"I wasn't sure how she died. Luke won't talk about it much except to say that Matthew has not spoken a word since."
At the mention of Matthew's names, Lucy's face softened. "Poor child."
"About Luke's wife…"
"My brother George was her doctor. He was a brilliant man and a dedicated doctor. Everyone in Colton idolized him. He did everything he could to save her. I know he did. That's the kind of man he was."
"Was? You're not saying that--"
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Luke killed my brother."
Maddie covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame her. It was certainly true that Luke was a brooding, perhaps even moody, man, but his gentleness and patience with his young son made it impossible for her to believe he was capable of such a heinous crime. And would a man guilty of murder be concerned about hurting a woman while making love to her?
"I can't believe this, Lucy. Are you sure? I mean, if he really did kill your brother, why wasn't he arrested?"
Lucy made a bitter sound. "It was because of that Sheriff Beckleworth. He said it was circumstantial evidence."
Maddie felt a surge of hope. "Then it's possible he's innocent?"
"Nobody believes that, Maddie. Not even the sheriff. Luke even admitted it. What else could he do? He was caught red-handed, you might say."
Maddie stiffened. Everything in her fought to rally to Luke's defense. "Luke told the sheriff he killed the doctor?"
"He didn't actually say it. But he didn't deny it either." Lucy dropped her head to her shoulder. She looked completely drained.
Not wanting to tire Lucy more than she already had, Maddie took her leave and rode home, hardly aware of her surroundings.
She and Matthew spent the rest of the day raking up dead grasshoppers. She'd never seen anything like it in her life. The dried insects were stacked up against the barn like snowdrifts.
After raking the grasshoppers into a neat pile, she sprinkled kerosene around the mound and set it afire.
Maddie stepped back from the hot flames and was surprised to see Picking Bones racing toward her. The red shawl flew off the woman's thin shoulders as she ran. With youthful energy, she waved her hands and shouted a steady stream of Cheyenne obscenities. At least that's what the harsh words sounded like to Maddie.
Showing more agility than care around the fire, the woman stomped her feet and shook her fists at Maddie.
Luke rushed from the barn and gaped at the fire in horror. "Good God, Maddie. You can't start a fire out here. The least bit of wind and the whole prairie would catch fire."
"There isn't any wind," Maddie said stubbornly. "Besides, how else do you get rid of this mess?"
"Next time, bury them." He turned and headed back to the barn.
"I don't intend to be around for next time!" she shouted after him.
Picking Bones mumbled under her breath as she continued to stomp around the dying flames with moccasined feet.
The blaze died down, leaving an odd smell in the air, and the woman gave Maddie a look of contempt as she shuffled back to the tipi.
Maddie threw water on the dying embers, then spaded dirt on the ashes. Satisfied that no danger remained, she scrubbed her hands and face, changed her clothes, and headed into the soddy to prepare the noonday meal.
When Luke didn't join her and Matthew for lunch, she carried a pitcher of water and two glasses out to the barn.
Luke wiped his arm across his forehead. "Fortunately no grasshoppers got in the water supply."
"That's good news," she said though her mind was far removed from grasshoppers and any of the problems they might have caused.
He drank a full glass without stopping. "Thank you. I needed that."
"I thought you might." She set the pitcher down on his workbench and picked up a wooded frame.
"It's going to be a writing slate for Matthew. He can carry it around with him. That way he'll always have something to write on."
"It's a wonderful idea," she exclaimed.
The soft caress of his gaze felt like a lover's touch. It was easy to believe at that moment that he really did love her.
Could a man capable of such softness also be capable of murder?
"When I varnish it, it'll be the exact same color as your hair." He reached out to take a handful of her hair and held it as if it were a strand of precious jewels.
"Oh, no! Not red!"
He arched a dark eyebrow. "Why do you make it sound like there's something wrong with the color of your hair?"
"It's a terrible color. I tried so hard as a child to get it to fade, I even washed it in lemon juice."
He looked incredulous. "Where did you ever get such a ridiculous notion?"
"Lemons are supposed to lighten stains and--" "I was talking about your hair."
"My…my hair?"
"Do you know the trouble I went to, to get this wood sent all the way from New York because of its distinctive rich color?"
Disarmed by the way he looked at her, she watched him run his long, sinewy fingers lightly across the wood and was reminded of how wonderful it had felt when he touched her bare flesh.
A warmth, like honey, spread down the length of her as if it were her own body his fingers explored. She remembered the girlish blushes of the young women back home when a man so much as looked at them. No wonder Luke thought her experienced. Why hadn't she felt the same sort of embarrassment? And why, now, did she feel an almost uncontrollable urgent to kiss the small square of taut, tanned flesh revealed by his partially unbuttoned shirt? Lord Almighty, wouldn't he be shocked to know what she wanted to do to him at that moment?
She only wished there weren't so many questions begging for answers.
Turning her back to him, she waited until she had regained her usual composure before tackling the subject that was uppermost on her mind. "I saw Lucy this morning. She had some pain yesterday, and I wanted to make sure she was all right. As you might expect, the grasshoppers upset her."
When he made no reply, she chanced a glance at him. He was no longer caressing the wood. He was attacking the wood with a plane.
She took a deep breath. His face looked grim, his expression etched in forbidding lines. Normally, such an expression would have prevented her from pursuing a subject that was obviously off-limits. But she knew, perhaps better than anyone else that the hard stone mask would dissolve in an instant if Matthew walked in the door.
Knowing that the soft, caring side of him was so close to the surface gave her courage, and she pressed on.
"Why, Luke? Why did you kill her brother?"
His hand stilled and he raised his eyes to hers. For the longest time, the question hung between them like an ugly open wound.
Slowly, he straightened. His eyes flickered, and for a fleeting second he looked like a man betrayed.
Betrayed by whom? She wondered. Certainly, he didn't think she was betraying him for asking him outright. Lucy, perhaps? Somehow she doubted that Lucy had anything to do with this. In any case, she wasn't even certain if she saw what she thought she saw. For the look had been replaced by a hardening of the eyes that let nothing in, and even less out.
"Did you?" she probed, hating the doubt that made her demand an answer.
This time there was no hesitation. "Yes."
She felt a strange inertia as her usual boldness was overcome by heartache. She had wanted so much to believe it wasn't true.
"I murdered him," he said, almost cruelly. "Are you satisfied? Would you like to know what else I'm capable of doing?"
She hated the raw look on his face that left no doubt he spoke the truth. Unable to speak, she ran from the barn.
How long will it take
? he wondered.
How much longer before she packs up her things and leaves?
Two hours had passed since she'd stormed out of the barn. For two long hours he'd dreaded the moment of her departure like a man who was about to hang dreaded the final walk to the gallows.
How would he get through the days knowing she was gone? Knowing he would never see her again? How would he get through the nights?
And Matthew? Dear God, how would he explain her absence to Matthew?
Dammit! He should have told her the truth from the start. Before he had started feeling the things he felt for her.
But how the hell was he supposed to know that he was going to come to care for her? He would never have guessed it in a million years. In those first days, when he was just getting to know her, he thought her eccentric, obtrusive, loud, overbearing, as tall and skinny as a rail--everything he hated in a woman.
Everything he'd come to love.
He pushed against the barn door and peered outside. Her wagon was still parked next to the windmill. He pulled the door to and resumed his pacing. What was taking her so long to leave?
She
was
going to leave, wasn't she?
Of course she was! What woman in her right mind would continue to live practically under the same roof with a murderer?
A footstep outside made his senses leap. He spun around to face the door, hoping against hope that she had come to tell him she would stay.
He tried not to look disappointed when Matthew stepped inside. Lord only knew how much the boy needed him at that moment. For it was painfully clear from the stricken look on Matthew's face that he knew something was seriously wrong.
Luke motioned his son closer. He wrapped his arms around the slender shoulders and was startled when Matthew pushed him away.
Luke kept his voice calm. "It's all right, Matthew. You and I… We're going to be all right."
Matthew's face grew still, and Luke saw the same wild look that had preceded each of his son's tantrums. Luke reached for his arm. "Calm down, Matthew."
Matthew threw himself face down on the ground. He kicked and pounded with his feet and fists, completely out of control. Not a sound came from his mouth, but his face was twisted in anguish and rage. It was the first tantrum that Matthew had thrown since attending Maddie's classes.
Desperate to stop his son's violent outburst, Luke grabbed a screwdriver from his workbench and dropped to his knees by Matthew's side. He clamped a hand around Matthew's wrist. "If you have something to say, then say it!" He tried to force the screwdriver into Matthew's hand, to no avail. "Write!"
Matthew seemed oblivious to anything but the tortured feelings inside that he could not express.
"Matthew!" Luke's voice was loud and sharp, sharper than he would normally allow himself to talk. But he had to reach Matthew, some way, somehow.
Out of fear that Matthew would hurt himself, he forced himself against his son's writhing body. "Do you hear me? Write it down like Maddie showed you."
Matthew's body went limp. Luke rolled Matthew into his arms and rocked him until the wild look had left his eyes. But the tears that followed were just as devastating to Luke as the rage, and he held his son tight, battling his own tears, his own rage.
The voices from the past issued the usual dire warnings, but Luke's grief over losing Maddie was so great that he clung to his young son with all his heart and soul.
After a long while, Matthew's tears stopped, and though the rage was gone, his face was still shadowed with frustration and despair.
Luke took his son's hands in his own and placed the handle of the screwdriver in the small, damp palm. He sat Matthew up and pointed to the hard dirt floor. "Write it down, Matthew." His voice was gentle this time. "Tell me what's inside."
Matthew turned the screwdriver over, fingering it.
"Go on, son. Write like Maddie taught you."
His lower lip quivering, Matthew leaned forward and pressed the tip of the tool into the ground. The letter
M
took shape in the dirt. Hesitating, Matthew looked up at his father as if to say he didn't know how to write the rest.
Luke nodded. "M for Maddie. I understand. Keep going, son."