The Hired Man

by Lynna Banning

  God, he hoped not. Tom Malloy wasn’t worth Eleanor’s little fingernail. “Well, she might not like him right now, but maybe she will in time.”

  “Boy, I sure hope not!”

  Cord groaned inwardly. I sure hope not, too.

  “How long are you gonna stay, Cord? Until after the apple harvest?”

  Cord flapped the reins to pick up the gray’s pace. A month ago he’d planned to stay only until August, and then he’d planned to be off to California and the gold fields. Now he didn’t know. Late at night when he couldn’t sleep, he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to leave at all.

  He flapped the reins over the gray’s broad back. “I thought I might stay around until things here are...resolved, so to speak.”

  Danny shot him a look. “‘So to speak’ how?”

  Cord heaved a long sigh. If he knew the answer to that, he was a smarter man than he’d ever thought he was. “Resolved in a way that keeps your ma safe and happy.”

  “Aw, that ain’t never gonna happen with him around.”

  Cord flicked the boy a sidelong glance. Danny’s statement might be something he’d have to consider. “Yeah, maybe that’s not going to happen. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” After seven years, a husband was considered legally dead, wasn’t he? So maybe Eleanor wasn’t still married to the man. Legally.

  Maybe.

  Danny said nothing. Then he surprised Cord by scooting closer to him and laying his head against Cord’s arm. His chest felt like it had just got pumped full of warm air.

  “Cord?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you teach me how to fire Ma’s revolver?”

  He didn’t answer until they reached the outskirts of Smoke River. “I will teach you on one condition, Dan. You have to promise not to tell your mother.”

  He slowed the horse as they entered town. Ness’s mercantile storefront was a pale apple green today, which might explain why Carl Ness was extra-brusque when he and Danny walked in.

  “Yeah, yeah, more apples, like I wanted. I never get a minute’s peace at harvest time. Corn comin’ in. Tomatoes all over the place. Bush beans and... God knows what else. Yeah, you can unload them bushel baskets out back.”

  When Cord finished stowing the apples where Carl indicated, he bought a bag of lemon drops for Molly and two long licorice whips for Danny and himself. But what he learned while they stood on the sidewalk out front nibbling the candy down to a nub and leaning against a big sugar maple tree made the trip to town worth more than delivering Eleanor’s apples and sharing a treat with Danny.

  Next to the mercantile the door of Whitey Poletti’s barber shop stood open, and every word spoken inside was audible. One voice sounded high and whiny; the other was muffled, as if it was coming from under a pile of hot towels on the speaker’s face.

  “Mexico, that’s what I said,” a man’s voice said. “Plenty of gold mines and plenty of pretty women.”

  “Yeah? You get any?”

  “Any what? Gold or women?”

  “Both. Yeah, tell me about both.”

  Cord thought about covering Danny’s ears, but that would alert the boy that there was something he shouldn’t be hearing. At the moment he seemed plenty distracted by his licorice and the handsome horses tied up at the hitching rail. Cord, however, kept listening.

  What he learned sent a chill up his spine, and it had nothing to do with pretty women. When he’d heard enough, he pushed off the tree trunk and laid his hand on Danny’s shoulder.

  “Come on, son. Let’s go visit Sheriff Rivera. I saved a big juicy apple for him and his deputy.”

  In spite of its lemon yellow front, the interior of the sheriff’s office had dingy white walls and a worn plank floor. When Cord and Danny walked in, the man behind the desk looked up from his newspaper but didn’t remove the boots from his desk.

  “Sheriff Rivera?” Cord began.

  “That’s me,” a low voice came from behind the paper. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m not too sure, Sheriff. My name’s Cordell Winterman, and this here is Daniel Malloy, Eleanor Malloy’s son. I’m her hired man.”

  “Yeah? I’m acquainted with Miss Eleanor.” The newspaper rustled and a lean, tanned face emerged from behind the headline.

  JAILBREAK NEAR MISSOULA

  MINING CAMP

  He studied Cord and Danny for a minute and grinned. “You two commit any crimes lately?”

  Danny’s spine went rigid. “No, sir!” he blurted out. “My ma would tan my hide good if I committed anything!”

  Sheriff Rivera chuckled. “Well, then, what can I do for you?” He tipped his head toward the jail cells. “Sandy?” he called. “Any coffee left back there?”

  A voice came from behind the door. “Only a dribble, Hawk. You want it?”

  The lawman gave Cord an inquiring look. “You care for a dribble of my deputy’s coffee?”

  Cord shook his head. “No, thanks. Plan to have some with Rooney Cloudman over at the boardinghouse.”

  Rivera nodded. “Good man, Rooney. Good tracker, too. His coffee’s always good.”

  “It’s Sarah Cloudman’s coffee,” said the young blond fellow emerging through the door. “Sheriff, you want me to brew up another pot?”

  Rivera shook his head and gestured at the two wooden chairs behind the desk. “Since you two haven’t committed any crimes, would you care to sit down?” He removed his boots from the desk and pushed one of the chairs toward Cord, then glanced at Danny.

  “Sandy, maybe Daniel here would like to see the jail?”

  Danny grinned. “I sure would, sir. Never seen a real jail before, only in picture books.” He followed Sandy through the door next to a large bulletin board plastered with wanted posters.

  “Now,” Rivera said, giving Cord a nod, “didn’t figure you wanted the boy to hear whatever bad news you’re bringing. So let’s have it.”

  “It’s not news, Sheriff. More like a question.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  Cord bent toward the man and lowered his voice. “You know anything about gold robberies down in Texas?”

  “Funny you should mention that, Winterman. I know a few Texas Rangers down that way. They’ve been chasing some clever thieves over the border into Mexico, where they can’t follow ’em.”

  Cord rose. “Mind if I look at your wanted posters?”

  “Help yourself. Not all of them are current. The oldest ones are underneath.”

  Cord looked at all of them, including the yellowed fliers dated four and five years past.

  “You lookin’ for anyone in particular?”

  “No. Mostly I wanted to make sure someone’s face is not on a wanted notice.”

  The sheriff gave him a sharp look. “Like I say, new posters come in every few days. You might want to drop by again in a week or so.”

  “I’ll do that, next time I’m in town.” He extended his hand across the cluttered desk. “Thanks, Rivera.”

  “Glad you stopped by, Winterman.” The sheriff gripped Cord’s hand in a firm handshake and grinned. “You tell Miss Eleanor hello for me. But don’t tell her I let her son into the jail.”

  Cord laughed. “There’s a lot of things I don’t tell Mrs. Malloy.”

  Rivera nodded just as Danny emerged from the back, his eyes big as one of Eleanor’s pie plates. “Seen enough?” Cord asked.

  “Gosh, sure must be scary to be in jail. Those cells are real tiny and there’s nuthin’ in ’em to sleep on or...”

  Both Cord and the sheriff laughed out loud. “Guess you’re gonna be a lifelong law abider, Daniel,” Rivera said. “You come back and visit anytime you feel tempted to do anything shady, you hear?”

  “Yessir, I sure will. Only thing I’ve been te
mpted by are those caramels at the mercantile, and I guess I won’t ever steal one.”

  “Well, son, you’re too young for wild women, so I guess you’re gonna be a straight shooter for a few more years yet.” He stood up and walked around his desk to shake Danny’s hand.

  Cord thought the boy would pop off a shirt button.

  * * *

  Molly begged Eleanor to sew some new clothes for her favorite doll, so when Cord and Danny left for town, she set up the treadle sewing machine and gathered some scraps left over from her own dressmaking and whipped together a tiny green dimity nightgown and a new red calico dress with a ruffle around the hem. She hoped the garments wouldn’t end up on one of the kittens.

  When Cord returned from town, Danny helped him install a shiny new lock on the back door. Now her hired man sat across the supper table from her, slowly cutting his fried chicken with unusual care and deliberately smashing his already mashed potatoes down with the tines of his fork.

  Eleanor thought he seemed distracted. Not just distracted, but oddly distant, and that wasn’t like her usually unflappable hired man.

  Tom, on the other hand, was strangely jolly all during supper. Had he received a piece of good news while he’d been in town? If so, why did he not share it with her?

  She hoped her husband’s unusually high spirits and his genial mood would last through the evening, though she knew he was angry about having to sleep in the barn. But on that issue she was relying on her instincts. She didn’t feel comfortable with Tom anywhere near her.

  Her husband was hunched over, wolfing down his food without raising his eyes from his plate. Watching him sent another uneasy chill up her backbone. Something was different about her husband, but she couldn’t begin to guess what it was.

  “Ma, can I have more chicken?” Danny asked. “I worked hard today pickin’ apples and helpin’ Cord in town.”

  “You certainly did, Danny.” She moved the platter closer to him.

  “Cord worked hard, too, Ma.”

  “Cord,” Eleanor said with deliberation, “still has half a chicken breast on his plate.”

  Her hired man sat studying his supper plate but not eating a single bite, and that made Eleanor frown. Usually he ate with gusto. Tonight he seemed to have no appetite.

  “Is there something wrong with your chicken, Cord?”

  “What? Oh, no. Chicken tastes fine.”

  Still he made no attempt to finish his meal. It wasn’t like him to have no appetite. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t ask him about it with Tom sitting at the table. She would have to wait until everyone finished their supper and gobbled down the blackberry cobbler she’d baked for dessert.

  Finally the children asked to be excused and raced off to play hopscotch in the backyard while it was still light. Tom stalked off to the front porch for a smoke. Cord stayed behind to help her with the dishes.

  She filled the enamel dishpan with the water she’d heated on the stove, shaved in some soap and added the five greasy supper plates. “While you were in town, I dusted your room in the attic and swept out the rest of the cobwebs on the ceiling.”

  “Thanks, Eleanor.”

  “It must get awfully hot up there with only the one window.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Oh, and I put a pillow on the bed and—”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said shortly. “I’m used to the heat at night. The loft was plenty warm, especially with Mama Cat and her kittens curled up on my belly.”

  She laughed. “You’d been adopted by Mama Cat, and you didn’t complain once!”

  “Oh, I complained, all right, just not to you.”

  “Really? Who did you complain to?”

  He unfolded the dish towel from the rack by the stove. “Amanda Martin.”

  Her hand stilled on the wet dishrag. “You mean you talked to that gravestone out in my garden?”

  “It was kinda nice, actually,” he said. “Amanda never talks back.”

  Eleanor splashed a handful of soapsuds at him, then reached to brush them off his shirtfront. He caught her hand, but instead of releasing it, he closed his fingers around hers.

  “I don’t plan to go up to the attic until you and the kids are in bed, all right? I want to check around outside and lock both the doors.”

  She looked up at him. “Check around for what?”

  “Don’t know, exactly. Just want to make sure everything’s all right. You know, the apple orchard, your flower garden, that kind of thing.”

  “And Amanda Martin,” she said with a smile. She tried to pull her hand free, but he tightened his grip.

  “Eleanor.”

  There was something in his voice she hadn’t heard before. “Cord? What is it?”

  “I want you to sleep with your revolver beside your bed.”

  She gasped. “But why?”

  “And make sure it’s loaded.”

  She pulled her hand free. “Tell me why,” she demanded.

  He looked everywhere but at her, the ceiling, the coffeepot still sitting on the stove, even the dish towel he’d stuffed under his belt. “Because,” he said carefully, “I don’t like your husband.”

  She shrugged. “I admit Tom is different from before he went away, but—”

  “And I don’t trust him.”

  She swished the dishrag over a dirty plate and slipped it into the hot rinse water. “I see. But Cord, you said you’ll be leaving soon, after the apples are harvested.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said, all right. But I don’t want to leave you and the kids while he’s here.” He grasped the clean plate and whipped the towel from his belt. “Don’t ask me why, Eleanor, because I don’t know.”

  She scrubbed off two more plates while she digested his words. Part of her was elated that he wouldn’t be leaving right after the harvest. Another part of her felt vaguely disappointed that he wasn’t staying because of her. Because of his feelings for her.

  He did have feelings for her, didn’t he? She admitted that she didn’t really know. Maybe she was just another woman to him. Maybe a few kisses didn’t mean the same thing to a man as they did to a woman.

  A dull pain lodged in her chest. She gazed out the double window over the kitchen sink and rapidly blinked her stinging eyes. Eleanor Malloy, you are a very foolish woman.

  She dropped her gaze to the sudsy dishpan. Not only that, she was a very foolish married woman.

  At her elbow, Cord laid the dish towel on the sideboard, then picked it up again. He wanted to put his arms around her so bad the muscles in his forearm twitched. A week ago he’d held back because she was married. A week ago he’d planned to leave after the harvest. But then her husband had returned, and now she was even more married.

  Well, maybe she was married and maybe, after an unexplained seven-year absence, she wasn’t. But he had a bad feeling about the man anyway. He couldn’t just ride away and leave Eleanor to an uncertain future. Maybe even a dangerous one.

  So what in blazes was he going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eleanor lay in the dark staring at her open bedroom window, which looked out onto the front porch. After supper Tom had drifted to the porch swing, but she knew he was no longer sitting there because she couldn’t smell any cigarette smoke. Tom had never smoked before; when had he become addicted to tobacco?

  Earlier, when she stepped outside after supper, the swing had been littered with the small white papers he used to roll up his cigarettes. Apparently his hand was none too steady because a good number had fluttered onto the plank floor. He hadn’t swept them up, either, but had left them for her.

  She crept out of bed and moved to the rocker and tucked her bare feet up under her nightgown. My life is all wrong. She had known that for a long while
, but she’d been so proud and stubborn she couldn’t admit it. Until now. Until Tom had tramped through her front door all smiles and blandishments, as if he hadn’t been away for seven whole years.

  She lifted her face to the slight breeze ruffling the curtains and breathed in the nicotiana-scented air. Why did she always learn things too late? Six months into her marriage she’d realized she didn’t like Tom well enough to lie beside him each night and enjoy what a wife was supposed to enjoy, but by then she was pregnant with Danny.

  Last winter when she’d caught pneumonia, Doc Dougherty had wanted to put her in the Smoke River hospital in town, but she’d been too stubborn to see the sense of it. She didn’t want to be separated from Molly and Danny, even for a week or two. She’d decided she could manage.

  And she had managed, but only up to a point. Little by little the farm had suffered.

  She rocked back and forth, trying to sort everything out and think clearly and sensibly about her life. She supposed she had done the best she could, but she’d done everything wrong anyway. Well, maybe not everything. She had Molly and Danny. And she had this house and her farm and all those beautiful, healthy apple trees.

  And she had Cord. She was grateful for his help and his protection, but she knew he would be leaving eventually, and what then? Oh, God, what then?

  * * *

  Cord tossed the quilt and the top sheet off onto the floor and padded over to the door of the tiny attic room. The single window was open as far as it would go, but the air inside was still stifling. Maybe if he left the door open some cool air could circulate.

  The hallway was bathed in shadows, and no light showed under either of the two bedroom doors that faced each other. From behind one came the soft breathing of the sleeping children; from behind the other he could hear nothing but the rhythmic creak-creak of a rocking chair. Eleanor was awake. Thinking, maybe. Or worrying.

  He propped his door open with one of the books he’d found stacked on a trunk in the corner. Couldn’t read the title in the dark, but he hoped it wasn’t the Bible. Just as he turned back toward his bed, a figure passed in front of the parlor window downstairs.

  He waited. After a moment the front doorknob rattled. Quickly he dug his Colt revolver out of his saddlebag, crept silently down the stairs and positioned himself on the other side of the door.