A Reason to Believe Page 15

  Frowning, Rye continued over to the group and recognized the chubby twins from his previous visit. “Hey,” he called, and when they looked up, he asked, “Do you know where Collie is?”

  They glanced around then shrugged. “Dunno,” one of them said.

  Impatient, Rye swept his gaze across the other children. “Have any of you seen Collie?”

  A girl about eight years old stepped forward. “I seen him by the livery,” she said shyly.

  Rye smiled at the girl. “Thanks.”

  He strode back the way he’d come. In the livery, he found the same man who’d been working the day he arrived in Locust.

  “You seen a kid about so tall, light hair, wearing overalls?” Rye asked him.

  The big-bellied man angled a glare at him. “Why you lookin’ for Collie?”

  “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  He shrugged meaty shoulders. “Fine last time I seen him. That was ’bout an hour ago.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “Try the bathhouse.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.” He started to turn away but stopped. “You around here the day Carpenter was murdered?”

  The man moved tobacco from one cheek to the other and spat brown juice to the ground. “Yep.”

  Rye heard heavy suspicion in the single word. “You see anything?”

  “Nope.”

  Rye studied him. “Would you tell me if you had?”

  One milky eye narrowed. “Heard you was askin’ questions.”

  Word traveled fast in a small town. “I’m only trying to learn the truth.”

  “The truth is Pollard killed him and then he got what he deserved.” The burly man shook his head. “Carpenter was good for this town. He was the one who put up most of the money for the new school. And when the church needed fixin’, he was right there. He’s gonna be missed, which is a lot more ’n I can say for Pollard.”

  Rye hadn’t realized Carpenter was near to being a saint in Locust. So why would anyone, including Pollard, have killed him? Maybe Pollard had wanted money and Carpenter refused to give him any. “I didn’t know the hardware business was so profitable.”

  “Folks say he come from back East where his family was well-to-do.”

  Rye nodded to the man and strolled to the bathhouse, his mind churning. If Carpenter came from a wealthy family, that explained how he could throw money around. He would’ve thought the townsfolk would want the right man to be brought to justice for his murder, but he also understood how angry people could become an unthinking mob.

  Rye arrived at his destination and pushed open the door. Knobby was slouched in a chair tipped back against the wall. His snores nearly lifted the roof.

  Rye kicked his feet, and the man flailed his arms as the front chair legs hit the floor with a loud thump.

  “You wantin’ a bath?” the bleary-eyed man asked.

  “I’m looking for Collie.”

  Knobby scowled at him. “Probably out back where he usually is when we ain’t busy.”

  Which was probably most of the time. Rye nodded and walked around to the back. Collie was adding more wood to the stove where pots of steaming water sat. As the boy turned toward him, Rye expected to see a bruise or two.

  However, Collie’s face was untouched, and Rye let out the breath he’d been holding.

  Collie’s eyes widened, then he affected aloofness. “You needin’ a bath?”

  Rye studied him, recognizing the hurt in his eyes. Although he’d had no choice but to return the boy to the Gearsons, Rye felt guilty. “No, I came to see you.”

  Collie stuck his hands in his pockets and lifted his chin. “Now you seen me.”

  “Were you punished that night for being at Mrs. McDaniel’s place?”

  The boy shuffled his bare feet. “Mrs. Gearson just talked, like she always does.”

  “What about Mr. Gearson?”

  He shrugged his thin shoulders. “He yelled a lot.”

  Rye crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “Nah.” Collie turned away and leaned over to check the stove. As he did, Rye caught sight of a bruise on his upper arm.

  “Where’d you get that?” he asked, keeping his voice steady and pointing at the mark.

  Collie twisted his neck to see it. His face reddened. “Nowhere.”

  Rye squatted down in front of the boy and carefully took hold of his shoulders. “Who hurt you?”

  He jerked out of Rye’s grasp. “I ran into a tree.”

  Rye’s anger sizzled. “Show me the tree.”

  Panic clouded Collie’s expression. “It ain’t nothin’.” He darted into the alley.

  Rye followed, his longer legs a match for Collie’s desperate pace. When the alley ended, Collie headed toward the woods at the edge of town. But Rye closed the gap and grabbed Collie, enfolding him in his arms. Collie fought like a tomcat, but Rye endured his flailing feet and fists.

  “Easy, Collie. I don’t want to hurt you,” Rye soothed.

  The boy continued to thrash.

  “That’s enough,” Rye ordered.

  His tone of voice penetrated Collie’s frenzy, and the boy calmed and sagged in Rye’s grip. Rye turned his restraining hold into a loose embrace. The boy pressed his head against Rye’s waist, but kept his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

  Rye patted his back. “Who hit you, Collie?” he asked softly.

  For a long moment, there was no reaction from Collie, then he murmured, “Timmy and Tommy.”

  “The twins?”

  Collie straightened and stepped back. When he looked up at Rye, his face was dry but flushed. “Yeah.”

  Although kids didn’t always tell the truth, Rye knew Collie wasn’t lying. “Did you tell Mrs. Gearson?”

  “I did the first time. They lied. Said I started it. She believed them.” He spoke matter-of-factly, as if being called a liar didn’t bother him.

  Rye suspected otherwise.

  Timmy and Tommy were the Gearsons’ flesh and blood, so the parents would naturally take their sons’ side rather than Collie’s. Rye rubbed his aching brow. “Can you stay away from them?”

  “I usually do during the day.”

  But at night, Collie had nowhere to go. Helplessness gnawed at Rye’s insides. He had no idea how to get Collie away from the Gearsons, and even if he did, who would be willing to take him in?

  “Don’t worry ’bout me. I can take care of myself,” Collie said with false bravado.

  The boy’s pride had made him run before admitting the twins had hurt him, and pride continued to shield him. But Rye saw his lurking fear. “Two against one isn’t a fair fight, especially when they’re bigger than you,” he said gently.

  The boy’s gaze sidled away. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do, Rye. Ain’t nothin’ nobody but me can do.”

  Collie was too young to be taking on the world, yet having lost his parents he had no one to help shoulder that burden. No one except Rye.

  “Do you think the Gearsons would let you stay out at Mrs. McDaniel’s place for a few days?” he asked.

  Collie blinked in surprise. “Why?”

  Rye had to tread carefully since Collie wouldn’t take to being coddled. “I could use your help around her place.” He smiled and lowered his voice. “You saw how much needs to be done. Too much work for one person.”

  The boy regarded him warily. “I ain’t that strong.”

  “Maybe not as strong as me, but you helped me just fine with the corral.”

  Collie’s brow furrowed. “Mrs. McDaniel won’t mind?”

  Good question. “As long as you got nothing against sleeping in the barn.”

  His face brightened, then darkened once more. “Mrs. Gearson won’t let me go.”

  Rye grinned, putting more confidence than he felt in the expression. “Leave her to me.” He put his hand on Collie’s shoulder and steered him in the direction of his foster parents’ home.
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  Collie dragged his feet as they neared the house, which was quiet now with all the playing children gone.

  Mrs. Gearson opened the door as they came up to the porch. “Now what did he do?” she demanded.

  Rye’s temper climbed, but he kept his expression calm. “He didn’t do anything, ma’am. I was just wondering if you could spare Collie for a few days. Mrs. McDaniel’s got some work he can do, and instead of going back and forth every day, Collie could stay out there.”

  “What about his chores around here?”

  Rye forced a smile. “I’m sure one of your own could do them for a few days.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  He leaned closer. “One less mouth to feed, and you wouldn’t have to worry about what mischief he’s into.”

  “Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for a few days.” She was obviously swayed by the temptation of saving food and her own peace of mind rather than any concern over Collie.

  Rye’s muscles hurt from smiling. “I appreciate that, ma’am.” He turned to Collie. “Go on inside and get what you’ll need.”

  Collie looked at Mrs. Gearson as if expecting her to launch into a tirade, but when she only nodded, he slipped past her into the house.

  The rotund woman stepped out onto the porch. “I’d best warn that you he’s a handful. He sasses back and lies about fighting with the other kids. That boy is headed for no good.”

  Rye bit the inside of his cheek. The woman had a blind spot a mile wide. Although taking the boy to Dulcie’s place for a few days wouldn’t solve the problem, it would give Collie some time away from his tormentors.

  Collie returned with a cloth bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Ready?” Rye asked.

  Collie nodded.

  “You mind your manners, Collier, and don’t be giving those folks any grief,” Mrs. Gearson said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” His voice was barely audible.

  “Good-bye, ma’am,” Rye said.

  Rye steered Collie through town to where he’d left his horse. “Have you had supper?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “What do you say we eat in town first?”

  “Really?” Excitement shined in his eyes.

  “Have you ever eaten in a restaurant?”

  Collie shook his head.

  Rye slapped his back and smiled. “Then you’re in for a treat. But first thing you need is a bath.”

  AFTER Collie cleaned up in the bathhouse, which Knobby grudgingly allowed him to do for free, he dressed in a clean pair of trousers and a shirt from his bag. Rye combed the boy’s dark hair back from his face and grinned at the transformation.

  “You look respectable,” Rye said.

  Collie made a face. “I don’t know why I needed a bath. The rain soaked me good yesterday.”

  Rye laughed. “You didn’t use soap then.”

  Collie stuck his tongue out at him. Laughing, Rye led him into the hotel and to the dining area. He was glad there was no one around to notice Collie’s bare feet. After they sat down, Collie continued to look around in fascination. He ran his fingers along the tablecloth and touched the salt and pepper shakers.

  A woman scurried over to their table. “What can I get you?”

  “What’ve you got?” Rye asked, giving her his friendliest smile.

  “Today’s supper is beef stew with biscuits.”

  “We’ll each have a plate. And milk for Collie and coffee for me.”

  The woman peered at him and smiled. “Why, that is you, Collie. I hardly recognized you all gussied up. My, you are a handsome one.”

  The tips of Collie’s ears reddened and he ducked his head. “Rye made me take a bath.”

  Rye chuckled at the boy’s disgusted tone.

  Over Collie’s lowered head, the waitress winked at Rye. “I’ll have it out soon.”

  Rye leaned toward Collie and teased, “I didn’t know you had a sweetheart.”

  Collie glared at him and muttered, “Miss Janey ain’t no such thing.”

  Rye knew better than to laugh.

  As they waited for their food, Rye listened to Collie tell stories about Knobby and Burt, the liveryman, and others Rye hadn’t met. Since Collie didn’t go to school, it seemed he used his time to spy on the townsfolk.

  Halfway through another of Collie’s tales, Rye glanced out the window to see Mrs. Carpenter and her stepson leaving the hardware store. She had her hand through the crook of his arm and their heads were bent close as they talked.

  “Yuck,” Collie said, drawing Rye’s attention.

  “What?”

  Collie pointed toward the Carpenters. “They’re always doin’ that, whisperin’ and talkin’ like that.”

  Rye’s question was stalled by the arrival of Miss Janey and their food. As soon as she set Collie’s plate in front of him, the boy dug in like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  “You need anything else, just let me know,” the waitress said.

  Rye grinned at Collie’s enthusiasm. “This looks real good. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Miss Janey gazed boldly at Rye a moment longer than necessary.

  Rye watched the exaggerated sway of her hips but found himself imagining breeches-clad hips and fiery chestnut hair. Even away from Dulcie, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Something told him he was on the trail to trouble.

  THIRTEEN

  ALTHOUGH Dulcie suspected Rye wouldn’t be back for supper, she made enough for him, too. As she and Madeline ate in the cabin, she again marveled at the luxury of not having to go outside for water. Merely fixing the pump would’ve been enough to justify Rye’s room and board for a month.

  Madeline smushed the green beans into the mashed potatoes with her fork.

  “Quit playing with your food, honey,” Dulcie scolded absently.

  The girl dropped her fork on the plate. “Where’s Mr. Rye?”

  Dulcie restrained a sigh. Madeline had only asked that question a dozen times already. “He rode into town.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he deserved some time to himself.”

  “Don’t he like us?”

  “Doesn’t he like us,” Dulcie corrected automatically. She thought a moment, wondering how to answer the innocent question. “I’m sure he does, but a man likes to get away for a little while.”

  “Like Pa done?”

  Dulcie was surprised Madeline, as young as she was, would remember how often her father had been gone in the evenings. “I suppose.”

  Madeline bowed her head so Dulcie couldn’t see her expression. She reached over and placed her hand on her daughter’s crown. “What’s wrong, honey?” She shook her head, but Dulcie knew there was something bothering her. “Do you miss Mr. Rye?”

  Madeline shrugged, but remained mute.

  Concerned, Dulcie hooked her finger under Madeline’s chin and raised her head. A tear coursed down the girl’s pink cheek. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not.”

  The feisty reply brought a smile to Dulcie. “Then where did that tear come from?”

  Madeline dashed it away. “Mr. Rye said he was my friend.”

  Uncertain what she meant, Dulcie nodded slowly. “That’s right.”

  “Then why’d he leave?”

  Dulcie’s heart twisted, and she knelt beside her daughter’s chair. She’d suspected Madeline was infatuated with Rye, but had hoped it wasn’t serious. However, it appeared she’d grown too fond of him too quickly.

  “He’ll be back, honey.” Dulcie hoped it wasn’t an empty reassurance. She managed a smile. “If you’re done eating, you can help me with the dishes.”

  “Can I pump the water?” the girl asked, her expression brightening.

  Dulcie playfully poked her side. “We’ll take turns.”

  Madeline jumped up, causing Dulcie to scramble to her feet. As they worked, Dulcie was grateful for a child’s resiliency. They washed and dried the dishes together, with Dulcie allowing Ma
deline to do more than usual. It gave the girl something to keep her mind and hands occupied.

  As the last dish was put away, Dulcie heard a wagon roll into the yard. She peeked out the window and recognized the man and woman in the buggy. Her heart lurched and her hands trembled.

  She understood how her daughter felt about Rye since Dulcie, too, liked the stranger who’d come into their empty lives and brought hope with him. If she was honest with herself, she liked him more than she had a right to. His easy smile and eagerness to help wasn’t deterred by her wariness. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to be helpful and to ease her burden. No other man had ever done that for her— neither her father nor her husband.

  “Stay inside, Madeline. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Dulcie said, keeping the dread out of her tone.

  Her daughter didn’t look happy, but went to play with her doll.

  Her heart thundering, Dulcie walked outside. “Good evening, Mrs. Carpenter, Peter.”

  The Carpenters nodded curtly.

  “Would you like to come inside for coffee?” Dulcie asked, hoping they’d refuse.

  “No,” Martha Carpenter replied. “Your hired man stopped in the store this afternoon.”

  Startled, Dulcie asked, “Why?”

  “To ask us about Lawrence’s death. He said you’re still insisting your father was innocent.”

  Dulcie stiffened her spine. “He didn’t kill your husband.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” Peter asked.

  She turned to the younger man. “Because it’s the truth.”

  “My husband is gone,” Mrs. Carpenter said. “Your father killed him and he’s paid for his crime. I don’t appreciate you or someone on your behalf dredging it up again.”

  Dulcie took a step closer to the wagon and glared up at the diminutive woman. “And I don’t appreciate everyone in that lynch mob getting away with the murder of an innocent man. I’ll do whatever has to be done to find the real murderer and clear my father’s name.”

  “I told you she wouldn’t listen to reason, Martha,” Peter said, his voice low and worried.

  Martha kept her steely gaze on Dulcie. “She’ll listen to me whether she wants to or not. As I told your hired man, I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m not sorry your father is dead. He deserved to hang.”