Stealing Jake

CHAPTER Nineteen



“Livy?”

Jake’s hand shook, and he lowered the gun, feeling sick. He’d almost shot her. He stared at her, dressed head to toe in black, hair covered with a thick scarf. “What are you doing out here? It’s two in the morning.”

“I—”

“Who were you with?” He grabbed her by the arm, not giving her a chance to answer. “Come on, we’re going somewhere warm where we can talk.”

He pulled her down the boardwalk toward the jail. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. And he wanted to see Livy’s face when he got them.

Ten minutes later, he shut the door of the jail, turned up the lantern, and swung around to face her. He crossed his arms and glared at her. “I left you at the orphanage hours ago. What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

“You got any coffee?” she asked, pinching the tips of her gloves and pulling them off one finger at a time as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

His temper spiked a notch. She didn’t even like coffee. What was she trying to hide? “There.” He jabbed a finger at the coffeepot, filled with hours-old black slush.

She took her time removing her cloak and the black coat underneath it. Mud covered the patched hemline of her black dress. He waited until she’d taken a sip of the bitter brew. She winced, more reaction than he’d gotten when he asked her to explain herself.

“Livy, I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you scared the living daylights out of me. What were you doing?”

She tossed her head. “I took some food to the street kids, if you must know.”

Just like that? She’d been out delivering food to some kids at two in the morning? He raked a hand through his hair, his heartbeat just now returning to something akin to normal. She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever known. His mother and Mrs. Warren and any other number of women wouldn’t be caught dead wandering the streets alone after dark—especially in shantytown. “Who were you with? I saw someone take off in the opposite direction.”

She didn’t answer, just took another sip of coffee.

Her nonchalance kicked his temper up another notch. What was going on underneath that mass of curls? “You don’t have to tell me who it was. It was one of the street kids, wasn’t it? Livy, I want you to stop sneaking around at night. These young boys are stealing guns, and they won’t hesitate to shoot someone. If their aim had been better, they might have hit Sheriff Carter or myself when we were chasing them the other night.”

Her eyes flashed. “It wasn’t one of the boys.”

Jake stared at her, her words taking a moment to sink in. “How do you know?”

She looked away, the first time he’d seen uncertainty in her eyes since he’d gotten the drop on her.

His gaze traveled the length of her dress. Suddenly the pieces clicked into place, like getting four consecutive jumps in a game of checkers. The thief, the guns, the scrap of black cloth, and the woman-size handprint in the snow. His gaze ricocheted back to her face. “You were there, weren’t you? That was a piece of your dress I found.”

The look on her face answered his question. He felt sick to his stomach. Had Livy been in league with the thieves the entire time?

No. He wouldn’t—couldn’t believe such a thing.

Not the woman he dreamed of a future with. Not the woman who claimed to be a Christian, who lived and worked at the orphanage, who had defended the children’s rights in a room full of storekeepers.

“Do you have anything to say?” Please, Livy, say something. Prove me wrong.

Her chin hitched up a notch, her silence deafening.

His hope and his temper snapped. Why hadn’t he seen it earlier? “You wormed your way into Mrs. Brooks’s good graces in Chicago, then moved here to Chestnut, bringing your little gang of street urchins with you.”

Her eyes widened and two splotches of color graced her cheeks. Jake grunted. Good. At least he’d finally gotten a reaction out of her. “Maybe Mrs. Brooks is in on the scheme as well.” He crossed his arms over his chest. How far could he push her before she lost it and started talking to him? “I should have thought of that sooner. An orphanage would be a good cover for a couple of women intent on fleecing a town, now wouldn’t it?”

She slammed the coffee cup on the desk and marched up to him, eyes flashing blue fire. “You leave Mrs. Brooks out of this. She’s a godly woman and would never steal a thing from anybody.”

Finally.

Jake stared her down, his nose inches from hers. “And you, Livy O’Brien, would you ever steal anything from anybody?”

A stubborn expression settled on her face, and Jake knew he’d won this round.

Or had he?



* * *





Livy’s heart ached with wanting to tell Jake everything. But she pressed her lips together, determined not to say another word, afraid he would just twist anything she said to suit his purposes. She hadn’t wanted to mislead him or anybody else, but she could only say so much without revealing her whole sordid past.

He stared at her, disappointment overlaid with anger in his green eyes. As if he cared. But he wouldn’t care, not if he found out the truth. There’d been no one to care what she did until Mrs. Brooks came along, and she’d known about Livy’s previous life when she befriended her. Livy hadn’t wanted her past to follow her to Chestnut, but now it had caught up with her full force, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“I could arrest you.” He spoke low and dangerous.

Her heart plummeted to her toes. “On what grounds?” she asked, mustering a bravado she didn’t feel.

“Aiding and abetting.”

She sighed inwardly. “You don’t have any proof.”

“I have reasonable suspicion.”

She’d bluffed her way out of tighter situations than this, but that was before she’d become a Christian. She couldn’t outright lie to Jake, but she didn’t want to get Luke in trouble either. If he’d spoken the truth, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I haven’t aided or abetted anyone, but I’ll tell you what I know, okay? Your thief is six feet tall, weighs about two hundred pounds, and has the gangly gait of a dim-witted pup. His accomplice—or at least one of them—is middle-aged, bearded, and scraggly.”

Jake crossed his arms and stared at her. “What else?” he asked, sounding as if he didn’t believe a word she’d said.

“They have at least one meeting place on the west side of town, an old barn with a broken-down corral. Close to where we were earlier.”

“I’ll keep a watch on it.”

“Won’t do any good. Luke says they rarely use the same meeting place.”

“Luke? Is that the street kid you were talking to?” Jake lifted an eyebrow. “How does he know?”

She hesitated, hoping and praying she didn’t say anything that might implicate Luke. “He . . . he’s been following the thief, trying to find out who it is, because he knows it’s the only way to convince everyone that he’s not the real thief.”

“And you’ve been keeping this from me?”

“No. I just found out tonight.”

“If he really wants to convince me he’s not a thief, he needs to turn himself in and tell me what he knows.”

Livy wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling chilled at the harsh tone of Jake’s words. “You don’t have a clue, do you? In Chicago, the law would chew him up and spit him out before they’d believe him. Then they’d sell his half-dead carcass to a sweatshop for a few dollars. There’s no way he’s going to turn himself in that easily. He’s got half a dozen, if not more, mouths to feed, and he’ll die trying to protect them from the law.”

“You were one of them, weren’t you? A street kid in Chicago?” Jake stared at her.

All her defenses were broken. She couldn’t lie in the face of an outright question about her past. She lowered her gaze and took a deep breath.

“Yes.”



* * *





Jake tilted his chair against the wall and took out his whittling knife. Whittling settled his mind and helped him think through problems. He’d escorted Livy to the orphanage and left her there. No one had reported a crime, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t have any stolen goods on her, so there’d been no reason to arrest her.

And the last thing he wanted to do was put Livy behind bars.

He wanted to take back his harsh words and tell her he was sorry. He wanted to believe that she was good and perfect and only concerned about the welfare of the boys on the streets.

But the facts were stacked against her. He attacked the block of wood with a vengeance. She’d been on the streets of Chicago. He’d assumed she’d lived with Mrs. Brooks all her life and had decided to help the older lady instead of marrying. Fresh hurt stabbed at his chest. Why hadn’t she told him?

Because she knew how you felt about street kids.

Jake scraped his blade across the soft wood. A curled sliver fell to the floor at his feet. He scowled. He didn’t have anything against the boys themselves, but somebody was stealing from the merchants. It was his job to be suspicious, especially of folks wandering around in the middle of the night.

He didn’t know what to do. Tell Sheriff Carter? Tell him what? That Livy had been delivering food to the street kids?

A thought niggled at the back of his mind. Maybe he should telegraph Chicago and ask for information on Mrs. Brooks and Livy. Sheriff Carter knew some detectives in Chicago. He’d see what the older man thought when he showed up first thing in the morning.

Jake stared at the flickering lantern on Sheriff Carter’s desk, his knife hovering over the block of wood, the long night catching up with him. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

What if they took off in the night, leaving all those kids at the orphanage? He shook his head, disgusted at the crazy thoughts ricocheting around in his brain. Mrs. Brooks and Livy wouldn’t abandon the orphans. No matter what they might be, they loved those kids. That much he knew.

Nobody could put on that good of an act, could they? They couldn’t be guilty of wrongdoing. He’d just keep a closer eye on the orphanage, and if Livy snuck out again, he’d be watching. After all, if she was as innocent as she’d claimed, she’d need his help if she ran into trouble, wouldn’t she?

A clamor woke Jake, and he slammed both legs of his chair to the floor and shot to his feet. Gus lugged two buckets of coal in the door, banging the pails against the wooden facing.

Jake grabbed one of the buckets. “Gus, Doc told you to take it easy for a few days.”

“I’m all right, Mr. Jake.” Gus smothered a cough and lumbered out again. Minutes later, he came back with another bucket of coal, making just as much noise as before.

Jake slid a hand down his whiskered jaw and squinted out the window into the still-dark street. The whistle for the morning shift change hadn’t even blown. But the night was over as far as he was concerned. Jake stretched and fired up the stove to make a fresh pot of coffee.

An hour later, Gus was mopping the cells, still muttering and singing. Jake kept an eye on him. As soon as his fever had broken, Gus had insisted on heading back to his cabin. Lately, he’d taken it on himself to clean the jail, and he didn’t want any help from Jake or Sheriff Carter. Gus kept the place as spick and span as his cabin in exchange for three squares a day.

When Gus finished, Jake gestured to the coffeepot. “Have a cup, Gus. Miss Nellie’ll send Harvey along shortly with some breakfast.”

Gus poured a cup of coffee and retreated to a chair in the corner. He’d move a chair rather than sit in the open. And if there wasn’t one available, he’d stand with his back to the wall to keep someone from catching him unawares.

Jake propped his feet up on his desk and sipped his coffee. “You get out and about a lot at night, don’t you?”

Gus cut a glance at him, then concentrated on his cup.

“You ever see much comings and goings behind the orphanage or over in shantytown?”

Gus squirmed. Wouldn’t be long before he’d thank Jake politely for the coffee and shuffle out into the cold. It didn’t take much for him to get nervous and skedaddle like a scared jackrabbit. But Jake had to take the risk in case Gus knew anything. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. “I need your help.”

A frown of concentration marred Gus’s forehead.

“There’ve been some robberies here in town, and we’ve got a bunch of street kids here from Chicago. If you see or hear anything that might help me find those kids and stop the robberies, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Gus fidgeted, then gave a short nod. In some ways, Gus was smart as a whip, and Jake figured he knew more than he was letting on, but he didn’t know how to get him to talk without scaring the daylights out of him. Jake took another sip. He’d leave well enough alone for now. He’d planted the seeds that something wasn’t right, so maybe Gus would come to him if he saw anything.

The door opened and Sam McIver’s brother, Ed, limped inside, his injuries from the war ten years ago still plaguing him. Ed’s face, always flushed from the whiskey he drank to dull the pain, looked worse than usual. For brothers, Sam and Ed were as different as night and day. Sam spent his days laughing and talking with folks in the mercantile while Ed hammered out his pain in his blacksmith shop.

“Morning, Ed. Something the matter?”

“Someone broke in my house last night and stole my wife’s emerald brooch and her pearl necklace. Her mother gave her that necklace.”

Remorse slammed into Jake. Could Luke be to blame? Or maybe Livy? Jake shook his head. It couldn’t be. “What can you tell me about the robbery? What time did it happen?”

“The wife noticed her jewelry missing this morning. They came right into the house and stole us blind.” The veins in McIver’s neck popped out until Jake thought the man might have an apoplexy. “It’s them thieving street urchins. I want to know why you haven’t arrested them.”

Jake held out his palm in a calming gesture. “Now hold on, Ed. We’re looking into every robbery. But it’s a little hard to put the culprits behind bars if we can’t catch them.”

Ed glared at him, his meaty hands balled into fists. “Jake, we all know they’re living in that burned-out shantytown behind the livery stable. Come spring when the river thaws, we oughta burn the lot of ’em out.”

“Ed, they’re kids. And we’re not sure if it’s them doing the stealing or not.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of it. I can’t watch the blacksmith shop and my house at the same time, but I’ll tell you what I can and will do.” McIver jammed his hat on his head and stabbed a finger in Jake’s face. “The next person that so much as pokes his head out of the shadows around my house or my shop is going to get his head blowed off.”

McIver slammed out of the jail and stomped down the street.

Jake stared after him, wanting to hit something or someone. Had Livy pulled the wool over his eyes? Maybe skipped town in the middle of the night? If she’d made up the story about Luke trailing the thief to the old barn on the outskirts of town, then she’d know that the jig would be up come morning. He rubbed a hand over his face. She’d be long gone by now, so there was no need to rush over to the orphanage to question her again.

The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded him of how much he wanted her to still be in Chestnut, how much he longed for her to be telling the truth.