Carol Cox (18 page)

She continued strolling south on Lincoln, nodding to the people she passed. Every day, it seemed, she met more of the citizens of Cedar Ridge and felt a little more like a part of
the community, and a welcome one at that—where everyone but Caleb was concerned.

Levi picked up a stick that had been lying in the street and straddled it as if it were a horse. Melanie smiled at the little boy’s active imagination. He was full of energy and mischief, to be sure, but his mischief was of a different sort than Clarence Deaver’s. Levi wasn’t hurtful or intentionally malicious. He was just a spirited young child who needed a firm, consistent hand to bring him into line.

A cowboy from one of the nearby ranches rode by, tipping his hat to Melanie as he passed, presumably on his way to the livery stable, or perhaps the Silver Moon. She heard a brisk clatter of hooves on the street behind her. Looking over her right shoulder, she saw Marshal Hooper on his buckskin gelding. She raised her hand to wave a greeting but lowered it when she saw his stern, unsmiling expression. She’d already dealt with one man in a sour mood that afternoon. She had no desire to strike up a conversation with another.

The marshal pulled his horse to a stop in front of his office. Then he dismounted and started to loop the reins around the hitching rail. Levi chose that moment to gallop past, firing an imaginary six-shooter as he went by.

The buckskin set his feet and jerked back, nearly upsetting the marshal, who let out a string of words unsuitable for the ears of ladies and children.

Levi watched the lawman struggle to get his horse under control, listening in wonder at his display of language.

Marshal Hooper retied the gelding, then strode over to Levi and stood towering over the boy. “What’s the matter with you?” he roared. “Don’t you know better than to run up on a man while he’s tying his horse?”

Melanie took a tentative step forward, wondering if she ought to intervene.

Levi craned his neck to look up at the marshal. Then without a word, he drew back his right leg and kicked the lawman squarely on the shin.

The marshal let out a howl, snatched Levi up by the back of his belt, and marched toward the mercantile, bellowing for Caleb.

Melanie flew into action, charging into the street to cut him off. She took up a stance squarely in front of the marshal and planted her feet. “Put that child down!”

Marshal Hooper stared at her, open-mouthed. He lowered his arm a few inches, but Levi’s feet still flailed well above ground level. Out of the corner of her eye, Melanie could see people stopping along the boardwalk to gape at the scene she was making, but she was too angry to care.

She spoke again in her most severe tone. “You heard me. Put the boy down at once. You’re scaring him.”

The marshal eyed her steadily, then swept his gaze along the boardwalk, taking in the gathering crowd. Slowly, he set Levi on his feet.

As if to prove her right, Levi dashed over to Melanie and wrapped both arms around her waist. Clinging tight, he raised his face to hers. “Save me, Mama!”

Melanie put her arm around his shoulders and held him tight, ignoring his slip of the tongue. “Don’t worry, Levi. I intend to.”

Marshal Hooper’s face turned a dull red, and his eyes shifted from one side of the street to the other. “I wasn’t planning to do the boy any harm, ma’am. But it isn’t the first time he’s done a tomfool thing like that.” He pointed at Levi,
who had once again buried his face in the folds of Melanie’s skirt. “He doesn’t need to be mollycoddled. The boy has to take responsibility for his actions. What he needs is a good talking to, maybe even a trip to the woodshed.”

Melanie didn’t take her eyes off the lawman, but she heard the scattered murmurs of assent clearly enough. Over the buzz from the rest of the crowd, Ophelia Pike’s voice rose clearly: “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

Melanie tightened her arm around Levi’s shoulders. “He has a father who can see to that. I’ll be sure to let him know.”

She glanced down at the little boy, who was still cowering against her, and her throat thickened. How could she ever have thought he was like Clarence Deaver? Levi wasn’t a self-centered, manipulative, spoiled brat. He was just a scared little boy who needed attention, and she had the skills to provide that, to help steer him away from the path Clarence’s life had taken.

She reached down and tilted up Levi’s chin so he had to look into her face. “Young man, you need to apologize to the marshal for kicking him. That is not acceptable behavior.”

Levi looked at her in mute appeal, but she stood firm. She could tell the moment he recognized he’d lost when his shoulders slumped and he looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“And . . . ?” Melanie prodded.

Levi heaved a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his toes. “And it won’t happen again.”

Melanie looked back over her shoulder at the mercantile and saw Caleb come to the door, apparently drawn by the commotion. She watched his mouth drop open when he spotted his son and his business partner as the center of attention.

She patted Levi on the head and gave him a tiny push. “Run on back to the store now. Your father is looking for you.”

She turned to the marshal again. “If there is nothing further . . . ?” When he didn’t answer, she gave him a polite nod and followed Levi, trying to look as though she saw nothing out of the ordinary about having an altercation with the local law in the middle of the street.

When she reached the door of the mercantile, she hesitated, then decided to walk a bit farther. There was no telling what Caleb’s reaction would be to her public squabble with Marshal Hooper. If he planned to take her to task for that, she didn’t feel ready to face him just yet.

Turning left, she headed toward the bakery. Maybe one of their powdered sugar doughnuts would help settle her nerves. As she stepped down into the street at the corner of Pine Street, her heel caught on the edge of the boardwalk, and she pitched forward onto the dirt with her hands splayed out to break her fall. Sand and small pebbles tore at her palms as she slid across the ground.

Melanie heard the sound of boots thudding along the wooden walk. “Miss Ross? Are you all right?”

A moment later, Dooley Hatcher knelt beside her, concern etched in his face.

“I’m fine.” She grimaced as she tried to push herself upright.

“You sure? Here, let me help you.” Dooley offered his arm with a gentlemanly flourish. She put her hand in the crook of his arm and winced when her palm touched his sleeve.

Dooley led her to a bench just outside the dressmaker’s shop. “What’s wrong with your hand? Better let me take a look.”

Melanie extended her arm. While Dooley wasn’t someone she would ever encourage as a suitor, she found his solicitude touching.

He knelt in front of her and cradled her hand in his, turning it so he could examine her palm. He pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. “You’d better get that cleaned up and put some iodine on it. It could have been worse, but it’s going to be sore for a few—”

“Hey!”

Dooley’s head jerked up, and his face paled. Melanie spun around to see Caleb barreling toward them, eating up the distance on the boardwalk with angry strides.

“Leave her alone!” Caleb bellowed.

Dooley sputtered. “But I was just—”

“No, it’s off, I told you! No more proposals.”

“But, Caleb, I wasn’t—”

“Not another word. Just get yourself out of here, and leave Miss Ross alone.”

Dooley put his hand on the bench and levered himself to his feet. As he shuffled away, Melanie heard him mutter, “And people say
I’m
crazy.”

With his chest still heaving, Caleb turned to Melanie and opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he turned on his heel and marched back to the mercantile.

Melanie stared at his retreating back, trying to comprehend what had just happened. She heard a quiet
tsk
and whirled around to find Mrs. Fetterman standing behind her.

The older woman’s faded blue eyes twinkled. “It’s amazing how many ways a man in love can find to make a fool of himself.”

Melanie’s eyes widened. “What?”

Mrs. Fetterman gave a gentle laugh. “Why, the man’s besotted. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Melanie knew all too well the way Caleb usually looked at her. She’d caught the same expression on his face the other day when he stomped on a spider he’d discovered near the back shelves. She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

Mrs. Fetterman chuckled again. “I’ve been wrong about many things in my lifetime, dearie, but this isn’t one of them. You’ll find that out in due time—trust me.” Giving Melanie a conspiratorial wink, she turned and walked away in the direction of her boardinghouse.

Her words echoed in Melanie’s mind.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Mrs. Fetterman’s simple comment triggered a surge of emotions the woman could never have anticipated. Caleb Nelson might be set in his ways to the point of mulishness, but he was also a man of honor and integrity—the kind of man Melanie could allow herself to be drawn to . . . if there was any hope he might be attracted to her as well.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
A flutter of hope stirred within her, soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings. Was there any possibility Mrs. Fetterman could be right? After all, the woman had experienced more of life than Melanie had. And having been married herself, she knew more of the ways of men.

On the other hand, Mrs. Fetterman had also remarked on the striking resemblance between Melanie and Cousin George. The flutter of hope shriveled and died, like a moth flying too close to a flame.

Caleb Nelson attracted to her? It wasn’t possible. Unless . . .

She thought back over his altercation with Dooley. Obviously, he had mistaken Dooley’s kneeling posture for yet another proposal of marriage.

A warm glow swept through her. Just then, Caleb had looked more like an avenging angel than an ardent suitor, but that wasn’t the reason for her sudden contentment. Mistaken or not, he had come to her defense for the very first time.

And she found she rather liked it.

T
hat night Melanie drifted off to sleep listening to a light rain falling on the roof, certain that its gentle patter would lull her into a restful slumber.

But in the middle of the night something jolted her awake and brought her sitting bolt upright. Had she heard a noise? She listened, hands clasped to her chest in an effort to control her ragged breathing. Long moments passed, and she’d almost convinced herself she’d imagined the whole thing when she heard it again—a faint scraping sound coming from downstairs.

She clutched the sheet up under her chin, straining to identify the sound. Surely it was only a mouse or some other small intruder. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d heard the distinctive click of the back door latch—that someone had come inside and was moving about down in the mercantile.

Perhaps Caleb had had trouble sleeping, too, and came back to retrieve his ledgers to work on at home. In that case, the stealthy sounds made perfect sense. He would assume she was fast asleep and be careful not to bother her.

But what if it wasn’t Caleb? She needed to be sure.

Melanie slipped out of bed, pulled on her wrapper, and padded barefoot to the stairs. She inched her way down step by step, peering through the gloom. The stair creaked underfoot and she froze, barely able to breathe.

A dim glow of light flickered from inside the office, and her shoulders sagged with relief. Her assumption that Caleb had come back for his ledgers had been correct after all. She called his name softly, not wanting to startle him.

No sooner had the word escaped her lips than the light went out. In the stillness, a floorboard creaked near the back door, and she heard the click of the latch again.

Melanie waited, but no other sound disturbed the stillness of night. She headed back upstairs, calling herself a silly goose for being so frightened . . . and for the emptiness she felt when Caleb hadn’t responded. She had barely whispered his name, after all. He must not have heard her. It was the only thing that made sense.

When she climbed back into bed, she pulled the covers up over her shoulders in a protective cocoon. The rain had stopped, but a steady
drip-drip
from the eaves continued. The gentle sound should have helped her relax, but her thoughts were a jumble. When sleep returned at last, it was interrupted throughout the night by worrisome dreams and fits of wakefulness.

Early the next morning, when she finally accepted that more sleep would be impossible, Melanie groaned, kicked the sheets aside, and sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. A new day was at hand, whether she’d gotten the sleep she needed or not. A faint glimmer of light filtered in through the bedroom curtain, but it was not yet enough for
her to read by, so she lit her bedside lamp, then reached for her Bible and pulled it onto her lap.

“‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’”

Melanie continued on, reading the rest of the psalm. When finished, she closed the book and ran her fingers over the worn leather cover, drawing comfort from the verses. She set the Bible back on her bedside table and crossed over to the window. A rosy pearl hue tinged the sky. In a few minutes the rising sun would offer a spectacular view of the hills surrounding Cedar Ridge.

Why not be part of that scene, instead of observing from the window? She grinned as the thought took root in her mind. She could enjoy a brisk walk in the crisp morning air and still have plenty of time for her morning routine when she got back.

Donning her blue paisley dress and pinning her chestnut hair into its customary coil, she grabbed a light shawl and made her way downstairs. Halfway between the bottom step and the counter, she felt something crunch under her foot.

Melanie pulled up short. What had she stepped on? She peered at the wooden planks in the dim light and rubbed her foot back and forth across the spot. The action produced a grating sound, as if coarse sand had been sprinkled across the floorboards.

Frowning, she walked behind the counter, where they kept a lantern hanging on the wall. She lifted it from its hook and fumbled for a match. A moment later, the wick glowed bright, and she held the lantern high while she retraced her steps.

Her breath caught when she saw shards of china scattered
across the floor. Dropping to her knees, she picked up one of the larger fragments. Her throat tightened when she recognized the delicate pink pattern of the teacup she had set out on the storeroom shelf to taunt Caleb.

Tears sprang to her eyes at the loss of the lovely piece. She studied the remnants again. There were a few large chunks, but most of the teacup had been ground into a fine powder, as if crushed under an angry bootheel.

A burning sensation rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. Who could have done such a thing, and why hadn’t she noticed the mess when she was locking up the evening before?

She retrieved the broom and dustpan from the storeroom and swept up the remains of the china. While she worked, a thought struck her. Did this have something to do with the noises she’d heard during the night?

If that was the case, Caleb must have done it. But the cup had been in the storeroom. How had it ended up out here? And why had the china been ground to a powder? If Caleb was responsible, the destruction of the cup had to be an accident. Crushing something in anger didn’t fit what she knew of his character.

Besides—her mouth twisted in a wry grin—Caleb had been upset enough at the thought of spending money on the china with no guarantee it would sell. He would never squander such an investment by destroying it.

Melanie brushed one hand across her eyes. A night of tossing and turning was hardly conducive to clear thinking. She would take up the matter of the broken china with Caleb when she returned from her walk. Dumping the remains of the smashed cup into the wastebin, she returned the broom and dustpan to their places and stepped outside to meet the dawn.

The tangy, fresh-washed smell Mrs. Fetterman had identified as cedars, creosote bush, and cliff rose filled her senses and chased her weariness away. Drawing new energy from the invigorating air, Melanie stepped out briskly, heading toward the south end of town.

Though her brief walk with Levi the day before hadn’t ended well, her foray outdoors had helped shake the cooped-up feeling that had beset her after spending the majority of her time inside the store. She felt ready to stretch her legs again and explore a bit. She strolled past the café and the bakery, past Doc Mills’s office and the bank. When she reached the assay office at the end of Lincoln Street, she decided to keep going.

The sun crested the horizon, sending a shower of golden light across the landscape. Melanie shielded her eyes and pivoted in a slow circle. To the east, a faint trail led out of the valley where Cedar Ridge nestled and meandered upward toward the neighboring hills with their pink-streaked sides and chalky cliffs. Nearer at hand, crystalline drops of dew coated the grass and bushes like a silver mist, lending the scene an ethereal beauty that took her breath away.

The rolling slopes held her attention. She had heard stories from several customers about the Indian ruins in those hills, dwellings of a people who had come and gone before.

She set out along the trail in a pensive mood, thinking about those early inhabitants. Among them, there had been women . . . like herself. Had some of them walked the same path her feet trod now, wondering what life had in store for them? What hopes and dreams filled their thoughts?

Melanie stopped and scanned the breadth of the valley. What did anyone now living know about the people who
lived there centuries before? No one was left to recall their names or remember any of them as individuals. A sudden loneliness swept over her. Who would know anything about her a hundred years from now? Would anyone then remember her name?

She shivered and drew her shawl closer around her, not sure whether to attribute her sudden chill to the cool morning air or the fresh awareness of the transitory nature of life. Her thoughts turned again to the stranger who lay buried in the cemetery. His life had ended only a short time ago, yet even the people he died amongst didn’t know his name.

Sorrow smote her anew. For the thousandth time she wondered why she hadn’t heard anything when he’d been attacked. Could she have done anything to stop the murder? Not by brute force, perhaps, but a loud cry for help would have brought Caleb and the other townsmen on the run. If nothing else, she might have at least identified the killer and helped bring him to justice.

Melanie glanced at the hills again. She had been walking for a good twenty minutes, yet she seemed no closer to the cliffs than when she’d set out. It was time to turn back and leave further explorations for another day. Responsibilities awaited her at the mercantile.

She retraced her steps toward town, lost in somber reflection. The moment she arrived in Cedar Ridge, she’d felt a sense of coming home. Now it seemed that her newly discovered Eden harbored its own serpent. She lifted her gaze again, looking up to the hills. “Lord, why does there have to be such heartache in the midst of all this beauty you’ve created?”

And the heartache wasn’t limited to the mystery of the murdered stranger. There was her relationship with Caleb,
for instance. If only he would cooperate a bit, life in the store could be so much more pleasant. Granted, the two of them hadn’t butted heads in a major way since Cousin George’s will came to light. To all appearances, Caleb had reached a grudging acceptance of her presence at the mercantile, but she knew full well that he still didn’t appreciate her suggestions for change.

She started when a roadrunner dashed across her path. A surprised laugh gurgled from her throat at the sight of his comical gait. His perky crest and oversized beak gave him a clownish appearance, and she could almost imagine him smiling at her. His whole demeanor seemed so simple, so carefree. What would it take for her to feel that happy?

Her steps dragged, and a longing filled her heart.
A home
, she thought. That’s what it would take. A place to belong, to be loved.

She had a home waiting for her in heaven. The Bible teachings learned at her grandmother’s knee assured her of that. Her grandparents were there, along with the mother who died while she was barely a toddler and the father she had never known. And, of course, Cousin George. They would all be waiting to greet her when she arrived at the pearly gates one day, and what a grand reunion they would have!

Still, it would be so good to have someone to love her while she lived out her days on earth. Someone to talk to, to share times both happy and sad, to hold her in a gentle embrace.

But it couldn’t be just anyone. If human company was all she sought, she could have taken her pick from any of the men who had proposed to her already. What she longed for was true companionship—a meeting of hearts and minds, a
union of souls—and she didn’t intend to settle for anything less. In the meantime, she had the Lord. And that would be enough.

She frowned when she passed Dan Crawford’s saddle shop, surprised to see the
Open
sign already hanging in the mercantile’s front window. Had she spent more time on her walk than she thought? Hastening across the street, she ran up the steps to the boardwalk and hurried into the store.

The Professor was standing near the coffee grinder, chatting with Caleb, who was turning the crank with an easy rhythm.

Melanie stumbled to a stop. “Am I late?”

A puzzled scowl shadowed Caleb’s face. “Where have you been? I thought you were still upstairs. We were trying not to disturb you.”

Melanie gestured toward the door. “It’s such a beautiful morning. I decided to go out for a walk and enjoy the sunrise.”

Caleb’s frown deepened. “Please tell me you didn’t go outside alone while it was still dark.” When she didn’t answer, his voice sharpened. “While a killer may be on the loose? Are you out of your mind?”

Melanie bristled at his incredulous tone. “I was perfectly safe. There was nobody else around.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “That is exactly my point.”

The brusque reminder caught her up short, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Ignoring Caleb, she turned toward the Professor, who offered her an apologetic smile.

“It’s my fault that the store is open earlier than usual. When I realized I was out of coffee, I decided to drive into town and have breakfast at the café. Caleb saw my buggy and waved
me over. When I told him what I was doing, he took pity on me and offered to grind some Arbuckle’s for me.”

Melanie smiled back at him. “I’m sure Caleb could commiserate with you. He’s like a grouchy bear if he doesn’t have his coffee.” She shot a look at Caleb, who continued turning the crank without comment.

She decided to change the subject, wanting to throw off the sense of unease brought on by Caleb’s mention of murder. Trying to keep any hint of accusation out of her voice, she asked, “What happened to that cup last night?”