Crimson highlighted his sharply cut cheekbones. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. With his eyes downcast, he disappeared around the corner of the house.
Realizing that she had embarrassed him, Althea caught her lower lip in her teeth. But after this fleeting sense of remorse, she drew herself up and set her chin. The man reeked. If he needed prodding to wash every day, then she would provide the motivation as long as he remained here in her employ. It was either that or wear a clothespin on her nose every time she got near him.
She heard vigorous splashing and when he returned, his hair, hands, and face, were clean, even if the rest of him wasn’t. His lashes still held droplets of water and formed spiky frames around his striking green eyes. As though still embarrassed, he dropped his gaze from hers again.
“Well—you—that’s better,” she said, feeling an odd little flutter in her stomach. “You can bring that stool over here from the porch to sit on.”
As he went after the stool, Althea heard horses coming down the road to the house. The clatter of their hooves broke the stillness of the countryside. Turning, she saw Will Mason returning with the wagon.
Will brought the conveyance to a stop in front of the porch, and climbed down. “Miss Althea,” he acknowledged, touching his hat brim. “How did it go today?”
“Mr. Hicks tells me there’s a little work left to be done on the roof, but I believe he’s got most of it patched.”
Will scanned the yard with a slow perusal that made her fidget. She already knew the property looked horrible. “Well, I’ll tell you what, ma’am. I don’t suppose it’s any secret that Jeff has a little problem with the bottle.” Will’s voice dropped to a confidential tone. “As matters stand, he’s not doing himself or anyone else any good. I think it’s time to change that.”
Althea nodded, not sure where the sheriff was taking the conversation.
He fished a match out of his shirt pocket and put it in the corner of his mouth. “If you’ll have him,” he continued, “he can keep working here until he dries out. Or better still, until harvest time. I figure that’s about four months from now.”
“Do you mean that he would stay here?”
“Believe me, Miss Althea, if you can make up a bed for him in the barn, that will be an improvement over where he sometimes sleeps.”
It seemed the sheriff had completely overlooked a very worrisome fact. She glanced back at Jeff Hicks, long-legged and wide-shouldered. He might be too thin, but he was still a big man. If he chose to overpower a woman, to take liberties, like a—a kiss, or God forbid, something more, there would be nothing she could do. The very notion gave Althea a case of the jitters.
With her hand flat against her chest, Althea said in a confidential tone, “Sheriff, I think you’ve forgotten that my sister and I are alone here. I realize that Mr. Hicks once held a position of respect in Decker Prairie, but those days are obviously long past—”
Will shifted the match to the other corner of his mouth. “Now ma’am, I would never suggest an arrangement like this if I thought that you or your sister would be, um, compromised in any way. That’s not something you have to fear. I’ve known Jeff for a long time, and he sure can be a handful. But he wouldn’t harm anyone, especially a lady.”
“I remember that he killed a boy—Wesley Cooper, I believe.”
Will nodded. “He did, in the line of duty. Maybe you should ask Jeff about it.” He paused and then added, “Of course, it’s your decision.”
The sincerity in the Will’s eyes made her feel guilty for refusing. “Well, if you think—” she wavered.
Jeff returned with the stool and Althea felt him edging closer to her left, apparently trying to hear the conversation.
“My only other choice is to take him back to jail. He’s got a four-month term to serve, be it here or behind bars. And I mean to see that he does at least part of his time.”
“But Sheriff, that seems a bit harsh—”
“What?” Jeff demanded, momentarily jolted from his apathy.
Still holding the stool, Jeff moved closer. He wasn’t about to stand there and let them discuss their arrangements for him as if he were a mule or a dog and couldn’t understand English.
“Now, just a goddamned minute, Mason. You can’t seriously intend to hold me for four damned months! Not just for stealing an egg!” He saw the startled look on prissy Miss Althea’s face. She probably wasn’t accustomed to hearing a gentleman swear. Well, too bad, because he was no damned gentleman.
He’d been sweating up there on that roof all afternoon. The only thing that had made it bearable was looking forward to getting paid so he could head off to the Liberal Saloon and get his hands around his whiskey bottle and drown himself in forgetfulness. Now Will was talking about leaving him out here for the whole summer? Not if Jeff had anything to say about it.
Will poked Jeff in the ribs, then seized his arm and drew him away. “Excuse us, won’t you, ma’am?” He nudged Jeff toward the back of the wagon.
Jeff jerked his arm from Will’s grasp. “What kind of scheme are you cooking up, Will?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the lady, Hicks, although you managed to do well enough on your own. True, I can’t hold you for four months, and I wasn’t going to try. But I can keep you for a month. And I’ll tell you this—” He took the match out of his mouth and pointed it at Jeff, punctuating each low-spoken word with it. “Every time I see you on the street in town, I’ll be keeping an eye you. I won’t let you sleep it off in my barn anymore. And Caroline put her foot down a long time ago about bringing you into the house. If you pass out in someone’s hay rick, or in a doorway in town, I’ll arrest you for vagrancy.” Will’s expression was dead serious, and Jeff knew the threat was, too.
“Getting drunk isn’t a crime in Decker Prairie,” Jeff mumbled.
“In your case, I’ll make it my business to turn it into one.”
Jeff snorted. “You can’t rewrite the law to suit yourself, Will!”
“Watch me.”
Jeff couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “You’d actually jail a man for an entire month for taking one lousy egg?” Where’s the justice in that? Or don’t you believe in justice?”
Will’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’ll tell you what I believe in—that’s the responsibility I have to folks in this town who need a helping hand. You, my friend, are one of them.”
“Me?” Jeff asked incredulously. “I don’t want or need a helping hand from you or anyone else.”
“Have you had a good look at yourself lately? Your hands shake like an old man’s and your eyes remind me of my red flannel long johns. Christ, you look ten years older than your age. I’m doing you a favor here, if you’d just realize it.”
Jeff couldn’t believe his ears. He was also very aware of Althea Ford standing there in her yard while Will gave him this dressing down. Oh, it must have made Will Mason feel high and mighty to stand there in his clean, starched shirt and stoop to save unworthy, unwashed Jefferson Hicks. Mr. High and Mighty, who had a wife to go home to every night, a wife who waited with a hot meal, and offered the comfort of her arms and the solace of her bed. “Favor? You’d be doing me a big favor if you’d let me go my way. It’s getting harder and harder for me to remember that we were ever friends.”
Fleeting images sliced through Jeff’s mind: the summer afternoons they fished at the stream, the Saturday night dinners he and Sally spent with Will and his wife, Caroline, the laughter and fun—it had all been part of that other life Jeff had known. And it was as dead as autumn leaves. He regretted that, as much as his sense of insulated detachment would allow, anyway.
Will sighed and pushed his hat off his forehead. “Damn, Jeff, you sure haven’t made it easy. I’ve wanted to turn my back on you lots of times over the past couple of years.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you?”
Will propped his foot on the wagon wheel hub. “Because true friends don’t do that. I
owe it to the man I used to know and respect—I owe it to him to help you now.”
Jeff scuffed at the dirt with his boot but had the grace to keep his mouth shut.
“Well, Jeff, what do you say?”
He jammed his hands in his pockets but wouldn’t look Will in the face. What could he say? A twinge of sentiment stirred somewhere inside him. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stay here,” he muttered.
Will lifted his head and called to Althea, “Ma’am, how about it? Can you use the help?”
Jeff chanced a look at her. The sunset gave her heavy auburn hair highlights of fire. She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the house, as if seeking permission. “Yes, I suppose—I suppose it will be all right.”
“Good. I’ll let you two work out the details.” Will hopped up to the wagon seat and took the reins. “I’ll drop by sometime next week, just to see how things are going.”
Jeff couldn’t keep the scowl off his face as he watched Will drive away. After the wagon was out of sight, he looked around him again, remembering what he’d thought just this morning when he first saw this place—there was enough work here to keep a man busy for months. At that moment, he hadn’t realized he’d be stranded out here and have the months to give.
He heard Althea approach him; her skirts swished through the tall grass, and the faintest fragrance accompanied her. “I’ll warm up your dinner in a minute, Mr. Hicks. But perhaps we should discuss our arrangement.”
He faced her and nodded. Her smooth skin was the color of fresh cream, and in keeping with that dark-flame hair she had a spray of pale freckles across her nose and cheeks. But those eyes . . . he felt as if they saw all the secrets, all the hurts.
“Why did you steal those eggs from Farley Wright?”
He pushed his hands into his back pockets. “Because I was hungry.” He wished he had a better answer, a more noble answer, but he didn’t.
“Are you going to steal from me?”
By God, but she was blunt. Her directness had a way of cutting a man to the bone. “No, ma’am.”
“You know if you do, I’ll have Sheriff Mason take you back to jail before you can say Sam Hill.”
He didn’t know why he should care what she thought, but he blurted, “I only took one egg. And I didn’t steal it. I left a penny for it.”
She nodded again, apparently satisfied. “You won’t go hungry here. I’ll give you room and board, and pay you a wage—seven cents an hour—provided that you don’t drink on my property or on my time. There is no excuse for that sort of behavior, Mr. Hicks. Our years are too precious to waste on self-indulgence.”
Keeping his expression carefully blank, Jeff sneered at her self-righteousness. She didn’t know what she was talking about, and sounded like someone who’d never had a bad experience in her life. Some things were too horrible to bear, and humming a happy tune or looking on the bright side didn’t make them one damn bit easier to live with.
She probably felt sorry for him, too. He wasn’t sure which was worse, people’s pity or their busybody whispering.
Her eyes touched him here and there, examining his lack of barbering and dirty clothes. “I must also insist that you clean up and let me cut your hair. I think I can find something for you to wear, too. Cleanliness is one of the qualities that raises us above animals.”
She was beginning to sound like a missionary. The minute she brought out a Bible, he’d be gone from here, no matter what Will Mason threatened. “I’m no church project, Miss Ford,” he warned.
She got a tight look around her mouth, and her nose pinched up, as if she smelled something bad. “This is not Christian charity I’m offering, Mr. Hicks. Even you must agree that your clothes have already seen their best days. And there is nothing wrong with being clean. Soap and water are cheap.”
He couldn’t deny that. She was the fussy sort, though, and probably hard to please. It showed in everything about her—the way she dressed with her high, tight collar, and the way she wanted things done. Her foolishness about the barn door was a good example.
But he sensed that there was more to her, a femininity that made him remember a time in his life when he could appreciate softness and tender feelings. It made him want to study her when she wasn’t looking at him.
“You can stay in that room over there.” She pointed to the lean-to where he’d found the shingles. “I’ll give you clean linen and a tick. If you do as I ask, we’ll get along. Is this agreeable to you?”
Agreeable? What choice did he have? He looked into her eyes. “Well, ma’am, my mother used to say that some people are born with no place to go. I don’t think she was talking about me, but I guess that’s the way it’s turned out.”
~~*~*~*~~
“Do you mean he’s going to live here? A man?” Olivia asked, a delicate horror on her delicate face. She buttered a biscuit she’d made herself with dainty strokes and added, “Goodness, Althea, we don’t know anything about him. He could murder us in our beds. I saw him from the window—he looks quite disgusting and disreputable.”
They were eating dinner later than usual; good lord, it was nearly eight o’clock, Althea noted when she glanced up at the parlor clock. Getting Jeff Hicks fed and settled were tasks that she hadn’t anticipated.
Olivia had made the dinner biscuits in an effort to be helpful, and Althea took one, but eating it was a labor of love. Olivia could try her patience down to its last fiber, and then she’d do something sweet like making these biscuits or ironing. Unfortunately, Olivia had no talent for the domestic arts. Althea owned several chemises with large, iron-shaped scorch marks that Olivia had branded upon them, and her biscuits could be used for cannonballs.
On her plate, Althea mashed a boiled potato with her fork. “We do know something about him. He was the sheriff and he needs the work. We certainly need the help. Anyway, Will Mason recommended him, and I think that counts for something.” Althea kept her own misgivings and Will’s reasons for the recommendation to herself. Olivia would probably fuss and worry too much if she knew the details. “Besides, he won’t look so disreputable after he’s cleaned up. I’ll give him a haircut and he’ll look better.”
Her sister dropped her knife on her plate with a clatter. “You’re going to touch him?” she whispered. “Do you think you should? After all, he’s a man—I mean isn’t it indecent?”
Althea didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. Olivia was even more innocent than Althea, and her own experience with men was limited to serving dinner to Lane Smithfield. “Cutting a man’s hair isn’t indecent. I used to cut Father’s hair.”
“But that was different. He was, well, he was a relative.”
Now she did laugh. “Don’t worry, Olivia. Cutting Mr. Hicks’ hair isn’t going to jeopardize my reputation or my immortal soul. If I have to deal with him, I want him to look tidy.”
Olivia took a nibble of her biscuit. “Well, I hope he won’t be here long. You know how difficult it is for me to adjust to changes.” She looked up, her expression emphatic. “We’ll still have our picnic, won’t we? I mean, we don’t have to invite him, do we?”
Althea took a sip of her coffee. “Of course not. Jeff Hicks is a handyman, Olivia, not our guest. Except for eating his own lunch, he’ll be busy working while we picnic.”
Olivia took up her knife again. “All right. You won’t forget to make the tea sandwiches and potato salad, will you?”
A picnic was not something Althea really had time for. She had ironing to do, and the rugs needed to be beaten, aired, and put in storage. The graves needed weeding and that was a task that she could not delegate to Jeff Hicks or anyone else. But to keep Olivia happy, she would set aside her other chores. “No, I won’t forget. I’ll get up early to fix them.”
There would be no needlepoint tonight. By the time the dishes were washed, Althea was ready to fall into bed. It had been a very long day and tomorrow promised to be just as tiring.
But when she turned down the wick on her bedside lam
p, Althea found her mind on the man staying in the lean-to. She didn’t know what to think of Jefferson Hicks; he wouldn’t meet her gaze, he didn’t speak unless directly questioned, and then he responded in short, clipped sentences. Although she knew it was none of her business, it bothered her that he was squandering his life on dissolution. Despite his grubby appearance, something about him touched her—he looked as if neither he nor anyone else in the world cared one whit about him.
Althea knew that feeling very well.
~~*~*~*~~
Late that night Jeff lay on top of the bed he’d just finished making in the little lean-to. It was only an old corn husk mattress that Althea had given him, but the sheets were clean and he didn’t feel right about crawling between them without a bath. He figured he’d take one at dawn, when he could see his way to the trough.
He’d been lying here a long time watching a moth bump restlessly around the globe of the kerosene lantern hanging on the wall. He knew how that moth felt. It had been many, many months since he’d had to face silence and his own thoughts without the pleasant blur of a head full of whiskey. He knew it was nearly midnight, and after the hard work he’d put in on that roof, he should be sleeping like the dead. He would need the rest if he meant to put in a full day tomorrow.
Except he couldn’t sleep at all. His nerves seemed to be on fire just beneath his skin, and his heart was pounding as if Farley Wright’s dog had him trapped in the henhouse again. Once in a while, he’d begin to doze off, only to lurch awake again with a sense of profound panic. He had nothing to be afraid of, exactly, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.
He tossed and turned, wishing to God he’d been able to get that whiskey he longed for. Without it, Wes Matthews lay dead before him again, his chest spouting blood like a geyser. Or he’d see Sally’s face, cold and shuttered, or worse, he’d hear her voice, sweet and soothing, as it had sounded before she’d turned away from him.
Sometimes even a picture of Althea Ford rose in his mind, and he found that most amazing of all. He hadn’t given much thought to having a woman in the last two years, so why he should think of her, he couldn’t guess. Miss Fussy Drawers didn’t approve of him or what he did with his time. But now he imagined what her softness would feel like under his hands and lips. Would her hair be lush and sweet-smelling when she freed it from its pins? Would her body be as smooth and cream-white as her complexion?
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