Stealing Jake

CHAPTER Two



Two weeks of searching, and still no sign of Mark.

Luke crept forward, keeping to the dark shadows of the warehouse but edging closer and closer to the two men who’d brought three crates from the train.

“I need a shot of whiskey.” The man named Butch slapped the top of a crate and growled. “These filthy little beggars ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The other one, Grady, laughed and threw a crowbar on top of a crate. The steel crashed like a clap of thunder in the stillness. “Sounds good to me.”

The two men stomped off, taking the lantern and leaving the warehouse in total darkness.

Suspicion clouded Luke’s mind. They never left the crates unattended. Could it be a trick? No, they couldn’t know he was here. He shot out of his hiding place and knocked on the nearest crate, three times, a space, twice, three more. “Mark? Anybody? Knock if you’re there. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

No response. Not even a whisper.

He moved to the next wooden box, his heart threatening to jump out of his throat like a frog leaping off an overflowing water barrel.

Please. Please. Please answer.

Finally a faint gasp from inside the last crate made him nearly jump out of his skin. He scrambled backward. Where was that crowbar? The crate on the end, near the door. He stumbled through the darkness, counting crates as he went.

One. Two. Three. His fingers touched cold steel.

He wrapped his hand around the metal, then hurried back to the crate and pried against the lid. He gritted his teeth and hung every bit of his weight on the crowbar. The shriek of nails pulling free bounced through the warehouse. He paused, muscles aching. If Butch and Grady came back now, he’d be dead.

Better dead than leaving Mark to fend for himself.

The last nail popped free, and he reached inside. His grasping fingers met rough cotton and a bony shoulder before the kid gasped and jerked away. No time to explain who he was and what he was doing. “Mark?”

The kids in the crate didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even answer.

“Has anyone seen a boy named Mark? He’s five but looks a lot younger.”

“Who wants to know?” A scared voice shot back with a touch of bravado.

“My name’s Luke. I’m his brother. I’ve got to find him.”

“Don’t know no Mark.”

Luke’s hopes shattered like the splintered boards he’d pried off the crate. What had happened to Mark? He should have been in Chestnut by now. But even if his brother wasn’t here, he could pluck these kids out of Grady and Butch’s clutches.

“Let’s go. They’ll be back any minute.”

“Why should we trust you?”

Luke slammed a hand against the side of the crate. “What did they tell you? That they’d found families for you and the coppers had agreed to let you go out of the goodness of their hearts?”

His questions were met with silence.

“It’s all a lie. They paid off the coppers. You’ll work sixteen hours a day for a crust of bread and a pail of dirty water from the creek once a day. But if you want to stay, it’s no skin off my nose.”

He headed for the door.

A rustle of clothes filled the darkness as the street urchins climbed out of the wooden box. “All right. But you’d better be telling the truth.”

Before they could reach the door, it burst open and slammed against the wall. Light spilled across the floor. Luke grabbed a little girl no more than five or six years old and dove between two crates. When he looked back, the other kids had disappeared from sight.

Luke hugged the girl close. He didn’t have to tell her to stay quiet. She didn’t utter a sound.

Eerie shadows danced against the walls. A tall man dressed in a thick overcoat strode into Luke’s line of vision, followed by the hulking forms of Butch and Grady.

Light reflected off the diamond stickpin in the man’s necktie. A stickpin he’d bought from the labor of children.

The man faced Butch and Grady. “If you two ever pull a stunt like that again, you’ll pay—and pay dearly.”

“We didn’t mean no harm, boss. And it’s not like they can go anywhere.”

The man stopped and held the lantern high. Brightness spilled from the globe, stretched out, and pushed the darkness away.

“Then what is this?”

The icy chill of suppressed rage in the clipped words spurred Luke to action. The girl still in his arms, he lunged for the door.

“Hey,” Grady yelled, but Luke had a head start. He ducked out the door. Gaining speed, he darted around the corner of the building, down one alley, then another, finally burrowing beneath a pile of crates. He held the girl close.

Grady ran by their hiding place, cursing a blue streak.

Luke kept still, the little girl tight against him. Minutes ticked by, but Luke waited.

“There was a Mark.” The little girl’s voice was a whisper in the cold night air.

Luke’s heart slammed hard against his rib cage. “Where?”

“In the other crate.”



* * *





Would he see Miss O’Brien again?

Jake hauled the wagon to a stop in front of the orphanage. He halfway hoped Mrs. Brooks would answer the door so he could complete his mission and hoof it back to town like a scared rabbit. He didn’t have time to think about a woman, but his thoughts didn’t seem to understand that fact.

He set the brake and stared at the rambling old farmhouse nestled in a grove of trees, as if it had been waiting for a bunch of orphans to show up and take over. The snow had stopped for the time being, but the dark, moisture-laden clouds threatened to dump more anytime. He jumped down and crunched across the white surface to the front porch, knocked, and waited. He tugged off one glove and undid the top button of his coat before he suffocated. It might be below freezing outside, but the thought of seeing Livy again brought his temperature up a notch or two.

Livy answered the door, and he blinked. Last night’s dim light hadn’t done her justice. Her eyes were bluer than he remembered, her hair a deeper russet brown. She’d twisted the mass up on top of her head, but a few curls trailed down onto the starched stand-up collar of her dress. What would her hair feel like? Would it curl around his fingers like it curled against her long, slender neck? He clamped his jaw, shoving down his distracting thoughts.

“Good afternoon, Miss O’Brien.” Jake yanked off his hat and forced words past the coal-size lump in his throat.

She dipped her head, prim and proper. “Deputy Russell.”

“Just Jake, ma’am.”

A hint of a blush covered her cheeks. “Won’t you come in?”

He entered the warmth of the foyer and unfastened the remaining buttons on his coat. To his left, a savory aroma wafted out of the kitchen, and to his right, the sounds of energetic—if off-key—singing drifted out from the parlor.

Livy tracked his gaze toward the noise. “The children have finished their chores for the day, and Mrs. Brooks decided to teach them a few carols.”

“They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

She gave him a bright smile that seemed to come out of nowhere and sucker punch him in the gut. “Yes, they are.”

He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the way her lips tilted just so at the corners. But he couldn’t help himself. The right corner tipped up slightly more than the left. His pulse ratcheted up a notch.

Whoa, Russell. Think of something else.

“Sheriff Carter and I spent the morning out at the site of the accident.”

Her smile faded like the winter sun behind snow-laden clouds. “Did you find anything?”

“A Bible with the family’s last name: Hays. The sheriff’s trying to contact the next of kin, but it might take a while. Anyway, I’ve got the family’s supplies in the back of the wagon. There are a couple of trunks, too. Where do you want them?”

“Supplies?” Lines knit her brow.

“Meal, flour, sugar. All kinds of provisions. Seems Mr. Hays was a careful man. Wherever they were headed, he didn’t intend to run out of anything.”

“But we can’t take the Hayses’ supplies.”

“The orphanage is taking care of the children.” He nodded toward the parlor. “And a lot of others from the sound of it. I’d say you’re more entitled than anyone else.”

She worried her bottom lip for a moment. “I suppose you’re right. Pull around back while I tell Mrs. Brooks.”

Jake went out into the cold and drove the wagon around to the side porch off the kitchen. Livy waited, the door open behind her. The two of them unloaded the wagon, Livy taking the smaller items and Jake wrestling with the kegs of flour and sugar and the two trunks. He shouldered the heaviest of the trunks, grunting. Finally they had everything stacked haphazardly inside the storage room.

Jake stood with his hands on his hips, breathing hard. But the expression on Livy’s face made the labor worth it all. She looked like a child at the candy counter over at McIver’s, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“It’s an answer to prayer.” She ran her hand over a barrel of sugar. “I can’t believe there’s so much.”

He removed his coat and wiped his sleeve across his brow. “Maybe Mr. Hays intended to open a store.”

“Poor man. Did you ever find out what happened?”

Jake shook his head. “We really couldn’t tell. Something must have spooked the horses while he was taking the harnesses off. It’s a miracle the children weren’t hurt.”

“Yes, it is.” She hesitated and looked away from him, her gaze finally landing on the stove. A blush stole over her cheeks. “Would you like some coffee before you go?”

He hesitated. He’d worked up a sweat hauling in the supplies, but a cup of coffee would be nice. “Thanks.”

“I’m afraid it’s been sitting on the stove awhile.”

“If I can drink that stuff Sheriff Carter makes, I can drink anything.”

She laughed. He liked the sound, like little silver bells.

“Do you take sugar? I’m afraid we’re out of cream.”

“Black is fine.”

As Jake nursed his cup of coffee, Livy stirred a big pot of stew, and he tried to think of something to bring her out of her shell. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing over her shoulder at him, a questioning look on her face.

“How long have you known Mrs. Brooks?”

Her gaze shifted, and she turned away. The ladle in her hand seemed to have become the most important thing in the world. “About two years.”

“Then you’re not from around here, are you? Sheriff Carter said she came from Chicago.”

“Yes, that’s right.” She reached for the coffeepot, her smile firmly in place. Had he imagined her unease? “Would you like some more?”

Her eyes flashed like a bluebird on the wing, and his fingers itched to feel the softness of her cheek, the curve of her jaw. He blinked. What kind of spell had Livy O’Brien woven? Or was he weaving one of his own? He needed to concentrate all his energies on paying off that loan before he lost the family farm. Then, maybe, he’d think about courting, about starting a family. But not for a long, long time.

“No thank you. I’d better get back to the jail.”

He gulped the rest of the bitter brew and grabbed his hat, determined to put some distance between himself and Livy O’Brien.