The Road to Love, page 11
She carried the milk to the kitchen, left some not separated to take to baby Annie in the morning. Still the tractor growled on. Hatcher’s food grew cold and sticky on the plate.
The children hurried through their chores so they could spend time with their rabbit. She let them play later than usual.
The western sky streaked with orange and purple and gold then turned navy before the tractor finally stopped its incessant roar.
Kate scraped the food off the plate into a fry pan and set it to warm. Through the dusk, she saw Hatcher head to the pump where he drank deeply then splashed water over his head and scrubbed his hands and face. Sally had said hobos were dirty but Hatcher wasn’t. He was almost meticulous in washing before he ate. And each day he wore a clean shirt and trousers. He had a spare of each, which he washed out at night. He’d consistently refused her offer of Jeremiah’s things.
His meal warmed as he finished washing. She hung a towel outside the door for him and as he dried, she scooped the food back to the plate.
“It looked more appetizing a few hours ago,” she said as she handed it to him.
“Wanted to get in a few more rounds.”
“I appreciate it but you don’t have to work so hard.”
He sank to the step and ate with the dedication of a hungry man.
She sat on the step beside him. “Hatcher, I want to apologize for being cross when I got home this afternoon. I wasn’t angry at you. I appreciate that you kept an eye on the children until I got home. I was just worried about them. Truly, I’m sorry I spoke the way I did.”
“Not a problem.”
She settled into an uneasy silence. He’d readily, quickly accepted her apology. Almost dismissed it. What had she expected? She didn’t know, only knew she wanted more. So much more that it parched the inside of her stomach.
“Glad to hear the Sandstrum baby is doing better.”
“I couldn’t get her to suck for the longest time. I thought—” Her voice caught on unshed tears. “I thought she was going to die.” A sob escaped.
Hatcher put his empty plate down. “But she didn’t?” He smelled of good earth, the fumes from the tractor and the fried pork she’d cooked for him.
“No.” Suddenly she had to tell him about her afternoon. She began with her concern about Alice and continued until she shared her excitement when Annie started to swallow. “I prayed and prayed and finally she took a swallow and suddenly seemed to realize she was hungry. I think you must have been praying, too.”
She should go inside but she remained seated beside him. She wanted this moment of comfort to continue.
“I was praying.” His words were soft.
Shep sprang to his feet and barked.
She stared down the road at an approaching vehicle. “Doyle,” she murmured. That put an end to a peaceful moment. “What’s got into him that suddenly he starts driving out here midweek?”
“Maybe afraid you’re managing too well without him.”
She snorted. “He’d like me to be the lady of his castle. He wants me to sell my farm.”
“Is that going to happen?”
Suddenly everything was clear as the sky above them.
“No.” She was genuinely fond of Doyle but not so much as to give up the security and safety of her farm. If he would offer to let her keep it, perhaps let someone else run it…But for Doyle life fit into neat little cubbyholes. There was no slot for his wife owning a farm of her own.
Doyle stopped his car behind Kate’s truck and climbed out. “Isn’t this cozy?”
Hatcher and Kate pushed to their feet. “Hello to you, too, Doyle,” Kate said.
Hatcher started to leave. Doyle said, “Hatcher Jones, you should probably stick around for this.”
Kate’s spine stiffened at the way Doyle spoke to Hatcher but before she could protest, Doyle spoke again.
“I thought there was something familiar about you. You’re that man from Loggieville, aren’t you?”
Hatcher stared out at the seeded field.
“I remember the case well. Don’t suppose you thought it would catch up to you here. You didn’t take into account that lawyers all over the country watched the proceedings with keen interest. Would you get away with it or not? I didn’t think you would, but you certainly proved me wrong.”
Kate watched the stiffness return to Hatcher’s shoulders. She hadn’t even realized it was gone until now. “What’s this all about, Doyle?”
“Your hobo is a murderer.”
Anger bolted the full length of her body at Doyle’s cruel accusation. “If that’s the case, why is he walking around a free man? I thought there was a death penalty for murder.”
“He weaseled his way out of it.”
She ground her words past the anger twisting her throat. “I see. What you’re saying is a court of law found him not-guilty?”
“Couldn’t convict him when no one was willing to tell the truth. They were all afraid of him. Afraid he’d get to them and make them pay if they spoke out.”
“But, Doyle, you’re a lawyer. Don’t you believe in the justice of our legal system?”
Doyle laughed. “It has certain flaws.”
“Yes, but if he was convicted of murder, wouldn’t his accusers know they’d be safe? After all, he’d be dead.” She shuddered at the idea.
“Things can happen.”
“Men can be innocent.”
Doyle stepped closer to Kate. “Are you saying you believe he’s innocent? You don’t even know what happened?”
“I don’t need to. I’ve seen Hatcher.”
Doyle was inches away. “What has he done to you? Kate, you pack your things right now. And the children’s. You’re moving into town. You can sell the farm immediately. Just yesterday, someone was asking about land. Willing to pay handsomely for it. Hurry now. I’ll wait here.”
Kate crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anyplace. I’m perfectly safe here. And it’s time you got it through your head that I do not intend to sell the farm. Ever.”
“Kate, be sensible. Now is not the time to be stubborn.”
She leaned forward. “Doyle, you picked the wrong time and the wrong place to order me about.”
Doyle backed up, held up his hands. “I guess I came on a bit strong. But I’m worried about you and the children. This man…” He turned to glower at Hatcher.
But Hatcher was gone. Kate caught a glimpse of him disappearing around the barn. “Hatcher,” she yelled. “I’ve got fifty acres to seed yet.” She started after him, needing to persuade him to stay but Doyle grabbed her elbow.
“He’ll be on his way now that I know who he is.”
Her anger seemed to know no bounds. It clawed at every muscle. Her legs vibrated as she spun around to face Doyle.
“And where does that leave me? Having to find someone else to help? Is that what you want?” She watched a play of emotions across Doyle’s face. Triumph. Caution. And then his beguiling smile.
She did not smile back. “You’re hoping I can’t manage on my own. You think I’ll be forced to give up my farm.” She stared at him. “You did this for the sole reason of trying to make me marry you. Even knowing how much the farm means to me…” She couldn’t look at him anymore. Couldn’t believe his treachery. If Hatcher left…
Please God, make him stay. I need him.
She added, For the farm.
Chapter Eight
Hatcher’s breath scalded in and out as he consumed the distance to the little shack. Tension grabbed his shoulders as if the skin had grown five sizes too small.
He wasn’t surprised at Doyle’s revelation, knew it was inevitable. He was angry at himself. He’d forgotten who he was, what he’d done. For a few days, he’d allowed himself to pretend he could belong, if only for a short time.
He threw back the door and reached for his knapsack. His elbows had a wooden quality about them, reluctantly doing his will as he rolled his trousers and shirt and stuffed them in the bag. He pulled other items from the nails, startled to see the evidence of how much he’d let himself feel at home here. Not often he left anything out of his pack except to use it.
The Bible went on top as always. “‘I will set my face against you, and ye shall be slain before your enemies, they that hate you shall reign over you; and ye shall flee when none pursueth you.’ Leviticus twenty-six, verses sixteen and seventeen. Lord,” he groaned. “It’s nothing more than I deserve. I know the sin that filled my heart.” Even if a jury had dismissed the charge, it did not take away his guilt.
He slung the pack over his shoulder and headed for the door. He could make a mile or two even in the dark.
He paused for one last glance around the small, meager cabin that had been the closest thing to a home in years, thanks to Kate’s generosity.
Suddenly, he pictured Kate as she met Doyle’s confrontation so fearlessly. Spunky little lady. So determined to keep her farm. Seems Doyle was equally determined she should give it up to marry him. He couldn’t imagine what kind of life she’d have if she did. Doyle would always want Kate to do his bidding.
He laughed out loud, the sound as unexpected as nightfall at noon.
Maybe he should feel sorry for Doyle if he tried to order her about. You’d think the man would have figured out Kate was his equal. More than his equal.
Hatcher rubbed his chin. Why hadn’t she ordered him off her place once she heard the sordid story? She sounded like she believed his innocence.
Even his own father hadn’t.
“Son,” the older man had said after Hatcher had been arrested. “This here’s been a long time coming. You got yourself a wicked temper and it seems you’re always looking for a reason to vent it. Don’t seem to matter on who or where.” Course his words were so slurred Hatcher had to guess at much he said.
Hatcher, still young and volatile, had risen to the accusations. “Maybe you should ask me why I got this problem. And when? Or better yet, ask yourself.”
Muttering about his son’s rebellious ways, his father left Hatcher to stew in the sordid jail cell.
He never visited again, though he sat in the very back row of the courtroom during the trial. Sat like a curious spectator come for the entertainment. Never once did the man offer a word in Hatcher’s defense.
And his reaction when Hatcher had been declared not guilty? Just a few words that burned themselves into Hatcher’s brain.
“Son, I think it’s best for everyone if you leave.”
Hatcher finally found something he and his father agreed on. And he’d never turned back.
But Kate had called after him. Reminded him of his promise to put in the crop. As if she expected him to stay. Even wanted him to stay.
She was the first person in an uncountable length of time who acted like she trusted him.
He thought of the times she’d confided in him. She told him she worried how she’d be able to keep the farm if this drought continued.
He’d wanted to offer her reassurances. Instead he’d quoted scriptures, his way of avoiding saying what he really thought—that no one knew how long the drought would last nor how much it would cost her before it ended.
One time she’d confessed she didn’t love her husband, but was grateful for his protection and for the children he’d given her. He didn’t want to think about her in a loveless relationship, though she didn’t seem to have any regrets and spoke of Jeremiah with real affection.
And just before Doyle had shown up trying to order her about, she’d stated she wouldn’t give up the farm to marry Doyle. He wondered if she’d meant to say more before they’d been interrupted.
For certain, she’d need help if she intended to keep the farm. A woman like her deserved a helping hand. He’d given her his assurance he’d put the crop in. She’d been counting on it no doubt. He dumped the contents of his pack onto his bed. He’d fulfill his promise. She already knew the truth. And no doubt so would everyone in town before another day passed but another few days wouldn’t change things. Then he’d be on his way to where no one knew him or his wretched past.
Kate smiled when he showed up for breakfast. “Thought you might have left.”
He let her smile ease the tension that built as he walked across. All night he wondered if she’d come to her senses, or been convinced by Doyle, yet here she was smiling a welcome and here he was, ready to fulfill his promise. “Thought I might have, too.”
“So what made you stay?”
His heart near exploded with the truth. You, Kate. You with your trust and stubbornness. You made me stay. But he stilled his emotions, smoothed his face and replied. “I said I’d put the crop in and I will.”
“Then you’ll be gone?”
The words cut like a thorn. He didn’t want to leave. But he must. He had to spare her the censure and shunning that came with knowing him. He nodded.
“Hatcher, what really happened?”
He took the plate of food from her hand and ate it hurriedly without answering. “I’ll get right at the seeding,” he said, handing back the empty plate.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. But…”
He slid her a glance, saw her eyes gleaming like earth warmed by the hot sun, felt the same warmth wrap around his heart. He envied the man who’d enjoy that glance day after day. He only hoped it wouldn’t be Doyle. She deserved better.
“Someday, you’ll tell me the truth, Hatcher Jones.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Someday will never come.” He grabbed the milk pails. “It’s best not to know everything.” He headed for the barn.
He sat with his head against the warm flank of the Jersey cow when he heard her approach. He should have known she wouldn’t let the whole thing rest. She’d work at it like a farmer preparing the soil.
She poured some oats into the trough for the cows, wondered aloud whether or not the supply would last the summer but Hatcher wasn’t fooled. She vibrated with curiosity.
“Hatcher, do you have parents?”
Her question, coming out of left field like that, startled him. It did him no good to think of his parents. Any more than it served any purpose to remember what had happened. “Nope.”
“They’re both dead?”
He couldn’t lie. Knew she’d guess it if he did. “Why do you want to know?”
She stood beside him, her presence crowding his body and his thoughts. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“You planning to write a book?”
She chuckled. “Are you saying there’s a story here?”
“Nope.” There’d been far too much written about it already. He wanted only to erase it from his mind.
“I just keep thinking what it would be like for me if it was Dougie or Mary. You know I have two brothers. Ted is eighteen now and he’s working on a ranch in Montana. He came to visit two years ago, before he started work there. Ray’s older. He’s like Dad. Always on the move. I haven’t seen him in four years. Got a letter last Christmas. He was in California then. Don’t expect he still is.”
Hatcher wondered where she was going with this tale. He finished the Jersey cow and moved on to the big Holstein.
Kate turned the Jersey out and returned to his side. He could only dream she’d feel the need to go bake cookies, or whitewash the walls or something. Anything but push at his memories with her talk of parents and brothers.
“Do you think it’s fair to my children to keep them on the farm?”
He blinked, grateful he was bent over the cow’s flank and she couldn’t see how her question surprised him. Talk about a sudden switch. Before he could figure out where she was going with this, she hurried on.
“Maybe they’d be better off in town. After all, they have so many responsibilities here. I need them to work, especially when I don’t have help. Seems I never have time for them.” She backed away. He hoped she’d give him room but she only lounged against the rough wood panel, settling down for a long, intimate talk.
Not far enough away he could breathe without inhaling her presence.
“Mary would almost certainly be happier in town,” she mused. “She’s afraid of the chickens, the cows, almost everything.”
Hatcher sprang to the child’s defense. “Best thing is she faces her fears, realizes what’s real danger. She’ll be stronger for it.”
“Never thought of it that way. I suppose you’re right. But Dougie worries me. He’s reckless.”
“He’s a boy. Just needs to learn to measure things. You wouldn’t want him to be afraid of risks.” Not that it was any of his concern what she did with her two kids. “Don’t see how moving them into town will change who they were or how they need to grow.”
“But I’m so busy. If I lived in town I’d have more time to spend with them.”
The woman was more persistent than a newspaper reporter. He finished milking and jerked to his feet. “Ma’am, if you want to spend more time with your kids, you’ll just do it. Whether you’re on the farm or in town.”
She stared at him as if he’d announced the cow had gone dry.
He continued. “Sure, life in town might be easier. Or just different. It’s got nothing to do with what you’re talking about. Seems you’ve just forgotten how to have fun.”
He headed for the house with the milk, not surprised when she wasn’t on his heels. Couldn’t expect a woman to be happy about having a few truths thrown in her face.
But he’d only set the pails inside when she bounced up and down at his back apparently ready to overlook his interference.
“I need to take some milk to the Sandstrum baby.”
He’d left most of the bags of corn in the back of the truck. Made it easier to get it to the field. “I’ll fill the drills.”
A little while later, he watched her drive away and prayed the baby would be stronger today. Then he lost himself in the roar of the tractor, the need to concentrate on following the previous track and the wind alternately at his face, his back, on one cheek or the other.
Only his thoughts wouldn’t be lulled. Thanks to Kate and her persistent questions, he kept thinking of his father, wondering how he was, missed his mother, wished he could see Lowell just one more time. He didn’t need such thoughts or their accompanying memories. They only made his stomach ache the way it had when he was a child. He rubbed at the chicken pox scar on his wrist.
