A Reason to Believe

by McKade, Maureen

  Hot anger boiled in Dulcie. “When I find the real killer, I’m also going to learn who took part in the hanging. If I find out you were involved, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re punished.”

  Martha’s lips pressed together, forming a grim slash across her face. “Let it go, Mrs. McDaniel, or you’ll be sorry.”

  Dulcie kept her gaze locked on the woman. “Is that a threat, Mrs. Carpenter?”

  A syrupy sweet, insincere smile crossed Martha’s face. “A promise, Mrs. McDaniel.”

  Peter slapped the reins against the horse’s rump, and Dulcie had to scramble back or be knocked down by the buggy. With her hand on her hips and fury churning in her chest, Dulcie watched them leave.

  If their intent was to stop her from seeking the truth, they’d done the opposite. When someone told her she couldn’t do something, she did everything in her power to accomplish it. Like coming back home to a rundown farm that nobody, including her father, believed could be salvaged. But with Rye’s assistance, the farm was getting fixed up.

  And it looked like Rye was helping to repair her father’s name, too.

  WITH a coffee cup in her hands, Dulcie sat on the porch step. Half her concentration was on Madeline playing hopscotch and the other was pondering the Carpenters’ startling visit. Lurking behind those thoughts was Rye. She was anxious to hear what he’d learned when he’d visited the Carpenters.

  Would he spend the night in town or come back to sleep in the barn? Imagining him in a saloon with a short-skirted whore perched on his lap twisted her lips into a scowl. Rye wasn’t her husband and it was no business of hers what he did with whom. So why did the thought of him making time with a saloon gal bring sharp jealousy?

  “Ma, Mr. Rye’s back,” Madeline shouted, bringing Dulcie out of her dark musings.

  Her heart leapt, and she stood, rubbing her suddenly damp palms against her trouser-clad thighs.

  As Rye neared, she noticed someone riding behind him. Someone small. Collie.

  Although uncomfortable around Collie because he’d bought her whiskey, she sincerely liked the boy. Finding Madeline before the storm was another point in his favor. But why was he with Rye?

  She and Madeline joined them at the corral. They stood back as Rye lowered Collie to the ground then dismounted.

  “Hello, Collie,” Dulcie said warmly.

  “Miz McDaniel,” he said, his eyes lowered.

  Madeline tugged on his shirtsleeve. “Hi, Collie.”

  A smile touched the boy’s lips. “Whatcha doing?” “Playing hopscotch. Wanna play?”

  Collie shrugged, but his expression lost its apprehension. “Sure.”

  Madeline grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

  Dulcie watched them go and smiled when the boy tossed his rock onto the first square. She turned to Rye and her eyes collided with his.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I brought him here,” Rye said.

  Frowning, Dulcie replied, “Why should I?”

  Rye fiddled with his horse’s reins, then met her gaze squarely. “He’ll be here for a few days.”

  She hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

  His gaze sidled away. “He needs to be away from the Gearsons for a while.”

  She tried to read his expression but he hid his thoughts too well. “Did something happen to him?”

  Rye turned his attention to Collie and Madeline, and it seemed he was seeing something Dulcie didn’t. “He’s a good worker and I can use his help.”

  It wasn’t an answer but she stifled her annoyance. “Where will he sleep?”

  “He can bunk in the barn with me. Do you have a spare blanket?”

  “Yes. I’ll get a couple for him. The nights can get cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  “He’s a good boy.” Dulcie jammed her hands deep in her pockets. “I had two visitors here about an hour ago.”

  Rye paused in loosening the saddle cinch. “Who?”

  “Lawrence Carpenter’s widow and son.”

  Rye’s lips flattened into a scowl. “Did they tell you I talked to them this afternoon?”

  She nodded. “They weren’t very happy about it.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She raised her chin. “I’m glad you did. They’re so certain my father was a murderer they won’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.” She paused. “Mrs. Carpenter said if we didn’t stop asking questions and dredging up the murder, I’d be sorry.”

  “She threatened you?”

  “Sounded that way to me.”

  Rye chewed on the inside of his cheek, his expression both thoughtful and furious. “Sounds to me like she might be trying to hide something.”

  Dulcie swept a loose tendril behind her ear. “That’s what I thought, too. But why would she kill her husband?”

  “How was he killed?”

  “Stabbed.”

  “How big was he?”

  “Almost as tall as you but heavier.”

  Rye shook his head. “I doubt a woman the size of Mrs. Carpenter could have done it. Maybe it was the son and she’s protecting him.”

  “Then the peddler is protecting him, too. He’s the one who swore my father was with Carpenter not long before the murder.”

  “The peddler is the one I need to talk to. What’s his name?”

  Panic flooded Dulcie. As much as she wanted to prove her father’s innocence, she was more afraid of Rye finding out she’d lain with the peddler. She cared what Rye thought of her—more than she ought to. “Virgil Lamont.” Speaking his name aloud left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Rye nodded. “That’s right. Someone mentioned his name in town.”

  “He’s gone. He left the day after the murder.”

  “If this Lamont was coming back to testify during the trial, he probably told the sheriff how to get hold of him.

  Peddlers don’t travel fast. I might be able to find him and be back in a day.”

  “And what good would that do? He’d lie to you, too, and the sheriff wouldn’t believe you anymore than he believed me.”

  “You sound like you don’t want to prove your father’s innocence,” Rye said, his eyes narrowed.

  Dulcie looked away, afraid he’d see her guilt in her eyes. “I just don’t know how talking to him will help.” Indecision clouded Rye’s expression and she pressed her advantage. “You said yourself there’s a lot to be done here, including the crops that are ready to be harvested.” She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Without the corn and wheat, I’ll lose this place, and I don’t know how I’ll provide for Madeline.”

  Rye’s gentle hands on her arms were almost too much to bear, and she fought the sting of tears.

  “I understand,” he said softly. “Besides, I have a feeling the peddler will come back through again soon enough. They usually have their circuits they follow.”

  Relieved she’d been given a reprieve, Dulcie nodded. He released her and turned to take care of his horse.

  Bereft of his touch, Dulcie shivered despite the warmth of the evening air. The meeting with Lamont was only delayed. If she truly wanted to clear her father’s name, Virgil Lamont was the key. But her humiliation mocked her, made her heart pound with the fear that he would expose her secret.

  She gathered her composure and asked, “Did you and Collie have supper?”

  Rye removed the saddle from Smoke’s back. “We ate at the hotel in town. Collie’d never eaten in a restaurant before.”

  Although the fondness in his voice didn’t surprise her, for a moment she envied Collie. To have Rye’s affection was something she dared not think about. It would be too easy to allow him to take over her life, do with her what he wished. She’d made that mistake twice already.

  Rye carried his saddle into the barn, leaving Dulcie alone and uncertain what to do. Restless, she walked back to the porch and sat down to watch the children play. Although Collie was a few years older than Madeline, he seemed to enjoy their game.

 
; Dulcie had made a promise to herself, to be independent and free of a man’s control. However, that promise didn’t come without a cost. Madeline would have no brothers or sisters to play with, giving her the same lonely childhood Dulcie had experienced.

  Rye came out of the barn and led Smoke into the corral. Her chest ached, but Dulcie couldn’t figure out if her grief was for Madeline or for herself.

  RYE awakened early by habit and lay on his bedroll listening to the quiet snores coming from the next stall, where Collie slept. The excitement of staying in a barn had kept him awake long after he should have been asleep. Rye himself was somewhat bleary after answering the boy’s endless questions late into the night.

  He eased up off his bedroll and tugged on his pants and boots. He considered leaving his shirt off, but after Dulcie had surprised him one morning, he decided not to risk it. The brand on his shoulder blade would invite too many questions he didn’t want to answer.

  Leaving his shirt unbuttoned, he grabbed his razor and left the barn. The humid air struck him like a wall. Clouds with gray underbellies filled the sky, casting a sickly pallor across the land. But behind them was a wide strip of blue sky, an indication the clouds would pass and bring another hot day.

  He crossed to the well and filled the bucket. Shaving by rote, Rye gazed at the fields beyond the pasture. Dulcie was right about it being time to start harvesting. The wheat waved in the light breeze, creating an undulating river of gold. The nearby cornstalks were tall and green and appeared heavy with ears of corn. It was time to begin the laborious task of cutting the wheat and picking the corn.

  As he wiped his face after shaving, Dulcie came out onto the porch. Even from where he stood, he could tell she wasn’t feeling well again. She squinted against the dull gray sky, and her mouth formed a thin-lipped line. He suspected her whiskey bottle was emptier than it had been yesterday. Disappointed, he wheeled around and returned to the barn.

  If she wanted to destroy her life with liquor, who was he to stop her? Yet what about Madeline? What would happen to her? Didn’t Dulcie know how much she was risking? He knew firsthand that drinking never solved a thing, and, more likely than not, it brought on new troubles—worse troubles. Maybe if he talked to her, pretended his life was someone else’s and told her about how the whiskey had nearly destroyed him.

  Collie sat up on his bedroll, relegating Rye’s concerns to the back of his mind.

  “Morning, Collie,” Rye said.

  The boy blinked in his direction and looked around as if trying to figure out why he was sleeping in a barn. It was only a few moments, however, before recognition stole across him. “Mornin’, Rye. Is the sun up?”

  “Hours ago,” Rye teased. “Rise and shine, Collie, you’re wasting daylight.”

  The boy took his words to heart and scrambled up. He drew on his oft-mended shirt and too-short overalls.

  “You can wash up at the well before breakfast,” Rye said.

  Dulcie was already in the corral, milking Flossie with mechanical motions. She gave them a half-hearted smile and then turned her attention back to the cow.

  Collie washed up with cool water from the well, getting as much water on his clothing as on his face and hands. Rye didn’t scold him, knowing the boy probably had too much of that at the Gearsons’. Besides, the air was warm and his clothes would dry quickly.

  “What do we do now?” Collie asked.

  Rye dipped his hand in the water bucket and smoothed down the boy’s hair, which stuck out in twenty different directions. “Now we get to fill up the water tank in the corral.”

  Rye found another pail and he and Collie began the long process of hauling water from the well to the corral. He enjoyed the boy’s company and the chore took less time than usual with Collie’s help. While they did that, Dulcie finished milking Flossie and took care of the chickens and gathering eggs.

  She didn’t speak to them other than a mumbled good morning. Rye didn’t trust himself to say anything more than the same.

  Once the animals were watered, Rye and Collie inspected the farming tools in the barn. Rye found a long-handled scythe that appeared to be at least twenty years old, but there was little rust and the blade had probably been sharpened last year during harvest time. Rye used a whetstone to sharpen it.

  “It’s gonna take a long time to cut the grain,” Collie said, eyeing the scythe and shaking his head. “Mr. Gearson got a machine to cut it.”

  “Do you think he’d let us borrow it?”

  Collie scrunched up his face and shook his head. “He don’t like Miz McDaniel.”

  Rye expected as much and surrendered to having sore muscles and blistered hands for the next couple of weeks. He just hoped they’d save enough of the crop to give Dulcie the income she needed to get through the year.

  Just as he finished sharpening the scythe, Dulcie called them to breakfast. When he and Collie got to the porch, there weren’t any plates sitting there and the front door was open.

  She obviously trusted him enough to allow him in the house now. Rye ushered the boy in ahead of him. Madeline was already sitting at the table, a piece of bread in one hand and her fork in the other.

  “Hi Mr. Rye. Hi Collie,” she said, an impish grin on her face.

  “Morning, Miss Madeline,” Rye said, winking at her.

  She giggled and crammed the piece of bread in her mouth.

  “Sit down,” Dulcie said as she brought over a pan and shoveled cooked eggs onto their plates, which already held fried potatoes and salt pork.

  There was also hot cereal, bread, butter, honey, and fried apples.

  Collie stared at the pile of food around him as if unsure he was allowed to eat it.

  “Go ahead,” Rye urged the boy.

  Collie didn’t need to be told twice and attacked the fried apples first.

  The food disappeared rapidly, and Rye rose and went to the stove. “Would you like some more?” he asked Dulcie, holding up the coffeepot.

  She nodded, and Rye filled her cup then his own and placed the black pot back on the stovetop. He sat down and sipped, watching Collie, who was working on another piece of bread and honey.

  “I appreciate you letting us eat inside,” he said in a low voice to Dulcie.

  She fiddled with her fork, setting it on the plate and picking it up again. “I guess you’ve earned my trust.”

  He cleared his throat to keep from chuckling at her grudging tone. “I think that was a compliment.”

  She glared at him. “Think what you want.”

  This time he did laugh. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Her glare lost some of its venom but didn’t disappear completely, and Rye figured he’d best change the subject. Especially since he had a strong hunch it wasn’t the side of the bed, but too much whiskey that made her irritable. “I’m going to check the corn and wheat to see if they’re ready. Would you and Madeline like to walk to the fields with us?”

  “Yes. Give me a few minutes to clean up the breakfast dishes and we’ll be ready to go.”

  “I can give you a hand,” he said.

  Dulcie seemed startled by the offer. “All right.”

  While Madeline and Collie kept one another company, Rye and Dulcie cleared the table. Dulcie washed the dishes in a large pan of soapy water and slid them in the rinse pan. Rye plucked them out of the steaming water and wiped them dry.

  She was a puzzling woman, intriguing Rye with her different layers. Fierce, protective, and prickly as a mad porcupine, but beneath that and her masculine clothing lurked a woman’s passionate nature. He’d witnessed the power of her passion that night when he’d seen her through the window, pleasuring herself. It was a sight he wouldn’t forget.

  So why did she deny her femininity in the light of day? Why hide who she was?

  “You seem to know your way around dirty dishes,” Dulcie commented.

  Rye opened his mouth to tell her he’d done his share of kitchen duty while in the army. Abruptly, he clamped his
lips together. “My wife wouldn’t let me get away with not helping out,” he said awkwardly.

  Dulcie’s hands stilled. “I tried to get Jerry to help with the house chores after Madeline was born. He laughed at me. Said that was my job and since I didn’t do his job, he wasn’t going to do mine.”

  Rye gripped the plate in his hands tightly. The more he learned about Jerry, the more Rye realized how wrong he’d been in befriending him. Rye should’ve realized a man with a wife and child ought to be home with them instead of frequenting saloons. But at the time Rye had only seen someone as desperate as himself to fill his off-hours with whiskey.

  Maybe he was a coward for not revealing the real reason he’d shown up at her farm, but at least his cowardice would enable him to help her without having to endure her loathing. And despite what she said about Jerry, the man had been her husband, and Rye’s actions had killed him.

  After the last pot was dried and put away, Dulcie donned her floppy hat. Rye ushered the children outside and Dulcie joined them. The gray clouds had meandered to the west, leaving a crisp blue sky in their wake and the sun’s heat pouring down on them, just as Rye had reckoned.

  Madeline sneezed once, then again.

  “Ewwww,” Collie said, backing away from her.

  Rye glanced at Dulcie questioningly.

  “She gets sneezy this time of year,” Dulcie said with a shrug. “Come along, Madeline. We’re going for a walk.”

  The girl took her hand and tried to grasp Collie’s hand with her other, but the boy backed away. Rye grinned inwardly. Collie played with frogs and snakes, but he wouldn’t touch the hand of someone who’d just sneezed.

  They walked four abreast down the road, and when Dulcieveered off to the fields, Rye and Collie walked behind her and her daughter. Although he knew Dulcie wasn’t feeling her best this morning, she didn’t let it slow her pace. He tried not to notice the swing of her breeches-clad hips or the pendulum motion of her long ponytail across her back. The sun shimmered across her red hair, creating a waterfall of fire and gold.

  What was it about her that drew him so powerfully? She was brash and headstrong. She dressed and walked like a man. She tested his patience every day.