Hatcher’s gut twisted so he wished he hadn’t eaten. He’d hoped this moment wouldn’t come. He knew better. He never allowed himself get close to people. It carried too many risks.
This time saying goodbye would hurt even worse than his father’s goodbye.
Yet knowing that, he’d spent the afternoon in the luxury of feeling things, thinking things, wishing things that could never be his.
It was time to accept the inevitable; he was destined to be a wanderer and a vagabond.
The Lord’s anger was aroused that day and he swore this oath: because they have not followed me wholeheartedly, not one of the men twenty years old or more who came up out of Egypt will see the land I promised on oath...he continued reciting the passage until he reached the verse that seared his brain. He made them wander in the desert forty years, until the whole generation of those who had done evil in his sight was gone. Numbers thirty two, verses eleven through thirteen.
His desert included the ocean, the mountains and the parched prairie.
And for a few days, this oasis of longing and belonging, hope and despair.
It was time to return to the desert. That solitary, desolate place. He’d be more alone than he’d ever been but he didn’t regret one minute of the time he’d lingered here. Memories of Kate and her children would be his companion in the days to come.
He’d move on as soon as he did the thing he’d promised Kate—put in the crop. In the meantime, he would help with the chores and he grabbed the milk buckets. “I’m just leaving.” But when he tried to push past Doyle, the man blocked the door.
“Exactly where are you going?”
Hatcher understood the man’s unspoken order. But he wouldn’t allow Doyle to tell him when and where. “To milk the cows.”
“Think again. You need to be gone for good.”
Hatcher grinned, knowing it would annoy the other man. “I’ll go when I’m done.”
Kate’s angry look should have warned Doyle, but he ignored her. “Doyle, he’s putting in the crop. You know that.”
“He’s a mur—”
Kate clapped her hands. “Children, go outside and see how Shep is. Check on your bunny and make sure it’s safe. Don’t come back until I call you.” She jerked Doyle from the door so the children could leave. Mary hurried out as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“Momma.” Dougie started to protest, sensing he was about to miss something and not wanting to.
“Go.” She pushed him after his sister.
Hatcher tried to slip out after them but Doyle stepped in front of him.
“Like I started to say, murderers are not welcome here.”
Kate leaned back, her eyes burning. “Doyle, we’ve been over this before. Obviously Hatcher isn’t a murderer or he’d be in prison. Besides, I say who is welcome here.”
Doyle stared at Hatcher, his washed-out blue eyes snapping with dislike.
Hatcher returned his look. He had long ago learned to deny any emotion but this man’s dictatorial attitude toward Kate made Hatcher’s skin prickle. Did he think he could order the woman around and she’d meekly obey? He squelched the emotion. Replaced it with studied indifference. Gave the man a look that said his opinion carried as much value as fly guts.
“Is this your mode of operation? You worm your way in with a widow and then take advantage of her. And if anyone interferes, they mysteriously die? I wonder how many people you’ve murdered since Loggieville.”
Some people wanted to believe the worst about others because it somehow made them feel superior. Hatcher had seen it time and again. Not that anyone had before accused him of repeated murders. But he’d seen the quick judgments men often passed. A man refused to offer a job and suddenly becomes a Commie. Someone hoards his last bite of food and he’s accused of stealing it. As if calling a difference of opinions something evil didn’t brand both the accused and the accuser. Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. Matthew chapter seven, verses one and two.
Hatcher knew how to deal with people like Doyle. Walk away. Don’t give the satisfaction of letting them see their words mean anything. But he wouldn’t walk away and leave Kate to deal with this man. Even if she intended to marry him. He stood his ground, staring at the man hard enough to burn a hole through his skin.
Kate surged forward. “Doyle, I will not allow you to make such vile accusations in my house.” She planted her hands on Doyle’s chest, glowering as she pushed him out the door.
Doyle looked startled. Maybe even a little scared. Then he took a step back and straightened his suit jacket.
Hatcher repressed a smile. Silly little man. Unsure of himself, he accepted no limits in the quest to prove to himself and everyone else his importance—the most dangerous sort of person.
Doyle gave Hatcher a look that reminded Hatcher of a rabid dog he’d once seen—full of hate and meanness. “You might fool Kate but you don’t fool me. I know you’re up to something. And I intend to find out what it is.”
Hatcher shrugged and stepped past the man. “Come along and you can see for yourself. I’m just going to milk the cows.” He took his time as he headed toward the barn, shamelessly listening to the conversation between Kate and Doyle.
“How dare you act like that on my farm? Who do you think you are? You don’t own me. Or my farm.” He could hear the anger in Kate’s voice, imagined the way her eyes would bore into the man.
“Kate, it’s for your own good. He’s a murderer.”
Weaselly little whine.
“If you really believe that, tell the sheriff. Have him arrested.”
“I told you. Everyone is afraid to testify against him. Afraid of his violent anger.”
Kate snorted. “I’ve seen him handle things without ruffling a hair. In fact—”
Hatcher glanced back to see Kate jabbing her finger at Doyle’s chest and he grinned. Doyle had pushed too far and he would soon discover the depth of Kate’s spirit—something he thought a man who planned to marry her should already be acquainted with.
She stuck her face close to Doyle’s. “I’ve seen more anger from you in the last five minutes than I’ve seen from Hatcher his entire stay.”
“Kate, trust me. He’s a danger to you and the children.”
Kate snorted. “I can’t imagine where you’re getting this information. I know it isn’t true. Maybe you should look for the facts instead of believing falsehoods.”
“I don’t know how he’s done it but he’s duped you. You need to trust me on this matter. I understand these thing far better than you.”
“I admit I don’t know legal terms but you don’t know people like I do.”
Hatcher grinned as he ducked into the barn where he could no longer hear the conversation. Kate was right about knowing people better than Doyle. Doyle didn’t even know Kate.
But she didn’t know him—Hatcher. He did have murder in his heart when Jerry died. His anger ruled his actions. It was judged accidental but he’d been running from his anger since his release, afraid of its evil power.
As long as he didn’t let himself get close to anyone, as long as he didn’t care about anything, he could control his anger but he’d been here long enough to start caring about Kate. About her children. He’d crossed his mental line. He had to leave before anyone got hurt.
Yet part of him wanted to stay and protect her, care for her.
He pulled a stool up beside the patient Jersey and milked her. A man could find satisfaction in regular chores like this.
It wasn’t possible. One more day and he’d be done the seeding and on his way.
When he took the milk to the house, Doyle and his fancy car were gone.
Kate met him at the door. “I’m sorry for what he said. You have to realize he doesn’t speak for me.”
Hatcher let himself look into her eyes. They had none of the fire and anger he’d seen when she challenged Doyle. He felt his resolve swirling in their warm brownness.
“You believe me, don’t you?” she asked.
He jerked his gaze away. Stepped back three feet. “I believe you.” He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t allow himself to be tempted by the welcome in her eyes.
He remembered the way she’d smiled at him earlier this afternoon out on the prairie, a smile full of warmth and caring. Welcome even? He’d let himself believe so for a bit. Even let himself respond to it.
Only years of practice enabled him to successfully bury the thought.
“He’s not the sort of man you should marry.” He jerked his chin back. He should not have spoken the words aloud.
Kate looked equally surprised at his statement. Then she grinned, making him forget he’d moments ago forbidden himself to think how ferociously beautiful she was when she smiled, how her eyes widened as if surprised then softened unexpectedly, how the sun kissed her skin with uncommon warmth.
She snorted, signaling laughter that filled his heart with a waterfall of pleasure. “I’m not going to marry him. Truth is, I’m not sure the offer is still open.”
She sobered, pinned him with a demanding look. “Hatcher, I know you didn’t murder anyone. What really happened? What are you running from?”
“You know nothing about me.” His voice grated past the tightness in his chest. “You don’t understand the damage my anger can do.”
What would she say if she knew the truth? He wanted to tell her. Perhaps she deserved to hear what happened after her defense of him. Even as he excused himself, he knew it wasn’t for her he wanted to tell. He ached to share the whole sordid story with someone who would not condemn him. But would telling change her faith in him? More importantly, would it change him? He knew it wouldn’t.
“Hatcher, I want to know because I care about you, but if it’s something you don’t want to talk about, I understand.”
The sweet softness of her voice proved his undoing. He edged back as if the movement could put a safe distance between Kate and his past. “I was known for my quick temper. I would fight at the drop of a hat.” He snorted. “Or the drop of a shirt or a teasing word. Anything set me off. It was inevitable that one day the anger in me would hurt someone.” He watched her closely to see when her expression would grow cold, shocked, condemning. To her credit she continued to look concerned.
“And that someone was...”
“Jerry Wilson.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
Her unwavering faith shook him as though he stood outside in a raging dust storm. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Could barely breath.
“So what happened?”
“We fought. I knocked him down. He struck his head and died.”
“So it was an accident?”
“I had murder in my heart. ‘But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with your brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, thou fool, shall be in danger of hellfire.’ Matthew chapter five, verse twenty-two.”
“Why were you so angry?”
She put it in the past tense as if it no longer existed. He didn’t intend she’d get the chance to be proven incorrect.
“The reasons don’t matter.” He could no longer face this woman. He turned on his heel and headed for the shanty.
She called after him, “‘And the Lord said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee.’”
Her words offered hope that didn’t belong to him and he shut his mind to her voice.