Читать книгу Cally And The Sheriff - Cassandra Austin - Страница 11

Sheriff Haywood cantered into her yard, and Royal went to meet him. For one brief moment, Cally considered the leaky barn roof and the dwindling woodpile. Then she remembered his efforts to get her to leave her farm. She weighed the shotgun in her hand as she considered. Its purpose was to discourage strangers, which Haywood wasn’t—exactly. She had a feeling he wasn’t frightened by it anyway. Still it let him know he wasn’t welcome. She kept it in her hands as she watched him dismount.

“Surprised to see you back so soon,” she said.

Haywood lifted a bag that had been tied to his saddle horn and started toward her. If he thought she was inhospitable after his help the day before, he didn’t mention it.

“I didn’t invite you in,” she said, pleased with the chill in her voice.

He stopped. “These are yours,” he said.

“Leave ‘em where you stand.”

He took his time, as if trying to decide if he should defy her. She wondered if he was gauging his own speed against her ability to swing the shotgun to her shoulder. No, that was foolish. He wasn’t here to hurt her, just annoy the hell out of her. She gripped the shotgun tighter, wishing she knew what to say to make him leave her alone.

Haywood let the bag drop from his fingers. It hit the ground with a clatter. “Miss DuBois,” he called louder than he needed to. She was supposed to feel guilty for making him stay so far from the house. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“So talk. I can hear you.”

She watched the sheriff clench his jaw. She had made him mad. She was elated. She bit her lip to keep him from seeing her grin.

Royal sniffed the discarded bag and turned in a circle to sit at the sheriff’s feet. Cally wondered what would happen if she commanded her dog to kill. Sometime she was going to try it.

Haywood removed his hat, an odd gesture, it seemed to Cally. “I found a job for you in town,” he said.

“I don’t need a job.”

“Miss DuBois, you can’t stay out here by yourself all winter. There are two ladies who are willing to give you a home in exchange for housework. They’re nice ladies, and I’m sure you’d—”

“I got my own housework.”

“But surely you can’t mean to stay.”

Cally lost her patience. “Get on your horse and head on back to town now, Sheriff.”

He didn’t budge. “Your father asked me to look out for you.”

Cally considered that for the briefest of moments. “You sure that wasn’t a warning?” She couldn’t stop herself from grinning but was surprised to see Haywood do the same. She didn’t think she had ever seen him smile. It made him look…different. She realized she had let her arms relax and brought the shotgun to chest level again. Just because he looked…different, didn’t mean he was. She concentrated on glaring at him.

His smile faded, but he didn’t look particularly worried. “Miss DuBois, what are you going to do when winter comes?”

A touch of arrogance in his tone made her certain he had seen her drop her guard. She glared all the harder. “I’ll get by, I reckon.”

He looked toward her woodpile. “How are you going to chop enough wood to keep from freezing? Do you plan to wade through the snow to do your chores morning and night?”

Cally was a little concerned about the wood, but she had him on this last argument. “Do you really think Pa ever did the chores?”

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to realize she had him. “If you don’t freeze, you’ll starve. Even a grown woman wouldn’t try to make it by herself out here, and you’re a child.”

“I’m what?” Cally really considered swinging the shotgun to her shoulder. A child?

Haywood took his own sweet time deciding what to do. Was he wondering if she would really shoot him? She hoped he didn’t push her that far; Pa’s old shotgun hadn’t been reliable in years. When she saw his stance relax, she hoped she had won—at least for now.

“You know where to find me if you need me,” he said.

“I won’t need you.” Her voice, she noted with satisfaction, was as cold as ever.

Haywood rubbed Royal’s ears, and the traitor leaned into his leg. “I’ll check on you from time to time,” he said, donning his hat before swinging into the saddle.

He turned the sorrel toward town, and Cally hollered after him, “I’ll keep the shotgun handy!”

Andrew had the nerve to turn and wave at her to let her know he had heard—and didn’t care.

She glared at the horse and rider until they disappeared, then at the sack in her yard. She knew it contained all the weapons he had taken away from her. She was glad to have them back. She really was. She just didn’t want to look at them right now.

She took a deep breath and stomped across the yard, grabbed up the sack and stomped back to her house. She deposited the sack on the table, then turned and put the shotgun in its place.

She would dig her potatoes today. She would dig them all and take them to her root cellar. She marched to the barn to get the spade. “I’ll boil a potato for dinner,” she told the dog. “There’s nothing better than fresh dug potatoes. I might even boil two. Too bad you don’t like potatoes. Seems like you should since you like apples.”

She knew she was babbling and to a dog even, but it was either that or think about that insufferable sheriff. “I’ll check on you from time to time,” she mocked.

Royal twitched his ears at the change in her tone.

“Meddling sheriff,” she muttered, shoving the barn door open with more force than necessary. “Found me a job, did he? Like I have time for a job!”

She grabbed up the spade and left the barn. “Why, I’ve got so much to do here, I hardly know where to start.”

She had stomped half the way back to her garden when she glanced down at the spade and stopped in her tracks. She stared at a small clump of dried mud that clung to the blade. Haywood had cleaned the spade and shovel before he brought them back to the barn, but a tiny bit of earth had remained to remind her of how the spade had been used. Yesterday.

Cally found herself sitting on the ground, her knees drawn up to cradle her face. In spite of how upset she had been, she hadn’t cried the night Pa had been arrested. She couldn’t remember even wanting to cry before that, though tears had threatened a few times since. But now the floodgates had opened, and she was powerless to stop the tears. Sorrow, loneliness and fear washed over her in turns.

Once she raised her head to let the breeze cool her damp face, hoping that would help her regain control. Royal, responding to what he saw in her face, whimpered, nuzzled her shoulder and licked at her ear, causing her to burst into fresh tears.

She didn’t know how long she sat like that, in the middle of her yard with the offending spade discarded half a pace away, but in the end exhaustion won where willpower had failed.

She awoke later from a light doze and raised her head. “Potatoes,” she reminded herself, stretching her stiff shoulders. “Lord, Royal, what if Haywood had ridden in and seen that? He’d be hauling me off to town hog-tied to the saddle, I reckon.”

She came unsteadily to her feet and took a deep breath. “If that wasn’t the silliest thing.” She rubbed her cheeks to make sure there were no more tears and brushed at her damp knees. She felt foolish, but in a strange way it had been good to cry. She felt released from a kind of tension that she had felt since Pa had been arrested.

The spot of dirt from her father’s grave didn’t bother her when she caught up the spade and headed for the garden. Digging the potatoes felt good, too. She inhaled the scent of the rich soil as she brushed it away from each one. Big ones and little ones went into the bucket, and she carried them to her cellar where she spread them on a piece of woven wire. Then it was back to her garden for another bucketful.

The soil in her garden was much more mellow than where Haywood had dug the grave. Of course the garden was fertilized and cultivated every year, and there was no apple tree sapping the moisture like on the hill. For some reason, it didn’t hurt to make comparisons now. The cry and her garden had healed her, she decided.

She dipped the spade into the edge of the hole left by the last plant she had dug and lifted another clump of potatoes, watching them separate from the rich, dark brown dirt. Dirt the color of Haywood’s eyes.

The thought startled her. This garden that she loved so much shouldn’t remind her of him! He should have been the furthest thing from her mind.

She sat down beside her half-filled bucket to rest. She looked toward the hill where the two crosses stood. “Did you really ask him to look out for me, Pa?” she whispered. “Him? Pa, I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

But in her heart she knew he had. Haywood wouldn’t lie about that.

Andrew settled into his comfortable chair. He eyed his sketchbook but it didn’t even tempt him this evening. It had been three days since he had visited the DuBois farm. The Gwynn sisters had come by again today asking when he would bring Cally in to meet them. He had hedged a little, not wanting to admit how obstinate the girl was. He had been certain she would come in herself by now.

He kicked a footstool into position and propped up his heels. Why did he keep thinking Cally would behave the way a normal young lady would? If he expected her to cooperate, he should have asked about a job at the livery.

He sat up suddenly. Or Lafferty’s feed store! Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? He would ask tomorrow and, with any luck, could ride out to the farm with a new, perhaps more tempting, offer.

Smiling, he grabbed the sketchbook, turning the picture of the Gwynn sisters to the back, and started a quick sketch of Cally with baggy clothes and floppy hat The outline complete, he concentrated on her face.

His mind had been occupied too much lately with Miss Cally DuBois. He hadn’t even had more applicants for deputy to fill up his time. What he needed was a good long ride through some of the little communities in the county. While his deputy was home with his sick wife, it wasn’t wise to leave the office for any length of time unless something specific called him away. He found himself wishing for a little trouble to have something new to think about.

Finally, this evening, Bill had come in saying his wife seemed to be through the worst of it. Andrew had wondered if the threat of having her women friends staying with her instead of her solicitous husband might have had some healing effect. At any rate, tonight Andrew had come home much relieved. Tomorrow he would make a wide swing though the county.

After he had talked to Lafferty. And after he had talked to Cally.

He looked down at his half-finished sketch. Were her lips really shaped like that? He had drawn them soft and full, extremely kissable. Her pert little nose, sprinkled with freckles, looked right, perhaps. But surely these weren’t Cally’s eyes? They were open wide with innocence and framed with beautiful dark lashes.

He had flattered her, he decided. He added a few more freckles, but it didn’t change the overall effect. He should have drawn her angry, spitting in his face, her eyes narrowed and glaring. That he would have recognized!

He didn’t know whom he had drawn, but it wasn’t Cally. He set the sketch aside unfinished. He should check on the weather before he turned in. There had been some dangerous-looking clouds gathering in the west when he came home.

Outside, he was hit by a chilly wind that carried the smell of rain. Lightning crackled constantly in the clouds in the west. They were in for a storm.

He pictured Cally alone in the leaky little soddy, hearing the thunder as the rain pounded relentlessly on her roof. A heavy enough rain would dissolve her house into a pile of mud!

Andrew had grabbed his coat and slicker from the hooks by the back door and started toward the corral before he was conscious of what he planned to do. He had known all along that she couldn’t stay on the farm alone. Tonight was his chance to prove it to her.

The mare pranced around the corral, avoiding Andrew’s loop. Her skittishness increased Andrew’s concern, making him more impatient to rescue Cally. Keeping his own feelings under control, he calmed the horse with his voice and soon led her into the barn. Once inside she settled down while he saddled her. Andrew heard the first drops of rain on the barn roof and slipped into his slicker before leaving the barn.

The wind was increasing at an alarming rate. Lightning flashed like Chinese firecrackers. Thunder had become a constant rumble over the sound of the wind. He made it halfway to the farm before the sky opened and drenched him, turning the road to a river of mud in a matter of minutes. The thought of poor Cally, terror-stricken, possibly drowning, kept him struggling onward.

By the time he rode into the farmyard, the mare was fighting not only the mud but panic as well. Relief at seeing the house still standing was followed by the conviction that his horse would bolt as soon as he was off her back. He rode her toward the barn and, keeping a tight hold on the rein, dismounted and opened the rickety door.

The interior of the barn was dark but relatively dry. Flashes of lightning could be seen through a hole in the roof where rain poured in, sending a little river of water across the floor and out under the door. Good heavens, the girl had dug a trench to channel the water out of the barn!

In the uncertain light he made out two large forms in the barn. One would be the mule, the other the cow he had seen. He had determined a dry place to leave his horse when something cool and damp brushed his hand. He jumped before he recognized the friendly whimper of a dog.

“Why aren’t you in with Cally?” he asked, scratching the dog’s head. Almost immediately, the dog moved slowly away. So, this wasn’t the friendly Royal. This was the old dog he had seen lying by the door. Cally must have left it in the barn to keep the animals calm. It seemed to be working. Even his horse was less skittish now.

Andrew tied the mare, hoping she wouldn’t panic and pull the barn down around her. He removed her saddle and rubbed her down quickly, anxious now to see about Cally.

Cally lay awake, listening to the thunder. She had done all she could to prepare for the storm. Now she had to wait it out. By morning, her root cellar would be wet. Her barn would be wet. Her house would be wet, no doubt leaking mud for days to come. By morning, more than likely, everything she owned would be wet. There was nothing she could do about it now. She rolled over, trying to ignore the howl of the wind.

Royal came to his feet and whimpered.

“It’s all right, boy,” she murmured, hoping to reassure herself as well.

Royal wasn’t to be calmed. He let out a sharp bark. Cally sat up in bed. “What is it, boy?”

Royal took up a position facing the door, barking insistently.

Cally swung out of the bed, making her way around Royal to grab the shotgun off the wall. She fumbled on the shelf for a tallow candle and her jar of matches, setting the shotgun on the table for a moment as she lit the candle. The soft glow filled the room when she heard a pounding on the door. She snatched up the shotgun. “The latch string’s out,” she called.

The door swung open, and a man filled her doorway. He stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him. Royal, curse him, didn’t growl. It was Sheriff Haywood. He didn’t need to take off his hat and slicker and step into the candlelight for her to recognize him. He did it anyway.

And froze.

She had never seen anyone look so stunned. His eyes, staring first at her face, slowly trailed down her white nightgown to her bare feet and up again. He was obviously ignoring the shotgun. She considered lowering the gun now that she knew who the intruder was, but the look on his face was so strange she kept it where it was. “What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping to snap him out of his trance.

He didn’t answer. He was breathing hard, and she wondered if he had run some distance to seek shelter at her door. “Did you lose your horse?” she asked.

He blinked as if he had just awakened. “I put her in your barn.”

Cally scowled. He shouldn’t be out of breath from that short a run. Well, maybe if her yard was full of mud. She found herself disappointed in him, anyway. “Why are you out on a night like this?”

“I came to see you.” He spoke in a strange whisper. She wondered if he had caught cold.

“You’ve seen me. You can go.”

He was staring at her again. She decided he might be feverish. After a moment he spoke in that same strange whisper. “I’m not going back out in that storm.”

She nodded. Now she understood. He was afraid of storms. The shotgun was getting heavy, but she didn’t dare lower it. The look in his eyes made her stomach tremble. If he was afraid of storms why hadn’t he stayed home? “You expect to stay here?” That thought made more than her stomach tremble.

He took a step toward her. Her house was so small that he would be able to snatch her shotgun out of her hands if he moved any closer. “I’ll shoot!” she warned. She backed away as far as she could.

His expression changed from the strange fevered gaze to a flash of anger. “If you shoot me,” he said, his voice back to the one she recognized, “I’ll bleed. At this range, that shotgun will tear me in two and splatter blood and bone—”

He stopped abruptly, or she thought he did. The buzzing in her ears grew steadily louder as a black haze closed off her vision. Everything cleared just as quickly when she found herself leaning against Sheriff Haywood’s body, his arms wrapped around her. Her shotgun, of course, was gone. “That wasn’t fair,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” He drew away slightly and lifted her chin with his finger. “Are you all right?”

She could almost believe it was a sincere question. She found herself nodding. The odd fevered light was back in his eyes. It must be a catching kind of fever; she felt her own temperature rise.

“I’m all right. Just don’t talk about…you know.”

“Don’t threaten to shoot me,” he whispered, drawing closer as if he were afraid she couldn’t hear.

She knew she should pull away, but she wasn’t sure her legs were steady yet. She didn’t want to faint right here in front of him. She would let him hold her up a while longer. Meanwhile, she stared at him. How close did he think his lips had to be for her to hear?

Then his lips actually touched hers! It hadn’t occurred to her that he would want to kiss her! It was a strange sensation, his lips right against hers like that. They felt cool in spite of his fever and he smelled like the rain. She felt her stomach quiver while little shivers went down her legs and up her body.

He must have felt her legs shudder because now he held her much tighter. She clutched his coat, trying to still the trembling in her hands. Very slowly, he raised his head. She followed it up as far as her toes would stretch but eventually her lips were free.

He cleared his throat as he loosened his arms. “I can’t stay here.”

He released her rather suddenly, and she grabbed a chair to steady herself. Without looking at her again, he threw on his slicker and hat and vanished into the storm.