by Jillian Hart
“No fighting,” she said. “It’s not right to hit someone.”
“It’s less right to be hit.”
“I know that.”
Instead of pacing back to her, he froze in place to create a wall of air. “Why are you so scared? Is it because of O’Rourke?”
“Of course, it is!” She’d been such a fool. “I’m afraid Luke will turn into his father.”
“That’s just plain crazy.”
Cassie saw red. “You don’t have to be insulting.”
“I’m not.” He held out his hands in surrender. “He’s got your blood, too. You’re raising him. That counts for more than anything O’Rourke did in the past.”
Cassie thought of love covering a multitude of sins. She loved her son enough to stay strong. “My decision is final,” she said to Gabe. “Fighting is wrong. Hitting is wrong. I don’t want Luke learning to box.”
“Then you better lock him in his room, Cassie. He’s already fighting. You can’t stop life from happening to him.”
“I can try!”
“You’re going to cripple him,” Gabe said with a rush.
“How dare you!”
“You’re so wrong I can’t believe it.” He raked his hand through his hair, leaving furrows of frustration that matched the ones on her heart.
She glared at him. “What gives you the right to criticize me? You don’t know what it’s like—”
“I know boys!” he said in full voice. “I know how they think, what they need. You don’t—”
“He’s my son!”
“And he’s destined for my jail!”
“Get out!” Cassie ordered. She couldn’t stand arguing. She felt shaky and weak and afraid.
“Cassie—”
“Leave! And stay away from Luke!”
Fury burned in his brown irises. “That’s a mistake and you know it.”
He didn’t want to go. She could see the reluctance—even pity—in his eyes, but he had to respect her wishes. Without a word, he walked out the door and closed it with a loud click. Cassie picked up the cloth and started to dust her empty store. When she reached the pretty dishes, she wiped them clean with tears streaming down her face.
Whether Cassie liked it or not, Gabe had promised to meet Luke after school. He wouldn’t go against Cassie’s wishes and neither would he criticize her to her son, but the boy deserved an explanation. Gabe had been thinking all morning about what he’d say and had decided to counsel Luke to be patient.
The irony made him snort. Patience? Yeah, right. Gabe’s vow to wait fourteen months, weeks or days for Cassie to wise up had turned into a hair shirt. He’d been giving serious thought to inviting her to the next church social, but then they’d argued. He couldn’t ask her now, not until they squared things over Luke.
Gabe reached the schoolhouse just as the doors opened and children spilled out, young ones first and then older ones. Near the back of the crowd he saw Billy Drake and three boys acting like goofs. One of them was making a face and wailing “waaaa” like a cry baby. Not a good sign, Gabe thought. He looked for Luke, didn’t see him and felt a stone drop in his belly. When the last child left, he walked into the schoolhouse where he saw empty seats, Miss Lindstrom at her desk and Luke writing “I will not throw rocks” over and over on the blackboard.
He also saw dust on the seat of the boy’s pants. Between the “cry baby” taunts and the evidence that Luke had been shoved to the dirt, Gabe felt certain he’d been provoked into throwing the rock. The boy had also gone to school with a head of steam. He didn’t need punishment right now. He needed guidance and Gabe intended to give it to him no matter what Cassie said.
Taking off his hat, he walked past the desks. “Good afternoon, Miss Lindstrom.”
Luke stopped writing but only for an instant. As the tap of the chalk resumed, Miss Lindstrom stood to greet him. “Good afternoon, Deputy.”
She sounded friendly but not eager. Good, Gabe thought. When she’d first arrived in town, she’d made a point of sitting near him in church. He’d had to move to the back row to break her of the habit.
“I’m here for Luke,” he said.
“He has fifty more sentences to go. Then he’s free to leave.” She spoke in a singsong Gabe found annoying.
Luke slammed the chalk into the tray and turned. “It’s not fair!”
Miss Lindstrom raised her eyebrows. “I saw you throw the rock. You could have hit one of the smaller children.”
“I was aiming for Billy!”
The “cry baby” chant made perfect sense. The boys had gotten into a quarrel and Luke had ended up in the dirt. His anger had leaked in tears and Billy and his cohorts had seen it. If Luke didn’t do something now to redeem himself, he’d have to put up with Billy and his garbage for months.
Gabe directed his gaze to Miss Lindstrom. “It’s your schoolhouse, but I’d appreciate it if you’d release Luke to me.”
Her mouth wrinkled. “I don’t know. I have rules.”
“So do I.”
She sighed. “I suppose, but just this once.”
Luke glared at Gabe but spoke to his teacher. “I won’t go with him. He’s not my father, so you can’t make me.”
Gabe had heard enough. “Get your things, Luke.”
“No!”
“Fine. I’ll do it for you.” He snatched up the boy’s book bag, gripped his shoulder and manhandled him out the door and down the steps. Luke tried to shake off his hand, but Gabe refused to let go. “I’m not in the mood to chase you down.”
“Then don’t.”
“You’re out of luck, kid. I’m in this for the long haul.”
Gabe herded him around the corner of the schoolhouse to a spot where they wouldn’t be in plain view. A split rail fence marked the border of the schoolyard. A meadow stretched fifty yards to the west, giving the boy no place to hide. Confident he had Luke corralled, Gabe let go of his shoulder and dropped the book bag. “What’s this about throwing rocks?”
The boy ran to the fence. Gabe reached him in four strides and hauled him down from the top rail. Luke shouted at the empty meadow. “Leave me alone!”
“No way.” Gabe spun him around so they were eye to eye. “We were talking about rocks.”
Luke bent down, snatched up a stone and hauled back to throw it at the schoolhouse. Gabe snatched his arm. “Drop it, Luke.”
“I’ll throw rocks if I want to!”
“No, you won’t. Now drop it.”
“Make me.”
Luke jerked against Gabe’s grip, but he couldn’t break it. He pushed forward and pulled back. He twisted. He cursed. He struggled like a fish on the end of a line. Gabe had never seen a human being as bitter as Luke. All that hurt and anger…it had nowhere to go except deeper into the boy’s soul. Luke had to get rid of it.
Gabe held tight until the rock dropped from Luke’s hand, then he released his grip. “You want to fight. Is that it?”
Luke’s eyes blazed. “I hate you!”
Gabe figured the boy hated everybody right now including himself, so he didn’t mind being a target. He challenged Luke with a smirk. “Well, whoop-de-do.”
The boy lunged at him. As Gabe side-stepped, Luke’s momentum forced him to his knees. The sting of the fall must have goaded him even more, because he pushed to his feet and charged again. This time Gabe stood his ground. The blow knocked him back a step and he stumbled. As he regained his balance, Luke pummeled his middle with his fists. The boy packed a real punch, but Gabe didn’t stop him. Instead he held out his arms to make himself an easy target for the boy’s anger. Whatever Luke had to dish out, Gabe could take.
When he landed a particularly hard punch, Gabe grunted. A female gasp came from near the schoolhouse and he turned his head. Instead of Miss Lindstrom looking annoyed, he saw Cassie with her mouth agape. Her expression shifted from shock to outrage.
Not now…not when Luke had a full head of steam.
He shook his head to warn her away. At
the same instant, Luke started to cry and shout while throwing punches. He had no awareness of his mother, no sense of anything except the feelings pouring out of him. He needed this release. Surely Cassie could see it. Babying him now would be the biggest mistake she could make. He gave her a hard stare, one full of warning, then focused on Luke. His mouth was still knotted and he’d worked up a sweat. He was walloping at Gabe’s torso, but the punches were losing power. Gabe spoke in the voice he’d used as a sergeant. “Keep your fists up, O’Rourke. Protect your face.”
Luke seemed to come out of a fog. Gabe didn’t want him thinking too much, not until they’d crossed from enemies to allies. “Hit from your shoulder, not your elbow.”
Luke’s next blow landed smack in the middle of Gabe’s chest. He could have stayed still, but he backpedaled as if Luke had knocked him off balance.
The boy’s eyes popped wide. Surprised at his own strength, he lowered his fists.
“Fists up!” Gabe ordered as he came at him. “I’m going to swing. You duck, then come at me with your right fist.”
Gabe slowed the punch to nothing. Luke saw it coming, dipped his head and socked Gabe smack in the ribs that were already bruised. Air whooshed from Gabe’s lungs and he moaned.
Luke looked pleased. “Did that hurt?”
“Of course, it hurt!” Gabe wanted to shout with pride. “You’re strong.”
“I am?”
“Strong enough.” Gabe rubbed his side. “The trick is to be smart about it. You can flail around like a windmill, or you can anticipate the other man’s moves. I’m not hitting back, but Billy Drake will.”
Gabe thought of Cassie and risked a glance at the schoolhouse. He was expecting a quarrel but saw only waving grass. She’d left, though he knew that quarrel would be inevitable. His mind drifted to the line of her mouth, the way she looked in that prim dress…
Whomp!
The next thing Gabe knew, he was on his backside in the dirt. Luke looked shocked and little afraid. “Are you all right?”
Gabe laughed out loud, a real belly laugh, low and deep. As Luke’s eyes changed from fearful to proud, a grin spread across his face. Gabe stood and mock punched the boy’s arm. “You rascal!”
Luke’s face lit up. “I decked you!”
“You sure did, kid.”
“And you’re big!”
“Bigger than Billy.” Gabe stood and brushed off his trousers. He and Luke had matching patches of dirt on their backsides. It struck a chord, one that sounded low and deep and showed up in his voice. “You’ve got a lot more to learn, Luke, including the most important lesson of all.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when not to fight.” Gabe deepened his voice. “Never swing first. Never swing at someone smaller than you. And never, ever hurt a woman.”
“Yes, sir.”
For the next hour, they wrestled like bears. By the time they finished, the grass had been trampled, Luke’s pants had holes in both knees, and Gabe imagined purple blotches on his ribs. It had been a long time since he’d burned off steam and it felt good, especially because Cassie had stoked the fire in his belly. He wanted to win her love and he intended to do it. Spent and happy, he and Luke dropped down to the grass and sat at right angles to each other, each leaning against the trunk of the cottonwood. The sun had dropped in the sky, softening the hard blue of the day but not the knowledge that Cassie would read him the riot act when he showed up with Luke.
Gabe stared across the meadow. “My belly says it’s time for supper.”
“Mine, too.”
Gabe didn’t want the day to end, but he shoved to his feet. As he reached down to give Luke a hand, the boy looked up with a peculiar light in his eyes. “I wish my dad had been like you.”
Of all the blows Gabe had taken today, that one hurt the most. He answered with the deepest truth of the day. “If I had a son, I’d want him to be like you.”
The boy looked chagrined. “Even if he threw rocks sometimes?”
“Especially if he threw rocks.”
Staring straight ahead, they walked side by side to Cassie’s mercantile. Luke heaved a sigh. “My ma’s going to know I was fighting.”
“I’ll speak to her,” Gabe said. “If she’s going to be mad at anyone, it should be me.”
Gabe clamped his jaw. He didn’t like to quarrel, but some fights had to be fought.
Chapter Eight
Cassie pounded on the door to the parsonage. As soon as Thelma opened it, she blurted her only thought. “I need help.”
“Come in.” The older woman opened the door wide. “Tell me what happened.”
“It’s Luke.”
“I figured.”
“And Gabe.”
Thelma closed the door with a click. “That figures, too.”
As Cassie followed her into the parlor, she told the older woman about this morning’s conversation with Gabe and the discovery that he’d gone against her wishes. When Luke hadn’t come home after school, she’d gone to see his teacher. She’d heard voices behind the schoolhouse, investigated and found Luke attacking Gabe like a rabid animal.
For an instant she’d been angry with Gabe, but then she’d seen tears on Luke’s cheeks. Her son had gone into a blind rage and Gabe had been taking the punches. With his arms up and bent at the elbows, he’d been the picture of surrender, even sacrifice. She’d thought of Christ on the cross and had trembled with the knowledge that she was just like Luke, flailing blindly at life. Gabe had been right about her son needing to become a man, but she didn’t know what to do about it. With her business in dire straits, she felt guiltier than ever for her failings as a woman and a mother. That’s why she’d run to Thelma.
With her neck aching, Cassie knotted her hands in her lap. “I’m so confused.”
Thelma sat on an old cane rocker, picked up her knitting and set the chair in motion. As she lifted the needles, a pink baby blanket took shape and her lips quirked upward. “Are you angry with Gabe?”
“I want to be.”
“But you’re not?”
“How can I?” Needing an answer, Cassie glanced around the room. Everywhere she looked she saw photographs of the Halls and their three sons, each one as tall or taller than his father. “Gabe was right about Luke.”
Thelma twisted the yarn around her index finger. “How so?”
“He says Luke needs someone to push against.”
“That’s part of it.”
Cassie furrowed her brow. “What’s the rest?”
Thelma kept rocking. “The boy needs someone to show him what it means to be a strong man. He needs a father.”
And the sky is blue. Cassie held in the retort. “I know that.”
Thelma stopped rocking and set the knitting in her lap. “So what’s stopping you from asking me for that lemon cake recipe? It’s Gabe’s favorite, you know.”
Cassie knew that, too. She thought of yesterday and how he’d set it aside to help her. This morning he’d rescued Luke and this afternoon he’d rescued him again. She owed him more than a cake.
Thelma picked up her knitting and went back to rocking. The wood creaked like old bones, but the gray-haired woman said nothing, leaving Cassie to ponder her question. Why not bake that cake for the man she loved? The answer hit as hard as Luke’s fists had pounded Gabe. “I can’t lean on anyone, Thelma. Not after what happened with Ryan.”
“I see.”
“Do you really?” Cassie lifted her arm to indicate the wealth of family pictures. “Reverend Hall’s a good man and a good father. Have you ever doubted that he loves you?”
The older woman held her head high. “Not once.”
“Did you ever wonder where he was at night? Or smell perfume on his collar?”
“Never.”
“Then you don’t see at all.” Cassie pushed to her feet. She wanted to leave, but she had nowhere to go except her empty store. Instead she paced to a window facing a field of tall grass. “Ryan hurt me, The
lma. I’ll never put myself in that position again.”
“Gabe’s not Ryan.”
“I know that.” Cassie scowled at the tall blades. “But people change. They leave. They let you down.”
“It’s true that I married well.” The needles clacked behind Cassie’s back. “But I’ve had my share of trouble. I know what it’s like to feel like someone’s let you down.”
Cassie turned in surprise. “Who?”
“Not Ben.”
“Your sons?” The middle boy had run off.
“Not in the ways that matter. Ben and the boys are human beings. They’ve hurt me on occasion and I’ve been disappointed in their decisions at times, but they’re human and I know that. I never expected perfection from any of them.”
As Cassie watched Thelma rocking steadily, she recalled the disappointments in her own life. Her mother’s death had been sudden and devastating. Her father had never been one to talk. After her mother’s passing, he’d pulled into himself like the tortoise at the Chicago Zoo she’d seen with Luke. Even Luke had disappointed her, though he had the excuse of youth.
“Who let you down?” she asked Thelma.
“The Lord did.”
Shivers went down Cassie’s spine.
“At least that’s what I thought.” Thelma gave a small laugh. “As things turned out, He knew what was best.”
Cassie turned back to the window, holding in a sigh as she stared at the empty meadow. “I’ve heard that before.”
“I imagine so.” Thelma’s knitting needles kept up a steady rhythm. “You don’t know this, but when the boys were little, Ben and I were so poor I worried about feeding them. He’d been pastoring a church in Nebraska and we loved it, but the elder board changed hands. The new men voted us out.”
Cassie understood the sting of rejection. “That had to be hard.”
“It was.” Thelma rocked the chair harder. “For two years we lived like vagabonds. Ben preached wherever people would listen and we lived on offerings. When things ran short, he worked odd jobs. Those years were hard, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because they toughened us up. Now when Ben preaches about God’s mercy, he knows what it is. When I tell a woman I know how it feels to stretch a bag of flour, I really do.”
