Dulcie.
He nearly groaned aloud. He’d done what he swore he wouldn’t—taken advantage of a woman he’d made a widow. Yet even as he berated himself for his weakness, he recalled Dulcie’s assertiveness and what she’d done. He grew aroused at the memory of her mouth on him. In his experience, only whores knew about pleasuring a man that way. His wife had been innocent of anything to do with sexual relations, and he’d taught her how to make love. He hadn’t even considered teaching her that method. Had Jerry taught Dulcie? Or, knowing Jerry as he did, had he met her in a saloon?
What did it matter? Dulcie was a woman he could easily fall in love with, and her experience was only a small part of who she was. Besides, being honest with himself, he liked what she’d done.
He looked outside and gauged the time to be around four in the morning. Although he would’ve preferred sleeping with Dulcie for another hour or two, Rye didn’t want the children seeing them together. They were damned lucky neither Madeline nor Collie had awakened during the night. Reluctantly, he reached for his discarded clothing and began to dress.
Dulcie opened her eyes and blinked up at him. “Rye?”
The sleepy bewilderment in her expression made him want to kiss away her slumber and he looked away before he surrendered to temptation. He’d given in to temptation too many times already.
“We have to go to our own beds, before Collie and Madeline wake up,” he said.
Dulcie’s eyes widened as if suddenly realizing where they were . . . and that she was naked. She quickly retrieved her shirt.
As much as Rye wanted to watch her, he turned away to button his own shirt.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Around four.”
Rye stood and extended a hand to Dulcie, but she ignored it, scrambling to her feet. The over-large shirt hid everything from her neck to her knees. He tried not to remember how her slender legs had wrapped around his waist, or how her breasts had felt within his palms.
“This”—Dulcie motioned to the blanket—“this can’t happen again.”
Although Rye agreed, for reasons she would never know, he wished it could be different. If Jerry had died doing his duty, and not because of a drunken dare, Rye could court her like she deserved. But he was still a deserter, and he could never escape the brand on his shoulder.
He stepped over to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her gently. “You’re right. It can’t.”
She stared up at him, her brows furrowed in question, one she didn’t ask.
Rye forced himself to release her and step back. “I’d best get up in the loft before Collie wakes up.”
She nodded and gathered up her clothing and the blanket they’d made love on. Without looking at him, she hurried into the bedroom where Madeline slept.
Regret lodged in Rye’s chest. What would he do when the harvest was in and Dulcie didn’t need him anymore? What could he do but move on?
EIGHTEEN
THE approach of a wagon brought Dulcie out of her garden and she shook out the folds of her skirt. Although the skirt felt odd around her legs, she had to admit it was cooler than trousers. It also made her feel more like a woman than she had in months. Heat touched her cheeks as she remembered how Rye had made her feel like a woman last night. As much as she tried to forget their lovemaking, she couldn’t help but recall his kisses and how he’d touched her there with his mouth.
She forced the memories aside as she walked around to the front of the cabin. Dr. Wickberg drew back the reins and gazed down at her. “Hello, Dulcie. You look nice today.”
She blushed and wondered how a skirt could make her feel so different. “Thank you, Doctor. Are you here to see Madeline?”
He nodded, and worry blunted his features. “My wife told me about Madeline’s fever.”
Dulcie smiled. “We followed your wife’s advice and put Madeline in a cold bath. It broke her fever, and she’s doing much better.” She glanced down at her dirty hands and said ruefully, “Since she was sleeping, I thought I’d catch up on the garden work.”
The doctor smiled, his relief clear. “Good. If you don’t mind, I’d like to check on her.”
“I’d be grateful.”
Dr. Wickberg climbed down from the buggy and grabbed his bag from under the seat. “What about her cough?”
“We put hot compresses on her chest the night before last and that helped.”
“Did the bath make it worse?”
“No. In fact, her cough hasn’t been nearly as bad since her fever broke.” Removing her wide-brimmed straw hat, Dulcie led the way into the cabin that smelled of apples and cinnamon, and motioned him to the bedroom. The bed was bare except for an old quilt that Madeline slept on. “She’s slept quite a bit since the fever broke.”
“That’s a good sign,” Dr. Wickberg said quietly. He opened his medical bag and pulled out a stethoscope. After listening to her chest, Dr. Wickberg broke into a genuine smile. “Her chest sounds less congested.” He laid his hand on the girl’s brow for a few moments. “Her temperature feels normal, too.”
Although Dulcie knew she was better, she was relieved to have the doctor confirm it. Dr. Wickberg closed his bag and followed Dulcie out of the bedroom.
“Do you think the fever and cough will come back?” she asked hesitantly.
“It’s possible, but I doubt it. You did a good job, Dulcie.”
Although his praise warmed her, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to take care of Madeline on her own. “Without Rye’s help, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
“Is that your hired man?”
She nodded. “Rye Forrester.” Her cheeks heated, and she glanced away. “Would you like some apple pie? It’s fresh out of the oven.”
“You got some coffee to go along with it?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“Then I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Dr. Wickberg sat down by the table while Dulcie washed her hands then cut the pie and placed a generous piece on a plate. She set it in front of him, along with a cup of coffee. She poured herself some but didn’t have any pie.
“Been awhile since I had warm apple pie,” the doctor commented, his expression showing his enjoyment.
“It’s been awhile since I made it.” Dulcie rose and returned to the bedroom to open the trunk at the end of the bed. She lifted out her bag of precious coins and found a silver dollar. Rejoining the doctor, she placed the coin on the table by his plate and folded her hands in her lap. “I appreciate you coming out. And I promise I’ll pay the rest of whatever I owe you when I sell the crop.”
The doctor smiled kindly. “Whenever you can, Dulcie. The missus wouldn’t mind some of your eggs and milk as payment. She used to get them at Coulson’s store.”
“Mrs. Coulson doesn’t like me much.” She shrugged, surprised by the pain of her admission. “She’s one of those who thinks the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Dr. Wickberg glanced down. “I’ve heard the gossip, Dulcie, and I’m not surprised there are some folks who’d like to see you gone from the area. That’s simply human nature. But not everyone feels that way.”
Although intrigued that there might be those in town who didn’t wish her ill, she had another matter that required her attention more. She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and stared down into it. “Do you believe my father killed Mr. Carpenter?”
Dr. Wickberg finished his pie. “I wouldn’t have thought Frank was capable of killing anyone, but he’d been drinking more since your ma died, and liquor changes folks. I’ve seen more’n my share of wives beat up by their liquored-up husbands. Once the men sober up, most of them don’t even remember what they did.”
Dulcie lifted her gaze and leaned forward. “He didn’t kill him. He was passed out drunk in our barn.”
Dr. Wickberg’s eyes widened. “Did you tell anyone?”
“The sheriff. He said I was just protecting Pa, but I wasn’t. He
was innocent.”
“What of the man who swore he saw your father and Lawrence arguing? I believe it was that peddler.”
“Virgil Lamont.” Even saying his name made Dulcie’s insides churn with disgust.
“Why would he lie?”
“I don’t know.” Dulcie glanced at the doctor, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. If she did, he’d see her shame in her eyes. “Pa didn’t kill Mr. Carpenter.”
“Then what of those folks who hanged him?”
This time Dulcie didn’t have to hide her feelings. “They’re guilty of murder,” she said grimly. The doctor flinched slightly, and her heart skipped a beat. With a trembling voice, she asked, “Were you one of those who lynched him?”
He met her eyes. “No, Dulcie. I wasn’t party to your father’s death.”
Although relieved, she suspected he was hiding something. “But you know who was.”
“Your father’s gone, Dulcie. Dredging up his unfortunate death isn’t going to help anyone.”
Disillusioned, she stared at the doctor. “That’s what Mrs. Carpenter and her stepson told me. In fact, they insinuated that if I continue to try to prove my father’s innocence, something might happen to me.” Indignant anger burned in her belly. “But then, what’s another innocent life? Those involved in the lynching are murderers, pure and simple.”
Dr. Wickberg’s expression hardened. “Those people believed they were dispatching justice. It didn’t help that Lawrence was well-liked and your father had a reputation as a lazy drunk.”
“It doesn’t matter what kind of man he was, my father didn’t deserve to be hanged.”
The doctor laid a calming hand on her shoulder and she shook it off. “You can’t change what happened,” he said.
“No, I can’t. But I can see that those people who lynched Pa are punished.”
Dr. Wickberg smiled sadly. “You’ll never learn who they were, Dulcie.” He finished his coffee and stood. “I’d best get back to town.”
She accompanied him outside and watched as he climbed into his buggy and drove off.
Dulcie’s vision blurred as she watched him go. She was grateful to Dr. Wickberg for helping Madeline, but he was just like the other townsfolk. So determined to avenge Lawrence Carpenter’s death, they wouldn’t even consider they’d hanged the wrong person.
When would they realize the real murderer was still out there?
AS tired as Rye was when he and Collie entered the yard, he still noticed the sheets flapping on the line in the noonday breeze. If Dulcie had been able to wash the bedsheets, it was a sign that Madeline was well enough to be out of bed.
At the well, Rye cleaned the grime and sweat from his face and arms. “You need to clean up, too,” he told Collie.
“But I didn’t do nothin’ but lay around and watch you work.”
“You caught grasshoppers and played with a snake. Wash up, young man.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Collie did as Rye said. Rye had examined the broken blisters on Collie’s hand after breakfast and had ordered him to take it easy that day so they’d heal. The boy had argued, but Rye reminded him of his other option—returning to the Gearsons’. Collie had followed his order to rest without any more opposition.
Rye wiped his face and hands dry, then inspected the boy’s hands, noting the bandanna didn’t appear too dirty. It would last the rest of the day.
The cabin door was open as they approached, and the tantalizing smell of apple pie made Rye’s stomach growl. Collie slipped past him to enter first.
“Hi, Collie. Hi, Mr. Rye.” Madeline, wearing a clean dress with her hair freshly washed and brushed, sat by the table. Her voice was somewhat hoarse but her face had a healthy color and her eyes were bright, but not with fever.
“Look at you, Miss Madeline,” Rye said, grinning. “All better?”
The girl nodded. “Ma said Dr. Wickberg said I was lots better.”
Rye turned his attention to Dulcie and blinked in shock. Instead of her usual trousers and baggy shirt, she wore an apron over a gingham blouse tucked into a dark blue skirt. Her chestnut red hair was tied back loosely, leaving wavy tendrils to frame her face, softening her features. Her cheeks were flushed, making her freckles stand out, and her green eyes sparkled.
“You look real purty, Miz McDaniel,” Collie said, beating Rye to the compliment.
“Thank you, Collie. After nearly three days in the same clothes, I couldn’t stand another minute,” she said with a nervous laugh.
The way she kept smoothing her skirt and brushing back her hair, Rye knew she wasn’t as comfortable as she’d been in her former trousers. But Rye found her hesitancy endearing, adding another facet to her already complicated nature. He also couldn’t help admiring her womanly curves, remembering too well how those curves looked without the clothing hiding them.
“Sit down and dig in,” Dulcie said, her voice breathy.
Despite his vow that last night wouldn’t be repeated, Rye couldn’t keep his eyes off her as he sat down in what was becoming his place at the table. Collie sat to his right and Madeline to his left.
“When did Dr. Wickberg come by?” Rye asked, wanting something to take his mind off Dulcie’s transformation.
“About an hour ago. He said Madeline will be just fine.”
Rye heard a distinct lack of enthusiasm in her voice. Was there something she wasn’t saying—something to do with Madeline’s health? Or something else? He glanced up to question her, but she gave him a slight shake of her head and looked deliberately at the children.
Dulcie sat down and helped Madeline spoon food on her plate. Rye did the same with Collie, and a memory of himself and his two brothers eating with their parents stole across him. His oldest brother Creede had sat next to him and helped Rye with his food. The picture was so vivid that he could recall every detail of Creede’s face. A memory from twenty-five years ago. How did Creede and Slater look now? Would he even recognize them if he passed them on a street?
“Could you pass the peas, Rye?” Dulcie asked, and he knew it wasn’t the first time she’d spoken.
“Sorry,” he murmured and handed her the bowl of peas.
As they ate the meal Dulcie had fixed, she asked Rye, “How did the cutting go?”
“We have about four acres done. It’s all bundled, too.”
Her expression lost some of its animation. “There’s still forty-five acres to go.”
“I’m working as fast as I can,” he said, unable to curb his irritation. “If we had a reaper . . .”
“I know you’re working hard, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done. But I don’t know if it’ll be enough.” Her voice was a mixture of gratitude and frustration.
“There’s got to be somebody with a reaper who’d be willing to help you out,” Rye said.
She shook her head. “Before I started planting, I tried to get some help, but we couldn’t pay anyone. And those who knew Pa were of the mind that he should be doing his own planting instead of drinking.”
“I don’t know much about farming, but couldn’t you offer a percentage of the crop as payment for the use of a reaper?”
“I could, but I might not be left with enough to get through the winter and buy more seed for next year’s planting.” The exasperation and stubbornness in her expression were familiar.
Rye pushed back his empty plate, comfortably full. “You might have to take that chance, Dulcie, or you won’t get enough to even make it through the winter.”
She pushed her food around. “I really thought I had a chance to make it on my own out here. That I could take care of Madeline and myself without anyone’s help.” She laughed, but it was with a touch of self-reproach. “I’m such a fool.”
“No, you’re not, Dulcie. Just because you hire someone to help you doesn’t mean they own your farm.”
She shuddered and murmured, “No, just me.”
Rye looked at her quizzically, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What?”<
br />
Dulcie shook her head and didn’t meet his gaze. “Nothing. You’re right.” She rose and carried her plate to the pan of hot water. “I’ll get the apple pie.”
She served the children, then Rye and herself. As Rye savored the pie, he pondered her odd reaction. What had she meant? Was her strange comment related to last night’s lovemaking? He suspected she regretted what they’d done just as he did. However, it didn’t stop him from wishing for another night with her.
“Your pie’s as good as Ma’s was,” Collie said, his mouth full.
Dulcie smiled warmly at the boy. “Thank you, Collie. I’m glad to hear that.”
Collie licked his upper lip. “Maybe even better. She burned it once. Said she got busy.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Pa said it was his fault, but don’t know how it was.”
Rye suspected Collie’s parents were busy together, and when he looked at Dulcie’s red cheeks, he knew she was thinking the same thing. Rye cleared his throat. “You know how busy us grown-ups can get.”
Dulcie abruptly asked, “Would anyone like more pie?”
“I would, Miz McDaniel,” Collie said, then added, “Please.”
Dulcie placed another piece on his plate and asked without looking at him, “What about you, Rye?”
“No thanks, Dulcie. I won’t be able to move if I have another bite and I’d like to get another acre cut this afternoon.”
Since Madeline hadn’t finished her first piece, Dulcie carried the pie tin back to the pantry.
Rye helped clear the table and put away the leftover food. Collie and Madeline remained by the table, talking and giggling.
“How’re you feeling, honey?” Dulcie asked her daughter.
“Not tired,” the girl piped up, obviously knowing what her mother was really asking.
“Are you hot?”
Madeline shook her head, her long hair flying around her head like a carousel. “No.” The girl coughed, but it ended quickly. “Wanna play outside.”
Dulcie looked at Rye imploringly.
“How about if you and Collie play on the porch?” Rye suggested, then spoke to Dulcie. “It’s just as warm out there as it is in here, so she won’t catch a chill.”
A Reason to Believe Page 22