Stealing Jake (11 page)

“Conductor.”

Jake turned to find a well-dressed man in his midforties striding toward them. He recognized Mr. Gibbons, the owner of the glove factory. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

Jake nodded in reply.

Gibbons turned to the conductor. “I’m expecting a shipment of machinery today. Very expensive machinery. Has it arrived? No one came to inform me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gibbons.” The conductor threw Jake a flustered look. “I was detained. We’re unhooking your private freighter right now. We’ll leave it on the side track as usual.”

“Good. My men are on their way over to unload it.”

Jake stepped forward. “Sir, I’d like to take a look inside.”

Pale-gray eyes rested on the badge pinned to Jake’s coat before shifting to meet his gaze. A bemused expression blanketed Gibbons’s face. “What for, Deputy?”

Jake hesitated. How much did he want to share? The influx of homeless children on their streets wasn’t a secret, but he didn’t want one of the town’s newest and most influential citizens to get the wrong idea. “Looking for stowaways. We’re getting more than our fair share, it seems.”

“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about that with my private cars.” Mr. Gibbons’s gaze raked him from head to toe. “I’m sorry, Deputy; I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jake Russell.” Jake clenched his jaw. Gibbons hailed from Chicago, and word had it that he came from old money. The man couldn’t be more than ten years older than himself, but he looked at Jake like he’d smelled something unpleasant.

“Ah. Deputy Russell.” A slight smile played over the man’s face. “Like I said, my freighters are locked tight as a drum all the way from Chicago. No one can get inside. I’ve got a lot of money invested in that machinery, and I’d hate for vandals to have access to it.” He nodded. “Good day to you, Deputy.”

He turned away. Jake eyed the business owner’s retreating back. What did Gibbons have to hide? Seemed like he’d appreciate the local law looking out for his interests. Only one way to find out. “Conductor, open that door.”

“What did you say?” Gibbons whirled around, his eyes colder than the wind blowing out of the north.

Jake faced him, feet apart, legs braced. He jerked his head toward the lone car at the end of the line. “I told the conductor to open her up so I can have a look inside. If everything is as you say, you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?”

“It’s not me who has anything to worry about. It’ll be you if you keep on with this foolishness.” His gaze shifted, and Jake glanced around. Three burly men spread out behind him.

“Trouble, boss?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, boys.” Gibbons palmed a set of keys and moved closer to Jake. “Listen, Deputy, I’m going to let you have your look-see to prove there’s nothing in that shipment other than what I said. I’m a man of my word, and the sooner you get that through your thick head, the better off you’ll be.”

Gibbons turned the key with jerky motions, and one of his men slid the heavy door open, revealing two large crates. Other than that, the container stood empty.

“Satisfied?”

Jake searched the shadows of the car and found nothing, other than the crates. He stepped back and tipped his hat. “Just doing my job.”

He strode to his horse as the whistle blew. Mounted, he reined away, but not before he caught Gibbons’s hard-eyed gaze following his every move. Jake headed toward the jail. He’d just made an enemy out of one of the richest men in town, someone Chestnut’s founding fathers had wooed to help grow the city. With a few well-placed comments, Gibbons could have Jake’s tin star pinned to the nearest Christmas tree before he could say, “Merry Christmas.”

* * *

Victor glared at Jimmy Sharp and threw a set of keys on the desk, the clatter a pale imitation of the clamoring anger in his gut. “So my brother sent you in his place, huh?”

“He’s busy.” Sharp stared him down, his ice-blue gaze cutting in its intensity.

Scowling, Victor turned away and poured a shot of whiskey. Busy. Like he’d been for the past ten years. Their father had passed the reins on to his older brother and left Victor with nothing except the crumbs from his brother’s table.

Part of that inheritance should have been his. But his brother didn’t think he was capable of taking over any of the family businesses and always gave the jobs to people like Sharp. And their father agreed with him.

Sharp opened the door between the office and the factory floor, revealing a room crowded with sewing machines and small workers scurrying about. Doing their master’s bidding. Shouldn’t that count for something? Victor operated a tight ship, and the local law didn’t suspect a thing. His jaw tightened. At least they hadn’t until those boys had stirred up trouble.

“Nice little operation you’ve got going here.” Sharp’s scar stood out in stark relief.

Victor downed the shot of whiskey.
Little?

Just like his father’s lawyer to dub his endeavor
little
.

“Your brother thinks you’re running a big risk setting up shop in a small town like this.”

“And my father?”

Sharp shrugged. “I’m sure he agrees.”

No matter what he did, he could never please any of them.

Unlike the rest of his family, Victor had moved out of the big city, out from under the watchful eye of the Chicago police. Here there were no cops to buy off. No bribes to pay. The Chestnut sheriff didn’t even know the meaning of the word, and his deputy couldn’t find his way out of a mine lit by a hundred lanterns with exit signs posted every three feet.

Doing business in Chestnut had turned out to be easier than expected. With the exception of the street kids honing in on his territory. But Butch and Grady would take care of them in short order.

Opening the locked drawer on his desk, he hefted a leather pouch filled with money. “Go back to Chicago and tell my brother that I’ll be running this town in a few months. Wait and see.”

Long after Sharp left, he sat at his desk, staring at nothing.

What would it take to prove himself worthy in his family’s eyes?

* * *

Livy slipped into the schoolhouse, hoping not to draw attention to herself. A meeting had been called to talk about the rash of robberies in the last week. It looked like half the town had turned out.

Jake spotted her, worry lines creasing his brow. He moved toward her. “What are you doing here? Things could get pretty nasty.”

“I’m here to see after the welfare of the children.”

Jake shook his head. “Livy, they’re thieves and robbers.”

“They’re innocent until proven guilty.” She crossed her arms, holding in the words that might exonerate the boys. The thief was too big, too well fed, and too well dressed to be one of the street kids.

Why didn’t she have the courage to tell Jake she’d been there that night?

Because she was a coward, plain and simple.

“All right, but if these men start a ruckus, promise me you’ll leave. A town meeting with a bunch of riled-up men is no place for a lady.”

“I promise.” She didn’t have any desire to be involved in a shouting match or a brawl, but she wanted to know if the town decided to do anything drastic about the homeless children. They weren’t responsible for the robberies, but none of the townspeople would believe her.

And how could she convince them without casting suspicion on herself?

She looked around. Mr. McIver’s wife and the elderly Huff sisters, who owned a millinery shop, sat on the end of a row. At least she wasn’t the only woman in attendance. She moved to stand next to the ladies. Miss Janie gave her a smile and a hug.

Mr. McIver stepped behind the teacher’s desk and brought the meeting to order. “We’re here because we’ve got a problem on our hands. Some young hoodlums have taken to stealing, and we’ve got to put a stop to it.”

Livy bit her lip to keep from refuting his claim. Without proof, she couldn’t clear the boys, just as the shop owners shouldn’t be able to lay blame on them without the same kind of proof.

But that wouldn’t stop them from doing that very thing.

An elderly man, the gunsmith, stood. “Those boys stole several expensive guns out of my shop, and I want to know what the sheriff and his deputy are doing about it.”

Shouts of agreement rose around the room. Livy took in each hard-faced man in the crowd, and her heart sank. These men were out for blood. They wouldn’t listen to reason, and they certainly wouldn’t listen to her.

Even if she could tell them the truth.

Sheriff Carter stepped forward, his stance commanding, his gaze steely. “We’re handling it to the best of our ability. So far, the perpetuators haven’t hurt anyone—”

“It’s just a matter of time,” someone called out.

The sheriff gave the man a withering stare. “Maybe, maybe not. Looks like they’re stealing for extra money. It’s stuff that can be sold off easily. I sent Jake over to Cooperstown yesterday to see if he could find out if any of the guns or stuff from Sam’s had shown up over there. I’ll let him tell you what he found out.”

All eyes turned to Jake. “The livery stable bought a couple of bridles off a man the day before, but the description of the man didn’t fit anyone I know. The same man offered the gunsmith two handguns, but he declined. We’ll keep an eye out. But their description of a tall, bearded cowboy who smelled like a whiskey distillery set in a pigpen is a far cry from the boys we’ve been suspecting around here.”

“Well, of course it is,” the gunsmith said. “Do you think those youngsters would be dumb enough to steal the stuff and then try to pawn it off in another town? They’ve got sense enough to pass it off to a stranger first. We need to round up all these kids off the street and put them in jail. Ship ’em back to Chicago, where they came from.”

Murmurs of agreement came from the crowd.

Livy clenched her fists, fighting the urge to wade into the fray. How could he say such things about a bunch of kids no one but her seemed to care about?

“Hold on now.” Jake’s eyes panned the room and, for the briefest of moments, lingered on Livy. “They’re just kids, like you said. They don’t have anything: no place to sleep, no food, not even warm clothes. They’re doing what they can to survive.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with the overheated room flooded through her. Jake had defended the boys in front of half the town. True, he hadn’t said they weren’t guilty, but he’d given these people something to think about. She prayed they’d listen to him.

Mr. McIver pounded his fist on the teacher’s desk. “Yeah, but stealing’s against the law no matter how hungry they are. If they’re hungry and cold, why don’t they go over to that orphanage Mrs. Brooks opened up?” He sought out Livy. “Right, Miss O’Brien? Mrs. Brooks would take them in, wouldn’t she?”

Her cheeks grew warm. She’d wanted to stay on the fringe of things, but with Mr. McIver’s question, everyone looked her way. And they expected an answer. “Yes, of course; we’d love for the children to come to us. But—” She glanced at the expectant crowd hanging on her every word as if they thought she could solve the problem of the street kids. The gunsmith’s gold watch fob caught and reflected the light. Sweat rolled off the man next to him as heat from the coal-burning stove ratcheted up the temperature in the crowded room.

These men were toasty warm, and children were freezing in the streets.

And that made her blood boil.

She clenched her jaw and plunged in. “But these children have been used and abused until they’re afraid to trust adults. They won’t come to the orphanage because they don’t know we won’t ship them back to Chicago to work in a sweatshop sixteen hours a day for a little bit of bread and water.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the crowd.

This might be her chance to open their eyes to the plight of the street children. But doing so might rip her heart from her chest. Still, she didn’t have a choice. She had to try. For the children. “They don’t dare trust anybody because they’ve never been able to trust anyone. Even the police in Chicago—”

“Well, little lady, let’s not be too hasty here.”

Livy blinked as Mr. Gibbons, the owner of the glove factory, stepped forward. She took a deep breath. She’d let the whole town have it with both barrels.

Not that they didn’t deserve it . . .

But how much would she have revealed if Mr. Gibbons hadn’t stopped her when he did?

Mr. Gibbons tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and smiled at the crowd, his dark hair gleaming in the lamplight. “I’m not sure we have as big a problem as you men think we do. I realize I’m new around these parts, but I’ve seen precious little evidence of street urchins roaming around here.”

One is too many
. Livy held her tongue.

“As far as who’s breaking in to our businesses, I imagine it’s one or two rogue youngsters with nothing better to do. Why, it might even be one of our own, not a homeless child at all.”

Angry murmurs rose from the crowd. These people didn’t want the truth. They wanted a scapegoat.

The children.

Mr. Gibbons lifted a placating hand, a smile still on his handsome face. “I know that seems far-fetched, but I just thought I’d mention it. We don’t want to cast all the blame on the street kids if they’re not guilty, you know.”

Sheriff Carter stepped forward. “All right, everyone has offered suggestions, and we still haven’t resolved matters. I don’t suppose we will until we catch the perpetrators. I suggest you men start keeping an eye on your businesses at night.” He looked toward the sisters who owned the millinery shop. “Jake and I will watch your store, ladies, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Ain’t no thief in his right mind gonna break into a hat shop,” someone called out from the back of the room. The men snickered, lightening the tense atmosphere.

Mr. McIver tried to hide his smile. “All right, if that’s all, then this meeting is adjourned. If you see anything, report it to Sheriff Carter or Deputy Russell immediately.”