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his
life on alcohol? The calm hand of reality stopped her questions—it
wasn’t as if she had a lot of choice. “I haven’t met many men who
were willing to work. What about you, Jefferson Hicks? Are you
afraid of work?”
    “ No, ma’am,” he mumbled.
    “ All right, then. Mr. Hicks, I’ll pay
you ten cents an hour and I’ll give you a meal. That’s
satisfactory, I hope.”
    He nodded, although he wouldn’t look her in
the face. Maybe that was preferable to the insolent, disrespectful
gazes Cooper Matthews had directed at her.
    Obviously relieved, Will smiled and clapped
his hands together once, making both Jeff and Althea jump. “That’s
fine! I’ll be back around sundown to pick him up.” He left the
porch and clambered up to the wagon seat. Taking up the reins, he
turned the horses back toward the road through the tall grass.
“Jeff, you mind what the lady says.”
    Jeff cast what Althea thought was an angry,
desperate look in the sheriff’s direction, but he remained mute. He
followed the wagon with his eyes until it was out of sight, then he
turned to her.
    A chasm of silence opened between them as he
studied her skirt hem and she studied him.
    He’d been a very attractive man. Althea
remembered that. On one of her rare trips to town, she’d seen him
from a distance when he was still sheriff, and had privately
admired his tall, long-legged stride as she’d watched him walk down
the street.
    His shoulders were the same, wide but not
bulky. He was more lean now than muscled, and more than a little on
the thin side. His face had fallen into gaunt lines, as if he never
had a square meal anymore. And she’d remembered him as being
taller. Then she realized that he was slouching, the way youngsters
did when they felt self-conscious. The ghost of his good looks
remained, but if Will hadn’t told her his name she wouldn’t have
recognized the former sheriff. Even so, his rolled-up shirt sleeves
revealed sinewed arms that appeared to have strength left in
them.
    Breaking off her stare, she asked, “Do you
know anything about patching a roof? That’s what I need done
first.”
    Still not looking at her, he stepped down
from the porch and backed up to inspect the top part of the house.
“Some.”
    “ Good. You’ll find some shingles and
nails in—in the—over in there.” She pointed at the barn. Its big
sliding door faced the porch. “There’s a ladder in there too. And
please don’t forget to close the door when you aren’t in there.
That’s very important.” From within the house, she heard Olivia
call her.
    He lowered his gaze from the roof to look at
her for an instant, long enough for her to see that his eyes were
deep green, like the last leaves of summer, just before they
turned.
    “ If you need anything else I’ll be
right inside. Just knock.”
    He nodded and walked across the yard toward
the barn. Althea crossed her arms over her chest and watched him
go, shaking her head, half in pity, half in irritation.
    Some people were prisoners of their own
making. They let months and years slip away from them with nothing
to show for the passing of time but hearts full of regrets or
bitterness. Jefferson Hicks was a champion example of such a
man.
    Olivia called again, more insistent this
time. She turned and went to answer her sister’s summons.
    ~~*~*~*~~
    Jeff waded through the weeds and grass to
reach the barn. Sharp-spined thistle snagged his jeans and Queen
Anne’s lace bobbed in the breeze. He wished Mason had thought to
bring a scythe while he was piling up the tools. Grabbing the pull,
he tried to slide open the barn door but it wouldn’t budge more
than six inches. He braced his foot on the jamb and pulled again
with both hands. The door gave way with a deafening screech of
rusted wheels, crashing across the front of the barn, and Jeff
landed on his back in a patch of thistle. His palms were stabbed in
a hundred places with its needle-like spines. A group of sparrows
that had