Sins of Summer (8 page)

“Stay out of this!” Milo roared. “No man comes into
my
house, puts his hands on me and gets away with it.”

“This is
my
house and James’s house. You were putting your hands on this man’s daughter,” Dory shouted back, her voice sharp, hard, and
quivering with anger. “I warned you!”

“She was switchin’ her ass like she wanted it! I was givin’ her what she asked for.”

“Liar! Stupid, woman-crazy liar!”

“I didn’t hurt the little bitch.”

“You flap-jawed rattle-head! You scared her. You don’t have an ounce of decency.” Dory’s voice was high and shrill, her eyes
full of wildness. She was on the verge of losing control.

“What do you know of decency… Whory Dory?”

“A hell of a lot more than a ruttin’ beast like you.”

“You’re lucky you and your brat’s got a roof over your head… slut!” Milo saw the color leave his sister’s face and felt triumphant.
He continued to taunt. “You itchin’ for the donkey man, Whory Dory?”

A single look at Ben Waller’s set face and blazing eyes made Dory’s stomach cramp with rage and sickness. The strain of years
of living with brothers who hated her and her child, enduring their taunts and insults, suddenly sapped every bit of her inner
strength. She had none left to face yet another crisis. Since Mick’s death, a yearning had burned in Dory—a yearning to be
held, loved, to have a shoulder to lean on, to belong to someone. With a feeling of chilling reality, she knew that kind of
happiness would never be hers no matter how much she longed for it.

Suddenly her emotions dried to a terrible stillness. Madness skirted the edges of her mind.
She could bear no more.
Years of fear and humiliation stretched ahead—years of unbearable loneliness.

A raw cry of rage tore from her throat. With an abrupt, savage gesture she jerked a knife from the table and sprang at Milo.
As quick as she was, Ben was quicker. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife, and at the same time an arm around
Dory’s waist swung her away from Milo, who stood in frozen astonishment. Ben took the knife from her numb fingers and tossed
it onto the workbench.

“I’ll… kill… him,” Dory panted and struggled to free herself from Ben’s grasp. “He… they… ruin everything—”

“Jesus Christ! She tried to kill me!” Milo gasped as the possibility of personal danger sank into his mind. And before Ben
could react, he openhandedly struck Dory a vicious blow across the face. His hand was drawn back to deliver another blow when
Ben’s fist connected with his jaw, knocking him back against the table.

“Get out,” Ben snarled. “Get out before I kill you myself.”

“You ain’t orderin’ me out of my own house,” Milo said belligerently, his hand going to his face.

“Get out of my sight or, by God, you’ll be crawling out of here on your belly. I know ways to break your legs before you can
say your name. If you put your hands on my girl again, I’ll come looking for you with a whip and a gun.”

Milo staggered toward the door. “Ain’t you forgot who I am? You
was
workin’ for me. Be gone from here by morning and take that dummy with you or—” He left the threat hanging and slammed out
the door.

Dory sank down at the table and buried her face in her folded arms. She began to tremble when she realized what would have
happened if Ben had not stopped her. During the past year there had been moments when she had been afraid she would go mad.
She almost had.
Her self-control had stretched to the breaking point. There was so much hatred, pain and unhappiness in this house that had
once held so much love that she feared she was losing her mind. The ache in her heart was so much a part of her that over
the years she had become used to it. The coming of Ben Waller and Odette had made her realize how much of life’s joy she was
missing.

She shed no tears. Her pain was too great for mere tears.

Ben glanced at Odette, who stood far back in the corner with little Jeanmarie in her arms. He went to Dory and placed his
hand on her shoulder.

“Are you afraid he’ll come back and hurt you?”

“No.” With pride and dignity Dory lifted her chin a little higher. “He only goes so far. It’s strange but after all this time
the words hurt more than the slap. When all else fails Milo dips into his dirty mind for a weapon to use against me. I’m sorry
if you were embarrassed.”

Ben shrugged. “1 considered the source.”

The emotional fury she had exhibited was gone. She was firmly in control once again.

“I’m not afraid of him; my room has a stout door with a bar across it.” She went to Odette and took the child from her arms.
Jeanmarie snuggled her face against her mother’s neck. “Thank you for what you did,” she said calmly, not looking at Ben.
“If I had stabbed him, he would have killed me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to protect Odette. I don’t blame you for taking
her away from here. The Malones will be glad to have a man of your talents. They’ll give you work. Marie Malone will look
after Odette.”

“Papa—” Odette pulled on Ben’s hand to get his attention. “Not Dory’s fault.”

“I’m not blaming her. Get your things, honey, and we’ll be on our way.”

Jeanmarie began to cry. “Don’t want Odette to go,” she wailed.

“Shhh… punkin. Shhh…” Dory’s voice broke, only to return in a raspy whisper. “Odette has to go with her papa.” Dory rubbed
the child’s back and placed kisses on her forehead.

Looking up at Ben, Odette was unaware of the crying child until she turned to cast pleading eyes at Dory. Sobbing, Jeanmarie
held her arms out for Odette to take her. Odette took the little girl and held her tightly.

“Don’t cry… baby. Don’t cry… baby.” Odette cast a desperate look at Ben, then sat down on a chair with the child in her arms
and rocked her back and forth.

“They took to each other right away,” Dory said in way of apology. “Jeanmarie will be all right. She’s gotten over disappointments
before.”

Ben felt a pang of indecision. Not in the three years he and Odette had been together had she expressed affection for anyone
other than him. It had worried him some. He had hoped that some day she would find a good man, marry, and have a family of
her own. Whatever else had happened while she was here, she, Dory and the child had become attached to one another.

Ben looked at the woman standing beside the chair. She had refused to give in to tears, but they were there, making her green
eyes wet and shiny. They reminded him of a mountain pool. Her skin was pale beneath the red welt on her face. His gaze dropped
to her breasts curved softly beneath the loose shirt she had tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Whatever else she was,
she was a spunky woman. Dammit, he didn’t want to care about her or her child. He needed time. Lord. He needed time to think.

“Do you mind if I have a cup of that coffee?”

“Of course not. I’ll get it,” Dory said, after she recovered from her surprise. She hadn’t expected a civil word from him.
They looked at each other. He watched her with eyes that revealed absolutely nothing. She met his glance unflinchingly. Suddenly
they were both conscious of the welt on her face. It was slowly swelling and would soon turn into a dark bruise. Dory was
aware of it because she was ashamed. Ben, because it made him angry. Pride refused to allow her to acknowledge it by touching
it with her fingers although her jaw hurt when she spoke.

“Is this the first time he’s hit you?”

“Oh, no.” Dory’s contemptuous laugh caused her to wince. “He usually pinches, but he hits occasionally.” Slowly, as she felt
his appraisal, a shiver shimmied down her spine. She looked away quickly before his eyes could read the misery in hers.

A short, vivid expletive broke from Ben’s mouth. “What in God’s name is the matter with James that he allows him to do that?”

Dory glanced at the cold-eyed man, aware that behind the calm mask was lethal fury and a will as hard as granite.

“He doesn’t know, and I would be obliged if you didn’t tell him.” She spoke quietly with no emotion. “James would beat Milo
senseless if he knew how mean he is to me and Jeanmarie. And it’s likely that I would find James in the woods shot in the
back. I don’t want him to know,” she repeated firmly as she set the mug of coffee on the table. “You’d best watch your back,
too; Milo has a way of getting even with anyone who crosses him.”

“I figured him for a back-shooter. I’ve come across his type before.” His cold steely eyes bored into hers.

“Louis is mean, but in a different way. He’ll not backshoot you.” Dory ran her fingers over Jeanmarie’s hair as she passed
on her way back to the stove. “He lives and breathes Callahan Lumber. Milo follows his lead, but his only interest in the
company is what he gets out of it.” Unnerved by his steady stare. Dory said quickly, “You might as well eat supper before
you go. It’s ready.”

“You needn’t go to the bother. I’ll grab a bite out with Wiley.”

“It’ll not be a bother. Don’t you want to try the bread pudding Odette made this morning?”

Dory looked over at him when she spoke, and he could see dark smudges beneath her great green eyes. She looked worn out, Ben
thought as his eyes roamed her face. A strange feeling began to stir in him. For Christsake! What was the matter with him?
For all he knew she was what her brother said she was: a loose, wanton woman.

“I can’t very well miss Odette’s pudding, now can I?” In spite of his previous dark thoughts, a smile began in his eyes, darkening
and warming them, and then spread to his mouth. His lips parted to show exceptionally white even teeth.

A wistful expression settled on Dory’s face. He was so damn handsome, yet steady as an oak tree. Here was a man a woman could
depend on. She shivered as if a flame had licked along her veins. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof and
her lips felt as if they were glued together. She managed to nod as she turned back to the stove.

“What’er ya lookin’ at, old man?”

Wiley had looked up when Milo had stomped into the room and slammed the door. He continued to look as Milo shook off his coat,
tossed it on a chair and dabbed at the blood on his mouth with the towel he jerked from the washstand.

“Did a stick of stove wood jump up and hit ya?”

“What’a you care?”

“Wondered. That’s all.” Wiley broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in his soup bowl.

“Keep yore trap shut,” Milo growled. “I ain’t in no mood to take no sass off a crippled old fool who don’t do enough to earn
his keep.”

Wiley grunted and continued to eat. He had heard those words or others like them a hundred times before. How a man as good
and kind as George Callahan could have raised Milo and Louis was beyond Wiley’s understanding. George Callahan’s first wife
had been alive when Wiley had come to work for him. Milo had been a kid of eight or nine years, Louis a few years older. Even
then Milo had been a mouthy, cantankerous brat, the image of his ma—a woman Wiley never heard speak a kind word from the first
time he set eyes on her until the day she died. Wiley suspected that George had never had a happy day in his life until he
married Jean Malone. He had fairly worshiped the woman and had gone downhill fast after she died.

Until the time of his accident, Wiley had been cutting foreman. He was injured when a falling tree split and kicked back,
striking his leg with such force that it broke the bone in several places. Unable to get Wiley down the mountain to a doctor,
the men in the camp had set the bones. They had done their best, but their skills were limited and their supplies scant. As
a result, Wiley was permanently crippled.

When he was able to get around, George had brought him down to the homestead to help the smithy. He had taken to the job,
determined to earn his keep. He was good enough now to get work most any place he wanted to go, but he hung on here because
he thought he might be of some use to Dory and the baby.

Milo hooked a chair out from the table and sat down. “Get me something to eat.”

Pride forced Wiley to hold his head erect and look the man in the eye.

“Soup’s on the stove. Here’s fresh bread.” He pushed the wooden board holding the loaf of bread closer to Milo. “Thought ya
was eatin’ in the house.”

“Keep yore damn thoughts to yoreself, ya old goat.” Milo pushed his chair back and went to the stove. “What’s this other stuff
here in the pan?”

“Bread puddin’.”

“Ya got it pretty soft, ain’t ya, old man. Whory Dory bringin’ puddin’ an’ pie so ya’ll keep yore mouth shut ’bout her whorin’
when me and Louis ain’t here.”

Wiley didn’t answer. He didn’t mind it so much when Milo or Louis took their spite out on him, but when they talked about
Dory in an insulting way it made him want to horsewhip them. He kept his head bent over his bowl so that Milo would not see
that the words bothered him. In this mood, Milo was as mean as a rutting moose and if aggravated might really hurt him. A
few months back Milo had yanked a chair out from under him and he had been laid up for a week.

“I’m talking to ya. Ya deaf like that dummy in there?”

“I heard ya,” Wiley muttered.

Milo brought the pudding to the table and began to eat out of the pan.

“That high-handed sonofabitch Waller will get what’s coming to him for buttin’ in my business. You can bet your ass on it.
There’s plenty a ways of gettin’ even.” Milo scooped up another spoonful of pudding.

“Louis is dependin’ on him to set up that engine so they can snake those big’uns out of the woods.”

“Hell. It don’t take no brains to set up that pissin’ engine. It ain’t no different than the one in the mill. We ain’t needin’
no outsider comin’ in lordin’ it over us.”

“I hear the donkey blows pretty easy.”

“I hope the hell it does an’ takes him with it.” Milo’s voice rose as his anger escalated. “Sonofabitch’s sittin’ in there
eatin’ at my table while I eat with a crippled up old beggar.”

Resentment stiffened Wiley’s back. “I’m crippled. I won’t argue that. But I ain’t no beggar and never have been.”