“Good.”
The man sat in his chair at the desk. Austin hitched up a hip and planted his butt on the corner of the desk. Rawley tried not to look scared but he had a feeling he wasn’t having much success at it.
The man leaned forward. “Do you know who I am?”
Rawley nodded. “Yes, sir. You belong to the pretty lady.”
A corner of the man’s mustache lifted as he smiled slightly. “I reckon I do at that. My name is Dallas Leigh. The pretty lady is Mrs. Leigh.” His smile quickly disappeared, leaving his mouth looking hard. “She got hurt a few nights back.”
Rawley’s heart started pounding so fast he thought it might escape through his chest. “Did she die?”
“No, but she’s hurt … bad. She said someone pushed her. Do you know who pushed her?”
Rawley shook his head quickly and dropped his gaze to the floor so Dallas Leigh couldn’t see that he was lying. Silence stretched out between them. Rawley heard the logs crackle as the flames devoured them. Soon they’d be nothing but ashes. He wished something would turn him into ashes.
“Would you like to see her?”
His gaze shot up. Dallas Leigh was looking at him like he could see right through him. He figured anyone who lied to Mr. Leigh came away with a blistered backside.
He nodded hesitantly, wondering what it would cost him to see the pretty lady, hoping she wasn’t hurt so badly that she wouldn’t be able to smile at him. He dearly loved her smiles. Her smiles weren’t like the smiles most people gave him, smiles that hid something ugly behind them.
Mr. Leigh came to his feet and looked at Austin. “Dr. Freeman is getting a bite to eat in the kitchen. Fetch him upstairs.”
Austin walked out of the room with his arms swinging. Mr. Leigh put his hand on Rawley’s shoulder. Rawley shrank back.
Mr. Leigh studied him for a minute, his brown eyes penetrating. Rawley figured he could see clear through to his backbone.
“Follow me,” Mr. Leigh said and walked in long strides toward the door.
Rawley would have swallowed if he’d had any spit, but his mouth had gone dryer than the cotton he’d picked one summer.
He followed Mr. Leigh into the hallway. He’d never seen a house so big nor stairs so wide. He figured ten men could walk side by side down those stairs without bumping into each other. At the top of the stairs, he wanted to take a moment to look down, to pretend he was the king of the world, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t think Mr. Leigh was a man of patience and would understand his desire to look down at a world that always looked down on him.
Mr. Leigh opened a door. “In here.”
Rawley’s heart jumped into a rapid-fire beat. The pretty lady would smile at him, maybe hold his hand, and talk to him in a voice that sounded as soft as the wind. He wiped his hands on his britches, not wanting her to feel his sweat, and stepped into the room.
His heart dropped to the floor.
His gaze darted around the room, searching for a sign that he hadn’t been tricked, but with a knowledge a boy his age shouldn’t possess, he understood all too well the truth of his situation.
He knew better than to trust, better than to hope, better than to want.
He heard a shuffling and turned. A man who looked like he ought to be lying in a coffin stood in the doorway.
“This is Dr. Freeman,” Mr. Leigh said. “He’s gonna have a look at you.”
Rawley swallowed the bile burning his throat. “The pretty lady—”
“You can see her as soon as Dr. Freeman is done with you.”
“Does she want me to do this?” he asked.
“Yep.” Mr. Leigh nodded slightly at the doctor and stepped into the hallway, closing the door.
Rawley fought off the bitter disappointment of betrayal and began to carry himself away to a place where the sun kept him warm, the grass was soft beneath his feet, and the breeze always smelled like flowers.
Dallas had little doubt that the boy knew who had pushed Dee, who was responsible for the harm that had taken away their child.
But he’d also seen what he was too familiar with plunge more deeply into the boy’s eyes: fear.
The boy wouldn’t tell Dallas what he wanted to know because the boy feared whoever had been behind the hotel more than he feared Dallas.
“It seems to be taking Dr. Freeman a long time,” Dee said softly.
Dallas turned from the window and looked at his wife. He had propped pillows behind her back so she could sit up in bed. He was bringing her meals, making certain she had plenty to drink, and had started reading to her in the evenings. She seemed to have little interest in anything but the welfare of the boy, and it had taken Austin two days to find him.
“It just seems that way because we’re waiting. Time passes differently when you’re waiting.” She still looked so pale. “Want me to brush your hair again?”
“No.” She studied her clasped hands.
She’d barely looked at him since she had lost the baby. He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t listened to her father, hadn’t believed she was delicate. He had let her walk out of the hotel room unescorted while he had lain in that bed thinking about what he wanted to do with her body when she returned.
Shame rose within him. He hadn’t held her as precious as he should have, and his lack had cost them both, not only a son, but a chance at a future together. She had wanted to give him a son, and for a short time it had appeared that she had wanted him as well. She had laughed so easily while she carried his son, glowed with anticipation, and smiled constantly.
Late into the night, they had whispered silly things: the books she would read to him, the ranching skills Dallas would teach him, the building skills Dee would share with him. They would take him to the top of a windmill and teach him how to dream—big dreams.
So many planned moments that in one night had crumbled into dust to be blown over the prairie and lost.
The door opened, and Dr. Freeman poked his skeletal face into the room. “Dallas, I need to speak to you for a moment.”
Dee furrowed her brow. “Is Rawley hurt?”
“He’s fine,” Dr. Freeman said. “I just need to talk to Dallas.”
He disappeared into the hallway. Dallas walked out of the room and closed the door.
Dr. Freeman was standing beside a window, looking out, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. “There are times when I regret taking an oath to cause no harm,” he said through clenched teeth. “That boy has more scars than the parched earth has cracks. Do you know what he thought I wanted to do?” Dr. Freeman shook his head fiercely. “No, of course you don’t.”
When he turned, Dallas was surprised to see tears shimmering in the man’s eyes.
“I think that sorry excuse of a man who calls himself the boy’s father has been selling him.”
Dallas jerked his head back. “Selling him? To whom?”
“Men. Men who prefer boys to women.” Dallas’s stomach roiled. “Are you sure?” “I can’t swear to it, but I’d stake my life on it.” “In Leighton?”
“Perversion doesn’t come garbed any differently than you or me. You can’t look at a man and tell what’s in his head or on his mind. I have seen the most upstanding men in other communities do things that would turn your stomach, and I only learned about them because they went too far and needed my services.”
Dallas felt the impotent anger swell within him. “Is there anything you can do for the boy?”
Dr. Freeman shook his head. “The hurt he’s had on the outside is healing, but it’s the deep pain that he’s gotta be feeling on the inside that concerns me, the scars he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life.”
“I won’t be taking him back to town,” Dallas said with determination.
“I’ll let his father know—”
“You leave his father to me.”
Rawley Cooper knew he had made a big mistake. All the doctor had wanted to do was look at him.
Rawley couldn�
��t remember what he’d said, but he knew the exact moment that the doctor figured out what Rawley thought he wanted to do to him.
He’d thought the skinny man was going to puke on the floor, and Rawley knew they wouldn’t let him see the pretty lady now. They knew he was dirty on the inside and out.
He heard the door open. He bundled up his shame the same way that he’d bundled up his clothes. He turned from the window.
Mr. Leigh filled the doorway. “Put on your clothes, boy.”
Rawley nodded and did as he was told. He’d thought about putting them on before, but the doctor hadn’t told him to so he’d decided to wait. He was forever doing what he wasn’t supposed to do.
When his fingers had skipped over the two buttonholes in his shirt that no longer had buttons belonging to them, and he had buttoned the top button at his throat, the button that nearly gagged him but made him feel protected, he lifted his gaze back to the towering man.
Mr. Leigh stepped into the hallway. “Come with me, boy.”
Taking one last look at all the fine and pretty things in the room, he slowly walked into the hallway. Mr. Leigh was standing beside an open door that led into a corner room.
“Stop dragging your feet. My wife is anxious to see you.”
Rawley’s heart felt like the fluttering wings of a butterfly he’d once cupped in his hands. Mr. Leigh knew the truth about him—he could see it in his eyes—and he was still going to let him see the pretty lady. He hurried into the room before Mr. Leigh could change his mind.
Then he stumbled to a stop.
The lady was sitting in the bed, looking like an angel. She smiled softly and held out her hand. “Rawley, I’m so glad you could come visit me.”
He edged closer to the bed, and she waved her hand. “Give me your hand.”
He shook his head. “I ain’t clean.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
He knew she thought he was talking about dirt, but he was talking about something so filthy it touched his soul. Tears burned his eyes when he shook his head this time.
Mr. Leigh walked to the other side of the bed and stood near his wife. “It’s all right, Rawley.”
Rawley dared to lift his gaze. Mr. Leigh nodded.
He took a step closer and touched his fingers to the lady’s hand. She closed her hand around his. Her hand was warm and soft and swallowed his. He wondered if his ma’s hand had been like this.
The lady tugged gently and he moved closer. She brushed her fingers over his brow. He’d never been touched with such gentleness.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded. “The boxes didn’t fall on me.”
“I’m glad.”
He suddenly remembered all the screaming that had been going on, all the blood, all the yelling about the baby. “Where’s your baby?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and Mr. Leigh dropped his gaze to the floor.
“He’s in heaven,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Rawley croaked as the tears he’d been fighting to hold back burst through. “I’m sorry.”
She drew him close and pressed his head against her bosom. “It wasn’t your fault.”
But he knew it was. If only he hadn’t cried out. He knew better than to cry out.
The lady rocked him back and forth while he cried. He didn’t know he had so many tears. When he stopped crying, her gown was wet but she didn’t seem to care.
For the longest time, he simply stood beside her and let her hold his hand.
When the lady fell asleep, he helped Mr. Leigh bring the blankets up to her chin. Through the window, he could see that night had fallen. He followed Mr. Leigh through the house, through big rooms, until they came to the kitchen.
Austin sat at a small table, slurping stew.
“Sit down, boy,” Mr. Leigh said.
Rawley slid into the chair. He was embarrassed when his belly growled like an angry dog. Austin smiled at him. Mr. Leigh put some stew into a bowl and placed it in front of him.
“Go on, boy, eat,” Mr. Leigh said.
Rawley squirmed. “Ain’t got no way to pay for it.”
“What happened to that dollar I gave you?”
“I buried it. They built a hotel on top of it. Didn’t know they were gonna do that till it was too late.”
Mr. Leigh rubbed his mustache. “That must be why the hotel is such a success. Maybe we ought to change the name to the Lucky Dollar Hotel.”
Rawley shrugged.
“Go on and eat, boy. You made my wife smile. That’s worth more than a dollar to me.”
Cautiously, Rawley brought a spoonful of stew to his mouth. Normally he ate whatever his pa left behind, which usually wasn’t much. He’d never had his own bowl before. His own food. His mouth and belly wanted him to eat fast, but he forced himself to eat slow, to pretend he had his own food every night and could eat as much as he wanted.
When he finished eating, Mr. Leigh made him take a bath and put on some of Austin’s old clothes. He told Rawley that Austin had been eight years old when he’d worn the clothes. Since the clothes fit him, Rawley wondered if that meant he was eight years old. He wondered if it meant that he’d grow to be as tall as Austin.
Because he knew he couldn’t outrun or outfight Mr. Leigh, Rawley followed him back up the stairs to the room where he had been earlier, where the doctor had looked at him. Mr. Leigh stopped and held something toward Rawley.
“Do you know what this is?” Mr. Leigh asked.
“A key.’”
“Do you know what it’s used for?”
“You lock the door so I can’t get out.”
Mr. Leigh walked into the room and inserted the key in a hole on the other side of the door. “From now on, this is going to be your room. You close the door and turn the key so no one can come in this room unless you want them to.”
“Not even you?” he asked suspiciously.
“Not even me. Give you my word.”
Mr. Leigh walked out of the room and closed the door. Rawley shoved the key farther into the hole and turned it. He heard the echo of a click.
He waited and listened hard. He heard Mr. Leigh’s boots hitting the floor of the hallway. He heard them on the stairs. Then he heard them not at all.
Moonlight streamed in through the window, guiding him. He walked to the bed, removed his boots, and crawled beneath the blankets.
They smelled clean and fresh, just like he did, and crackled beneath him.
He stared at the door for the longest time, at the shadow of the key in the lock. When his eyes drifted closed, for the first time in his life, he slept without fear.
Dallas walked through the swinging wooden doors of the saloon. The scent of freshly poured whiskey and stale cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils.
Come Saturday night, he wouldn’t be able to walk through the saloon without bumping into someone, but tonight only the dregs of his town were here.
Several men played cards at a table. A man sat alone at a corner table nursing a whiskey. Another man stood at the bar, his arms folded across the top.
“Come on, barkeep, give me a whiskey,” he said, his voice raspy.
“I don’t sell liquor on credit,” Beau said as he dried a glass, then held it up so the candles in his chandelier could dance over the glass. “Why don’t you head on home, Cooper?”
“ ’Cuz I ain’t drunk enough.”
Dallas strode to the bar and slapped a coin on the counter. “Whiskey.”
Beau set a glass in front of him and poured a long drink, then walked to the other end of the bar. Cooper’s black gaze darted to the glass. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips.
“Wouldn’t consider buying me a drink, would ya?”
“Nope, but I want to talk to you about your son.”
“Rawley?” His lips spread into a distorted grin. “You don’t hardly look the type to be interested in Rawley, but then what a man is on the inside don’t always show on the outside
.” He leaned closer and his rancid breath billowed out like a cloud of dust.
“Five dollars for twenty minutes. Twenty dollars you can have him all night.”
Dallas had hoped, prayed, that Dr. Freeman had been wrong. He made no attempt to keep the loathing out of his voice. “Can we discuss this outside?”
Cooper sneered. “Sure. You don’t want people knowing your pleasures. I can respect that. Know how to keep my mouth shut, too.”
He staggered out of the saloon. Dallas found him beside the building. A lantern hanging from a pole sent a pale glow over the man as he held out his hand.
Dallas had never hit a man. He’d never used anything but his voice to make a man listen and obey, to make a man squirm when necessary, to make a man regret he’d chosen differently.
But tonight, his voice just didn’t seem to be enough. He brought his arm back and slammed his knotted fist into Cooper’s nose.
Cooper squealed like a wild hog and reeled back, blood spurting through his fingers as he covered his face. He hit the ground and cursed as he staggered to his knees.
Dallas waited until Cooper was again on his feet before burying his fist in the man’s paunchy gut. When Cooper bent over with a grunt, Dallas drove his fist into the man’s chin.
He heard the satisfying sound of bone cracking. Cooper landed flat on his back, moaning and crying. “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me again!”
Dallas crouched beside the pitiful excuse for a father, grabbed his shirt, and jerked him upright. Cooper cried out. “No more!”
Dallas glared at the bloody carnage. “Stay the hell away from Rawley or the next time I’ll use my gun.”
“He’s my boy!”
“Not anymore,” Dallas said as he shoved the man back to the ground. “Not anymore.”
Dallas watched as Rawley shoveled the eggs and biscuits into his mouth. It had taken Dallas ten minutes to convince the boy the food was for him, that he was being given another meal.
Once convinced, Rawley had plowed through a plate of eggs and four biscuits, as though afraid the offer would be rescinded. Dallas had little doubt the boy had been offered a lot in his life that was quickly taken back.
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