Allie's Moon

by Alexis Harrington

  “No, ma’am,” he mumbled.

  “All right, then. Mr. Hicks, I’ll pay you ten cents an hour and I’ll give you a meal. That’s satisfactory, I hope.”

  He nodded, although he wouldn’t look her in the face. Maybe that was preferable to the insolent, disrespectful gazes Cooper Matthews had directed at her.

  Obviously relieved, Will smiled and clapped his hands together once, making both Jeff and Althea jump. “That’s fine! I’ll be back around sundown to pick him up.” He left the porch and clambered up to the wagon seat. Taking up the reins, he turned the horses back toward the road through the tall grass. “Jeff, you mind what the lady says.”

  Jeff cast what Althea thought was an angry, desperate look in the sheriff’s direction, but he remained mute. He followed the wagon with his eyes until it was out of sight, then he turned to her.

  A chasm of silence opened between them as he studied her skirt hem and she studied him.

  He’d been a very attractive man. Althea remembered that. On one of her rare trips to town, she’d seen him from a distance when he was still sheriff, and had privately admired his tall, long-legged stride as she’d watched him walk down the street.

  His shoulders were the same, wide but not bulky. He was more lean now than muscled, and more than a little on the thin side. His face had fallen into gaunt lines, as if he never had a square meal anymore. And she’d remembered him as being taller. Then she realized that he was slouching, the way youngsters did when they felt self-conscious. The ghost of his good looks remained, but if Will hadn’t told her his name she wouldn’t have recognized the former sheriff. Even so, his rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed sinewed arms that appeared to have strength left in them.

  Breaking off her stare, she asked, “Do you know anything about patching a roof? That’s what I need done first.”

  Still not looking at her, he stepped down from the porch and backed up to inspect the top part of the house. “Some.”

  “Good. You’ll find some shingles and nails in—in the—over in there.” She pointed at the barn. Its big sliding door faced the porch. “There’s a ladder in there too. And please don’t forget to close the door when you aren’t in there. That’s very important.” From within the house, she heard Olivia call her.

  He lowered his gaze from the roof to look at her for an instant, long enough for her to see that his eyes were deep green, like the last leaves of summer, just before they turned.

  “If you need anything else I’ll be right inside. Just knock.”

  He nodded and walked across the yard toward the barn. Althea crossed her arms over her chest and watched him go, shaking her head, half in pity, half in irritation.

  Some people were prisoners of their own making. They let months and years slip away from them with nothing to show for the passing of time but hearts full of regrets or bitterness. Jefferson Hicks was a champion example of such a man.

  Olivia called again, more insistent this time. She turned and went to answer her sister’s summons.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  Jeff waded through the weeds and grass to reach the barn. Sharp-spined thistle snagged his jeans and Queen Anne’s lace bobbed in the breeze. He wished Mason had thought to bring a scythe while he was piling up the tools. Grabbing the pull, he tried to slide open the barn door but it wouldn’t budge more than six inches. He braced his foot on the jamb and pulled again with both hands. The door gave way with a deafening screech of rusted wheels, crashing across the front of the barn, and Jeff landed on his back in a patch of thistle. His palms were stabbed in a hundred places with its needle-like spines. A group of sparrows that had apparently been nesting under one of the eaves evacuated with alarmed chirps and resettled in a nearby pear tree.

  “Damn it to hell!” Jeff groused. Regaining his feet he looked at the insides of his hands and saw stickers lodged in them. He stepped into the cool dimness of the barn, absently pulling out the spines with his teeth.

  The feeling of abandonment was strong here, stronger than anywhere else on the property. Livestock—a horse or two, maybe a couple of cows—had once occupied the stalls. The vague scent of them still lingered. But nothing lived in here now except the spiders that wove curtains of webs draping the rafters and probably a lot of mice.

  Jeff searched the walls and all the corners, looking for the materials he needed. He found old horse harness and a plow, rusting farm tools, a crate of filberts, a keg of axle grease, a box of shingle nails, and a few milk cans. He even found the ladder. But no shingles.

  Up in the loft he found the remnants of a hay crop, a trunk, and some old picture frames, but no shingles.

  Exasperated, he stood in the doorway and glanced back at the house, loath to go up there and ask questions of Althea Ford. He didn’t want to look into those probing blue-gray eyes again so soon. Even though he’d mostly kept his face lowered, he’d felt the searing touch of her gaze as she examined him.

  But where the hell were the shingles?

  Jeff went back outside and battled more weeds and blackberries to circle the old building, searching for a shed or a springhouse, anyplace that might have been used for storage.

  After he narrowly missed stepping on the opening of a hornet’s nest, his patience shortened to the quick. He stood in the thin midday shadow of the barn and dragged his arm across his sweating forehead. If he could lay an egg to replace the one he took from Farley, he’d do it or die trying, just to get out of this damned job. Mason had said this sentence wasn’t about his pilfering, but that’s what had landed him in jail.

  Looking at the house again, he searched the windows for a watchful face. Then he scanned the sea of grass surrounding him. If he stayed off the road— Maybe he could cut across the fields and walk back to town. Let Will find Cooper Matthews to come out here. After all, he’d made the promise to Althea Ford, not Jeff.

  If he stayed out of sight in Decker Prairie, he could avoid Mason. All he wanted was enough money to buy some whiskey at the Liberal and find forgetfulness. Alcohol offered a kindly oblivion for only the cost of a bottle. For a few hours he wouldn’t see a dead boy’s face in his mind, or Sally’s note. If he had a whale of a headache afterward—well, nothing in life was free. Money . . . he rummaged in his empty pockets. Oh, yeah—he didn’t have any. That was how this had all come about to begin with.

  But if he lasted the afternoon here, the Ford woman would pay him and he could buy that whiskey.

  Just then he noticed a small lean-to addition near the front end of the barn. Slogging back through the grass, he pushed open its door. Amid a jumble of stuff, including the shingles, he found an old iron bed, a table with a bowl and pitcher, and a battered chest of drawers.

  Jeff stepped outside and looked at the steep roof again. He only had to last through the rest of the day. When Will came to pick him up he’d tell him he didn’t want to come back. Maybe the sheriff would forget about teaching him a lesson, and he could go get that whiskey.

  Now if he didn’t fall off and break his fool neck—

  ~~*~*~*~~

  “Who did you say he is?” Olivia stood at the side window in the parlor and craned her neck, trying to see the top of the ladder that rested against the house on the other side of the glass. With her head tipped back, her long, silky curls brushed her waist.

  “His name is Jefferson Hicks,” Althea repeated, lifting her voice. She sat in her favorite chair, the one with the needlepoint seat and back that she’d stitched herself. In fact, needlepoint was the only diversion she permitted herself. Right now, however, she used her needle and thread to mend one of her chemises. The hammering overhead had begun about two hours earlier, and while she had no idea whether the man knew a thing about roofing, just hearing the noise was a relief. At least something was getting done.

  “That name sounds familiar but I don’t remember him. Who is he?”

  “He was the sheriff in town, Olivia. You remember that.”

  “Hmm, maybe. Why isn’t he the sheriff anymore?�
�

  Why, indeed. “He started drinking. He eventually left his job.”

  “Is he married?”

  “I believe he was. I’m not sure he is now.” How could he be? What woman would let her husband deteriorate into the town drunk? Althea wondered. If she were his wife, she certainly wouldn’t have allowed that. In Althea’s opinion, it was almost sinful to waste a life by frittering it away.

  “I didn’t see him. Is he handsome?”

  “Yes, at least he used to be. The liquor has taken a toll on him.” She glanced up from her mending. It wasn’t like Olivia to express an interest in any man. But she’d been feeling so much better, perhaps she was coming out of her shell. The hope Althea had nursed in her heart for her sister sparked a little flame. “Why are you so curious?”

  Her sister shrugged. “Oh, no reason. He won’t do the work as well as Daddy would have liked,” she observed with an artless finality.

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Althea said, and bit back a sigh.

  “Daddy was very particular about the way things should be done, and he wouldn’t have wanted just anyone pounding on his house, Althea.” Olivia’s slightly imperious tone made Althea clench her back teeth. Their father had been a difficult man to please in all things save one. Olivia had given him as much joy as a joyless man could feel. Althea had given him as much displeasure.

  “Then it’s a good thing he won’t know about this, isn’t it?” Althea asked.

  Olivia stayed at the window. “I guess. I see your Mr. Jefferson has been in the barn.”

  “Hicks, dear. His name is Jefferson Hicks. Of course, he’s been in the b-barn. That’s where the ladder was.”

  “Well, he’s left the door open.” She turned then and looked at the clock. “Goodness, it’s nearly three. I believe I’ll go up and take a nap for a while. That is, if I can sleep with all that hammering.” She dropped a light kiss on the top of Althea’s head and swept from the parlor.

  Althea heard her soft tread on the stairs but remained in the chair. She would not get up and look, she told herself. She wouldn’t go see that open doorway for herself. Perhaps Olivia was mistaken—

  Overhead, she heard muted footsteps and supposed that Jefferson Hicks was walking around up there. She put aside the mending, then took it up again. Finally she put it down and rose from her chair.

  She approached the window with a sense of dread, and when she looked across the yard her fear was confirmed. The barn door was open, and she saw the black, yawning portal that brought back the horror of that summer afternoon as vividly if it had happened yesterday.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  Tucking the hammer into the waistband of his jeans, Jeff kept a tight grip on the rim of the chimney and straddled the peak of the roof to look out across the valley. Somehow up here the world looked different—cleaner and new-born under the afternoon sun. From the roof, Decker Prairie seemed more like a sleepy village instead of a busy town.

  A high-pitched call overhead caught Jeff’s attention. He shaded his eyes and looked up in time to see a peregrine falcon cross the sky, its wings spread to catch warm drafts of air. Off in the distance, a ribbon of shining creek wound across the Ford land and disappeared into the woods. And even farther away was Mt. Hood, a snow-covered giant with miles and miles of fertile farmlands on its western side.

  Gazing out at this view, a man could almost forget the heartache and bad luck dogging his past.

  “Mr. Hicks!”

  Her stern tone cut through his moment of peace, and carried over the stiff breeze rustling the grass and trees. He peered beyond the edge of the roof and saw Althea Ford standing in the yard, her hands on her hips and her face turned up to his. The breeze ruffled the loose tendrils of hair around her face, each curl catching the sunlight and flashing red-gold.

  For just an instant, Jeff’s masculine nature gained the upper hand, and his gaze swept the length of her pleasing figure. And very pleasing it was. So pleasing, in fact, that Jeff momentarily forgot where he was standing and damned near lost his precarious foothold on the steeply sloped roof. He scrambled for purchase, imagining himself sliding backward and tumbling to the ground. He clenched his jaw to hold back a curse.

  He had taken his shirt off and tied it around his waist. Her large eyes were fixed on his chest, her startled expression saying, more clearly than words, that she’d never seen a man’s bare torso. Not wishing to offend her maidenly sensibilities—Christ, how did he land himself in these messes?—he fumbled with the knot and hastily shoved his arms into the sleeves, nearly losing his balance again as he shifted his weight.

  “Mr. Hicks, you have left the barn door open!”

  With the way she was gaping at him, Jeff thought for a horrible moment that his chest wasn’t the only body part he was exposing, but a fast downward glance at his fly assured him it was buttoned. He looked across weed-infested yard at the barn, vaguely recollecting as he did that she’d asked him to keep it closed.

  “Um—yes, ma’am.”

  Even from here he could see the nettled expression on her pretty face. “I believe I asked you to keep that door closed.”

  “It needs to be fixed—it hangs up.”

  “It—it—what h-hangs?”

  “It hangs up—it’s stuck.”

  “Oh. You mean it won’t close at all?” He heard a baffling edge of panic in her voice.

  “It does but it’s hard to work, so I left it open because I’ve been going in and out for tools. Should I fix it?”

  She pressed a hand to her slender waist, something about the gesture making her seem vulnerable. “No! It doesn’t need fixing.”

  “I don’t mean to argue, ma’am, but it does.”

  “But it doesn’t matter because I don’t use the barn and I want the door shut. It’s not much to ask, Mr. Hicks.”

  It wasn’t his place, or even in his nature to pursue it, but he did anyway. Maybe because the whole thing seemed so damned harebrained. “There’s nothing in there that can get out. What difference does it make?”

  She glanced around, as if she were groping for an answer. “It looks, well, it looks untidy.”

  Jeff let his gaze drift over the rest of the property, taking note of the jungle-like yard and sagging fences. “Untidy.”

  Obviously realizing how ridiculous that sounded, she pressed on. “Mr. Hicks, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Please, just come down here and do as I asked.”

  He sighed, wondering if she had any idea how slick a roof was when a man wasn’t wearing spiked boots. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As Jeff worked his way across the steep roof to the ladder, he glanced at the sky again, this time to judge the hour. He figured he had another five to go here.

  He hoped to God they’d pass quickly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sun cast long shadows the next time Althea emerged from the house to talk to Jeff. Wading through the tall grass, she carried a tray that held a bowl of beef soup, a big chunk of hot, fresh bread, and coffee.

  Despite the matter about the barn door, he’d displayed much more industry than she’d expected. The hammering and patching had continued all afternoon, and he deserved a hot meal. She’d also brought with her an old towel, and a piece of soap was tucked in her apron pocket. The meal wasn’t fancy but he’d wash before he ate it, or she’d know the reason why. Setting the tray on a stump, she scanned the roof for him. Oh—there he was, near the chimney.

  Althea’s breath caught in her throat.

  The low red-gold sun silhouetted Jeff’s length, outlining his bare upper torso as he stood watching the western horizon. He studied it the way a ship’s captain might, as if he were searching for something. The evening breeze blew back his unkempt hair, revealing his profile. With the haggard lines on his face burnished by the sun, he looked startlingly handsome standing up there, in command, as though he were a natural leader bearing a great responsibility. Overhead, a pair of meadowlarks winged their way across the darkening blue sky, completi
ng the tableau.

  Althea realized she was staring at him again, and this time with more than general curiosity. Shame, she scolded herself. She had no business noticing anything about Jefferson Hicks, no business wondering what he was thinking as he stared at the horizon, or what had turned him into the man he was now.

  “Mr. Hicks, is the roof finished?” she called up.

  Jeff turned at the sound of her voice and put his shirt back on. “I’d say there’s another half a day’s work to be done on it, ma’am.”

  Oh, dear. She didn’t know if Will Mason would allow him to return to finish the job. She’d certainly abandoned all hope of seeing Cooper Matthews out here. “Well, come down, now, and eat your dinner while it’s hot. Cold soup loses its flavor.”

  Jeff picked up the hammer and tucked the handle back into the waistband of his jeans. Stepping carefully onto the ladder, he worked his way down and crossed the yard. Watching him, Althea couldn’t mistake the expression of hunger that crossed his thin face when he saw the tray.

  He reached for the bowl with two dirty hands. “It sure smells good.” He glanced up, quickly tacking on “Ma’am,” as if it were an afterthought.

  Blocking his reach, Althea thrust the soap and towel into his grasp. A thin medicinal odor blended with that of old sweat, as if alcohol were coming through his pores. “You’ll pardon me for saying so, Mr. Hicks, but you do not.”

  After gazing for a moment at the rectangular bar and folded length of linen he found himself holding, he cast a blank look at her.

  Expounding the point, she continued, “I’m sure you’d like the opportunity wash up. There’s a water trough next to the woodshed.”