This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [28]
His sun-bronzed face was framed by neatly trimmed dark brown sideburns, accentuating high cheekbones and a thin, well-formed nose above a generous but unsmiling mouth. It was the sternest, most forbidding face she had ever seen. He turned to look down at her, and suddenly his gray eyes gave her the feeling he could see straight through her.
“This is a good place for you. Will you stay here?”
“I want to.” The words came easier. “I want to help enough to pay for our keep.”
“This is a good place for you,” he said again.
Sadie watched him, noting the way Mary trusted him and how gently he pushed her on the swing. She looked into his face and wondered what was behind it. What was he thinking? And would he really protect her from his employer’s son? She wondered how he had come among the McLeans. What had his home been like? What kind of woman could take him from Mrs. McLean? A queer little shock went through her when she realized her thoughts. How could it possibly matter to her what kind of man he was? Come morning, she would probably never see him again. Nevertheless, the thought disturbed her, and she looked at him keenly. There was no smell of evil about him like there was about Travis McLean, but there was no real softness, either, except what he showed with Mary. Yes, to be with such a man would be . . . would be. . . .
“Have you made up your mind about me?” He stopped the swing and lifted Mary down.
“What do you mean?”
“You were trying to decide what kind of man I am, and if I’m to be trusted.”
Mary reached up and took his hand and tugged. He looked down at the impish little face and squatted down on his heels. He patted his shirt pocket. Timidly, at first, Mary searched until she discovered the slender cylinder of candy. Her sparkling eyes found his. Jesse got to his feet and patted her head.
“Somethin’ we both got a fondness for, eh, little girl?”
He took the makings for a cigarette from his pocket and, scarcely looking at what he was doing, constructed the smoke. He flicked the head of the match with his nail and held up the flame. He watched Mary, sticky spit from the candy running down her chin, then turned his gaze on the mother. She was a woman all right—scarcely more than a girl in years—but a spunky woman. Pretty, too. He took the cigarette from his lips. She was fidgeting and burning because he was looking at her. She had looked at him, now it was his turn. She must have really been brought low to take the job in the dance hall. He knew when he pulled Travis off her that she wasn’t right for that sort of place.
It was growing late. Sadie took Mary’s hand. The man didn’t turn or speak as she walked behind him, but her footsteps hesitated a little, as if she wanted to speak. He turned and she stopped.
“Mister?”
“Yes’m?”
“Thank you. And thank you for givin’ Mary the treat.” Her voice trembled, in spite of her determination to keep it even.
“Go on back,” he said. Sadie was sure his voice gentled. “Go on back and I’ll watch.”
It was wonderful not to be afraid. She could feel his eyes on her until she let herself into the back door. Quickly, she washed the sticky sweet from the child’s tired face and hands, undressed her, and put her in the bunk. Blowing out the lamp, she undressed and got in beside her. She could hear the murmur of Ellen McLean’s voice coming from Summer’s room, and the voices of John Austin and Pud in the loft. She thought of the coming morning with mixed feelings. Although she longed to see the last of Mrs. McLean and her son, she dreaded to think she’d not be seeing Jesse Thurston again.
It was near midnight when Jack tied his horse to the rail and crossed the stone veranda. He let himself into the house, and guided by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, went directly to the kitchen. Slater looked up and motioned toward the stove. Jack hung his hat on the rack and took a mug from the shelf.
“How’s the leg?”
“Better. Teresa made up a poultice that took off some of the