Allie's Moon by Alexis Harrington Page B

crust that interfered with her sense of order.
They were good, though. A couple of them were made with roast beef
and some others with blackberry jam that smelled sweet and tart at
the same time. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had
fixed him a lunch.
    This was how people lived, he recalled, even
odd ones like the Ford sisters. With scheduled mealtimes and days
filled with work and activity. They slept under the same roof every
night, and woke up in a familiar place in the morning, not
wondering how they’d gotten out of their clothes, or why they’d
slept with their clothes on, or where they’d lost their boots. He’d
let all of that slip away from him in the past couple of years. But
then, it was pretty hard for a man to keep a schedule when he
didn’t give a damn about what happened to him.
    After gobbling down his lunch, Jeff was about
to stand up and go investigate the rickety front porch trellis when
a voice stopped him.
    “ I was in discord in Gateshead Hall: I
was like nobody there; I had nothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed or
her children, or her chosen vassalage. If they did not love me, in
fact as little did I love them.”
    Jeff glanced at the two on the porch and saw
that Althea was reading to her sister. He didn’t know what book she
held on her lap, but with the birds twittering in the oaks and the
light breeze ruffling his shirt collar, it seemed right to hear a
woman reading aloud on a day like this. Her voice was clear and
distinct, and a memory darted through his mind of his mother
reading to her boys.
    He was glad his mother couldn’t see what had
happened to him. She hadn’t raised him or his brothers to be lazy
or dirty. No, ma’am. A tiny, strong-willed widow left with five
boys to bring up, Kate Hicks had taught them that hard work, honor,
and acceptance of responsibility were their own rewards. He doubted
that she would even recognize him now.
    He got a letter from her once or twice a
year. Kirby Bromfield at the telegraph office would hunt him down
and deliver it. Jeff kept the letters with his gear, but he’d
stopped opening them. A current of hurt ran through them when she
described wondering how he was and asked why he’d stopped writing.
They tore at Jeff’s heart to read them. He’d tried to write back to
her once, to lie and tell her that he was fine, just to give her
peace. After all, how could he tell her the truth—that her eldest
son, the sheriff of Decker Prairie of whom she’d been so proud—had
fallen to such depths? But his hand had trembled so much that he’d
splattered ink on the paper, and the few words he’d managed to
scratch out had been illegible. He couldn’t ask someone else to do
the writing—his pride wouldn’t permit that. Frustrated, he’d balled
up the page and thrown it away.
    The last time his mother had seen him was on
his wedding day in Klamath Falls five years earlier. With cheering
family and old friends waving them on, he and Sally had started out
on the three-day trip to Decker Prairie, and his new job, that
afternoon. Pretty little Sally, just two weeks older than
seventeen, sat on the wagon seat next to him with her hand tucked
in the crook of his arm. He thought she was the most beautiful
bride he’d ever seen. The thinly-veiled eagerness he’d seen in her
eyes made him only too happy to escape the inevitable shivaree that
would have interrupted their wedding night. He would make love to
his new wife slowly and completely, with only the stars and moon to
witness their consummation.
    He didn’t want to think about those days, or
the fact that other people lived safe, comfortable lives, untouched
by the kind of guilt he dragged around with him. Jefferson Hicks
didn’t deserve anything more than what he had right now, and that
was the way it would stay.
    But he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to spend a
few minutes on a bright spring afternoon, listening to the
measured, lulling sweetness of a woman’s