Sid shrugged. “I’ve already got my gear packed an’ ready to go. So if you’d rather, I can load the crates real quick an’ drop Sadie off at the mercantile on my way out of town.”
The last thing Asa wanted was Sid carting his wine down the middle of Goldtree’s Main Street. He coughed and waved both hands in the air. “Take ’er to town first. Then hightail it out here an’ get to loadin’.”
“Will do.”
Asa took Miss Wagner’s arm and urged her to climb aboard. After she settled herself on the seat, tucking her skirts beneath her just so—she sure was a graceful thing—she peered down at Asa. Gratitude shone in her blue eyes. “Thank you again, Mr. Baxter.” Her chin quivered. “My family will appreciate the money I can send.”
Asa slipped his thumbs into the pockets of his vest and offered a solemn nod. He watched the wagon roll off his yard, holding his delight inside until he was certain the young folks were out of range of sight and hearing. Then he did a little jig right there in the sunshine and let out a whoop of jubilee.
When Sid drew the wagon to a stop in front of the mercantile, Sadie placed her hand over his arm. “Thank you, Sid, for taking me to see Mr. Baxter. I feel better now, knowing I’ll have the means to see to Mama’s and the children’s needs.” Yet her assurances didn’t remove the stone of dread from her stomach.
Sid patted Sadie’s hand, offering a sympathetic look that brought a fresh rush of tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry you can’t go back to Dalton, Sadie—I know how much you wanna see your ma.”
“And attend Papa’s service.” Sadie bit her lower lip, controlling the desire to weep. Papa was no doubt already in the ground. She’d always hated viewing the headstone that marked her real father’s resting place. Perhaps it was a blessing to be far away. She wouldn’t have to carry a picture in her head of Papa lying in a pine box or of shovelfuls of dirt being emptied into his grave. Drawing in a breath to clear her tears, she grasped the edge of the wagon and climbed down.
Sid leaned sideways, reaching one hand to her. She clung to him, grateful for the comforting touch. He said, “I’ll be gone most of the week. This load I’m takin’ for Asa is goin’ all the way to Abilene.” His chest puffed with pride. “Asa’s promoted me to chief freightsman. Better wages.”
Her apron flew up, tossed by the wind, and she pulled free of Sid’s grasp to push it back down and hold it there. “Th-that’s wonderful, Sid. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. But it’s also longer hours.” He grimaced. “Wish I didn’t have to leave you now, especially after gettin’ such bad news.”
Bowing her head, Sadie silently petitioned God for strength. “I’ll be fine, Sid.” She released a mirthless chuckle. “If I have to learn a whole new repertoire of songs, I’ll be too busy to think much. That will help.”
“Well . . .” He gazed down at her, clearly reluctant to leave.
She bobbed her head, forcing her lips into a smile. “You better go. Mr. Baxter’s waiting.”
“Yep, I know.” His shoulders heaved with a mighty sigh. He released the brake. “I’ll come see you soon as I get back to town. Bye now, Sadie.” He slapped down the reins, and the wagon jolted forward, leaving Sadie standing in a puff of dust.
With Sid’s departure, Sadie needed to return to work. But her feet remained planted in the dirt road, unwilling to carry her forward. She had no desire to enter the mercantile. She preferred to find a quiet place and give vent to the grief that squeezed like a band around her chest. When she was little and wanted to mope, Papa had teased her doldrums away or put her to work. “Busy hands’ll keep the ache away,” he’d said. She clamped her hand over her mouth. He’d been the dearest, most loving papa any girl had ever had.
“Sadie? What’re you doing out there in the street?” Thad’s voice—curious, carrying a teasing note—reached her ears.
She spun to face him. His image swam behind the spurt of tears.
The impish glint in his eyes melted quickly to concern. In two broad strides, he reached her and curled his arm around her waist. He guided her onto the boardwalk beneath the shade of the mercantile’s porch roof and then took hold of her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Sadie stared into his compassionate face. One joyous thought penetrated her cloak of sorrow: If she remained in Goldtree, she could continue to see Thad. Tears spilled down her cheeks in warm rivulets. She grasped his wrists and clung, taking deep, shuddering breaths. His hands tightened on her shoulders, their pressure reassuring. He was here. He cared.
“Sadie?” His voice turned husky, evidence of his concern. “Something was wrong yesterday. What is it? How can I help?”
Yesterday’s concern had been erased, but today’s heartache needed release. She choked out, “My papa died.”
Without a moment’s hesitation he pulled her against his chest. One palm cupped the back of her head, the other pressed firmly to her back, holding her snug within the comfort of his embrace. She sobbed, her hands clutching handfuls of his shirt. His leather vest, redolent of his masculine scent and warm from the sun, provided a pillow for her cheek. With her eyes squeezed shut, she clung, absorbing his strength, his sympathy. No hug ever had been as needed or treasured as the one Thad now offered.
She was dimly aware of his feet shuffling, drawing her along with him while maintaining his hold. She opened her eyes and realized he’d moved between the mercantile and the café, out of sight of anyone else on the boardwalk. The narrow alleyway, shrouded in shadow, became a place of beauty as Thad held her, rocked her, murmured soothing words. Sadie didn’t know how long she stood, her face buried against his sturdy chest, until the wracking sobs finally calmed. But she sensed he would have remained in that slice of shade, offering the strength of his presence, until the sun went down if she’d asked it of him.
“Busy hands’ll keep the ache away.” Papa’s long-ago words reminded Sadie she needed to return to work before the Baxter twins sent out a posse in search of their missing clerk. She reluctantly backed away from Thad’s arms and wiped her face with her apron skirt. Then she sucked in a steadying breath that squared her shoulders. “I . . . I need to go inside.”
His warm hands held to her upper arms. A gentle hold, matching the gentle empathy shining in his eyes. “If you need a ride to the stage station in Macyville, I can take you.”
Sadie shook her head. “I’m not going home.” Her voice sounded funny—tinny and hollow. She sniffed hard. “Mama will need the money I make more than anything else. Now that Papa will n-never get well—” How tenaciously they’d all clung to hope for Papa’s recovery. A twinge of anger pinched her chest. “Someone has to provide for the family. They’re all depending on me.”
Thad shook his head. “I admire you, Sadie. You’ve taken on a big responsibility.” He drew her close again, planting a kiss on the top of her head and then another near her temple. She turned her face slightly, hoping his lips might find hers and provide a welcome distraction from the ache that filled her chest. But instead he slipped his arm around her waist again and aimed her toward the boardwalk.
Disinclination to leave the welcoming comfort of his embrace slowed her pace, and he matched her stride by tempering his. His actions bespoke of a desire to hold her near. In spite of her deep sadness, appreciation welled. She tipped her head, grazing his shoulder with her temple. “Thank you, Thad.”
He smiled sadly, his eyes crinkling. “If you need me, just come on down to the office.” His gaze whisked up and down the street, then met hers again. Regret now tinged his features. “Wish I could do more than offer sympathy, but—”
She boldly placed her trembling hand on his forearm. “It’s exactly what I need.”
He nodded, his gaze boring into hers so intensely she wondered if he could read the errant thought that tripped through her brain: I’ve lost my precious papa, but at least I don’t have to face losing you.
24
Thad sat astride the horse loaned to him by the town’s blacksmith, holding
the roan to a sedate clip-clop even though he wanted to give the big beast free rein and let it gallop. He received a reckless thrill from racing along a dusty road lined by pastures and wheat fields, the wind tugging at his hair and the thunder of hooves filling his ears. But he had several miles to cover, and it would be irresponsible to tire the horse.
Since his daily treks around town hadn’t turned up any clues to the suspected illegal dealings, he’d decided to expand his territory. For the past few days, each afternoon he’d borrowed a horse and set off in a different direction to explore the surrounding farmsteads. He’d inspected the farms north, east, and west of town without uncovering anything suspicious. But he hadn’t wasted his time—the visits had given him a chance to get acquainted with the area farmers.
Some were too busy to chat, but one woman had given him a glass of cold milk and a slice of gingerbread, and two others had begged favors—helping hack out a tree stump from the center of a garden plot and rounding up a runaway pet goat. Dislodging the ungainly stump had been a heap sight easier than capturing that stubborn billy goat. But—Thad chuckled, remembering—the smile on the children’s faces when he’d dragged the pet home had eased his aggravation.
Nope, he didn’t mind offering a helping hand—he’d probably perform similar deeds when he served as minister someday. People always turned to their preachers when they needed to unburden themselves or to pray with a trusted friend. Or when they needed some comforting. Like he’d given Sadie on Monday.
His heart gave a double thump in response to her name. When he’d held her as she’d cried, he’d experienced a strong urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her someplace where sadness and sorrow could never touch her again. He’d held her once before—the day she’d stepped into the path of the runaway wagon—but it was different Monday. His first embrace had been one of desperation. The second expressed devotion. And it had left him wanting more.
He pulled the reins, guiding the horse on a gentle bend in the road. Too bad he couldn’t redirect his feelings with a simple tug. As he’d cradled Sadie close, listening to her cry while her tears soaked his shirt, he’d yearned to kiss her. As a means of comforting her, yes, but even more to communicate how he felt about her. She’d agreed to his courtship, but responsibilities kept them apart.
You think you’re busy now as a sheriff, just wait. You won’t be any less busy once you’re a preacher. The errant thought took him by surprise. But he pushed it aside. Being busy doing God’s work shouldn’t be a burden. He must be extra tired, letting gloomy ideas come into his head. The sun beat down, heating his head through his hat and raising perspiration on his face and back, but a chill of pleasure tiptoed up his spine as he returned his thoughts to Sadie.
Listening to her sing, seeing the passion light her heart-shaped face, stirred something deep inside of him. When she smiled, it warmed him. When she giggled, it lightened his heart. She was fine to look upon—no man could deny her beauty—but her loveliness went beneath the surface to her character. Her determination to bear responsibility for her mother and siblings’ care touched him.
He wished he could help her so she wouldn’t have to work so hard. And, selfishly, he wanted more time with her. She worked all day in the mercantile and then spent the evenings preparing for the opera house performances, leaving her little time for relaxation. However, when he’d stopped by the mercantile this morning to check on her, she’d agreed to have lunch with him Sunday—another picnic in the park. “Under our tree,” she’d said and then colored prettily.
The horse suddenly nickered, shaking its head, and it seemed to give a skip, as if it wanted to turn itself around. Thad pulled back on the reins, bringing the animal under control. “Whoa there, big fella. What’s the problem?” Then an odor reached his nose—the essence of something rotten. The horse danced in place, snorting in protest. Thad couldn’t blame the horse. The odor nearly singed his nose hairs.
He looked around, his face puckered in distaste. What was that? A dead animal? He’d smelled the rotting flesh of buffalo when he was a boy, and he’d never forgotten it. This smell had a putrid edge to it, but it also reminded him of rising bread dough. Suddenly, without warning, another memory rose from the recesses of Thad’s mind. His body jolted in response, his hands tightening on the reins. We’ve found it, haven’t we, Lord?
The horse snorted again, eager to leave the area. “All right, boy,” Thad said, “we’ll move. But you aren’t gonna like it much.” Wrinkling his face in distaste, he tapped his heels on the animal’s sides. The horse bounced its head in protest, but Thad ignored the animal’s complaint and rode toward the scent rather than away from it.
“A cave?” Roscoe Hanaman stared at Thad, his jowls sagging with the weight of his slack jaw. “Why, I never heard tell of any caves around Goldtree.”
Thad leaned back in the chair across from the banker’s desk and nodded. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. It was well hidden. If it hadn’t been for the wind carrying that distinct scent”—how many times had he been forced to bear the offensive odor on his father’s breath?—“I wouldn’t have found it.”
Hanaman shook his head. “But why haven’t we picked up on the . . . er . . . aroma before now?”
Thad shrugged. “It being south of town, the north wind’s going to carry the scent away from most folks. Besides, it’s a good distance from town, so if anybody did notice it, they’d just reckon it’s a dead animal. Not until you get close can you pick up the yeasty smell.” Somebody’d chosen their spot well, off the road and surrounded by saplings with low-growing branches. The bootlegger had even added piles of brush around the cave’s opening and across the wide pathway weaving out of the trees to the road to further conceal the location.
“I’m gonna go back tomorrow with a lantern and do some more exploring,” Thad said. “It was black as pitch in there. Could hardly see a thing, but I didn’t need my eyes to smell. . . .” He tapped his nose, cringing. “I knew I’d found the bootleg camp.”
Hanaman leaned toward Thad, nearly licking his chops in anticipation. “So you’ll be able to make an arrest soon? Take this lawbreaker out of operation?”
The man’s impatience stirred Thad’s ire. Maybe he shouldn’t have shared his finding with the mayor. He’d probably opened himself up to even more pressure. “I’m just here to give you a report, Roscoe. I still don’t know who’s behind this.” So far he’d explored an old shack with signs of recent activity and a cave with a beer-brewing setup. But the two places were miles apart. What was the connection between them? “I don’t even know who owns the property.”
Hanaman pointed one finger in the air. “Ask Rahn at the post office. Since he serves as the clerk of Five Creeks Township, he’s got information on every land deed.”
“It’s possible,” Thad continued, filing away Hanaman’s suggestion for later use, “that the person making the liquor is trespassing. Only a fool would put the operation on his own land. So I’ve got work to do yet.”
Hanaman scowled. “How much longer, Sheriff? We need to bring this man down quickly.”
Thad couldn’t give a certain answer, so he lifted his hat from his knee and rose. Sliding the hat into place, he said, “The minute I’m ready to make an arrest, you’ll be the first to know.”
Hanaman came around the desk, scowling. “Well, see that it’s soon.” He opened his door and ushered Thad into the main lobby of the bank. Several folks stood in line at the teller’s window, and Hanaman cast a beaming smile across them. The man could change expressions quicker than a lizard changed its colors. “Good day, folks, good day. Might I be able to assist any of you?”
Two of the customers left the line to approach Hanaman, and Thad made his exit while the banker was otherwise occupied. He returned the horse to the blacksmith’s shop and requested its use for the next day from the owner, Bill Kimbrough.
“Sure thing, Sheriff,” the affable man replied. He released the horse into the att
ached corral. “Tell you what, I’ll just leave the saddle an’ such in the first stall there where you can get to it. Anytime you need to use ol’ Thunder, just help yourself. I won’t lend him out to nobody else. If he turns up missin’, I’ll just assume you’ve got him. That work for you?”
“That’s very generous of you, Bill,” Thad said, clapping the other man on his broad back.
“Least I can do for the man who keeps law an’ order in Goldtree.” Bill laughed, the sound deep and rumbling.
Thad grinned in reply and headed for his office. But his feet took him past his door and on to the mercantile. The business would close in another half hour—maybe the Baxter sisters would release Sadie early and he could take her to Cora’s for supper before she went down to the singing room to practice. The thought of a few minutes of time with Sadie sped his footsteps.
The little bell above the screen door sent out a tinny jangle as he crossed the threshold. Miss Melva drowned out the bell’s clatter with a screech of welcome. “Howdy again, Sheriff. Wasn’t you just in here this mornin’?”
Miss Shelva, arranging cans of peas in the front window, tittered. “Mornin’ was a long time ago, Sister. ’Sides, he might’ve forgot somethin’ . . . like how purty Miss Sadie looks in that yellow dress she’s wearin’ today.”
“How could any feller worth his salt forget somethin’ like that?” Miss Melva bantered back. “Ain’t likely, to my way o’ thinkin’.”
Song of My Heart Page 19