Mary pulled her lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed the moisture from her brow, then put it back and adjusted the brim of her straw hat to shield her face from the sun. There was nothing she could do about the waves of heat shimmering off the cobblestones. At least she was almost there.
She shifted the basket she carried into her other hand and hurried across the street to stop beneath the shade of the large elm on the corner of the courthouse property. Lovely, wonderful shade!
Mary put the basket down, massaged her tired hand and searched for the children. They were spread in a line across the furrowed soil at the far end of the lot picking up stones and dropping them in the buckets they carried. Her heart ached for them. She had hoped they would not be put to work in this heat. Thankfully, Ivy had packed double the usual amount of cold mint tea.
Would the foreman let the children come now? Or would he make them work their way to her? She scanned the area, spotted him standing in the shade of the building talking with two of the workers. Of course he would be in the shade—he was the boss. A boss who resented her interrupting the children’s work by bringing them something to eat and drink.
She looked back to the children, squinted her eyes against the sun’s glare and frowned. Was Tommy staggering? She watched him a moment, lifted her skirts clear of her shoe tops and broke into a run, her gaze fastened on Tommy now down on his hands and knees with his head pressed against the earth. Please, God, let him be all right.
From the corner of her eye she saw the men in the shade look her way, then turn and look the direction she was running. She dropped to her knees beside the boy, now prostate on the ground.
She rolled him over, shaded his face with her body. “What is wrong, Tommy?” No answer, only a dull look in his eyes. Sweat sheeted off his forehead, soaked the hair at his temples, dripped to the ground. “Tommy?” Dear God, let him be all right.
The children clustered around, silent and staring.
Mary put her hand on his forehead. It was cool. How could that be in this heat? Footsteps thudded to a stop beside her. She looked up to see the foreman, the two workers behind him. Rage shook her. “This boy is ill. One of you men go for a doctor!”
One of the workers turned.
The boss grabbed his arm and halted him. He looked down at her. “There ain’t no call to go fetching a doctor, miss. The boy’s only had a mite too much sun. Some can’t take the heat like others. He can rest a few minutes. He’ll be all right.”
“Rest a few—” Mary rose, lifted her chin and fastened her most aristocratic look on one of the workers. “You—carry Tommy to the shade of the elm!” The man didn’t even look at his boss. He stooped, picked up Tommy and started toward the tree.
“And you—” she pinned the other worker with another look “—go find Captain Benton and bring him back here immediately!” The man wheeled and hurried off.
“Now see here, miss—”
Mary spun to face the foreman. “And you, sir—you may come out of the shade and pick up your own stones.” Her voice was low, quiet and cold as ice. She turned and held out her hands. “Come with me, children. There will be no more work for you today.”
Sam opened the stable door and stepped out into the heat. Of all the days for Judge Simmons to order Seth Parker served with an eviction notice. It had to be over a hundred degrees. Good thing he had started for the Parker place early. He trotted across the lot, shoved open the door and stepped into the jail’s dim interior. It felt good. The small windows and thick stone walls kept the place somewhat cool.
He tugged off his hat, threw it on a hook, then swiped his forearm across his moist forehead and looked over at Jenkins. “Parker’s not happy. Made quite a fuss about that notice. But I got him calmed down some.” He stretched and motioned the man out of his chair. “Thanks for holding down the fort. I’ll take over now. You go get your dinner.”
Jenkins grinned and pulled on his hat. “Y’ don’t have to tell me twice. I’m feeling kind of hollow.” He strode to the door, looked back over his shoulder. “We got a new prisoner. The report is on the desk.”
“Right. I’ll look it over.” Sam tipped back in his chair, laced his hands across his abdomen and closed his eyes, letting the coolness seep into his overheated body. A nap would sure feel good right about now. But first he’d better read that report. He stretched out his hand and picked up the paper.
Mary Randolph!
The front chair legs crashed to the floor. Sam lunged to his feet, scanning the report while he snatched the key ring from the drawer. His lips twitched. By the time he reached her cell, he was chuckling. He unlocked the door, leaned his shoulder against the framing bars and grinned down at her. She was seated all prim and proper on the edge of the cot, looking very composed despite the dirt and grass stains on the skirt of her gown. “Good afternoon, Miss Randolph. What brings you here to enjoy our hospitality?”
Those brown eyes of hers flashed up at him. “Good afternoon, Captain. I am here because one of your policeman invited me.”
“I see.” His grin widened. She was not as unruffled as she pretended. Underneath all that poise, she was mad as a wet hen. “Would that be the one who found you at the courthouse ordering the laborers and foreman about, and refusing to allow the children to go back to work when they were told to do so?”
Another flash of those incredible eyes. “He did not find me. I sent one of the workers for you and he brought the other policeman in your stead. The rest of your statement is correct.” She looked down and brushed at a spot of dirt on her skirt.
“And what did you hope to gain by such behavior?”
Her head lifted. “Medical treatment for Tommy. And a doctor’s orders that the children were not to work in such heat. Which I accomplished.” A look of pure satisfaction spread across her face.
His heart bucked. “And landed yourself in jail in the process.”
She nodded, gave him a smug little smile. “Yes. And the children, also—where they are out of the sun.”
Sam’s heart thudded. He shook his head, gave her a mock stern look. “Miss Randolph, what am I to do with you?”
She slanted a look up at him from under her lashes and flashed him a cheeky grin. “Pay my bail?”
He had never wanted to kiss anyone so much in his life.
“In jail, Mary? You spent the afternoon in jail! I thought you were at the Journey’s End.” James lifted his hands and raked his fingers through his hair.
“I intended to be, James. But…well…I was waylaid as I explained.” She smiled up at him. “You look exactly like Father when you do that.”
He rounded on her. “Do not try to distract me, Mary. It will not work. What were you thinking of?”
Her chin lifted. “I was thinking of getting those children out of the sun before they all sickened…or worse.” She tried another smile. “As you would have, had you been in my place.”
James stopped pacing and looked down at her. “That is different! Forgive me, Mary, but you have got to stop being so—so bold! What would have happened to you if Captain Benton were not a friend?”
“He is. And he is also present, James.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. She turned so the captain could not see. “Perhaps we could delay this discussion until later?”
James spun around, lifted his hands in surrender. “You talk to her, Captain. She will not listen to me.” He stormed off the porch and strode up the road.
“Well, gracious! I am glad I did not tell him before we had supper. It would have quite ruined his meal. And ours. If it has not done so anyway.” Mary turned from watching James to look up at the captain. He was half sitting on the railing, leaning back against the corner post with his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking at her. Her heart fluttered. She frowned and looked away. “I apologize for that unseemly display, Captain. James sometimes becomes protective of me. I wanted this to be a pleasant meal, to thank you for bailing me out of jail.”
“No
thanks were necessary, Miss Randolph. But it was a very pleasant supper. I enjoyed the company.”
She could not sit there with him so close any longer. She rose and walked to the top of the steps. Light flickered across the southern sky. “James is very entertaining.”
“I wasn’t speaking only of James.”
The soft words sent a delicious little shiver rippling through her. Foolish woman! She forced a laugh. “I suppose I am entertaining, too. At least, my escapades must seem so.”
“I wasn’t speaking only of entertainment, either.”
She scowled. Why did he talk like that? So soft and deep. It was like…like dark, warm syrup. And it seemed fraught with meaning. Of course it was not. It only seemed that way to her feckless heart. Help me, Lord. She wiped her hands down the long skirt of her yellow cotton gown and stole a sidelong glance at him. He had not moved. It only felt as if he had drawn nearer. She wished he would go. Prayed he would stay. And was disgusted with herself for caring either way. He was another woman’s beau.
Silence reigned.
She tried desperately to think of something clever or amusing to say, but all she could think of was him. How compassionate he was. How handsome and strong and kind and gentle and utterly special he was. Miss Stewart was a very fortunate woman.
A steamboat whistled. Another answered. A horse’s hooves clopped against the cobblestones of Market Street.
“James is right, you know. I understand his concern over you.”
The syrup again. Warm and sweet. She would probably dream about it tonight.
He moved, and every fiber of her being tensed, aware of each whisper of cloth as he rose—every tap of his boot heel against the wood porch floor as he came to stand beside her. Her lungs strained to fill. How foolish, foolish, foolish she was!
“You should be more careful of yourself. It will do the orphans no good should you come to harm.”
The orphans. Yes. Of course. The orphans. She braced against the disappointment, swift and hurtful, that rose to dash the tiny bit of pleasure she had felt at the thought that he cared what happened to her. Why would he care? He belonged to another. She must keep reminding herself of that. Not that a man like Samuel Benton would be interested in her anyway.
Lightning glinted across the distant sky. Thunder rumbled. Perhaps it would cool off tonight. She brushed back her hair and nodded. “I know you and James are right, Captain. I am far too impulsive and bold for my own good. But…well…I had to help the children.” She looked up. He was gazing down at her.
“I was not aware that you took food to the children every day.”
She gave a tiny wave of her hand. “It is not much. Some biscuits and jam. A cold drink. Sometimes a pickle. They like pickles.” Why did he not look away? She ran her hands down the sides of her long skirt again. Spoke to fill the silence. “It is to help strengthen them. And it gives them something to look forward to. I thought it would make their days a little better—for now, I mean. Until I can get them out of jail.” She clamped her mouth shut to stop her chattering.
He nodded, but still his gaze held hers.
Heat crawled into her cheeks. “Is there something wrong, Captain? You are staring.” She lifted a hand to her face. “Have I a smudge, or—”
“No. There is nothing wrong, Miss Randolph. Nothing at all.” His eyes darkened. “You have very expressive eyes. The tiny honey-colored specks throughout the brown shine when you are happy and flash when you are angry. Your eyes glow with warmth when your emotions are touched.”
The words flowed into her heart, settled there though the warmth she felt at them was unwelcome. She raised her chin. “I will thank you to not make such remarks to me, Captain. I find them inappropriate from a man who is courting another woman.”
“My remarks stand as spoken, Miss Randolph. I am not courting another woman.”
Disappointment flooded her. She had never known the captain to lie to her. “I know of Miss Stewart, Captain.”
“What of her?” He leaned a shoulder against the post beside him and looked straight into her eyes. “I have not seen Miss Stewart on a personal basis for some time. A fact you can easily verify to be true or false.”
A rocky patch, Mrs. Lucas had said. Could it be there was a rift they had not mended? Would he be that relaxed if there was no substance or truth to his words? She could easily find out if what he said was true.
He was not lying. And she was too quick to believe all men were like Winston Blackstone. Remorse for her accusation brought an apology rising to her lips. “Please forgive me, Captain. I did not realize you were no longer courting Miss Stewart. I—I hope the loss of her companionship was not too painful for you.”
He straightened to his full height and stepped close to her. “In truth, Miss Randolph, it was not. I discovered some time ago that Levinia Stewart is not the woman for me.” He moved closer, locked his gaze on hers. “Would you like to know how I made that discovery?”
She nodded, held her breath.
“I looked into a pair of beautiful, honey-flecked brown eyes.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Mary leaned forward, studied her reflection in the mirror and frowned. The captain could not have meant what she thought he had meant. It had seemed he said he…favored…her over Levinia Stewart.
She straightened and finished tying the ribbon encircling the thick fall of long hair at her nape. It was clear she had misunderstood. For such a thing was not possible. It was only her silly heart wanting its dream to come true.
Still…he was no longer courting Miss Stewart. Had Levinia perhaps refused his suit? She snorted. Now that was another ridiculous notion. And it would not explain his remarks about her eyes….
She stole another quick look in the mirror. No, they were still the same. Perhaps a little…dreamier. Oh, she was being utterly ridiculous!
She spun about, left the dressing room and walked to her bedroom window. The rain was falling in earnest now. It drummed on the roof, splatted against the window and sheeted down the small panes to splash against the sill and run down the brick walls of the house.
Sulfurous yellow streaked from the black sky to the earth with a wicked snap. She flinched, listened to the thunder crack and grumble away and wished she could open the window to the welcome coolness of the outside air.
Outside.
She smiled, hurried to the cupboard and shrugged into her dressing gown and slippers. Light flickered throughout the room as she ran on tiptoe for the stairs.
“Ah-ha! I see we both have the same intention.”
She jolted to a halt, looking up at James. “The porch?”
He nodded and stepped back to let her precede him down the stairs. She went down two steps, looked back over her shoulder and laughed. “I call dibs on the swing!”
“Oh, no. You will not pull that old trick on me.” He leaped down the two steps.
Mary yelped, whirled, lifted the front of her nightgown and raced down the stairs, James’s footsteps thundering behind her. She giggled and sprinted for the door, grabbing the knob.
Strong hands grasped her waist. Lifted her off her feet.
She squealed and pushed at his hands. “James, no!”
He gave an evil little laugh, set her down behind him, then opened the door and shot across the porch to plop down dead center in the swing.
Mary marched over, fisted her hands on her hips and stood in front of him so he could not swing. “Move over.” She struggled to keep the laughter from her voice. “You have to share.”
Lightning flashed and gleamed on the white teeth exposed by his grin. “Uh-uh. It was a race. I won.”
“You cheated!”
“So did you.”
She snorted.
They both burst out laughing.
James scooched over and patted the seat beside him.
“Thank you.” Mary turned and smoothed her skirts forward to sit down, heard a creak and tensed to jump out of the way. She was too late. T
he forward edge of the swing caught her behind the knees and her legs buckled. She fell backward onto the slatted seat, bumped against the arm he held across the back to cushion her landing. She joined his laughter, waited for the right moment then pushed her toes against the porch floor in rhythm with his to keep the swing from wobbling.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “That felt like we were ten years old again.”
“I know.” She looked over at him and grinned. “We should do that more often. But not in front of the children.”
The swing creaked. They pushed their toes against the floor in unison, maintaining the gentle to-and-fro motion. Rain beat against the shingles, sluiced off the roof and landed with a splash on the ground. Lightning sizzled from the sky, grounded with a sharp crack. She looked at him and they shared another grin. She jabbed him with her elbow. “You flinched.”
“So did you.”
Their laughter blended with the rumble of the thunder.
“The cool air feels good. Almost like back home.”
She nodded, reached forward and pulled her dressing gown closed over her knees. Her nightgown was becoming damp from the rain spatters when they swung forward. “James?”
“Yes?”
“Are you in love with Rebecca?”
He leaned to his side, turned his head to look at her.
“That is quite a jump from ‘you flinched—so did you.’ Where did that question come from?”
She shrugged, rubbed at the sudden coolness where the warmth of his arm had been. “I was only wondering.”
He relaxed back into their former shoulder-to-shoulder position. “Rebecca and I are in love with one another.”
She felt his smile. “That makes it perfect.” She looked up at him. “I am so happy for you, James. I want you to be happy always.”
“Thank you, Mary. I want the same for you.”
“I know.” She looked down, fiddled with a button on her dressing gown. “How—I mean, when did you first know you loved Rebecca?” She glanced up, saw him smile into the distance.
The Law and Miss Mary Page 19
