Stealing Jake (5 page)

He reached out a gloved hand and wiped the moisture from her cheek with his thumb, his touch soft as the brush of a snowflake. His green eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. I hate that you saw things like that in Chicago, but I can’t let these young hoodlums run loose.”

“You don’t have to.” She grabbed his hand in both of hers. “If you find them, send for me. Let me talk to them. Please?”

A pained look crossed his face. “Livy . . .”

“Please, Jake? Give them a chance. Believe in them.”

Just like Mrs. Brooks had believed in her on that fateful day in Chicago.

He stared at her for a moment before he glanced away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” She slipped her arm back through his. “You can take me home now.”

* * *

Luke ducked into the shack he shared with the other kids, the basket under his arm. The others dove for the hamper, grabbing the food. He made sure they shared with the younger ones. He took a small piece of ham and hunkered down in front of the fire. The girl he’d rescued from the warehouse stared at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

“I want Bobby.”

He wrapped one of the thin blankets around her shoulders. “Is Bobby your brother? Was he in the crate with you?”

She nodded, fresh tears brimming in her green eyes. The other boys had never come out of the warehouse, so Butch and Grady must have caught them.

“I’ll look for Bobby, but if I find him, I’ll have to know your name so I can tell him where you are.” He handed her the ham. “You gonna tell me your name?”

She gave him a look, one that said she didn’t trust him any more than she’d trusted Butch and Grady but that maybe he had a point. “Jessica.”

Luke tugged on a shank of matted red hair. “I’ll find him if I can.” He slanted his gaze at her. “You said there was a Mark in another crate. Can you tell me what he looked like? How old he is?”

She squinted at him, her face thin and gaunt in the firelight. “He looks like you.”

Quick tears sprang to Luke’s eyes. He blinked. Mark was here. Here in Chestnut.

In the clutches of Butch, Grady, and the man with the diamond-studded stickpin.

Chapter Four

Jake tilted the split-bottom chair against the wall and listened to the half-dozen men gathered around the stove in McIver’s Mercantile. Sam McIver leaned on the counter, throwing his two bits into the conversation in between his morning customers. Jake whittled on a small piece of wood, trying to figure out what it might turn out to be. Sometimes he came up with an idea, and sometimes he whittled a hunk of wood down to nothing while he pondered things.

“Hey, Jake, how ya like being a deputy?”

“It pays the bills.” He took a swipe at the wedge in his hands. A sliver of wood fluttered on top of the pile of shavings at his feet.

“Yeah, ain’t much going on around here right now other than the coal mines. That’s where the money is. They’re hiring over at the Lucky Strike. You’d be a shoo-in, Jake.”

He gripped the wooden block in his suddenly moist palm. Could he do it? Could he go underground again? To save the farm? Go in to darkness so thick you could cut it with a knife? The deathly silence, broken only by the shifting earth and dripping water?

And the moans of the dying.

He shoved the memories away, pushed them into the dark crevices of his mind and mentally sealed them off like a caved-in tunnel deep inside a mine. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about the mines. Not now.

Not ever.

McIver spoke up, a hint of steel and maybe anger in his normally quiet voice. “Quit filling the boy’s head with nonsense. Sheriff Carter’s been ailing and needs Jake in the worst way right now.”

Jake focused on the block of wood in his hands.
Think about the carving.
Nothing but the knife and the smooth wood in his hands.

The conversation wandered on to the weather and how long it might be before the snow melted.

He let them talk while he worked, beginning to see the shape of a dog’s snout. He nodded. A dog it would be. If he didn’t chop off one of its legs or its head, that was.

The bell over the door jingled, and he glanced up. Livy entered the store. His heart skipped a beat as her gaze slid across his. She smiled, the slightly uneven corners of her mouth pulling him in like a moth to a flame.

“Good morning, Miss O’Brien. Can I help you with anything?” McIver asked.

“No thank you. I’m just looking.” She nodded in the general direction of the men, skirted the gathering, and headed to the back of the store.

Jake tried to concentrate on the conversation, now about some poor fellow over in Cooperstown who’d lost his foot in a mining accident, but he found it hard to think with Livy so close by. What was it about this little slip of a woman that made him forget everything but the sound of her skirts swishing along the aisles in the back of the store?

When he chopped off the dog’s ear, he closed his knife and placed the piece of wood in his pocket. He eased the chair down and slipped away from the group. The men barely noticed his departure, they were so deep in a discussion about the price of coal.

Livy stood near several bolts of bright cloth, fingering a robin’s-egg-blue ribbon the color of her eyes. She glanced up, gave him a tiny smile, and focused on the ribbon again. As usual, his heart clunked against his rib cage.

“Morning.” He nodded at her.

What was he doing? Hadn’t he told himself he didn’t have time to get mixed up with a girl?

“Good morning to you, too.”

He searched for something to say. Something that wouldn’t make this conversation personal. “How are the Hays children?”

He congratulated himself on finding a topic that was important to both of them. That was, until her smile drooped and her eyes filled with sadness.

“The baby’s too young to know what happened, but the girls cried most of the night and into the morning. Right now they’re too exhausted to cry anymore. We found out their mother died not too long ago, so this is really hard on them.”

Poor tykes. To lose both parents so close together and at such a young age. Jake thought of his younger brother and sisters. When his father died, he’d been so focused on his own loss and stepping in as head of the household that he hadn’t really thought about his siblings’ grief. He’d make a point to spend time with them, not just rush around doing chores.
Thank You, Lord. At least we have Ma and each other.
“Have they mentioned any relatives?”

“An uncle, but I don’t think they know him very well.”

He should wish her a good day and leave, but something about the curve of her jaw and the soft pout of her lips kept him rooted to the spot. He wanted—no, needed—one more smile to tuck into his heart and carry away. And besides, he’d been the one to take the smile off her face with his question about the Hays children. He had to do something to bring it back again.

In desperation, he gestured at the stacks of cloth, ribbons, and thread on the shelves. “Planning on doing some sewing?”

Her lips moved. Just a tiny twitch upward. He’d succeeded. Barely.

“I’m trying to figure out something I can make the children for Christmas. I’m at my wit’s end.”

“How about dolls?” Had he really said that aloud? He’d wanted to take her mind off the tragedy of the day before, but where had dolls come from?

She gave him an incredulous look. “I couldn’t afford one, let alone five.”

Jake rested his forearms on a stack of cloth, heat creeping up his neck. “Not store-bought dolls. Corn-husk ones.”

“Corn-husk?”

He shrugged, aiming for a nonchalance he didn’t feel. He lowered his voice. The men up front would have a field day if they overheard him talking doll making. “They’re easy enough to make, and you don’t need anything but shucks and some string or yarn.”

Her face fell. “I don’t have any corn husks.”

“I’ve got plenty in the crib out at my place. I’ll bring you enough to make as many as you want.”

“Really? And will you show me how to make them? Mary probably knows, but I want it to be a surprise. Every little girl deserves something special for Christmas.”

Jake’s heart twisted at the wistfulness in her voice. What had her childhood been like? “I’ll bring the husks over tomorrow and show you how to do it. I’ve never made one, but I watched Ma make them lots of times for my sisters. See if you can find some yarn or something.”

Her eyes widened. “But what about the boys? I’ll have to make something for them too.”

Jake fingered the disfigured dog in his pocket. “How many boys are there?”

“Only three, thank goodness.”

Though he was unsure how he’d managed to rope himself into making dolls for a bunch of girls, carving a few horses and farm animals would be a piece of cake.

“Leave the boys to me.”

* * *

Luke hovered in the shadows of the building, melting into the darkness. According to Jessica, his little brother was in this building, working like a dog to make greedy men rich.

And it was all his fault.

He clenched his fists. He never should have let Mark pick that man’s pocket. Faster than he could say, “Crackerjack pickpocket,” they’d been collared, thrown in jail, and sold to the highest bidder. Luke had run at the first opportunity. But had he made the right decision? If he’d stayed, maybe he and Mark would be together by now.

Or would they both be locked in the squat building that reminded him of the stone tombs in the cemeteries in Chicago? A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

The barred windows were too high to see into and too small to shimmy through even if he could reach them. He made his way around the building, looking for an opening, an unlocked door, anything.

His desperation grew heavier with each passing moment. He backed into the shadows and hunkered down, staring at the front of the building.

As far as he could tell, there was no way in. And no way out.

Except through that locked door.

* * *

Noon came and went with no sign of Jake. Maybe he’d forgotten or decided that making dolls for orphaned girls wasn’t high on his list of priorities. Livy tamped down her disappointment. The idea of something affordable for the girls for Christmas had lifted her spirits, not to mention the anticipation of seeing Jake again.

No matter. She’d managed fine without Jake Russell until now, and she’d carry on without him. Maybe Mrs. Brooks knew how to make corn-husk dolls. She’d ask her after supper tonight. She’d worry about finding enough husks later.

Livy helped the children with their lessons, keeping them occupied while Mrs. Brooks prepared the evening meal.

Mrs. Brooks stuck her head in the door. “Livy, I’ll take over now. You’ve got a visitor.”

Livy’s face grew warm. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Brooks leaned close as Livy passed, her eyes twinkling. “Jake told me what you two are up to, so I’ll keep the children out of your way.”

Livy paused before the mirror in the hall, straightened her collar, and smoothed her hair. She jerked her hands down. How silly. Jake wasn’t interested in her. He’d only offered to teach her how to make dolls because he cared about the girls. And she wasn’t interested in him, either. She wasn’t looking to fall in love, get married, and have children. Ever.

She trudged down the hall and found him in the kitchen with a sack of corn husks at his feet.

“Afternoon, Livy.”

Her heart fluttered at the crooked smile he gave her, making it awfully hard to remember why she wasn’t supposed to be interested. “Afternoon.”

“Sorry I’m so late getting here, but we had another robbery last night.”

“Oh no. Was anyone hurt?”

He piled dry, crackling shucks on the table. A cloud of dust hovered in the air, and Livy sneezed.

“No, but those kids are getting brave. This is the second time this week. When I get my hands on them, they’re going to wish they’d never landed in Chestnut, Illinois.”

“Jake, they’re innocent until proven guilty.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “Sorry. I know how you feel about those kids. Did you find some string?” he asked, effectively changing the subject.

Livy sighed. The discussion of the street kids might be on the back burner for now, but she’d bring it up again. Soon. She pulled a ball of bright-red yarn out of her pocket. “Will this work?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.” He rubbed his hands together, looking a little out of his element. “Okay, we need a pot of warm water. We’ve got to soak the husks to make them easier to work with. We’ll need some scissors too.”

Livy stepped outside and filled a black pot with snow while Jake sorted through the shucks.

When she returned, Jake glanced at her, his green eyes bright. “Did the Hays children sleep better last night?”

“Yes, they did. I think they were exhausted.”

Livy put the pot on the stove and concentrated on the melting snow, her back to him. How could he feel such compassion for the Hays children but not for the street kids he wanted to run out of town? She didn’t like the direction of her thoughts, but she couldn’t help but compare his different reactions. Of course she wanted him to care about the orphans, but she wanted him to understand the plight of the street kids as well.

When steam rose from the water, Jake threw a handful of husks into the pot. Livy poked at them with a wooden ladle as the husks became soft and pliable.

Unlike Jake’s feelings about the street kids.

There wasn’t any difference between the three children who’d lost their father two days ago and the kids who made their beds in the alleyways at night. How could she make Jake see that?

He caught her studying him, and his eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

Heat rushed to her face, and she shook her head. The man was giving of his time to help her, and all she could do was find fault. “No.”