daydreaming of the warm clothes she could make for the children if she had the funds to buy the material. She’d never match Mrs. Brooks’s skills as a seamstress, but she’d learned to sew tolerably well. Her fingers stilled when someone mentioned Jake’s name. The storyteller’s voice, tinged with excitement, wafted toward her.
“I was right there in Lucky’s—saw it with my own eyes. The gambler—somebody said he works in the Copper Penny mine—drew a bead on Jake, but Jake pushed young Will out of the way and dove for cover.”
Livy’s heart lurched in her chest. She grasped the shelf full of cloth, willing her head to stop spinning.
A shoot-out? No. Not Jake.
She forced her numb legs to move, to carry her toward the front of the store. She had to know if—
“If it hadn’t been for Lucky’s shotgun, we’d probably be burying ol’ Jake today.”
Livy stopped, hand clutched against her pounding heart. He was alive. She closed her eyes and breathed a prayer of thankfulness.
A lifetime passed before her shaking limbs gathered strength again.
Someone almost shot Jake? When? It must have happened last night after he’d come by the orphanage. She’d determined not to talk to him or to even think about him. If she ignored him, then he’d lose interest in her, and . . . well, maybe he’d court Lavinia MacKinnion.
The thought made her heart ache even more.
She didn’t want him to court Lavinia MacKinnion. But on the other hand, she didn’t want him to court her either.
Did she?
“May I help you, ma’am?” Mr. McIver’s younger son, Abner, looked like he’d lost his best friend.
Livy stared back, struggling to remember what she’d come to town for. Gathering her wits, she gave him her order. Without a word, he collected the items and wrapped them up, and she realized why he looked so sad. The man had said Will was involved in the trouble last night.
She touched the boy’s arm. “Is Will all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. The deputy brought him home early this morning.” Tears filled the boy’s eyes, and he blinked, his face crumpling.
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled before bolting for the storeroom.
She left McIver’s, her heart heavy. What had happened last night? Abner couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell her anything. Feeble sunlight reflected off the windows of the jail across the street. Would Jake be there or at the boardinghouse? Should she check on him? She hesitated, her heart and head warring with each other.
Her head won, and she pulled her coat tight against the chill and headed toward the orphanage, her steps slow. He’d be fine. He had his mother and Miss Nellie from the boardinghouse to look after him.
And . . . and Lavinia.
She made it to the millinery shop before her heart pulled rank. She’d just make sure he was all right; then she’d go home. That was it. Nothing more. It was the Christian thing to do after all. And besides, Mrs. Brooks and the children would worry when they heard. She could give a more accurate report on his condition if she’d seen him firsthand.
As she neared the jail, her heart lodged in her throat, and her palms grew sweaty. And it didn’t have a thing to do with Jake. She’d never entered a police station willingly. She almost backed out on the spot, but what did she have to fear? She wanted to check on Jake, not turn herself in. Besides, she’d been washed clean of her past sins. She took a deep breath, reached out, and touched the knob. Best get it over with.
The room lay quiet and empty, so unlike the stations in Chicago. They’d been filled to the gills every time she’d been hauled inside, kicking and screaming. Chestnut’s jail, with its sparkling windows and clean-swept floors, didn’t resemble any she’d seen in Chicago. She moved to stand in the center of the room, pivoting in place.
Two battered desks, both littered with papers and wanted posters, sat across from each other with a half-open door between them leading to the back room. Disappointed not to find Jake, she turned to go but froze when a groan came from the back.
She eased toward the door and peered around it. As she’d suspected, all the cell doors stood ajar, and like the front, the barred cubicles were neat and tidy, the cots made. A soft snoring sounded to her left and she almost jumped out of her skin. Her gaze darted to the corner behind the door, housing a cot.