Davis nodded. “Very well. Mind opening up the door? Maybe I can get you some of the answers you need.” His red-rimmed eyes settled steadily on his boy.
Kin shot to his feet and spread his legs into a wide stance, almost like a boxer ready to take the ring. The boy folded his arms over his chest. Even though Kin didn’t say anything, Joe had an uneasy feeling. But the man was Kin’s father. The least Joe could do was give them some time together. “Sure, I guess I can do that.”
Kin’s eyes fell closed, and his jaw pushed first to one side and then to the other, like he was mentally preparing himself for something. Joe’s hand hesitated above the keys on his belt. The boy’s face was so pale it was a near-perfect match for the frost on the jailhouse window behind him. Joe took another look at Mr. Davis. But the man seemed as calm as could be. What was going on here?
Slowly, he lifted the jangling ring of keys and inserted the one for the cell’s lock. The barred door squeaked eerily in the sudden quiet of the room, the hinges begging for oil.
Mr. Davis was through the door with lightning speed. Leveling a string of curses against his son, the man plowed one meaty fist into Kin’s face. “What in thunderation do you think you was doing, boy?!”
Kin stumbled backwards, trying to catch his balance, but his calves connected with the edge of the cot. He sprawled into the wall with a thud hard enough to shake the whole building.
“Hey!” Joe waded into the cell, intent on dragging Davis away from Kin.
But Davis was like a bull that had seen a red flag. He elbowed Joe so hard that he flew backwards and crashed headfirst into the bars of the cell. With a roar, Davis went after Kin again. “What do you think your mother would think of this stunt you pulled?” This time the man kicked a boot at Kin’s ankles in a sideswipe meant to take him to the ground.
The boy’s feet went out from under him like he’d slipped on a mossy river rock. A loud crack rang through the room as Kin’s ribs connected with the solid wood frame of the cot.
Joe’s heart constricted when he heard the kid grunt in pain, and he tried to get to his feet. But, he must have hit his head harder than he realized, because the ground seemed to dip out from under his boot when he stepped forward. He collapsed onto one knee.
“Pa, please.” Kin held up one hand. “I did it for you!”
Davis swung again, but Kin ducked and scrambled out of his way.
“Did it for me, did you?” Davis cursed the boy. “Come here and I’ll just show you my appreciation!”
Kin scurried past Joe, and, even with his vision as blurred at it was, Joe noticed blood gushing from Kin’s split eyebrow. It streamed over the boy’s face and onto his thin coat. The kid swiped one wrist at his eye, obviously trying to clear his vision as he searched the cell in a panic, terror filling his expression because he’d momentarily lost sight of his father.
Joe gave himself a shake and forced himself to his feet. He had to protect the kid! His vision was still blurry, but he lurched into the middle of the fray and pushed Davis away from his son. “Leave him be!” The command sent a burst of pain through his skull. Joe gave his head another shake and blinked hard. His vision cleared enough so that he could at least see more than blurry blobs.
Davis was still cussing, his face almost as red as Mrs. Callahan’s gingham kitchen curtains. The man started to push Joe aside, but suddenly clutched one hand to his chest, eyes going wide, voice falling silent. Davis looked past Joe’s shoulder and reached a hand toward his boy, taking a stumbling step.
Joe once more inserted himself between the two.
Davis struggled again to reach his son, but his strength seemed to be gone, and he leaned heavily against Joe’s shoulder as he rasped, “You are a disgrace, son!”
Joe gave the man a push in the opposite direction of his son. Though Davis’s face was still contorted, Joe couldn’t tell if the expression was anger, or pain.
Davis stumbled a sideways step and clutched at the bars of the next cell.
“Pa?” Kin peered from behind Joe.
“Ought to”—Davis’s leg seemed to collapse out from under him, and he went down hard on one knee—“tan your…hide.” He was gasping for breath now and clutching at his chest.
Assessing that the man was no longer a danger to his son, Joe sprang from the cell and flung open the jailhouse door. He dashed for the street, calling, “Stay with him. I’ll get Doc!” The last thing he saw was Kin falling to his knees next to the crumpled body of the man who’d just tried to thrash him.
Joe almost crashed into Reagan, who was running his way, obviously having heard the commotion. He skipped around him, facing Reagan for a moment, even though he was still moving toward McGinty’s, where he assumed Doc would be. “Luther Davis just collapsed. I’m going for Doc.” As he turned back to continue his run toward McGinty’s, Reagan lurched for the jailhouse.
“Doc!” Joe was yelling before he even burst through the alehouse door.
Ewan looked over at him from where he stood behind the bar, polishing a glass. “Doc ain’t here. He rode out to the camps today.”
Joe’s hopes fell. There was no time to waste then. He needed to get his horse and fetch Doc. He ran back to the jail and poked his head inside. “Doc’s out at the camps. I’m going for him now.”
Reagan waved him to silence before he even got done speaking. “It’s too late, Joe. He’s gone.”
Joe’s gaze flew to Kin as he stepped back into the room and closed the door against the cold.
The kid’s jaw was hanging loose, and though he was seated on the cell’s cot his hands were propped against his thighs like he needed the support to hold himself upright.
Whatever kind of father Davis had been to his boy, it was obvious the kid was devastated by his loss.
Kin scooped both hands back into his hair and stared, dumbfounded, at his father. He lost all the strength in his legs and stepped back to collapse onto the cot. Elbows to knees, head still propped in his hands, he just looked.
This was what he’d been trying to prevent. This.
Around him he heard the vague buzzing of conversations, and every once in a while, something moved into his line of sight and broke his visual connection to Pa, but he didn’t pay any of that any mind. He just sat. Feeling numb. Useless. Hopeless. Lifeless.
The very thing he’d wanted to prevent, he’d caused. He’d only wanted to get Pa’s attention. Make him sit up and realize that he was drinking his life away so much that his son was flirting with the wrong side of the law, but now… If Pa hadn’t gotten so angry, he wouldn’t have had one of his attacks.
Kin had seen them happen before, but usually not as bad as this one. Pa would clutch his chest and stumble to his bed. Generally, he couldn’t work for a few days afterward, but he’d always recovered.
He should check his pulse just to be sure.
Kin fell to his knees and scrambled across the cell on all fours. He pressed his fingers to Pa’s throat, begging God silently to let there still be life beating in his old man’s veins. He felt nothing. He readjusted his fingers and stilled again. And again. And again.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Someone squatted beside him and settled one hand on his shoulder.
As though in a trance, Kin looked over.
The deputy’s eyes were kind. Sorrowful. “I’m right sorry, Kin.”
Another movement drew his gaze.
The sheriff draping Pa’s body with one of the quilts.
Despair leaked out of him, and he slumped back onto his heels. “I just wanted him to see that he needed to stop drinking. Doc said he was killing himself. I tried everything to get him to stop. But nothing worked. I figured, maybe if I got in trouble with the law he’d pay attention.”
Kin felt more than saw the two lawmen exchange a glance.
“Come on, son.” The deputy tugged him to his feet. “Let’s take you down to Dixie’s to get you some breakfast.”
Kin followed numbly at his heels.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Joe couldn’t imagine what the kid must be feeling. He was feeling some shocked himself. Although he hadn’t really liked Mr. Davis, it was horrible to watch him die that way. He couldn’t imagine what he’d be feeling if that man had been his father.
He knew Dixie’s place would be packed at this time of morning. Shanty houses had been springing up like dandelions for most of the fall, and most of those loggers were single men who didn’t mind paying for excellent cooking like Dixie’s. Which reminded him that he needed to get Liora and tell her about the offer of a job. She could probably start on the spot.
He took Kin into the kitchen through the back door and nudged him into a chair at a small table, knowing Dixie wouldn’t mind.
She pushed through the batwing doors that separated the kitchen from the dining room at that very moment, smothering a yawn beneath one hand. “Oh!” She blinked at them. “You startled me.” Her eyes widened when she took him in more fully. “Are you all right?”
Joe frowned, wondering why she was asking him if he was okay and not the glum, beaten boy at the table. He waved away her concern and spun his hat through his fingers. “I’m sorry we startled you, but…” He glanced at Kin, who had settled his chin on crossed arms that rested on the table and was staring into nothingness. Taking Dixie’s arm, Joe urged her to the far corner of the kitchen and quickly filled her in on the details.
Her face contorted with compassion and her eyes brimmed with tears that she kept swiping away as she alternated between looking at the boy across the room, looking at Joe’s face, and looking at the floor by her feet. “That poor child.”
Joe nodded. “Could you get him a plate? On the jail’s account? And keep an eye on him for a bit? We need to get his father into a coffin and then figure out what the boy wants to do about the burying. Oh, and I’m going to swing by Liora’s right now to tell her about the job offer.”
Dixie’s brows shot up, and she blinked at him. “Liora?”
Joe tipped back his head and scratched under his chin with three fingers, trying to assess her reaction. It was obvious she hadn’t had any idea that Miss Brindle had planned to have Liora take the job. “I haven’t said anything to her yet. So if you’d rather she not work for you, then please say so now, and not after she’s gotten her hopes up for a job.”
From out in the dining room a raspy voice called. “Where’s that coffee?”
Dixie jolted, hefting her skirts as she hurried toward the pot on the stove. She flapped a hand at him over her shoulder. “Liora will be fine. I should have thought of her long ago.” She lifted the pot and grabbed a hand towel from the rack near the stove. “Here, Kin. Press this to your eye there.” She handed the boy the towel before she scurried to the batwing doors. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she paused just long enough to shoo him out the back door. “Go on. And tell her she can start right this minute if she’s of a mind to.”
Joe might have smiled if the other events of the morning hadn’t so totally sapped his ability to do so. “Kin, I’ll be right back, ya hear? Miss Pottinger is going to get you some breakfast. Can I count on you to stay here till I get back with Miss Fontaine?”
Kin’s head barely moved, but Joe did catch the slightest of nods and took that as the kid’s agreement.
It wasn’t until a cold blast of northern air hit him when he stepped back into the street and headed for McGinty’s that he remembered the bashing his head had taken. As though pain came with the remembering, a wave of it started radiating out from the general area of the wound at the back of his head. He reached up to touch it as he pushed into the alehouse, and his fingers came away bloody. He grimaced. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that right now.
He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring Ewan’s curios stare, and paused in front of Liora’s door. He knocked three times.
He heard her moving before the door opened. She pulled it open only slightly at first, but when she saw it was him, she pulled it farther. Her eyes widened in proportion with the width of the space. “Joe! What happened to you?!” She latched on to his arm and pulled him into her room, then plunked a chair in the middle of the floor and motioned him to sit. “Let me look at that!”
To his surprise, she stepped not to the back of his head to look at the wound he’d just been feeling, but right up in front of him, leaning close to peer at his forehead. She was looking at the spot where Davis’s elbow had connected with his skull, he realized.
He swallowed at the closeness of her face, allowing himself a moment to let go of all this morning’s upheaval and to simply revel in her beauty. A beauty that made him ache with the want it built inside him, and the counter-ache that bloomed when he reminded himself nothing could ever grow between them.
She prodded at his forehead with gentle fingers, making him wish she could be this close for other reasons. But he could never see himself finding a life with a woman who’d been willing to sell herself.
She seemed oblivious to all he was feeling. Her nose wrinkled. “I think this is going to need a stitch.”
He watched her rosebud lips say the words, and then perfect white teeth clamp hold of her top lip as she looked down and caught him watching her.
He blinked and leaned back a little, clearing his throat. “I have another one at the back of my head. Might need stitches too. Do you mind taking a look?” He tipped his face to the ground, scrunching his eyes closed tight when he knew she could no longer see the grimace. Every time he thought he had these longings for her whipped into submission, they would lay low till the most inopportune moments—like anytime Liora was in sight—and then spring to life with even more potency than before.
She clucked and hummed over the knock he’d taken to the back of his head, swiping at the area with a damp rag. “Joseph Rodante, I can see the white of your skull! What happened to you?”
He winced as she withdrew a sewing needle and thread from a drawer in her desk. “Let’s just say the bars on the cells in the jail are made of good sturdy steel.”
She paused before him, pulling her finger along the thread. “Want me to get you a shot of whiskey from the bar?”
He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Just make it quick.”
She gave him a look that said he was crazy, but tipped her head in a whatever you say gesture.
Thankfully, this time when she stepped near he was so concentrated on not making a fool of himself with a gasp or a whimper, that he had his eyes closed and didn’t have to be tempted by the allure of wondering what it might feel like to run the backs of his fingers over her cheek.
Her needle must have been sharper than he’d given her credit for, because he barely felt prick of the needle above the other pain he was already feeling.
It only took her a moment to finish at both the front and the back. “There. Four stitches and you are almost as good as new. You really should try to lie down and get some rest, however.”
Joe shook his head, realizing that he hadn’t given her any of the pertinent news yet. He quickly filled her in about Kin’s father, and then told her about Dixie wanting to hire someone and saying she could start right this minute.
Liora’s eyes widened and brimmed with tears. “She’s offering me a job?”
Joe nodded. “You have Miss Brindle to thank for suggesting you, but Dixie thought it was a splendid idea.” She didn’t need to know that was a slight exaggeration.
“Oh, Joe!” Liora threw her arms around him, sending a shock wave through him. Instinctively, his arms came up to wrap around her. “The Lord just answered my prayers! I can really start right now?”
She pushed back from him and spun in a circle as though trying to decide if she needed to take anything with her. Her hands flew up and patted at her hair.
Joe chuckled and held the door open for her. “You look fine. Grab your coat and I’ll walk you over. She looked like she was having a time keeping up with everyone. Oh, and bring that needle and
thread too. Kin’s going to need a stitch or two as well, if I don’t miss my guess.”
“I’m so thrilled! You have no ideal!” She jolted to a stop. “Well not about Kin needing stitches, you understand, but—”
Joe laughed. “I understand.”
“Yes. Good.” Liora grabbed up her coat and tucked the needle into the front pocket. She then hefted her skirts and trotted down the stairs like a little girl running down to see the tree on Christmas morning.
Joe couldn’t help a grin as he followed in her wake.
Dixie swept into the kitchen and swiped at her forehead with the back of one wrist. She had run so hard and fast this morning that she was sweating. Apparently, the cold wind that had been blowing this week had given every logger in the district a hankering for a hot breakfast. She was down to three eggs left in her bowl with orders for six, and she hadn’t even fed Kin yet. She hoped her hens had not let her down today.
She’d been so busy this morning that she’d hardly had a chance to think about the two vials of laudanum in her pockets. And yet, conversely, the thought of those vials hadn’t been far from her mind all morning. Flynn had indeed given her another vial of the liquid, along with instructions on its use, just before he’d left for the logging camps. She’d carefully tucked it into the pocket opposite the one with the stolen vial so he wouldn’t hear the jars clinking together. And any time she paused or moved and one of them bumped against her leg she found herself considering a new way to get the whole of it down Steven’s throat. But she’d been so busy this morning that she’d hadn’t been able to get away from the kitchen.
No matter. Her last guests had just been seated. The diner shut down at eight thirty each morning so school could be held, and she’d decided that even though school was out till the first of the year she would keep the diner on the same schedule as always. So she only had to feed them, and then Kin, and then she would be free to go upstairs to the room where Steven lay all alone at this very moment.
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 17