Stealing Jake

by Pam Hillman

  Thankful for something to occupy her, Livy controlled her shaky fingers, stirred up a batch, and handed the paste to Jake. He looked so calm, as if he wasn’t going to kiss her moments before. She bit her lip. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Her sister’s words came back to haunt her.

  “Stolen kisses lead to more than you need or want.”

  She’d do well to remember that. She clasped her hands in her lap and concentrated on the doll.

  Jake dabbed a small amount of the sticky goo on the doll’s head and added silk to create a halo of golden curls. Next, he made a bonnet, letting the curls peek out from underneath. Finally he trimmed the ends of the skirt and stood her up in the middle of the table.

  Livy touched a finger to the doll. “Oh, she’s beautiful!”

  “Yes, she is.”

  She looked up. Jake stared at her instead of the toy, his gaze skimming lightly over her face.

  Her breath caught. He meant her.

  Livy’s heart fluttered as her cheeks warmed. She lowered her gaze, afraid of what he’d see in her eyes—that when he said it, it made her feel beautiful in a way she never had before. She stared unseeingly at the corn-husk doll as a place deep in her heart she hadn’t even known was wounded began to heal.

  Chapter Five

  Coffee.

  Jake needed coffee in the worst way. Skinner had kept him up all night. Singing. Or caterwauling, to be more accurate. He hadn’t heard a peep from the man’s cell in over an hour, so either Skinner had died or he’d fallen into a drunken stupor. And to tell the truth, it didn’t matter which, so long as the drunkard kept a sock in it.

  Jake had already gulped downed two cups when the door opened, letting in a blast of frigid air.

  “Man, it’s cold out there this morning.” Sheriff Carter shuffled inside and made a beeline for the stove.

  Jake tilted his chair back and took a sip of the hot brew. “Looks like we got another foot of snow.”

  “I don’t know how much more of this we can take.” The older man huddled close to the firebox, his hands extended toward the warmth. “Did you have a quiet night?”

  “Mostly.” Jake jerked his head toward the back of the jail. “Skinner and a couple of strangers are sleeping off a drunk back there. Finally.”

  “Skinner?” Sheriff Carter shook his head. “Don’t reckon that boy’ll ever learn.”

  “Reckon not.”

  They both looked up as the door opened and Sam McIver stepped inside, a frown on his normally cheerful face.

  “Morning, Sam.” Sheriff Carter held up the blackened pot. “Coffee?”

  “No thanks.” The mercantile owner took off his hat and stomped snow from his boots. “Somebody broke into the store last night.”

  “Really?” Sheriff Carter’s eyebrows shot up. “What all did they take?”

  “A case of beans, several jars of sausages, some blankets. And a Dutch oven, of all things.” McIver twisted his hat.

  Jake snorted. “Nobody’s going to get very far toting a Dutch oven.”

  “That’s what I thought. It’s bound to be that riffraff from Chicago.”

  “Now hold on, Sam,” Sheriff Carter reasoned. “You don’t know that for a fact.”

  “I told my boys to keep an eye on ’em if they came in the store. They’ll steal you blind.” McIver slapped his hat against his pants. “I’m telling you, it’s them. Look at the stuff they took. And if we don’t do something about it, they’re going to take over the whole town.”

  “All right. I’ll send Jake over to take inventory of everything that’s missing, and we’ll try to find the culprits.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” McIver stomped to the door and let himself out.

  “Sam’s mighty stirred up.” Jake moved to the window. The storekeeper stormed across the street, ignoring friendly greetings from the few folks already opening up shop.

  “Reckon he has a right to be.”

  Jake rubbed his jaw. What if McIver was right? What if the street kids had broken into the mercantile? Livy would be disappointed. She wanted to believe those boys were sweet little mama’s boys, when they were well on their way to becoming faces on the wanted posters on his desk.

  “You think it was those kids?” Jake topped off his coffee and took another sip.

  “Who else could it be?” The sheriff eased into his chair, leather creaking as he adjusted his weight. “Chestnut’s growing like a newborn Jersey calf. That’s one reason I needed some help this winter, not to mention I’m getting too old for this. Why, before the railroad came through, I’d head home for some shut-eye after I let Skinner out of jail. If someone needed me, McIver’d send Gus or one of the boys to get me.”

  “The discovery of coal hasn’t helped things either.” In more ways than one.

  If it hadn’t been for the coal mines, his father would still be alive. Jake would be scratching out a living at the farm instead of fighting to keep crime off the streets of Chestnut. He might even be married by now with a family of his own. But he’d never found a woman he wanted to settle down with.

  Until now. Big blue eyes and a slightly crooked smile beckoned him.

  “You’re right about that. Chestnut, especially shantytown, has tripled in size in the last year.”

  “At least they’re tearing down some of the burned-out shacks to make room for new buildings. That’s good.” Jake tamped down thoughts of his family, drained his coffee, and grabbed his coat. Worrying about the past—and what the future might hold—would get him nowhere fast. “I might as well go on over to Sam’s and take a look. He’s fit to be tied.”

  Sam McIver’s two strapping sons were shoveling snow off the walk in front of the store when Jake arrived.

  “Morning, boys.”

  “Morning.” The eldest, Will, sported a black eye as big as a fistful of coal.

  “What happened to you, Will?”

  The boy, on the verge of manhood, scowled. “Nuthin’.”

  “You get in a fight with those boys roaming the streets?”

  “No. Pa said not to have nuthin’ to do with them.” Will ducked his head and kept shoveling. His younger brother did the same.

  “I see.” Jake shrugged. He’d only asked out of curiosity. Boys got into tussles all the time.

  He pushed open the door to the mercantile, a tinkling bell announcing his presence. The sound reminded him of Livy. He scowled. Everything reminded him of Livy. He couldn’t seem to think of anything else.

  He’d gone soft over a woman.

  Sam McIver rested his palms on the counter and glared at him. People enjoyed shopping with Sam, who was usually easygoing and friendly. But not this morning. He looked like a tornado intent on destroying the town. Jake couldn’t blame him. He glanced around the tidy establishment. Canned goods lined the shelves; dry goods were stacked head-high in the back. Farm tools hung from hooks on the far wall. A place for everything and everything in its place. Nothing scattered about, turned over, broken, or destroyed. The thief seemed to know his way around the store pretty well from the looks of things.

  Jake turned to McIver. “Did you discover anything else missing?”

  “Besides the foodstuffs I mentioned earlier, they took a bone-handled skinning knife and a gold-plated pocket watch I ordered for Mac MacKinnion. Both cost a pretty penny. I didn’t realize they were gone before because I’d left them under the counter here.” Sam slapped his hands against the flat surface, his eyes flashing. “I tell you, Jake, we’ve got to round these boys up and ship them back to Chicago. If they’ve taken to stealing knives, there’s no telling what they might do next.”

  “I don’t blame you for being upset, but until we have some proof, I can’t go off accusing just anybody.” He didn’t even know where the boys were. They were slippery as the sun perch in Chestnut Creek. “And besides, what about all the folks who’ve showed up looking for work in the mines? It could be any one of them.”

  Sam huffed.

  The shopkeeper’s
mind was made up, but Jake needed more than a gut feeling. He shoved his hat back. “How’d they get in?”

  “Through the back. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  McIver led the way through a jumbled storage room, the clutter at odds with the neatly organized store out front. Faded bolts of cloth lay on top of each other on an old steamer trunk. Stacks of overstocked crates leaned haphazardly toward the narrow aisle leading to the rear door. A keg with PICKLED HERRING printed in large letters sat to Jake’s left.

  Jake scowled. “Pickled herring?”

  “Somebody accidentally shipped it here. I haven’t been able to sell it to anyone. Wish that riffraff would’ve taken that with them.”

  The back door hung ajar, the bitter cold sucking the warmth right out of the room. Making his way toward it, Jake hoped he didn’t knock a stack of crates over. He didn’t have a hankering to be buried alive under a hundred pounds of pickled herring. His gaze swept over the doorframe, noticing the lack of splintered wood or any marks showing a forced entrance.

  He hooked a thumb toward the door. “You keep this bolted, don’t you?”

  “Yep.” McIver glanced around. “That’s funny. What happened to the lock?”

  Jake viewed the snow-covered landscape, unmarred by footprints or any evidence that would shed light on who’d broken into the mercantile. “You got a shovel, Sam?”

  “Of course.”

  The shopkeeper disappeared and came back moments later, a spade in one hand and a curious glint in his eyes. “What’re you gonna do?”

  Jake palmed the shovel and stepped outside. “Well, it’s not much to go on, but it’s all we’ve got right now. I figure we got about twelve inches of snow last night. If I can find that lock, I might be able to tell what time the thieves broke in.”

  “Good idea. A big shipment came in yesterday, and Gus and the boys brought everything up from the train station. As many trips as we made, yesterday’s snow should be packed solid.” McIver leaned against the doorjamb and watched for a moment. “You need any help? I can call the boys.”

  “Nah, too much tramping around would defeat the purpose.” Jake carefully peeled an inch-thick layer off the surface of the snow and tossed it to the side.

  “Right. I didn’t think of that.”

  The tinkling of the bell drew McIver away to attend to his first customer of the day.

  Jake worked in silence, carefully shoveling a narrow strip in a semicircle about eight feet from the storeroom, working his way from the outside in. As McIver suspected, the virgin snow played out about ten inches below the surface when he’d cleared the perimeter, revealing the hardpack from the day before. He moved closer to the door and started another round.

  Twenty minutes later, he found the padlock. It lay cocooned about four inches below the surface. He calculated what time the robbery could have taken place. It had started snowing about dusk and snowed throughout the night.

  “Find anything?” McIver asked from the doorway.

  “Yep. There’s the lock.” He jabbed at it with the shovel. “I’d say the robbery took place around two o’clock. Not that it’ll help us catch the thief, but at least it’s good information to know when we have a suspect.”

  The bell chimed again just as Jake palmed the cold steel.

  “Sam.”

  McIver turned back. “Yeah?”

  “It’s not broken.” Jake pushed his hat back.

  The shopkeeper swore. “Let me see that.”

  “Did you lock up at closing time?”

  “Like I said, a big delivery came in from Chicago. You can tell by the looks of the storeroom.” McIver frowned. “It was getting late and had already started snowing by the time we got it all inside. Will had been ill as a hornet and itching to go somewhere all day. I closed up the front but don’t remember checking the back. But the boys and Gus know to take care of things.”

  The bell tinkled again.

  Jake waved McIver away. “Go on. There’s nothing else we can do here. I’ll talk to Gus and the boys and see what I can find out.”

  McIver hurried in to take care of his customers.

  Jake left the shovel propped against the wall and crunched around to the front of the building. The McIver boys had worked up a sweat clearing the boardwalk. All along the street, other business owners were busy doing the same.

  “Will, can I talk to you and Abner?”

  Jake stopped short of calling Will a boy. The young feller had shot up so much in the last year, he’d pass for a grown man except for the scraggly tuft of whiskers on his chin.

  Will propped himself on his spade, as sullen as before. “I reckon.”

  “What do you remember about closing time yesterday?”

  “Don’t remember nuthin’. We helped Pa unload a whole trainload of junk; then I left.”

  “Did you leave the door unlatched?”

  “I left before they got through.” He shrugged and went back to work. “Don’t know what happened after that.”

  Jake looked at the younger boy. “Abner, what about you?”

  “I thought Will or Gus took care of everything.” Abner’s eyes grew wide. “Pa’ll have our hides if we forgot and someone broke in.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” Jake slapped the boy on the back. “Besides, even if you forgot, nobody would know. They’d have to be planning to break in and get lucky. See?”

  Abner frowned. “Yeah, Mr. Jake, but there ain’t no need in making it easy for them, now is there?”

  Jake laughed. “I reckon you’re right—”

  “Abner McIver, do not say ain’t.”

  Jake turned to see Lavinia MacKinnion sweeping toward them, her hawkish face ensconced in a black scarf, a black cloak billowing behind her like the wings of a giant bat.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Abner stepped to the side of the boardwalk, giving the teacher a wide berth.

  She smiled at Jake, but it only made her cheekbones more prominent. Jake winced. Lavinia made no secret she’d set her cap for him. “Good morning, Jake.”

  “Morning, Lavinia. How’s your pa?” Jake weighed his words with care. One misstep and Lavinia would have him committed to Sunday dinner or a taffy pull or some other such nonsense in a heartbeat.

  A shadow crossed her face. “Still grieving, but he’s doing better. Thank you for asking.”

  “I don’t want to keep you.” He stepped aside to give her room to pass. “I’m sure you have a busy day.”

  He didn’t mean to be rude, but he didn’t want to get ensnared in Lavinia’s schemes. And he didn’t want to wake up to her the rest of his life either. Now, Livy O’Brien in the mornings might be a different story. Just the thought of waking up with Livy produced a wave of longing he’d never had for another woman.

  “I do need to hurry. The children will be arriving soon. Abner, don’t be late for school.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Abner hung his head and shuffled toward the store.

  Jake bit back a smile. Abner looked less than thrilled about the prospect of spending the rest of the day with the teacher as well.

  * * *

  Livy hurried toward the mercantile, mentally reviewing the list of items Mrs. Brooks wanted. She sidestepped a patch of ice, then grabbed her skirts in one hand to ascend the steps to the boardwalk. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Jake talking to a tall, slender woman dressed in a black cloak. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, but her height complemented Jake’s broad shoulders.

  Jake helped the woman down the steps, his gaze following her as she crossed the street and headed toward the train station. An unexpected pang of longing caught Livy by surprise. Did Jake ever watch her out of sight like that? She shook her head, banishing the question as quickly as it surfaced. Her mind conjured up the strangest notions. She didn’t want a husband or the family that came with one. She’d committed herself to saving orphans, not marrying and throwing more children on the mercy of society.

  Jake started her way, his head
down, hat obscuring his vision. Panic coursed through her. He’d see her if he kept on track. Should she stay on the narrow boardwalk or duck into one of the stores? Her choices were the gunsmith’s or the barbershop. Not having business in either establishment, she stayed glued to the spot.

  Just as he reached her, he glanced up. A slow smile filtered across his face, leaving Livy slightly weak in the knees.

  “Livy.”

  Her name rolled off his tongue like a caress. Over his shoulder, she spotted the woman in black hurrying away in the opposite direction. She fingered her basket, irritated. He should save his smiles for the willowy woman in black. “Good morning, Jake.”

  “Where’re you off to this early?”

  “To the mercantile. Mrs. Brooks needed me to pick up a few things for her. I also want a bit more yarn.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to find McIver in his usual friendly mood.” Jake glanced at the mercantile.

  “Really? What makes you say that?”

  “Somebody broke in to the store last night and stole an expensive pocket watch and a skinning knife, among other things.”

  “Oh no.” Livy frowned, the woman in black pushed to the back of her mind.

  “Sam think it’s that riffraff from Chicago.”

  Livy’s heart skipped. The merchants wouldn’t stand for much of this. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s my job to find out.”

  “Be careful, Jake.”

  A tiny smile quirked up one side of his mouth, and he reached out and squeezed her elbow. Such an innocent touch, but one she felt to the tips of her toes. “I will.”

  Jake tipped his hat and strode away, his boots loud on the boards. Livy turned toward the mercantile and frowned. Why would the children take a watch? She could understand the skinning knife, but a timepiece? They might be intending to sell the goods, but where? She thought back to the day they’d picked Jake’s pocket. They’d taken a risk pilfering something that wasn’t purely for survival. Street kids would filch food and clothing to stay alive, but their code of ethics demanded they not steal for profit. They had their pride, tattered though it might be. And as long as they stayed out of sight and out of mind, upstanding citizens ignored them. Most of the time, anyway.