted to squelch the nip of jealousy she experienced each time Dawn and Chloe Ann went off together, searching the woods for injured birds or unusual berries. When she wasn’t in the schoolroom, Chloe Ann Parker was merely a young, curious, energetic girl. She and Dawn had much in common, despite the difference in their ages.

“Did you notice the new boarder, Miz Chloe Ann?”

Chloe Ann poured a dollop of cream into her cup and stirred with dainty strokes; then she dropped some cream onto her spoon and watched Cyclops lick it off.

“I’ve just come from school, Mahalia.” She stroked Cyclops, who showed her gratitude by nuzzling Chloe Ann’s hand.

Libby had always been intrigued by Chloe Ann. Although she appeared both prissy and vulnerable, she had a strength beneath the surface that Libby felt was waiting to erupt. She was an eighteen-year-old girl, teetering on the brink of full-fledged womanhood. She enjoyed doing girlish things with Dawn, yet when she taught school, .she commanded each child’s attention.

Libby envied her ability to change roles. Libby never had such a chance. Ever since her childhood, she’d worked to put food on the table. She’d never learned to play. That was why she didn’t begrudge Dawn her wistfulness. Perhaps she should have expected her own daughter to be more helpful around the rooming house, but Libby didn’t want Dawn to miss out on her childhood, as she had.

Chloe Ann’s youthful vigor included a romantic heart. She and Libby had shared a secret or two, and although Chloe Ann had suitors galore, Libby knew she was waiting for the man of her dreams. Libby had had to bite her tongue to keep from telling her that dream men simply didn’t exist, and the sooner poets stopped filling women’s heads with such nonsense, the better off everyone would be.

Chloe Ann turned to Libby. “We have a new boarder?”

Libby opened her mouth to speak, but Mahalia rushed right in.

“Yes, ma’am. A big, tall, handsome son of a—”

“Mahalia,” Libby warned, giving her a hard glare.

Mahalia chuckled, her large frame jiggling beneath her loose dress. “I was just askin’ Libby if she’d noticed the man’s thumbs.”

Libby and Chloe Ann exchanged looks.

“His thumbs?”

“Exactly my response, Chloe Ann.” Eyeing Mahalia, Libby asked, “What in the world can you tell about a man by studying his thumbs?”

Mahalia continued to chuckle. “Same thing you can learn by studyin’ his ears or his nose, or maybe even his big toes or the size of his feet.”

Libby hadn’t seen a man’s bare feet since before Sean died. An automatic memory triggered in, and she remembered that all of his toes had been rather small. “And that is…?”

“Their size, of course.”

Although Chloe Ann’s face was pinched into a look of puzzlement, Libby had an idea where Mahalia’s discourse was leading.

“Mahalia—”

“The size of what?” Chloe Ann interrupted.

Mahalia clucked and dropped the spoon onto a plate, then moved the pot off the heat, covering the hot handles with the sides of her apron. “Oh, come now, gal. You’re dense as a tree trunk. Ain’t you ever wondered how big a man is ‘tween his legs?”

Chloe Ann gasped, her fair skin turning a bright shade of pink while Libby nearly choked on her coffee.

Mahalia turned as her smile lingered, showing her large white teeth. “My, my. You gals ain’t as coy as all that, are you?”

Libby’s eyes watered, and she continued to swallow and cough. “Mahalia Jones, you are a wicked, wicked woman. Look what you’ve done to poor Chloe Ann. You’ve embarrassed her to tears, and you almost caused me to choke to death.”

Mahalia harrumphed and tossed Chloe Ann a jaded glance. “Don’t tell me a woman grown don’t wonder about them things.”

Chloe Ann’s face continued to color.

“Whether women do or don’t isn’t the issue, Mahalia,” Libby scolded. “We don’t go around talking about it, that’s all.”

Mahalia poured the tapioca into a bowl, covered it, and set it near the window to cool. “Don’t know why we can’t talk about it. Them is facts of life.” She turned on them, her fists on her ample hips. “Men talk about us, you know.”

Libby gave her a look of warning, but Mahalia ignored it.

“Ain’t you ever noticed the blacksmith’s hands?” She rolled her eyes. “Big. And that hawklike nose of his is another dead giveaway. Why,” she added, a sly smile sliding across her lips, “don’t tell me you ain’t ever noticed the peddler man. He might be scrawny, but his hands and his feet is
big,
and I can’t help wonderin’ what it’d be like to—”

“Enough, Mahalia.” Libby felt heat rise to her cheeks.

Feigning offense, Mahalia lifted her nose in the air. “All’s I’m sayin’ is that the new boarder, he got nice big thumbs.” One side of her mouth lifted in a sassy grin. “The rest of him ain’t bad, neither.”

Dawn rushed into the room, her eyes glittering with excitement. “Mama, Chloe Ann, guess what?”

Libby sensed something had sidetracked Dawn from her homework again. “Have you finished your sums, dear?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I don’t want to hear any more excuses. I’m tired of them, Dawn. Sick and tired of your excuses.” Libby was close to losing her temper and had to force herself to hold back.

“But I’m trying to tell you, Mama. Mr. Wolfe showed me a way to do them that I understand. You know how I always have trouble carrying a number?” She plopped her arithmetic paper on the table and swiftly worked one of the problems. “See?” She held the paper toward her teacher.

Chloe Ann squinted a little as she studied the work, then smiled at Libby. “She’s done it right.”

Frowning, Libby looked at the paper. “Mr. Wolfe showed you how to do this?” It rankled that a stranger could wheedle his way into their lives with such ease.

Dawn gave her an eager nod. “And it didn’t take any time at all, Mama. He told me to break down the numbers into pennies. Not only that,” she continued, “he was writing a letter, and I helped him with some of the words.”

Libby raised her eyebrows. “You helped him compose a letter?” She was tempted to ask who it was to, but knew it was none of her business.

Dawn’s smile was blinding. “See? He helped me, and I helped him. He said it was recip—” She pinched her dark brows together. “Reciprocal.”

“My, my,” Mahalia crooned. “Ain’t he just the finest man to help a young girl like that?”

Libby could feel Mahalia’s wicked gaze on her and forced herself not to look her way. Naturally she was grateful he’d helped Dawn get a grip on her sums, but she was also very, very leery. Maybe she was being overly protective and acting foolish, but few people did something for nothing.

She studied her daughter, who had flung herself into a chair and was concentrating on finishing her sums. Perhaps Mr. Wolfe saw that Dawn was a special child. Perhaps that was all it was … but it sure didn’t feel like that. Libby felt a knot of apprehension in her stomach, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get rid of it.

T
he following morning as she prepared breakfast, Libby heard a commotion outside. She took the skillet off the heat and hurried to the front door. Her breath caught in her throat when she stepped onto the porch.

Squatting beside her mums, Jackson Wolfe pounded a picket-shaped stake into the ground, one of many that made up a tiny fence that surrounded her precious flowers.

There was a fluttering in her chest, and she pressed her hand over her heart. No man had ever done anything for her without being asked. And this man was so beautiful to watch. Dragging in a quiet breath, she gazed at his wide shoulders. She could detect the muscles beneath his shirt as he moved. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his sinewy forearms bunched and relaxed as he worked.

The dog wiggled and leaped at him, barking and nipping at his elbow. He ignored it, continuing to work. Seeming to sense he was no longer alone, he glanced up, giving her a blinding smile. Libby swallowed the lump in her throat and returned one, surely not as beautiful as his.

“I hope you don’t mind. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t mind,” she answered. “It’s very thoughtful.”

He finished and stood, checking his work. “I’ll fence the other flower beds later. If I take the dog with me to the jail, the flowers should be safe.”

She flushed, knowing he’d sensed her overprotectiveness toward something as inanimate as her mums. “That … that’s fine. Thank you.” She turned to the door, then said, “Breakfast is ready, Mr. Wolfe.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I clean up.”

She returned to the kitchen, feeling off-balance and giddy. Dawn sat at the table, flanked by Bert and Burl, who shoveled in mounds of hot cereal, smacking their lips approvingly. Dawn’s glance kept going to the door as she toyed with her food.

“Eat your breakfast, Dawn, or you’ll be late for school.”

Libby stood at the counter, her back to the door, when Jackson entered the kitchen.

Dawn fairly gushed. “Good morning, Mr. Wolfe. How’s Mumser today? Did he sleep all right in a strange place? Are you taking him to the jail with you?”

“Dawn, really,” Libby scolded. “Give the man a chance to take a breath.” She motioned to an empty chair, which he slid into, unfolding the napkin onto his lap.

“The dog’s just fine this morning, young lady. And, yes, I’ll be taking him to the jail with me.” He studied her. “Are your sums done?”

Dawn graced him with a wide smile. “I finished them last night. That trick you showed me made them easy to do.”

Libby placed a plate of eggs and ham in front of him, along with a bowl of hot cereal. He glanced up, his eyes so blue and twinkly that Libby thought she might faint. He certainly did something to her insides she’d never experienced before.

“So,” Burl began, gumming a piece of bread and jam, “yer gonna be the sheriff, huh?”

Jackson nodded, finished chewing what was in his mouth, then answered, “Until Vern gets back on his feet, anyway.”

Burl continued to chew and talk. “Got experience?”

Jackson appeared to bite back a grin. “Some.”

“Whatcha been doing afore this?” Bert wiped his cereal bowl with a piece of bread, then stuffed the bread into his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” Libby began, using the word lightly, “let the man eat in peace. You can interrogate him later.” She glanced at Dawn, who was resting her chin on her palm, staring at the man.

“Dawn? It’s time to get ready for school.”

With a weary sigh, Dawn wiped her mouth and rose from the table. “I’d like to play with Mumser later today, Mr. Wolfe. May I come by the jail and get him?”

“Dawn, I don’t think —”

“That’s a fine idea. He’ll be bored, having to stay with me all day.” A sudden, concerned expression etched his features and he turned to Libby. “That is, if it’s all right with you, ma’am.”

Libby suppressed a sigh. “As long as you get your schoolwork done, Dawn. But remember, that comes first.”

Dawn gave her mother a quick hug, then raced from the kitchen.

Bert and Burl dawdled with their coffee, quiet as church mice. But Libby knew that in no way meant their wrinkled old brains weren’t working. After over a dozen years under the same roof, they knew her about as well as anyone. If she showed the slightest bit of interest in Jackson Wolfe, they would somehow know it. Their rheumy old eyes never missed a thing.

Jackson wiped his mouth with his napkin, then stood. “I’ll start on the rest of those fences later today, ma’am.” He crossed to the door, then turned. “Thank you for the breakfast. It was delicious.”

She gave him a wavery smile, then followed him with her gaze until she could no longer see him.

“Ya fancy him, don’tcha?” There was a sly note in Burl’s voice.

She returned to the table and began clearing it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed. “He’s merely a nice man who is making sure his dog doesn’t ruin my flower beds.”

The Bellamy brothers finally rose from the table. “Seems a right friendly gent,” Bert mused. “Why, helpin’ the little gal with her sums and buildin’ fences around yer posies—I’d say he was tryin’ to get in good with ya. Don’tcha think so, Burl?”

Burl downed the remainder of his coffee and smacked his lips. “ ‘Tain’t normal fer a man to do somethin’ fer nothin’.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “Go on, get out of here. If Mahalia catches you loitering in the kitchen, she’ll have you washing dishes.”

The threat worked. They cackled as they left the room, leaving Libby to wonder if there was any truth to their words. She was a pragmatic woman, although she normally didn’t read ulterior motives into other people’s acts. But in spite of all that, their parting words niggled at her brain. Again, as the day before, she got a funny feeling in her stomach when she thought about Jackson Wolfe’s good deeds.

The minute Jackson stepped into the sheriff’s office, Mumser squirmed from his arms and raced around the room, sniffing the corners, as he’d done every morning for the past week.

With both hands, Sheriff Roberts lifted his leg onto a chair, on which sat a flat, dirty cushion. He winced, cursed, and shook his head.

“Damned game leg,” he muttered as he watched Mumser scurry about. “That dog’d better not be looking for another place to take a leak.”

Giving him a half smile, Jackson tossed his hat onto the desk, then crossed to the coffee pot, poured himself a cup,and took a sip. He grimaced, disappointed that it wasn’t as good as the coffee he’d had at breakfast.

“If he does, it’ll most likely be because the place has an encouraging smell.”

Vern Roberts grunted. “No doubt his own. So some Chinese high mucky-muck gave you that piss-poor excuse for a dog, huh?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Don’t start with me. I’ve been ridiculed from here to China about that dog not being fit lunch for coyotes.”

Vern chuckled, his graying mustache twitching. “Did you find a room at the boardinghouse?”

Nodding, Jackson hid his rush of pleasure at having found Dawn Twilight. He would tell Vern about her eventually, but not yet. He savored the knowledge, holding it close to his heart. “Yes. Thanks for recommending it.”

“Ah,” Vern mused. “The widow O’Malley is a mighty fine-looking woman, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jackson felt Vern’s scrutiny but ignored it. Vividly remembering the surprising effect she had on him, he gave the older man a noncommittal shrug and studied the wanted posters on the far wall. “I suppose. Although white women never interested me much.”

“With them dark eyes and hair, she’s a real looker.”

Jackson tossed him a sardonic look. “I’m not looking for a woman, Vern, white, green, or otherwise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Vern commented. “You’ve been courting foreign women of all different shapes and colors,” He chuckled. “Just as well, I guess. Ethan Frost’s been sniffing around her for nigh onto a year now.” His laughter deepened. “Don’t seem to get too far with her, though.”

“Ethan Frost? Any relation to John?”

“His son, of course. Ethan took over the bank when old John died.”

Jackson felt his stomach clench with an unrecognizable dread. His next stop was to have been the bank to discover why he hadn’t heard from John for so many years. “When did John die?”

Vern brushed at his mustache with his index finger. “Let me see. Has to be nearly four or five years now.”

Jackson turned away so Vern wouldn’t see his concern. Perhaps he was worrying for nothing. Maybe, in the confusion following John’s death, the records had simply been misplaced. Or maybe his mail just hadn’t caught up with him before he left China. Surely there was a reasonable explanation.

He felt Vern’s curious gaze.

“You’ve been gone a mighty long time, Jackson. How did it feel to live among them foreigners?”

Jackson got weary simply thinking about it. He was home; he wanted to put his travels behind him. “They’re people, just like the rest of us, Vern.”

Vern chuckled. “You’ve always been that way, you know it?”

“What way is that?”

“Never seeing the differences in people, like you never even noticed they was a different color. I guess it probably all started when you first lived with them Injuns. What tribe was that, again?”

Memories, swift and strong, nudged him. “The Yuroks.”

“Yeah, I remember now. You’d been living with that tribe of Indians for, what, five years? Lord, you was only eight or nine when you was rescued.” His voice became introspective. “First time I ever saw a grown man cry was the day your pa told me the news. He was so damned relieved … like the Almighty had given him a brand-new chance. You know, he came back from that war a hard, angry man, considering as how he thought he’d lost the both of you. You and your real ma, I mean.”

Jackson knew what he meant. He barely remembered his own mother, who had been killed by a mine explosion. They had been picking wildflowers in a field nearby. She was struck by flying debris. His father had been away, fighting for the Union. Jackson didn’t have much memory of his first year with the Yurok tribe that had saved him, but four years was an eternity to be away. When it was time to go home to a father he didn’t remember, he hadn’t wanted to leave the tribe. But a few weeks with the woman who would become his stepmother had changed all that. She’d loved him as she loved Corey, her own child. And the boys had become close. Five years his junior, Corey had adored him.

A smile threatened. It wasn’t hard to like someone who considered you his hero.

His father and his stepmother had always had an intense relationship, although Jackson had never felt that they had ever excluded their children. When he met Flicker Feather, he’d known in his heart that theirs would be that sort of love, too. Unfortunately, they hadn’t had a chance to find out.

“The tribe treated me like one of their own. It took me a while to adjust to Pa again. And the ranch.”

“You and your pa became closer than ticks on a hound.” Vern continued to study Jackson. “How long has it been since you’ve seen the family?”

Beneath his dark stubble, Jackson felt the hot rush of old hurts and anger flood his face. “A long time.”

“What’d you and your pa fight about, anyway? Christ. It’s been over twelve years. Don’t you think it’s time to mend that fence? Your pa might be strong as an ox and stubborn as a mule, but despite it all, he ain’t gonna live forever, you know.”

A painful band twisted around Jackson’s heart. The very idea that his father might die before he had a chance to see him again made him anxious for a reunion. He wanted to apologize for his youthful pride and self-centered behavior. And for running away like a coward.

“Do your folks even know you’re home?”

“No. And I know you’re itching to tell them, but let me do it, Vern. I’ll get around to it as soon as I’m settled.” As soon as he had his daughter and they were a family again.

The sheriff offered a heavy sigh, rummaged through a desk drawer, and lifted out a bottle of whiskey.

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “A little early in the day, don’t you think?”

Vern shook his head and took a swig, baring his teeth and clenching his jaw as he swallowed. He found Jackson studying him. “It’s medicinal. Goddamn knee never stops throbbing.”

Jackson hid a smile. He rather envied a man who could take a drink any time of the day and not come off acting like an ass. Lord knows he himself had tried it often enough, without success. Every so often he attempted to drink again, hoping that maybe his body had changed with age, and he could handle the stuff. It hadn’t happened. Yet. He hadn’t given up on the possibility, although he thought he probably should.

He took his coffee cup to the window and studied the street. Two scrawny mutts fought over garbage tossed from the hotel. A gust of wind flapped the sign over the mercantile against the eaves, the sound clattering through the street. Two women, busy in conversation, entered the store, disappearing inside. A wagon stopped out front, ready to be filled with supplies. Horses clip-clopped through the street, their hooves sending spirals of dust into the air.

Home. So different from everything he’d discovered elsewhere in the world. He’d missed the little nuances that made up the West.

Admittedly, Jackson missed his family. He’d been tempted to wire them when he landed in San Francisco, but he wanted to wait, hoping he’d find Dawn Twilight. He remembered the last time he’d seen any of them, remembered it well…

With a heart broken and shattered, Jackson had left his mount in the yard and trudged toward the barn. Pa was there; he could hear him. It wasn’t easy to swallow his pride and ask for help, but he had nowhere else to turn. He knew he had a lot of gall coming to his family now, after he’d left and hadn’t even told them of his marriage or his daughter. But Flicker Feather’s death had been so sudden. So brutal. So final. And the baby …

His throat was thick, and he swallowed, unable to dislodge the lump of grief that had settled there. He longed to burrow into the warmth and safety of his family, but he needed to know that his father understood his reasons for having left home in the first place: his aversion to working the land. Corey was there; he’d be all the help Pa needed. There had been no choice for Jackson. His desire to return to the tribe that had rescued him after his mother was killed all those years before had been stronger than his need to follow in his father’s footsteps and till his land, raise his stock.