A Reason to Believe

by Maureen McKade

  “Would you mind playing with her, Collie?” Dulcie asked.

  The boy nodded. Rye reckoned he’d have more fun here with Madeline than sitting and watching him work.

  Dulcie wiped her daughter’s hands with a damp cloth, then Madeline jumped down from the chair and grabbed Collie’s hand. She tugged him to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s go outside.”

  Allowing himself to be led away, Collie didn’t appear too dismayed to go with her.

  Rye shook his head, chuckling. “I’d best get back to work.” He started toward the door, then stopped. “What else did Dr. Wickberg say?”

  Dulcie placed her hands in the warm soapy water and began to wash the dishes. “I asked him if he knew who was involved in my father’s lynching.”

  Rye moved closer so the children wouldn’t overhear them. “What was his answer?”

  She stilled and turned her head to meet his gaze. “He swore he wasn’t involved. He never came flat out and said he knew who murdered my father, but I could tell he knows some of them.”

  “So why wouldn’t he tell you?”

  “He believes my father killed Mr. Carpenter, so he tried to convince me the townsfolk were only ‘dispatching justice.’ If I can’t get Dr. Wickberg to tell me anything, how can I get anyone else to talk to me?” Bitter frustration welled in her voice. She cleared her throat. “When I was a child, I used to wish for a different father, one who didn’t drink or yell or slap Ma or me. Sometimes I used to imagine hitting him back, but I never did. I know Pa wasn’t worth much, but he was the only father I had, and I owe him something for that.”

  Rye ached for Dulcie, for the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become in spite of a son of a bitch for a father. He clenched his hands at his sides, suddenly fearful of the intensity of his emotions. “I understand.” He headed to the door, to escape this woman who affected him more deeply than even his wife had.

  “Rye,” Dulcie called.

  He stopped and turned toward her.

  “About last night . . .” Her stricken expression made his gut clench. “That wasn’t part of our working agreement.”

  Rye frowned. “I never thought it was.”

  Her relief bewildered him, but he didn’t dare stay in her presence any longer. He might forget all the reasons why it was wrong to kiss her again.

  DULCIE finished washing the dishes then checked on the children, who were playing a game with sticks and rocks on the porch. She didn’t interrupt them but listened unashamedly from the door.

  “No, you can’t do that. You have to have both a stick and a rock,” Madeline explained in a surprisingly adult tone.

  “Oh, okay,” Collie said in an easygoing manner.

  Dulcie put a hand up to hide her smile. She wondered if she was as bossy as Madeline at that age.

  “Will you be staying here for always?” Madeline asked Collie.

  “Nah.”

  Dulcie doubted that Madeline heard the yearning behind the bravado in the boy’s voice. For a moment, she wished she could give Collie a home here, but she couldn’t even guarantee a home for Madeline. How would she provide for two children?

  If Rye stayed, we could do it together.

  No, she couldn’t even allow herself to think such thoughts. Not after swearing never to depend on a man again.

  “Rye wanted to take me back to the Gearsons’ yesterday,” Collie said. “I think he was mad at himself for what I done to my hand when I was working.”

  Dulcie’s breath caught in her throat. Rye truly cared about Collie . . . and Madeline. His concern for two children not his own puzzled Dulcie, but made her respect him more. If she had known there were men like Rye out there, she wouldn’t have been so quick to raise her skirts for the first one who showed an interest in her.

  Refusing to ruin the bright day by dwelling on her mistakes, Dulcie went out to the line to retrieve the sheets and make up the bed.

  As soon as she finished, Madeline and Collie trooped into the house.

  “We’re hungry, Ma,” Madeline said.

  Dulcie spread honey on two thick slices of bread and gave one to each of them. While they ate their snack at the table, Dulcie drank coffee and watched Madeline’s eyelids droop.

  “Time for a nap,” Dulcie said to her daughter.

  After only a token resistance, Madeline laid down on the newly made bed and closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before the girl was asleep.

  Dulcie tiptoed out of the room and joined Collie, who still sat by the table, looking forlorn. “Would you mind helping me pick the cucumbers?”

  He jumped to his feet. “No, ma’am. I used to help Ma in the garden.”

  Glad she’d asked him, Dulcie placed her wide-brimmed hat on her head and grabbed two pails from the porch. Collie took one from her, and, swinging the pails at their sides, she and the boy headed to the garden.

  They knelt among the vines, picking cucumbers, Collie’s wrapped hand not slowing him down. As they worked, Dulcie’s eyes kept returning to the rolled-up scarf around Collie’s hand. It looked oddly familiar.

  Later, after they carried the two pails of cucumbers into the house, she said, “Maybe we should unwrap your hand and make sure those sores underneath didn’t get dirty.”

  Collie shrugged and held out his hand. Dulcie untied the scarf ’s knot with shaking fingers. As she unwound it, the sense that she’d seen the bandanna before grew stronger. She shook it out, and her breath stuttered in her throat. It was a regulation scarf from a cavalry unit—the same unit Jerry had belonged to. Rye had never said anything about being in the army, much less knowing her husband.

  Maybe he found it or bought it from a soldier.

  Dulcie held up the scarf. “Did he tell you where he got this?” she asked Collie, keeping her voice even.

  “No.”

  “Was he a soldier?”

  Collie shrugged. “Don’t know. He never said nothin’ ’bout it.”

  Dulcie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

  He must’ve bought it from a soldier, or maybe he’d found it. “Let’s see how those blisters are faring.”

  Once she was satisfied the sores weren’t dirty and that they were healing fine, she rewrapped the scarf around his hand. Her doubts intensified. Although Rye had told her about his brothers and his wife and child, he was surprisingly closemouthed about what he’d done for the past few years. What if he had been in the army? Maybe he’d known Jerry. But if he had, wouldn’t he have told her?

  She checked on Madeline and found her sleeping soundly. “Collie, would you mind watching Madeline? I have to run out and ask Rye something. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Okay.”

  Dulcie went outside and walked swiftly down the path leading to the wheat field. Her toe caught in her hem, nearly tripping her. She’d forgotten what a bother skirts were when a person was in a hurry. Muttering some unladylike phrases, she hiked up her skirt hem to her knees and continued on.

  Flossie and Smoke grazed contentedly in the pasture and Dulcie paused to scrutinize Smoke’s coat, to see if the mare had a cavalry brand on her. There was a brand, but it wasn’t the U.S. Cavalry.

  Feeling foolish, Dulcie almost turned back to the cabin. However, as she recalled what Rye had told her about his life, she thought again about the large gap he hadn’t explained. Maybe he’d simply drifted, working as a hired hand at various places. Yet that didn’t seem right either. Her gut and heart told her there was more to Rye Forrester than met the eye.

  Taking a deep breath, Dulcie continued onward to the field but slowed to a more ladylike pace. Arriving at the edge of the field, she spotted Rye’s shirt hanging from a tree branch. Her gaze found him kneeling on the ground with his bare back toward her. She stopped and took guilty pleasure in admiring his broad shoulders and smooth back that tapered to a trim waist. She hadn’t been able to touch that back because he’d kept his shirt on the entire time they’d made love. Unease flittered through her once more—why ha
dn’t he removed his shirt?

  She squinted to scrutinize his back and found a mark on his shoulder. Feeling like she should know what it was, she drew closer to see it more clearly. She didn’t call out as she walked toward him, intent on examining the scar.

  Recognition struck her like a blow, and she reeled from the knowledge.

  No, I don’t believe it.

  Suddenly Rye came to his feet, turning to face her. “Dulcie, what’re you doing here?”

  “I-I came to see you,” she replied, wishing with all her heart she hadn’t recognized the mark. “That brand. You’re a d-deserter.”

  Rye’s face paled beneath his dark tan and he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  “I saw the scarf on Collie’s hand. Is it yours?” Dulcie demanded.

  Rye took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dulcie’s voice rose with outrage despite her attempt to remain calm. “I told you about my husband and how he was in the army. Why did you lie to me?”

  He lifted his head, and his eyes were filled with a world of hurt. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

  “Tell me now! And it better be the whole truth this time.”

  “I am a deserter, and I did know your husband.” He paused. Dulcie thought she saw a gleam of moisture in his eyes, but it must have been a trick of the light. “We used to drink together.”

  Rage and indignation filled Dulcie. She slapped Rye’s cheek. “You son of a bitch. You knew how my husband cheated on me with all those saloon whores. You must’ve had quite a laugh over Dulcie McDaniel, who couldn’t even keep her own husband satisfied in their bed.”

  He lifted his hands, palms out. “No, I swear it wasn’t like that.”

  She wanted to believe him, wanted to with all her heart. She wanted Rye to be different than the others. But he wasn’t. He’d gotten what he wanted, which was in her drawers. It was just that he’d been more underhanded than Jerry and Virgil Lamont.

  “I want you off my land,” she ordered, her voice as frozen as her insides.

  “What about the crops?”

  “I’d rather have them rot than have a liar and a deserter staying under my roof.”

  Rye flinched, and his face lost all expression. He spun around and strode to the tree that held his shirt. He didn’t stop to put it on, but kept marching without looking back.

  Dulcie gritted her teeth to hold back the sob that climbed up her throat. She’d been so stupid, believing that someone would work for merely room and board. Had he simply been amusing himself by seducing his former drinking buddy’s wife? Had he found her as wanting in bed as her husband had?

  Damn him to hell.

  NINETEEN

  RYE’S heart thundered in his chest, the beat keeping time with his thudding footsteps. She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain.

  Explain what? That her husband and I were supposed to be on guard duty that night instead of drinking? That I dared Jerry to walk the edge of a saloon roof? That he and I were so drunk that we didn’t even notice the rotting wood?

  It was a stupid, senseless death that never would have happened if Rye hadn’t been drinking. Rye had lost everything but his life that night—his excellent army record, his rank, and his self-respect. His branding followed three months in the stockade before he was allowed to walk out of the fort with only the clothes on his back and an old Navy Colt revolver in his belt.

  While serving his time he’d made a vow never to drink again, and despite the constant temptation, he remained true to that vow. But at this moment, if there was a bottle of whiskey in front of him, he wouldn’t think twice about breaking that promise.

  As he passed Smoke in the pasture, he whistled. The mare trotted up to the corral, beating Rye to the barn. As Rye crammed his things into his saddlebag, he remembered his bedroll was in the cabin’s loft.

  Anger still pounded through him as he strode to the house, but he halted at the sight of Collie sleeping in one of the rocking chairs. Rye’s fury disappeared and his shoulders sagged. He leaned against the doorframe and removed his hat, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair.

  He’d have to explain to the boy why he had to return to the Gearsons’ and why he’d never see Rye again. The kid didn’t deserve to be tossed aside like an old boot. Why had Rye ever befriended Collie? He knew he couldn’t stay in Locust, yet he’d toyed with the boy’s affections and allowed himself to get close to the kid.

  He turned his head and spotted Madeline sleeping on the bed. His heart dropped into his gut. He’d spent hours by the girl’s side, soothing and comforting her during her illness. Maybe for a few minutes he’d even allowed himself to think of her as his own daughter.

  And now, because he’d been a coward—afraid to tell Dulcie the truth in the beginning—he’d lost any chance of starting fresh. The possibility of remaining here with Dulcie, Madeline, and Collie was gone, and he hadn’t even known how much he’d wanted this family. Not until this very moment.

  He felt Dulcie’s presence and turned to see her running across the yard, her skirt held in tight-fisted hands. She fairly flew up the steps and halted just outside the door. No sign of the Dulcie he’d known last night remained.

  “I assume you’re just picking up your things,” she said coldly.

  He nodded, not knowing how to deal with her anger and sense of betrayal while his own guilt ate at his insides.

  Her gaze skipped past him to Collie, and her expression thawed, becoming regretful. “I’m sorry he got involved in all this.”

  “I am, too.”

  She clenched her teeth and her features became icy once more. “Get out of here, Rye. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

  His conscience didn’t allow him to argue. Instead, he woke Collie. “We’re leaving.”

  The boy blinked the sleep away. “What?”

  “Go up to the loft and get your things. We’re going back to town now,” Rye said.

  “You said—”

  “I don’t care what I said,” he cut in, forcing sharpness into his tone. “We have to leave now.”

  Collie’s gaze flicked to Dulcie then back to Rye. He obviously sensed the angry undercurrents that ran between them. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

  Rye followed the boy up to the loft. He grabbed his bedroll then waited for Collie to pack his few belongings in the worn bag he’d brought with him from the Gearsons’. They climbed down the ladder and Dulcie was no longer where she’d been. As Rye guided Collie out of the cabin with a hand on his shoulder, he saw Dulcie sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the bed by her sleeping daughter. She didn’t even look up as they left.

  “Did I do something bad?” Collie asked, his voice trembling.

  Rye’s conscience stabbed him and he stopped in the middle of the yard to face the boy. He placed his hands on Collie’s shoulders. “No, Collie. Mrs. McDaniel is mad at me, not you.”

  “Did you do something bad?” The boy’s expression was a mixture of apprehension and surprise.

  Rye owed Collie the truth. “I lied about something important. Mrs. McDaniel just found out, and she’s very angry with me.”

  Collie glanced down at his wrapped hand. “Did it have something to do with your scarf?”

  Startled by his perceptiveness, Rye hunkered down in front of the boy. “It’s from the cavalry unit I was in. Mrs. McDaniel’s husband was in the same unit. I didn’t tell her I’d known him.” And I still haven’t told her that I caused his death.

  “If I hadn’t hurt my hand, she wouldn’t have known.” Collie’s tone vibrated with self-reproach.

  “No. It’s not your fault. It had nothing to do with you,

  Collie.” Rye licked his dry lips. “If it were up to me, I’d stay here and get the Gearsons to let you stay here, too. But I have to move on now.”

  Collie looked like he was going to cry but valiantly held the tears in check. He nodded. “I understand.”

 
; Rye believed he actually did. He gave the boy’s arm a quick squeeze then straightened and headed to the corral. Less than five minutes later, he mounted Smoke and pulled Collie up behind him.

  Rye took a precious minute to study the silent cabin. At least he’d been able to fix it up for Dulcie and her daughter—they’d be snug and dry this winter. He stared at the window into the bedroom, hoping to see a sign of Dulcie behind the glass, but she remained out of sight.

  Feeling as if the stockade door was slamming behind him again, Rye touched his heels to Smoke’s flanks and headed to Locust.

  DULCIE eased the curtain back in place as Rye and Collie disappeared down the road. She fought the tears that threatened to spill over and won the battle. However, her throat felt raw and scratchy from restraining her bitter disappointment.

  How had she been so wrong about Rye? She’d been so careful in the beginning, watching and waiting for him to make a mistake, but he’d been so hardworking and unceasingly polite. She thought he’d even come to respect her. Instead, he’d simply been biding his time to get what all men wanted from a woman, and she’d been foolish enough to give it to him.

  Her gaze went to the trunk. It had been days since she’d pulled out the whiskey bottle and, more shocking, she hadn’t even missed it. Especially after making love with Rye.

  Self-disgust curdled in her belly.

  Madeline made a soft noise in her sleep, and Dulcie studied her daughter’s innocent face. She’d been so close to losing her. . . . If she had, Dulcie knew nothing, especially not whiskey, would be able to fill the emptiness.

  Steeling herself against the liquor’s temptation, she concentrated on how she could provide for her daughter. With the garden, they’d have plenty of preserved vegetables and fruit until next year. Yet, without money, she wouldn’t have meat or the dry goods they’d need.

  Most of the ripe wheat still stood in the field. Rye’s suggestion to get someone with a reaper to cut it made sense. However, the thought of going into town and trying to find someone made her palms sweat.