Interested, Libby asked, “What happened?”
Jackson scooped up another handful of feathers and dropped them carefully into the wicker basket. “My pa thought we should put him out of his misery.”
Libby gasped, pressing one hand to her chest.
“Don’t worry.” Another heart-stopping smile. “My stepmother convinced him that the dog deserved a chance. It was her dog, actually, but I’d recently been … Well, let’s say that she knew how much Max meant to me. They put the dog in a room at the back of the barn, and I slept there and took care of him. My stepmother brought me meals. Didn’t even demand that I sleep in a proper bed until Max was out of the woods.”
He stopped working, his eyes filling with warmth, his harsh features softening. “It was almost as if she and I understood each other from the beginning. Hell, I was only eight at the time, but…” He sighed, then smiled again, and Libby thought she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful.
She said nothing, but immediately envied that kind of relationship with a parent. And that kind of childhood.
She glanced at the room. “Well, it looks like things are in order again. Thank you for cleaning up.”
“It was the least I could do.”
The grandfather clock that stood in the downstairs foyer tolled eight. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner.”
“As have you,” he reminded her.
The thought of dining alone with him appealed to her. “I can prepare something for both of us, if you don’t mind potluck.”
His mouth twitched, almost creating a smile. “Cajun sausage, swimming in grease?”
Libby laughed, then bit her bottom lip. “Not unless that’s what you want. Undoubtedly there will be enough left for another meal, considering that the last time Mahalia cooked this dish, we had leftovers for nearly a week. She tried to disguise it by hiding it in tortillas and in hash, but the boarders complained so much that I’m surprised she dared concoct that meal again.”
His gaze was warm, sending Libby’s heart palpitating. “Anything will be fine.” He gripped the basket by the handles and lifted it into his arms. “Just let me know what to do with these.”
“Leave them here for the time being. If you’ll come to the kitchen in a half hour, I… we … I can have something for you … us … you to eat.” Lord, he had her tongue-tied.
“I’d appreciate it.” He returned the basket to the floor and left the room. His door opened, then closed. She heard him scolding the dog—not in cruel tones, but she knew it was a reprimand.
She took the stairs, stopping by Dawn’s room. Her daughter was reading, the light from a kerosene lamp fanning across the pages. She glanced at her mother and gave her a mischievous smile. “With all those feathers around his mouth, Mumser looked like he’d swallowed a chicken.”
Libby tried not to return her smile, but failed. “It’s not amusing, dear.”
Dawn continued to grin. “Then why are you smiling?”
She crossed to where her daughter sat and began unbraiding her hair. “What are you reading?”
Dawn showed her the cover.
“Ah, yes. Little Women. One of my favorites.” For a girl of twelve, Dawn was exceptionally bright. Although when Libby first took Dawn into her home, she hadn’t known how to read at all. Now she read everything she could get her hands on.
Dawn sighed. “Mine too. The only thing is…”
Libby threaded her fingers through Dawn’s luxuriant hair. “Yes?”
Her daughter sighed again. “I love you, Mama, please don’t feel bad, but I wish I had sisters. Lots of family, like those girls. Aunts, uncles, you know.” She giggled, a soft, wistful sound. “Even a bratty brother might be fun.”
Feeling the melancholy in her own stomach, Libby picked up Dawn’s brush and began brushing her daughter’s thick, shiny hair. “I understand, dear. When I was a girl, I wished for the very same thing.”
“But you had brothers and a mama and…and a papa.”
“Indeed I did.” She’d never gone into any detail about her unhappy childhood. It wasn’t important.
“Mama?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to upset you, but I’ve been thinking about, you know, my real mother again.”
Libby stopped a sigh. What was a real mother, anyway? “Your curiosity is natural, dear.” Even though she believed her own words, Dawn’s curiosity about her natural mother was a hard pill to swallow. But she knew better than to upset Dawn with her own petty feelings.
“I wonder if she was White or Indian.”
“It’s hard to say.” Libby couldn’t imagine a mother of any color willingly abandoning a beautiful child like Dawn. In quiet moments she often thought perhaps both parents were dead. It was the only sensible conclusion she could come to.
Many things between her and Dawn had continually gone unsaid. Every so often, as now, Dawn admitted to being curious about her own family. The first six years of her life had been miserable: the first three she couldn’t remember, and the next three she’d been a virtual servant on a ranch to the north of Thief River.
“Tell me again how you found me, Mama.” Dawn’s voice had a dreamy quality.
They’d done this a dozen times before, but Libby continued to gratify her child. “I was on my way home from Eureka when I saw this pitiful little girl lugging water from the pump to the house.”
“Yes, and I tripped and fell and the water spilled onto the ground.”
“Then that woman”—
“Mrs. Fitzsimmons,” Dawn offered.
—”came out and scolded you, ordering you to bring in another full pail of water.”
“And you didn’t like to see a little girl working so hard.”
Libby gave her a sad smile. “It broke my heart.”
“Then you stopped and pretended to ask for directions so the woman would quit being so mean to me.”
Libby nodded. “I was surprised to find her so talkative.” And Libby had had to mask her anger at the way the woman treated Dawn.
“And she said my name was Dawn. That’s what I remember being called. And they’d found me on their doorstep one cold winter morning. I was maybe three, but no one really knows for sure.”
“That’s right.”
Dawn twisted in her chair and looked at her mother, suddenly understanding. “Does that mean that I really don’t have a birthday on August tenth?”
“That’s the day I found you. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the day you were born.”
“I guess that’s not such a bad thing.” Yet there was a wistful tone to her words.
Libby recalled that the woman—a pinched, work-worn rancher’s wife who had long since stopped feeling sorry for anyone but herself—had told her that Dawn should be grateful they’d taken her in at all and not left her to die. She’d been useless to them for the first few years, too young to work and too stupid to learn anything. Breeds were like that, she’d said, her whiny voice a grating annoyance. Libby remembered how her jaw had ached that night from keeping a close rein on her fury.
The woman had been anxious to get rid of Dawn, despite the fact that she’d been a useful servant. Libby had whisked the girl away before the woman could change her mind. Even at six, Dawn had been a beautiful child. To this day, Libby remembered the depth of emotion she’d seen in the girl’s eyes.
“And all the way home,” Dawn repeated, knowing the story by heart, “I sat next to you, and you put your arm around me. I remember that, Mama. I felt so safe with you.”
Libby swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a poignant memory. One she would never forget.
The only memory Dawn had of the time before that was of a frail elderly woman who had loved her and kept her safe. There was a gap in her memory that she couldn’t account for. And Libby had not pressed.
Dawn turned and gave Libby a hug around the waist. “Don’t look sad, Mama. I love you so much.”
Libby bit into her lower lip
, pressed her daughter’s head against her, and kissed the top of her head. “I love you too, dear. Very, very much, but you know,” she added, “we don’t always get what we want.”
“I know that,” Dawn whispered. “I’m happy you’re my mama. The day you took me away from that place was the happiest day of my life.”
“Mine too.” Libby’s words caught in her throat, and she felt the sting of tears. She sniffed, a sound that brought Dawn’s head up. Her eyes were shining too.
They giggled together like best friends, boldly wiping away their happy tears.
Libby stepped away and dug out her handkerchief. “Well,” she said, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, “aren’t we just pitiful?”
Dawn’s grin was wide. “I like it when you cry, Mama. Then I know you’re happy.”
Libby laughed. “That’s kind of contrary, don’t you think? Most people cry when they’re sad and laugh when they’re happy.”
“But when you’re happy, you laugh and cry at the same time. And…and I’ve never seen you really sad. Or mad, even.”
Libby drew Dawn’s hair into a loose braid, drawing through it a ribbon, which she fastened at the end. “I’ve had no reason to be sad since you came into my life, dear. And angry? Oh, that takes far too much energy, and it’s all wasted.”
Libby pressed a kiss on Dawn’s cheek. “I have to get to the kitchen and fix Mr. Wolfe something to eat.” She started toward the door.
“I hope you make him something nice, Mama, and not that awful stuff we had for dinner.”
Libby stopped and turned. “You’re fond of him, aren’t you? And it isn’t just because he has a cute little dog.”
“Mumser’s darling. I know he’s a bit too playful, but he’s still a puppy. One day he’ll mind, I just know he will.” She searched Libby’s face. “Mr. Wolfe is a real nice man, Mama. I kind of wish—”
“Don’t say any more, dear. You know what Mahalia says—”
“I know, I know,” Dawn interrupted. “Fill one bucket with cow turds and the other with wishes and see which one fills up first.”
Libby raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. “I think you should get ready for bed.”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Whenever you can’t think of anything else to say, you tell me to get ready for bed.”
Libby gave her daughter a warm smile. “It’s late, dear. I’ll come up after I’ve fed Mr. Wolfe.”
“Don’t close the door, Mama. Leave it open a crack so Cyclops can come in.”
Libby blew her daughter a kiss, then briefly checked herself in the mirror before she left the room. She was jittery with excitement and anticipation as she made her way to the kitchen.
Jackson took a moment to watch Libby from the darkened hallway. She reached for something high on a shelf, a movement that accentuated her full bosom beneath the bodice of her gown. She couldn’t reach the object, so she dragged a chair from the table and unceremoniously lifted her skirt to her knees before stepping onto the chair. The brief glimpse of her stocking-clad calves warmed him.
So far, he thought he’d repaired any damage he might have done the. night before. Amazing what little favors would do. He’d planned to put fencing around all the flowers anyway, but after last night, he made sure it was done quickly. He also wanted to repair the back porch, which slanted dangerously. He’d hoped to have that done before he told her he was Dawn Twilight’s father, but he was getting anxious to visit his family, and he wanted his daughter at his side when he did.
A niggling voice persisted in his head, attempting to remind him that he couldn’t simply whisk Dawn Twilight away now that he’d found her. That thought had been solidified when he’d watched her and Libby together earlier, before Mumser had gotten into the feathers. Jackson got a strange feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about their relationship.
Whatever else it was, they laughed and giggled together like sisters, yet Libby O’Malley was definitely a mother to his child.
But dammit, anyway! He couldn’t let that influence him, because one way or another, he would reclaim his daughter. And, he reminded himself, the sooner the better.
“Oh, there you are.”
The sound of his landlady’s voice cautioned him to say nothing, although he knew he couldn’t wait too much longer. It was time to learn more about Dawn’s arrival on Libby O’Malley’s doorstep. Chances were that once Libby found out who he was, she wouldn’t offer any information. He’d be lucky if she didn’t kill him and serve him up in stew.
He stepped into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
Libby placed a plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and bread in front of him.
“I hope this is all right.”
His mouth watered, but he gave her a wary glance. “Eggs, huh?”
“They’re cooked this time,” she answered with a smile.
“It’s fine. Looks real good. Thanks.”
She worked at the counter, cleaning up pots and pans while he ate.
He swallowed a mouthful of buttery eggs. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I had a bite while I was making yours.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
“Mind if I ask you a question?” At her nod, he asked, picking his words carefully, “Dawn’s a half-blood, right?”
Libby stopped working and rested her hands on the counter. She didn’t turn. “Yes, she is. I thought we established that the day you moved in.”
He cleared his throat. “Oh. Of course. I, ah, guess I’d forgotten.”
He waited for her to offer more information. When she didn’t, he asked, “How did she come to be here, with you?”
Libby turned, her expression guarded. “What an odd question. What makes you think she isn’t mine?”
Take a step back, he cautioned himself. “I rather doubt Sean O’Malley was an Indian.”
She smiled, her guarded expression gone. “You’re right, of course. After Sean died, I was very lonely. The house was his, so after his death it became mine. We’d lived here, of course, from the time we were…were married. Although the house was always full of boarders, something was missing from my life, and when I found Dawn, I knew what it was.”
She offered an apologetic smile, as if he might find her words foolish. Instead, he was enthralled. “How did you find her?”
“I found her living with a family between here and Eureka six years ago. She’s been with me ever since.” Libby wiped the stove, then moved on to the other tables and countertops in the room. “They were using her as household help, even though she wasn’t more than five or six years old.” She stopped and smiled wistfully. “Poor darling, she doesn’t even know when her real birthday is.”
Christmas Day, he thought, pain slicing through him, enhancing his guilt. “She had no family?”
“No. Well, not unless she was abandoned, which-is the case with so many of the half-bloods around here.”
Abandoned. He mouthed a curse. He had abandoned her. Neglected her. How many years would he pay for his sins?
Libby sighed. “I’ll never understand what sort of person could reject a child.”
His mood threatened to sink lower, but he caught himself. He was here now, and that was what mattered.
She kept busy at the counter. “To me, the only excuse for abandoning a child is death.”
In spite of his resolve, his mood worsened. “There could be other reasons.”
“None that would make any sense to me,” she answered. “A woman simply wouldn’t leave a child.” She paused, then shook her head. “A man might, but I know a few fine men who have lost their wives, like Ethan Frost, and just because they’re hurting and child care is a lot of work, they don’t abandon their children.”
Her words were hard and pragmatic. It was as if she knew everything about him. But up through his guilt swam his rationalization: “There are always extenuating circumstances, you know.”
“When it comes to children? I don’t think so.”
He rea
lized that if he told her his reasons for leaving
Dawn, she would call him the worst kind of man. Hell, he’d called himself every name in the book, but he was here to change all that.
Sufficiently battered, Jackson merely grunted a response. His appetite gone, he shoved his plate to the center of the table. She would undoubtedly find him a poor excuse for a parent, but if he lived to be a hundred, he’d make it up to his child.
Again he chose his words carefully, although his heart pounded with anticipation. “Dawn was lucky you took her in.” He was angry with Libby for her firm stand, and he knew it was because she made him feel like the slacker he was. Or had been.
Libby snorted a laugh. “She was lucky? Oh, Mr. Wolfe, I’m the lucky one. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for bringing Dawn into my life.”
His guilt continued to eat away at his insides. Cursing quietly, he knew he couldn’t stand it another minute.
“I’m her father.” He held his breath, his heart drumming in his ears.
Libby gave him an absentminded look. “What?” The word was barely audible.
“I’m Dawn Twilight’s father,” he repeated, surprised and relieved at her mild reaction.
It didn’t appear that Libby understood him, although her face slowly changed expression. “Dawn…Twilight?”
“That’s her name,” he answered, rather abruptly. “I’m her father, and I’ve come to take her home.”
Comprehension was swift and violent. Fury turned Libby’s eyes to flame. With the swiftness of a cat, she lifted a skillet off the counter and hurled it at him, shrieking like a banshee. He deflected it with his forearm. It clattered to the floor.
“Out!” The word was a mere whisper, yet her message was clear.
“Now just a damned minute—”
“Get out,” she hissed, her hands pressed over her ears. “Getoutgetoutgetout!”
“I had a damned good reason for doing what I did, no matter what you might think.”
She took his dish from the table and threw it at him. He cringed as it flew past him and shattered against the wall behind him.
“Get out!” She grabbed the handle of another skillet. “You…you miserable, miserable excuse for a man. How dare you come here and…How dare you!”
Jane Bonander Page 8
