Done with the daunting task, Dulcie was surprised to see Collie continued to sleep. She peered across the room into the bedroom to see Madeline hadn’t moved. Dog tired, Dulcie wished she could sit down and fall asleep. But the kitchen had to be put back to rights, then she had to cook supper.
A quiet knock at the door gave her a reprieve, and she hurried over before Collie or Madeline woke. She opened the door cautiously and found Rye on the other side, two skinned rabbits in his hand. She put a finger to her lips.
“Thought some fresh meat might taste good,” he said in a low voice.
She took the rabbits from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
“Is Collie in here?”
She nodded toward the table, and Rye leaned in the door to see the boy sleeping. He smiled but though there was fondness in it, there was also anger in his eyes.
“Those folks who look after him ought not to let him run around the countryside,” he said.
He was right, but Dulcie recognized the futility of the situation. “So what’re you going to do, adopt him yourself?”
He blinked, as if considering it, then shook his head. “What would I do with a kid?”
“Love him.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Uncomfortable, she looked down at her boots. “You’re right. It’s a foolish idea. Whoever heard of a man with no home or wife raising a child?”
Awkward silence surrounded them. Dulcie wished she could take back her words.
“You need anything from the garden?” Rye’s cool expression placed distance between them as surely as if he’d walked away.
She took stock of what she had in the house, which wasn’t much now that she’d preserved the vegetables. “How about potatoes and peas? Enough for four.” At his raised eyebrow, she added, “Collie’s eating supper with us.”
Immediately, his eyes warmed and a gentle smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to leave them on the porch?”
She started to nod, but stopped. Recalling how he’d sheltered her, Madeline, and Collie without a second thought during the storm, she shed more of her vigilance. “You can bring them in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rye’s boot heels rapped sharply on the porch as he left.
Dulcie cut up the meat and placed it in a heavy frying pan. Just as she was about to go out to see what was taking Rye so long, he came up the porch steps and tentatively entered the cabin.
“Here they are,” he said, holding up a pail and a basin.
He’d peeled the potatoes and shelled the peas. All that was left for Dulcie was to cook them on the stove.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Collie joined them, the blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I’d best get back.”
“I already told you you’re eating supper with us first,” Dulcie said, leaving no room for argument.
Collie looked at Rye.
“You heard Mrs. McDaniel,” Rye said, inclining his head toward her. “I think your clothes are dry.”
Collie brushed past Dulcie.
“Supper will be ready in about forty-five minutes,” Dulcie called after them.
Rye handed Dulcie the potatoes and peas. “Just give us a holler.”
Smiling, Dulcie watched Rye lead the blanket-wrapped boy to the barn. Madeline’s call from the bedroom interrupted her bemusement, but the picture of Rye’s hand resting on Collie’s shoulder remained with her.
“HOLD it there,” Rye said.
Collie held the corral pole against the post. Rye pulled a nail from his shirt pocket and pounded it into the wood. When he was done, the boy released the pole and Rye gave it a tug, but it was solid.
After Collie had donned his now-dry clothing, Rye enlisted his aid in fixing the storm-damaged corral. Rye could’ve done it himself in less time, but he wanted to give the boy something to do so he wouldn’t run off.
Collie squished mud between his toes and grinned down at them. “That sure was a humdinger of a storm.”
Rye made a face. “You’re going to wash your feet before going into Mrs. McDaniel’s house.” The boy opened his mouth to argue, but Rye held up his forefinger. “No sass.”
Rye, with Collie trudging beside him, walked back to the barn. Soon after Rye came to work for Dulcie, he’d straightened and cleaned the room within the barn where the tools were kept. He spent evenings scrubbing them with a steel brush to get rid of the rust. A few were ruined, and he piled those in a corner. Maybe Dulcie’s father wasn’t a murderer, but he sure as hell was a lazy son of a bitch.
As Rye put the tools away, Collie walked around touching and picking up everything.
“Put things back where you got them,” Rye said without turning.
“I ain’t never seen a woman in trousers before,” Collie said.
Startled by the unexpected comment, Rye looked over his shoulder at the boy, who was rubbing the handle of a scythe. “Mrs. McDaniel does a lot of work most women don’t do.”
“Why?”
“’Cause she doesn’t have a man to help her.”
Collie’s brow furrowed. “She’s got you.”
Rye shifted uncomfortably. “I’m just passin’ through. Before I came, she didn’t have anyone but her father.”
“Everyone says he killed Mr. Carpenter.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“You believe that?”
“I can’t say one way or another since I wasn’t around. Didn’t know Dul—Mrs. McDaniel’s father or this Carpenter fellah.”
Collie nodded, his mind obviously racing like a dog after a rabbit. “I didn’t like him much, but Mr. Carpenter used to give me a nickel. Once he even gave me fifty cents.”
Rye pulled the extra nails out of his shirt pocket and put them in a tin can. “When I was your age, if I got a nickel, I’d spend it on candy. Is that what you do?”
Guilt crossed Collie’s face. “No.”
Puzzled, Rye gazed at the boy. “So what did you do with it?”
“Nothin’.” Collie’s chin lifted in challenge.
So the kid has a secret or two. But then, Rye’d had his secrets at that age, too. Still did, only grown-up secrets were more hurtful.
“Let’s go get those feet cleaned up,” Rye said.
Collie wrinkled his nose. “Already had me a bath today.”
“Getting soaked by rain isn’t the same as taking a bath.”
An infectious grin lit Collie’s face. “Yeah. But it’s funner getting wet in the rain.”
Rye laughed, unable to dispute that comment. At the well, he brought up a bucket of water and had Collie sit on the porch steps. He poured the cool water over the boy’s muddy feet, eliciting a yelp from him.
“Tryin’ to make me sick?” Collie asked, glaring at him.
Rye restrained a chuckle. “Tryin’ to make you clean.” He tossed him a lump of soap. “Scrub with this, and I’ll get another bucket of water.”
When Rye returned, Madeline stood behind Collie, watching in rapt fascination as the boy washed his feet.
“Hello, Miss Madeline,” Rye said.
The girl grinned and ducked her head, all signs of her earlier adventure gone. “Collie’s dirty.”
The boy glared at her, but Madeline was impervious to his scowl.
“That’s why he’s washing up.” Rye scrutinized the boy’s feet and found them vastly improved by the soap. “I’m going to rinse them now.”
Collie clenched his teeth, prepared for a fate worse than death. The water washed away the soap and dirt, leaving clean, pink feet.
Dulcie came out to join them and passed Rye a towel. “Thought you might need this.”
Rye, enraptured by the flush in her cheeks and the amusement dancing in her eyes, didn’t take the towel immediately.
Collie grabbed the towel from Dulcie. “I can wipe my own goldarned feet.”
Rye dropped his stare, embarrassed by his reaction to her. “Don
’t swear in front of womenfolk, Collie.”
“That ain’t swearin’,” Collie said.
“Close enough.”
“Supper’s on,” Dulcie said. “I know it’s a little early, but that way Collie can get home before dark.”
“I’ll be taking him home,” Rye said.
Dulcie nodded as if she’d assumed that. She took her daughter’s hand and went into the cabin.
Above Collie’s protests, Rye checked his feet. Assured they were clean and dry, he allowed the boy to follow Dulcie and Madeline inside. Rye went in last. Despite Dulcie’s invitation to supper, he wasn’t altogether certain she meant for him to eat inside with the rest of them. However, she had four places set at the table and directed where he and Collie were to sit.
He hung his hat beside Dulcie’s and gingerly sat down. Collie appeared as uncomfortable as Rye felt. It had been a long time since Rye had sat down with anyone to eat a meal, not counting the army mess hall.
Rye forced himself to relax. He waited for Dulcie to say grace, but she went right to spooning food on Madeline’s plate and passing the serving bowls to Collie. Rye helped the boy, then himself to mashed potatoes with gravy, creamed peas, buttered bread, and fried rabbit.
There was little talk except to ask for more food. The more Collie ate, the more the boy’s anxiety eased. When he finally pushed his plate away, he rested his hands on his belly and burped.
Madeline giggled.
Rye caught Dulcie’s amused gaze, and although he wanted to laugh himself, he didn’t. “What do you say, Collie?”
“Everything was real good, Mrs. McDaniel. Thanks,” the boy said.
“That wasn’t—”
“Close enough. My ma used to say more room outside than there is in,” Dulcie said, smiling. “I’m glad you liked it, Collie.”
Rye surrendered. “It was good, Dulcie. Thank you.”
Her face pinkened, and Rye wanted to reach across the table to cup those smooth, flushed cheeks, trace her lower lip with his thumb. He looked away. No matter that it was impossible and unwise, Rye couldn’t ignore his attraction to her.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any pie or cake,” Dulcie said.
“I don’t know where I’d put it if you did,” Rye said. He turned to Collie. “I’ll give you a ride back to the Gearsons’.”
Although Collie didn’t appear thrilled to return to his foster home, he pushed back his chair and stood.
Dulcie rose to hug Collie, who kept his arms at his sides and fastened his wide eyes on Rye, as if begging him to rescue him. Rye ducked his head to hide his amusement.
“Thank you for your help, Collie. I won’t ever forget what you did,” Dulcie said.
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was muffled by Dulcie’s shoulder.
She released him, and Collie scrambled back.
“You’re welcome to visit any time you want,” she said.
Collie rounded the table and started backing away. “Yes, ma’am.” He scurried out the door.
Rye chuckled and got to his feet. “I suppose I’d better get out there before he runs all the way back to town.”
“I didn’t mean to scare him.”
“You didn’t. He just isn’t used to being hugged.”
She crossed her arms, her expression troubled. “That’s a shame. A child should know affection.”
Memories from Rye’s own childhood spilled into his mind. His wife Mary had taught him to hug and that it was all right to want to touch another person. Or maybe she’d merely unlocked the dark place in his heart where loving memories of his mother and father were guarded against the sterile orphanage. And now Mary and her tender smile and gentle nature were gone, too.
He shook the painful thoughts aside. “I’ll be back soon.”
Dulcie nodded and gathered the dirty dishes. Rye retrieved his hat on the way out and settled it on his head. He was relieved to see Collie hadn’t run, but instead, was standing by the corral.
Rye whistled shrilly and his mare came running despite the green, inviting grass in the pasture. Once Smoke was saddled, Rye mounted and drew her up alongside the corral where Collie waited on the top pole. The boy climbed onto the mare’s rump, behind Rye.
“Hold on,” Rye said.
Collie’s arms went around his waist and Rye heeled Smoke into motion. He let her run some then slowed to a walk for the last half mile. As they drew closer to the Gearsons’, Collie grew quiet and his thin arms tightened around Rye. He hadn’t seen any sign that they beat the boy, but there were other ways for folks to hurt children. Rye knew most of them.
Dusk was turning to night when they arrived at the Gearsons’. Rye hung onto Collie’s forearm, easing the boy down to the ground. He stood close to Smoke as Rye dismounted.
Two chubby blond boys rushed out the door as Rye guided Collie toward it. The twin boys, slightly older than Collie, stopped and stared.
“You’re in trouble, dog-boy,” one of them taunted.
“Yeah. Ma ain’t happy,” the other said.
Collie stiffened beneath Rye’s palm, but he remained silent and lowered his gaze. Rye bit the inside of his cheek, knowing he’d only make it more difficult for the boy if he defended him.
Before Rye could knock on the door, it was opened by a heavyset woman with a red, sweat-coated face. “It’s about time you got back, Collier. What would your mother think if she knew you was out past dark? Go on inside.”
Collie glanced up at Rye with an apologetic look then disappeared into the house.
Mrs. Gearson mopped her brow with a dirty, limp handkerchief. “What did Collier get into this time?”
Rye removed his hat and held it between his hands, which trembled with resentment of the woman’s callous tone. “Collie helped find a young girl that ran away right before the storm hit.”
The woman blinked her narrow eyes. “Who’re you?”
“Rye Forrester, ma’am.” Rye remained courteous for Collie’s sake. “I work for Mrs. McDaniel. It was her daughter that Collie saved.”
“McDaniel. I don’t know no McDaniel ’round here.”
“She’s old man Pollard’s daughter.” The man who spoke came up behind Mrs. Gearson from inside the house. He was as rail thin as his wife was round, and was even more dour-faced. “You know you’re workin’ on a murderer’s farm?”
“Mrs. McDaniel didn’t kill anyone.” Rye said, his mild tone a direct contrast to his churning fury.
“Well, no, but she ain’t no saint herself.”
His wife tut-tutted. “Hush, Hubert. That was five years ago.”
“You heard what they said about her and—”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “I said hush.”
Hubert rubbed his chest and glared at his wife, but didn’t say anything else.
Small towns were often rife with gossip, and with Dulcie being the daughter of a supposed murderer, Rye was certain she had more than her share of rumors circulating about her. He didn’t care to hear any of them. “Like I was saying, Collie found Mrs. McDaniel’s four-year-old girl before the storm. I figured he saved her life.”
“That good-for-nothin’—” Hubert began.
Again her elbow stopped him. “It was a sad day when Collier’s ma and pa died. It’s good to know their boy might not be as dimwitted as we feared.”
“He’s not slow-witted,” Rye said sharply. “He’s a little boy who misses his folks.”
Gearson grumbled. “Boy ought to be over ’em by now.”
Rye didn’t dare speak for a long moment, afraid of what he might say. Instead, he donned his hat. “I just wanted you to know where he was and what he did. And Mrs. McDaniel fed him supper.”
“That’s good ’cause we already ate. If he shows up late for a meal here, he goes without.”
Rye counted to five, but his temper remained at the boiling point. “Seems to me none of your own go without, and don’t tell me they always show up on time for meals.”
Gearson took a threate
ning step forward. “How we raise our own ain’t any of your concern.”
“Maybe not, but seems to me you shouldn’t be keeping Collie if you ain’t going to raise him like one of your own.” He marched down the steps.
The Gearsons remained on the porch, glaring at him as he mounted Smoke. As he rode away, he glanced back and spotted Collie’s pale face peering out a window.
Rye spurred Smoke into a gallop, but he couldn’t outrun the look of abandonment in the boy’s eyes.
TEN
DESPITE her long nap before supper, Madeline was asleep on the large bed again by the time Dulcie put away the last of the dishes. Dulcie didn’t want to disturb her rest by having her climb up to the loft, so she removed the sleepy girl’s dress and slipped on her nightgown. Madeline fell back into a sound sleep in a matter of seconds.
Dulcie swept back her daughter’s fine hair and kissed her unblemished brow. “Good-night, honey,” she whispered. She rose and placed Madeline’s dress over the footboard so it would be there for her in the morning.
Although it was only eight o’clock, Dulcie yawned and rubbed her gritty eyes. She, too, was tired. The lingering fear from Madeline’s disappearance and of the storm itself had worn her out. She gazed longingly at the bed, but the sudden recollection of Rye protecting them from the hail and the awareness of his lean muscles pressing against her produced another kind of longing. Her body hummed with familiar restlessness. Her camisole brushed her breasts like a lover’s caress and the almost-ache between her legs pulsed in time with her heart.
Dulcie turned away from the bedroom and dropped into a rocking chair. She thought she’d left her wicked nature in the past, with that foolish girl who’d demanded a dashing army private take her virginity. He’d eliminated her maidenhead in one night, but losing her innocence had taken longer—two years to realize that dashing private was nothing but a randy young man who took his pleasure with any willing woman. She’d wanted to yell at him and deny him his husbandly rights, but she couldn’t stop her body from wanting what he gave her. She couldn’t fight the waves of pleasure, the cresting of passion, when he took her. Yet afterward, shame would wash through her. Was she no better than the whores who found their pleasure with any man?
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