“Happy Halloween,” Connor said, laughing at Clay’s boyish exuberance. “Maybe I should say ‘Trick or treat.’ “
Clay’s eyes darkened. “Meet me in the orchard tonight, after the children are in bed. Please.”
Connor swallowed and cursed her own weakness. She wanted to meet him; just the invitation made her pulse race. “No.” Her voice faltered and she mentally cursed herself again. “No.” This time she sounded more certain.
“I’ve thought about nothing but you since the day we went riding.”
Connor put the tips of her fingers on the sheet-covered table to steady the trembling she felt in all her limbs. Clay was less than five feet away. Too far—and way too close.
“We agreed that we’d be friends.” Connor held her voice firm. The words sounded right even to her. It was a bad idea, getting involved with the boss … especially a boss who was known for womanizing.
“Connor, I see something in you that I’ve never seen in another woman. You care about people. You care about my children.”
“I’m paid to care about your children.”
Clay shook his head. “Easy enough to say, and believe me, plenty of women would say it. But even if you weren’t getting paid, you’d care. Are you getting paid to counsel Sally?”
The question stopped her. “Who told you?”
“Willene. She said you were taking the girl to the doctor.”
“No one’s ever explained certain things to Sally. She’s an accident waiting to happen.” Connor turned away. “Sally would die of mortification if she knew we were discussing this.”
“See?” Clay took a step in her direction. “You’re worried about her feelings even now. More than about your own.”
Connor sighed. “Okay, guilty as charged. I care about Sally’s feelings. She’s a cute kid with too much innocence. I care if she gets herself pregnant and ruins the rest of her life. That doesn’t have a thing to do with us. Clay, we’re either boss and employee or I’m out of here. There’s a rule in my family. It may be the most useful advice my father ever gave me and it has to do with separation of work and pleasure.”
Clay stood very still. “Look at me, Connor.” She was helpless to resist his request. She met his blue gaze and felt her body tremble again. Once started, was there anything she would deny him? The question sent a flush of heat across her body.
“Will you answer one question for me?” he asked.
“Is it for the prosecution or for the defense?” She had to inject some lightness into the moment or she felt she’d snap from the tension between them.
“Are you involved with anyone?”
“You mean, am I dating anyone?” She almost didn’t believe he’d asked that question. Almost. But the way he was looking at her made her realize he was serious.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Clay, I don’t see …”
“It’s a simple question. You may not see the point in it, but I do. Please.” His voice was soft as he walked hesitantly toward her. At the table he stopped and rested one hand on the back of a chair. “Are you?”
“No, I’m not.” It would be easier to tell the truth than hedge. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be.”
Clay’s smile was slightly crooked. “I can always keep you so busy here at Oaklawn that you don’t have time to meet other men. No one comes here except Jeff and the hands.”
“There has been one other male visitor.” Connor had almost forgotten about Harlan Sumner’s visit. “He said he’d be back when you least expected him.”
She’d meant to tease Clay, to try and lighten the sexual awareness between them. She hadn’t anticipated the sudden change.
“And who might that be?” Clay’s mouth, usually so sensual, was hard.
“It was your brother, Clay. I was only kidding.”
“Harlan was here? He was at Oaklawn? Why didn’t he see me? Why didn’t Willene tell me?”
“The man said he was your brother.” Connor wasn’t certain now. “He was tall, heavier than you, blond hair. But he didn’t look like you. Heavy drawl. It was a few weeks ago.”
“That’s Harlan! I wonder why he never mentioned it to me.”
“I tackled him in the barn. I thought he was an intruder.”
The tension eased gradually from Clay’s tone. “You actually tackled him?”
“I’m afraid so. He rolled in the dirt for a minute, but he wasn’t hurt.”
“I’ve seen Harlan downtown several times, and he didn’t mention coming out here.”
“Maybe he was humiliated at being tumbled by a woman.” Connor took a few breaths. Clay’s good temper was restored. Whatever mood had struck him had passed on. Maybe he’d thought it was a newspaper reporter snooping around the grounds.
“Harlan hardly ever comes to Oaklawn. He hated it out here as a kid. Did he say what he wanted?”
Connor shrugged. “To check out the new horsewoman, I suppose. He gave me a start, and I don’t think I did his growth patterns any good, either.”
Clay chuckled. “Harlan needs a good scaring every now and then. He did his best to frighten me to death when we were children. I can remember one Halloween …”
There was a knock on the door as it swung open. “Clay, Connor, the kids are waiting.” Willene stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “The cocoa’s getting cold.”
“Tell that story to the children,” Connor said, as she led the way to the door. At that moment she could have kissed Willene for interrupting. She didn’t need another private moment with the boss. “I’m sure they’d like to hear how their uncle terrorized you. I imagine you were a pale, sickly lad who couldn’t defend himself at all.”
“Is that sarcasm I hear?” Clay asked. He put his arm around Willene’s shoulders and the three of them went to the kitchen.
Willene’s cookies were shaped like pumpkins—chocolate with orange icing, and sugar cookies in the shape of green goblins. The steaming cups of cocoa were placed around the table.
“We were waiting, Daddy.” Renata went to Clay and took his hand. “I didn’t know Connor was here. Willene said she was down at the barn.”
“Well, she finished at the barn,” Willene said quickly. “Now there’s cocoa for all.”
Connor caught the speculative glance Renata threw her. The child was bright, and very observant. “I think Clay should tell some stories about when he was a boy on Halloween,” she suggested, as she took her chair beside Danny.
“I think Willene should tell us a story,” Clay said quickly.
“Yes,” Renata and Danny said, hitting the table with their palms until Willene laughingly agreed.
“How about a true story? It’s one that may interest Connor.” She looked across at her. “I was talking with Jeff’s mom just this morning. She stopped by with some fresh yard eggs for us, and we were talking about the old days. I told her about your interest in James Dickerson “
“Is this back when you were a little girl?” Renata asked.
“Even before that.” Willene leaned forward. “Back when outlaws roamed the roads and took whatever they wanted without regard for the law.”
“Did they shoot people?” Danny asked. He was grinning, but he looked at his father for reassurance that it was a story.
“They did indeed. Sometimes just for fun, too. They were a bloody lot, and they were called the Dickerson Gang. Led by James Dickerson, a handsome man with a heart as black as coal.”
Connor couldn’t help herself from leaning forward on the edge of her chair and resting her arms on the tabletop. She’d been trying to pry a few stories out of Willene ever since she’d arrived. The cook had been reluctant to talk about James Dickerson.
“It was before the Civil War, when the Dickersons roamed the territory from Natchez, Mississippi, down to New Orleans, Louisiana. They were legendary at the time.” Willene looked around the table to make sure her audience was following.
“They weren’t as bad as Billy the Kid
or Doc Holiday,” Danny said, “or we’d have heard of them in school.”
“They were as bad—maybe worse. Only difference is that there wasn’t any newspaper writers down this way to write them up. And they didn’t hold up trains or banks as much as they did entire towns.”
Clay leaned back in his chair, and Renata slipped out of hers and crawled into his lap. “Is this true, Daddy?” she asked.
“If Willene says it is. I’ve heard about the Dickersons all my life, but I never paid much attention.”
“It’s true enough,” Willene said, lifting her chin as if her credibility as a storyteller had been challenged. “It’s a lot truer than most people want to believe. Especially some of the old families hereabouts.”
“I’ve heard that some of the old Mobile families were implicated by Dickerson once he was caught.” Clay smoothed Renata’s curls as he spoke. “It’s all true, Danny. The Dickersons were a blood-thirsty clan of outlaws. A bad lot that finally got what they deserved.”
“Were they ever caught?” Danny asked. He was far more interested than his sister.
“That’s the story I’m going to tell,” Willene said, “if you’ll just sit back and listen for a minute.”
“I think she wants us to be quiet and quit asking questions,” Clay said, winking at Willene.
There was a moment of silence as everyone waited. Willene nodded slightly to herself and pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Folks sometimes forgot how evil James Dickerson could be. When you looked at his face, he was a handsome rascal. It was said he could charm the birds out of the trees.”
Connor cleared her throat. She thought about mentioning how he’d charmed her grandmother, but she kept silent. There was something about Willene’s story, a hint of the sinister, that warned her away. This didn’t sound like the daydreams she’d wrapped herself in during childhood—imaginings of a handsome outlaw on a jet-black stallion. A Robin Hood sort of figure.
“The Dickerson Clan, as it was sometimes called, relied heavily on the skills of one Ian McLeod. Ian McLeod was a blackguard devil who could spin words like he’d kissed the Blarney Stone.”
“What?” Danny asked.
“He was a convincing liar,” Clay said.
Willene smiled, shaking her head. “That’s one way to put it, but his lies weren’t innocent or fun. He passed himself off as a preacherman. He’d put on his black broadcloth suit, white shirt, and black hat with the drawstring tie and say he was a circuit rider from Missouri. He was from the Midwest somewheres, so I’ve been told, and Missouri sounds close enough. He’d had a bit of formal learning, too. Somewhere along the way someone had taken the trouble to educate him. He could read, and knew the Bible frontways and back.”
“He was an outlaw and a preacher?” Renata’s interest was aroused.
Connor’s, too. She’d never heard anything about the Clan. All the stories she knew were about bay horses, moonlight rendezvouz, and broken hearts.
“He wasn’t a real preacher. He only pretended to be one so that all the folks in town would decide to hold a revival. They’d gather out under the shady trees by the banks of a nearby creek or river so the preacher could baptize those who found redemption and God’s blessings. But while they were listenin’ to that snake McLeod preach the word of God, Dickerson and the rest of the Clan were running through the empty houses, taking all the silver and jewels. They even stole slaves from the fields and sold them in New Orleans to be shipped upriver to the plantations. They destroyed those Negro families by dragging off the healthy men and the good-looking women like cattle.”
Connor felt the muscles in her jaw clench. Certainly there was no excuse for a man making his living by stealing from others, but this reality was a hard one to accept. How could her grandmother have loved a man like James Dickerson?
“How did they catch them?” Danny asked.
“That’s the best part of the story,” Willene said. She’d warmed to her storytelling and paused a tiny moment while she waited for her audience to shift and settle.
“There was this old woman. I think it was up in a town west of Lucedale, a little place called New Augusta, Mississippi, where McLeod was working the revival scam. Anyway, Dickerson and the rest of the gang had cleaned out most of the houses when they came upon this old woman rocking on her porch. Now, the rule was that anyone who saw them had to be killed, because there were times when James and Ian passed themselves off as businessmen. And James was courting some young girl over in Lucedale.”
Willene looked at Connor. “Jeff’s mother said it would be the right thing to tell you this. She said it was dangerous if you didn’t know the truth”
“Probably not dangerous.” Connor forced a smile. “Illusions can be pleasant sometimes. But maybe it is better to know the truth.”
“What are you two talking in riddles about?” Clay asked.
“Tell the story,” Renata added impatiently. “Quit talking to each other when we can’t understand.”
Willene went on, “Well, this old woman was blind. James went up to her and he put his pistol barrel right upside her temple and he told her to say her prayers because she should have gone to the revival.
“ ‘I can’t; I’m blind,’ she told him right back. She said she’d come out on the porch to listen, hoping she might catch a drift of the singing, and then she asked him who he was and why wasn’t he down at the revival.
“Seeing as how he was standing there holding her family silver, and her looking down the road with her eyes wide open and not seeing a thing, he decided he’d play with her a bit.
“He sat down on the porch rail and pointed the gun at her feet. When he drew back the hammer, she asked what the noise was but she didn’t move or try to get away. Then he pointed it at her head. She still didn’t flinch.”
“Well, she couldn’t see!” Renata said. “If she could see him she’d try to get away.”
“Let me finish the story.” Willene looked around. “More cocoa, anyone?”
“Just the story,” Clay said. “These kids have to get to bed.” His gaze shifted to Connor. His eyes asked a question.
“Well, the rest of the gang finished up with their robbing and murdering. They killed an elderly man who was too feeble to leave his bed, and they smothered a little baby and the black girl that was left to tend it. They decided the girl pickaninny was too dark to make much of a profit in the New Orleans market and it would be easier to kill her than drag her around with them for several weeks.
“At any rate, just as James was getting ready to finish off the old woman, the rest of the Clan showed up. That old woman was still rocking in her chair, staring wide-eyed down the middle of the town. Not an eyelash twitched. So James tells her to be sure and tell everyone in town that they’d had a visit from the Dickerson Clan, and they rode off.”
“They didn’t kill her?” Danny asked, a bit of disappointment in his voice. “But they killed everyone else.”
“They thought she was blind.” Willene chuckled. “But that was a fatal mistake. That old woman had eyes as good as yours, Daniel Sumner. She could identify every member of the Clan. And that’s exactly what she did. She got her grandson to drive her around to different towns until she saw James Dickerson one day in Lucedale. He was riding his horse through town and she pointed him out as the notorious outlaw he was. That’s how he got caught.”
“And did they kill him?” Danny asked.
“You’re on the bloodthirsty side tonight,” Willene said. “But he was killed. Not like he should have been, but he was indeed killed.”
“How was he killed?” Danny demanded.
“Another story for another night,” Clay said, rising and holding Renata in his arms. She was awake, but she feigned sleep. “I have a sack of potatoes here. Maybe I should put them in the pantry,” Clay said, starting toward the pantry door.
“No!” Renata screamed. “I’m not potatoes!”
Amidst the laughter, Clay took both childr
en upstairs to their rooms while Connor helped Willene clear the table and wash the cocoa cups.
“Is that the truth about James Dickerson?” Connor asked.
“I hated to burst your bubble about the romantic outlaw.”
“That’s the trouble with romantic fantasies,” Connor said. “They tell better from a long distance, like about a hundred years. I hope my grandmother never learned what kind of man he really was.”
Willene shrugged. “It was said she truly loved him. She wouldn’t believe bad of him no matter what anyone said. But she was a young girl, and young girls don’t always see clearly. Look at Sally and Jeff. Now, Jeff’s a good worker, but he’s not the kind of man Sally should be chasing after. He’s going to ruin her and break her heart.”
“More than likely.” Connor didn’t particularly care for the foreman. He worked hard and he did good work. But there was an edge to him, a swagger. Connor couldn’t forget his implications about Talla Sumner.
“Sally’s eighteen, but she hasn’t got much more sense than a twelve-year-old. Her family’s been too protective of her. Left her wide open for rogues and scoundrels. A woman needs family to help her out, sometimes.”
“She’ll learn,” Connor said. She was still thinking about Willene’s story. “So James Dickerson was captured by an old woman. Was he hanged?”
“Indeed.” Willene turned off the hot water and wrung out the dishcloth. “But that’s enough unpleasantness for the night. Too bad that book about the outlaw isn’t in the library. Clay’s granddaddy used to have a copy of it. I can’t figure where it got off to. Maybe Clay has it downtown.”
“I’ll ask. The Mobile Library said they had a copy, but someone never returned it. Maybe there’s one in Lucedale.”
“Maybe,” Willene agreed. “It should make interesting reading.”
“Just the fact that I can’t find a copy makes me interested,” Connor said, her laughter easy. “Now I’m going to bed.” She hesitated. “If Clay asks, tell him I was very tired.”
Willene lifted an eyebrow. “Very tired?”
“Very,” Connor said.
Willene nodded and turned back to the sink.
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