Dulcie gathered Madeline close and bent over her, sheltering her daughter from the increasingly large hailstones. Rye joined them, putting one arm around Collie and the other around Dulcie and Madeline, and pressed them close to the rocky wall beneath the narrow ledge. He covered them with his upper body, shielding them as Dulcie protected her daughter.
The wind shrieked and pitched hail against them. It was like being hit by a shotgun blast of rock salt. Rye tightened his protective embrace around the woman and two children, hoping to spare them the worst of the stinging hits. The natural shelter helped shield his head, but his back and shoulders weren’t so fortunate. He had no doubt he’d be bruised and sore.
The storm’s intensity raged for what seemed like hours. Madeline hiccup-sobbed while Collie tried to hide his fear, but Rye felt the boy’s anxiety in his shuddering and hitched breaths. Dulcie remained steadfast, but she couldn’t restrain the occasional gasp.
With his body pressed tightly against hers, Rye couldn’t help but feel the soft curves hidden beneath her masculine clothing. Despite the cold air and rain, heat exploded wherever their bodies touched. His memory supplied him with the vision of her lying in her bed, her gown rucked up as she pleasured herself. He’d never seen anything as beautiful as Dulcie when she found her release. Stifling a groan, he eased up to put some space between them, and he hoped like hell she hadn’t noticed his hard flesh against her backside.
Pebbles skittered down the incline around them. A flash of lightning immediately followed by a sharp crack of thunder wrought a shrill scream from Madeline, which nearly deafened Rye. A few moments later he smelled burnt wood mixed with an acrid odor. A faint sizzle told him a nearby tree had been hit by lightning, but Rye doubted there was a threat of fire with the curtains of rain coming down.
Finally, the hail tapered off and the rain eased to a sprinkle. The thunder grew fainter as the storm moved on to its next target.
Clenching his teeth, Rye forced his cramped muscles to obey him. He straightened and sat back on his heels. There wasn’t a square inch on his back and shoulders that didn’t smart.
“Jumpin’ junipers, that was a storm,” Collie exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Yeah, jumpin’ junipers,” Rye repeated wryly. He turned to Dulcie and Madeline. “You all right?”
Dulcie bent over her daughter, sweeping Madeline’s wet stringy hair back from her teary face. “Honey, are you hurt?”
Her eyes wide with lingering terror, Madeline hiccupped. Dulcie framed the girl’s face between her palms, forcing Madeline to meet her gaze.
“Do you hurt anywhere, Madeline?” Dulcie asked.
Awareness eased back into the girl’s expression. “Feet,” she said in a small voice.
Rye examined her feet and found a few cuts on her soles. He was shocked by their icy coldness and carefully rubbed them to bring warmth back.
Madeline whimpered, and Dulcie gathered her close, rocking her in her arms. Dulcie gazed at Rye over the girl’s head, her gaze both questioning and apprehensive.
“Nothing serious,” Rye said. “But she needs to get someplace warm.”
Dulcie nodded and pressed her lips to Madeline’s crown.
“Let’s go back to the cabin and change into dry clothing.” He extended his hands toward Madeline. “I can carry her.”
Dulcie shook her head. “I will.” She kept her arms around her daughter.
Rye clasped Dulcie’s arm and helped her stand. Madeline’s thin legs wound around Dulcie’s waist while her arms encircled her mother’s neck. Without a word, Dulcie strode away. Rye scowled at her back. Sometimes the woman was too stubborn by half.
“I’d best get back to town,” Collie said.
The boy’s disconsolate voice drew Rye’s attention from Dulcie’s infuriatingly stiff back and exasperating pride. “The farm’s closer.”
Collie’s hair stuck to his face and neck. He slid his hands into his pockets. “Nah. I’ll be all right.” A sneeze and a shudder belied his words.
Rye hooked an arm around the boy’s shoulders and steered him in the wake of Dulcie and Madeline. Collie attempted to duck away, but Rye merely swung the kid up into his arms. The boy didn’t fight him and Rye had the impression he wasn’t anxious to return to his foster family.
They caught up to Dulcie, and Rye slowed his pace to follow her, trying to ignore the subtle swing of her hips. He listened to their dull footfalls on the damp earth, the far-off rumble of thunder, and Dulcie’s murmurs as she reassured her daughter. Melting hailstones littered the ground, giving the terrain a strange, winterlike appearance. In places steam rose, caused by the mating of ice and heated soil.
Dulcie stopped. A large branch lay across their path, the black wood still smoking from where lightning had severed it from a mulberry tree.
Rye took the lead and picked a path around the fallen branch. Collie remained silent, but his taut body told Rye he wasn’t nearly as unaffected by the storm and its aftermath as he’d made out. Sometimes bravado was the only thing an orphan had to call his own.
Finally they arrived back at Dulcie’s farm. No hailstones remained in the yard, but water stood in puddles. Leaves, torn from their branches, lay on the ground and were plastered against the barn and cabin walls. Two corral sections sagged but hadn’t fallen.
“Thank heavens, the cabin’s still standing,” Dulcie said.
Collie wriggled, and Rye set him on his feet but kept a firm hand on his shoulder so he couldn’t escape.
“Looks like I won’t even have to repair the roof again,” Rye said, keeping his tone light.
She glanced at him and seemed to notice Collie for the first time. “He didn’t go home?”
Annoyance stung Rye. “I wouldn’t let him since your place was closer. He’s soaked clean through.”
“I don’t have any clothes that will fit him.”
“All he needs is a blanket to wrap up in while his things dry.”
“It’ll be late by that time.”
Rye’s temper flared and he gnashed his teeth, barely restraining his annoyance. She hadn’t even thanked the boy for his help. “You’d best get Madeline inside.”
He spun around and headed to the barn with Collie in tow.
“Rye,” Dulcie called.
He didn’t turn around but continued on and led Collie to the stall where his bedroll lay upon a pile of fresh straw. Rye hunkered down in front of the boy. “Take off your wet things and wrap the blanket around you. I’ll hang your clothes outside on the corral. The sun will dry them in no time.”
“Wanna go back to town.”
Rye pointed at him. “As soon as your overalls are dry, I’ll take you back. I’ll talk to the Gearsons and tell them what happened.”
He stood and turned, but Collie grabbed his arm. The boy’s expression was anxious but he tried to hide it. “You don’t need to go with me. I can take care of myself,” Collie said.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t, but I figured they might be fretting over you.”
“Nah. They don’t care.”
The boy’s bluster didn’t fool him. Rye shrugged. “Didn’t say they did. Just thought they’d like to know how you saved Madeline’s life.”
The boy blinked in surprise, then drew back his shoulders. “Maybe it won’t be so bad, long as you don’t run off at the mouth.”
Rye squelched a smile. “I’ll try not to. Now get out of those wet clothes before you catch something.”
Collie scowled, but he set to work removing his overalls. While the boy did that, Rye exchanged his own drenched shirt and pants for a dry set. As Rye fastened the last button on his shirt, a soggy bundle struck the back of his head. He spun around and made a teasing lunge for the boy, but even wrapped in the blanket, Collie was fast on his feet. Giggling, the boy ducked into another stall.
Rye, his sore body protesting a game of tag, surrendered without a fight. He picked up Collie’s soaked clothing and his own and carried them outside.
After he’d strung them over the corral poles, he looked toward the cabin. Dulcie’s inhospitality to Collie continued to puzzle and anger him. The boy had helped find Madeline, yet Dulcie couldn’t seem to wait to have Collie gone. No thank you, no warm food, and no dry clothing before sending him on the three-mile barefoot hike back to town. Had Rye misjudged Dulcie that badly?
He’d be damned if he waved Collie away like some bothersome mosquito. Rye knew only too well what it felt like to be treated as an inconvenience instead of a living, breathing person.
INSIDE the cabin, Dulcie dressed Madeline in a dry dress and added two pair of stockings to warm her chilly feet. The girl weaved and her eyes fluttered shut. Dulcie barely got her settled into the bed before Madeline dropped off to sleep.
Dulcie leaned against the doorjamb and studied her daughter’s pale face. Terror and fear clawed at her, reminding her how close she’d come to losing the one person in the world she loved. She told herself over and over that Madeline was alive and well. The storm hadn’t stolen her.
Thanks to the boy Collie.
Dulcie’s cheeks burned with renewed shame. What if Collie told Rye he’d bought her whiskey? Might he think she was just like her father?
But I’m not. If I was, I’d need a drink right now. But I don’t. So I’m not like him.
Feeling calmer, Dulcie went to the bedside and kissed Madeline’s brow. The sleeping girl didn’t move.
Dulcie gathered their wet clothes and carried them outside. She spotted Rye by the corral and her gaze met his. No welcoming smile touched his lips, and she knew the reason. Without Collie, they wouldn’t have found Madeline before the worst of the storm hit, and Dulcie hadn’t even thanked the boy. Her guilty conscience had made her defensive.
He turned back to the barn.
“Rye,” she shouted. “Wait.”
Some of her anguish must have leaked into her voice because he stopped and turned around. She left the wet clothing on the porch rail and hurried across the yard. She stumbled to a stop in front of him. His arms were crossed over his chest and only coolness showed in his face.
“How’s Collie?” she asked.
“Fine.”
His terse answer was like a slap across the face. Humiliated, she slid her gaze past him, to the corral where their drenched clothing hung. “It can’t be very warm in the barn.”
“It’s not.”
He obviously wasn’t going to make it easy for her, yet could she blame him? She’d behaved like a callous witch. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not thanking Collie. For not inviting him into the cabin.”
Rye’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
Annoyance crept into Dulcie. “I was worried about Madeline, and I wasn’t very nice to Collie.”
“It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”
She lowered her gaze, chastised by his matter-of-fact words. “He’s in the barn?”
Rye nodded.
Dulcie took a deep breath. She entered the barn, blinking in the relative dimness.
“Rye?” Collie called.
Dulcie cleared her throat and glanced back to ensure Rye remained standing in the yard. “No, it’s Mrs. McDaniel.”
She heard a rustle in one of the stalls and went to it. Her eyes adjusted to the sparse light and she spotted Collie standing in a corner. Around him were Rye’s belongings— saddle, saddlebags, razor, tin cup, and a newspaper. Little to show for a man’s life.
She drew her attention away from Rye’s things and focused on the boy who knew of her secret. Maybe if she acted as if it hadn’t happened, he would, too. “I want to thank you for finding Madeline.”
With a blanket wrapped around him, it was hard to see his shrug. “Weren’t nothin’.”
“It was something to me. I don’t know what would’ve happened to her if you hadn’t found her. How did you know where to look?”
Collie shrugged.
“Were you spying on us?”
Although his face was draped in shadow, she caught a glimpse of guilt. “I don’t like school so I go ’round to different places.”
Dulcie studied him, seeing him as a young boy rather than a symbol of her cowardice. He was about six inches taller than Madeline and too thin for his height. In fact, she recalled how his overalls ended above his ankles. If he’d been her son, she’d ensure he had clothes that fit, even if they were secondhand.
She heard the creak of the door, and Rye stepped into the barn. She ignored him and spoke to Collie. “It’s cool in here. Why don’t you come into the house to wait for your clothes to dry?” At his wary expression, she added, “Would you be interested in some bread and honey?”
His eyes widened, but he shook his head. “I’ll jest wait here.”
“Go on with Mrs. McDaniel,” Rye said. “It’d be better than waiting in this drafty barn.”
Collie’s gaze bounced from Dulcie to Rye and back. “All right,” he said with obvious reluctance. “You gonna come inside too, Rye?”
“I’ve got things to do,” Rye said. “But you go on now. I’ll take you home later.”
Dulcie swung open the stall door and waited. Collie took a deep breath and shuffled out, clinging to his blanket.
As she passed Rye, she caught the warm approval in his eyes. She told herself it didn’t matter, but her heart refused to listen.
NINE
DULCIE guided Collie into the cabin, her hand pressed gently but firmly against his shoulder. She felt resistance in his rigid muscles and dragging feet, but she couldn’t blame him. Her guilty conscience reminded her that it was her earlier behavior that made him reluctant.
She drew a chair close to the stove. “Sit here, Collie.” She smiled in what she hoped was a friendly manner.
Cautiously, like a gopher sticking its head out of a hole, Collie perched on the edge of the chair.
Dulcie kept her gaze averted, suspecting he’d only be more uncomfortable if she gave him her full attention. She added wood to the still-hot embers, and it wasn’t long before heat emanated from the stove. Although the storm and hunt for Madeline had lasted little more than an hour, it felt like yesterday that she’d begun preserving the vegetables. Despite her aching exhaustion, she had to finish the chore.
“You aimin’ on picklin’ them carrots?” Collie asked, startling her.
“Do you like pickled carrots?”
He glanced away. “Ma used to make ’em.”
“You miss her, don’t you?” As soon as the question left her lips, she wished she could take it back. Of course the boy missed his mother, and asking him about it would only reawaken the pain.
He shrugged. “Some, I guess. But it don’t make no difference. She’s gone and ain’t no cryin’ or carryin’ on will bring her back.”
Dulcie swallowed the lump in her throat. She had an idea those words weren’t Collie’s, but something he’d heard from the Gearsons. As much as she’d hated her father’s drunkenness, he’d been her father and she missed him. Anger swelled through her at the Gearsons’ cruelty. A boy should be able to mourn the death of his parents.
“Where’s Madeline?” he asked.
“She’s sleeping. If you’d like to lie down, too, you can go up into the loft.”
“Nah.” He stood. “My clothes should be about dry by now.”
Dulcie pressed him back into the chair. “I doubt that. Besides, I haven’t properly thanked you for finding Madeline.” Her breath stammered in her throat. “She’s all the family I have and if I’d lost her . . .” Her voice quavered and she cleared her throat. “Thank you, Collie.”
His cheeks reddened and his gaze dropped to his lap. “’Tweren’t nothing, ma’am.” Then he lifted his head and studied her with eyes too old for his seven years. “I heard about your pa. Used to see him in town.”
“He’s gone.” She had the impression he wanted to say more, but she didn’t want to talk about him. “You’ll eat supper here. It’s the least I
can do for what you done for us.”
“Don’t go to any bother on my account.” Collie’s expression didn’t match his words.
“When was the last time you ate?”
The boy’s gaze sidled away. “This mornin’, I reckon.”
It was no wonder he was all skin and growing bones. Despite herself, Dulcie liked the boy and felt a deeper pang of discomfiture at how she’d used him to buy her whiskey. He was merely a lonely child with no one who truly cared for him. Except maybe Rye, who probably saw much of himself in the orphan.
After reassuring herself that Collie didn’t look like he would bolt, Dulcie cut two thick slices of bread and spread honey on them. She lifted a trapdoor on the floor and pulled the milk crock from the cool space beneath. Thanks to Flossie, milk was one of the few things she had plenty of. She poured milk into a glass and placed it and the snack on the table. “Pull your chair up, Collie. This should hold you until supper.”
After only a moment’s hesitation, the boy tugged his chair closer to the table and took a long drink. He picked up a slice of bread and took a monstrous bite. The ecstatic look on his face over something as simple as honey on bread gave Dulcie a pang of sympathy. Although she and Madeline didn’t have much, at least they had enough to eat.
Collie downed the rest of the milk after the last bit of bread disappeared. Swiping his forearm across his mouth, he looked at Dulcie. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome.” She suspected his manners came from his mother who had instilled them in him at an early age.
Dulcie went outside and retrieved more water from the well. As she brought up a pail, she surreptitiously looked around for Rye, but didn’t see him. Refusing to acknowledge her odd disappointment, she carried the water into the cabin. Collie remained sitting by the table, but he’d laid his head down and his eyes were closed. The busy day followed by some food had finally tuckered him out.
Dulcie moved quietly as she prepared three crocks for the vegetables. She blanched the vegetables in boiling water then drained them and placed them in their respective crocks. Using squares of cloth, she covered the gallon-sized crocks. She added the vinegar to the carrots, and the sharp tang rising around her caused an arrow of melancholy to pierce her. Her mother used to pickle many of their vegetables. At the time, Dulcie had turned her nose up at the sour food, but now it brought back pleasant memories. Funny how she could be homesick for a time instead of a place.
A Reason to Believe Page 10