Bluebonnet Belle (22 page)

April nodded yet again.

She stood and he handed the gun to her. She almost dropped it.

“Careful!”

“It's heavier than I thought.”

“Get used to the feel of it. Rule one, never point a gun at anyone, never assume a gun is unloaded and never walk with your finger on the trigger. Now, lift it, keeping your arm straight.”

Gray stepped behind her. She could feel the warmth of his body pressed against her as she lifted the gun, keeping her arm straight.

“Don't lock your elbow. Keep it slightly bent.”

She did.

“Sight down the barrel. Move it around, keeping your right eye on the nib. Forget this is a metal object. Make the gun an extension of your arm.”

His warm breath caressed her cheek, and she struggled to concentrate. She hadn't counted on body contact, or his scent, which made her head swim.

“A part of your arm,” he reminded her. “Point at the bottom limb on the tree. See it?”

“Yes.”

“See the knothole to the right of it?”

“Yes.”

“Now, point at one of those bottles on the log over there.”

“All right.”

“Got it?”

Gray sighted down her arm, his chin nearly resting on her shoulder. He stood very close, his body fitted tightly against her, his arm stretched along hers until his hand folded over her fingers gripping the pistol.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Won't someone hear the shots, and wonder what's going on?”

“I left word at the livery that I would be target shooting.”

His hand was large and warm as it enveloped hers.

“Squeeze the trigger, slowly.”

April pulled the trigger.

The morning stillness shattered with a resounding crack that made her jump, the kick against her hand throwing her arm straight up. She would have fallen back a step if Gray wasn't there to catch her.

She dropped the weapon and threw her hands to her ears. “That was a blank!”

“That was live ammunition.” He stood back, eyes solemn. “Now you know what you could be facing. If Grace is unethical, she could be carrying a concealed weapon.”

“Let's hope she's not,” April murmured, knowing without a doubt the woman was capable of anything.

 

For the next two hours Gray made her fire the gun over and over and over, until April's head rang with the sound of pistol shots.

Again and again he taught her how to stay limber, keeping her arm straight but not tense, how to squeeze the trigger and not jerk it.

“I've had enough,” she finally declared, sinking onto a log. Her arm ached, her hand hurt, she was half-deaf and her nose burned from the stench of sulfur.

“We'll stop for today soon, but we'll meet here every morning this week.”

She mentally groaned, aware of her aching arm.

“By Saturday you have to look and respond like a pro.”

“But if the guns are shooting blanks…”

He picked up the spent cartridges. “That's what we're hoping for.”

She swallowed.
Hoping—not certain
.

Tilting her chin up with the tip of his finger, he said quietly, “It's not too late to back out.”

April refused to look at him, afraid she'd melt and lose what self-restraint she had left. “I want to, I honestly do, but I can't.”

Something perversely headstrong deep inside told her if she didn't go through with it, she would regret it.

She lifted her eyes, meeting his. A deep understanding passed between them, and she hoped her trust in him was not misplaced.

Her confidence wavered again. “What…what if I can't do it?”

“You can,” he whispered gently, gazing deep into her eyes.

Then he bent slightly, and his lips brushed hers. Her knees buckled at the sweetness of it.

Ever so slowly, he ended the kiss and straightened.

As her eyes slowly drifted open, she saw he'd been as affected by the moment as she.

Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Let's work on your aim again.”

“Yes,” she managed to croak.

Try as she might, April couldn't hit the target bottles, and it wasn't because she kept forgetting to compensate for the gun's kick. Gray's presence was distracting. The ground around her was littered with shell casings; the stench of powder hung heavy in the air. Even when he spoke directly into her ear, she could barely hear him.

 

For the following three mornings, they worked on theatrics. She must not only aim straight, but must be an accomplished actress to carry off the ruse. April practiced timing, turning in a split second, firing, arm straight and gaze unwavering. She eventually hit four out of five bottles—a good sign if this were to be a real duel. But they'd be using blanks, she kept reminding herself. She—and more importantly, her opponent—would be firing blanks. The whole scene would be a performance, one Grace wouldn't know wasn't real.

April's back ached with tension, her arm with the weight of the gun. Her hand stung from its kick, and her ears had a constant ring from the sound of gunfire.

While Gray still stood close behind her to support her or to direct her aim, they were careful to keep their touches brief and impersonal—though she found herself hoping there would be more, then was angry with herself for hoping.

Why was her thinking so irrational? Gray was her friend, a good, steady friend, one who was helping her meet the biggest challenge of her life.

He was seeing another woman. It was frivolous of April to wish for more. At times she longed for the days when she hadn't liked him.

On the fourth morning, when she'd managed to hit five bottles in a row, Gray looked at his pocket watch and said regretfully, “I think I've done all I can.” He took the gun out of her limp hand.

He commented on her accuracy, but there wasn't the sense of celebration she'd expected. She felt disappointed.

“I'm sorry, I realize how much time you're taking away from your patients. Is there anything I can do to help you catch up?”

“No, but thank you for the offer. I was due a few hours off. I've been seeing patients afternoons and evenings.”

She recalled seeing the light on in his office late Tuesday night when she and Beulah had walked home from choir practice. Because of her, he had to work long hours to compensate for his absence during the morning.

He picked up the spent shells, and she helped. “I don't know how to thank you, Gray. If I make it through this…well, we both know it will be a wonder, but I wouldn't have a chance if it weren't for you.”

“I wish you would reconsider, April.”

“I can't, but thank you for caring.”

Their gazes met, and she felt a sense of peace wash over her. No matter what happened, it would be worth it for the hours she'd had with him.

“I'll walk you home.”

Silence fell between them. Talk wasn't necessary. They'd said a lot in the four days, nothing earthshaking or substantial, just nice, easy conversation. So much different than her stilted, superficial discussions with Henry.

When they reached Main Street, she suddenly paused, staring at the black surrey with the matching team of black horses coming down the street.

Francesca. She was back.

Steeling herself against the spurt of jealousy she didn't want to feel, April casually turned to him.

“I have to go. Grandpa will be wondering where I am.”

“Tell Riley I'll stop by the mortuary later,” Gray murmured.

April followed his gaze to the vehicle, which had drawn to a stop in front of his office. Francesca, wrapped in a dark cloak, stepped delicately down with the help of her driver.

“Gray…Francesca is your fiancée, isn't she?”

“No.”

“People say she is.”

He looked down at her, squeezing her hand. “You can't believe everything you hear.”

D
atha stared out the kitchen window, biting her knuckles until she tasted blood. A cold rain pelted the windowpane, but she was oblivious to the weather change.

What had gone wrong?

She was two weeks late.
Two
weeks late with her monthlies. Every morning she woke up with dread in her heart, praying—praying so hard!—for that telltale ache in her belly, but it wouldn't come. Thinking she might be mistaken, she'd hurry to the necessary and clean herself over and over, hoping to find her monthly.

But this morning she had given up hoping. The awful truth was the awful truth. She didn't know much about babies, but she knew the symptoms, and she sure enough had them. She was pregnant.

A rap sounded at the door, and she jumped. Angrily swiping at hot tears, she went to answer. Her face crumpled when she saw Jacel, all smiles, as if his world wasn't about to come crashing in on him.

Grinning broadly, he handed her a basket filled with potatoes from his cellar. “Hello, Datha, darling.”

He frowned when she wiped her eyes.

“What's the matter?”

“Jace…” A lump the size of a hedge apple clogged her throat. How was she ever going to tell him? As careful as he'd been, the worst had happened. She couldn't be pregnant! Not when he was about to go off to college and become somebody!

All his dreams, all his hopes of being a fine lawyer someday would be gone—erased in the blink of an eye. Because of her, he'd be forced to abandon his plans for Harvard, disappointing Mr. Ogden, who had so much faith in him. The knowledge broke her heart.

She was having his baby, and he'd think he'd have to stay here and take care of her. He'd insist on owning up to his responsibility, and she was proud he was such a good man, but it was unfair.

So unfair!

And Flora Lee? What would her grandmother say when she found out Datha was carrying his baby? Fear constricted her throat, nearly suffocating her. She caught back a sob. Her life was hopeless, over.
It's not fair, Lord—our love is special—You know that. We ain't ever been with anybody else and we won't ever be. How could You let something like this happen? We want babies, but not now—not until Jacel has his schoolin'.
She couldn't understand it. They were in love, and now this would make their love look dirty.

Extending the basket to her, Jacel searched her face anxiously. “I thought Miss April would like these this morning. What's wrong, Datha? Are you feeling poorly?”

Oh, if only she were! What she wouldn't give for the agonizing monthlies that hurt so bad sometimes she had to crawl into bed with a hot cloth wrapped around her middle to ease the pain.

Accepting the basket, Datha held it, not knowing what to do with it. She didn't trust her voice to speak.

“Put it on the table and come with me,” Jacel said.

Now she'd done it. He realized that something more than Flora Lee was bothering her.

When she just stood there, staring at the doorstep, he took the basket from her and set it on the kitchen table. Grasping her hand, he led her out to the woodshed.

Closing and latching the door, he took her into his arms and held her tightly while her tears dampened the front of his work shirt. “What is it, baby?” he whispered against her hair, gently massaging her back. “Have you and your grandmother been fussing again?”

“Oh, Jace,” she said, weeping softly.

“Shh, now, it's all right. Whatever it is, I'll take care of it.”

She knew he would if he could, but there were some things he couldn't fix.

“You can't,” she whimpered, clinging tighter to the front of his shirt. The coarse fabric felt smooth against her roughened fingertips.

“Tell me about it…. It can't be that bad. It's Flora Lee, isn't it? Has she been after you about us again?”

“No,” Datha sobbed.

He set her back from him so he could look at her. Biting her lip, she gazed up at him. He was so strong, so
good.
He could take care of most anything—most anything but this. For as long as she could remember, she'd run to him with all her problems and he had fixed them.

“Then what? Tell me what it is that has my Datha upset.”

“I'm late.”

He frowned, not understanding. “For what?”

She suddenly couldn't look at him. “My monthly…hasn't come.”

“Monthly—” Suddenly comprehension clouded his face. His demeanor changed, turned sober. “How long?”

“T-two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Alarm flicked briefly in his eyes. She reached out, touching him. No sacrifice was too large. Whatever she had to do, she'd do it. For him.

“Are you sure, Datha, girl?”

Nodding, she brought her handkerchief up to her nose to stem the tide. “I keep hoping, but…”

Gently pulling her back into his arms, he kissed the top of her head, holding her tighter as she broke into a fresh round of tears. For a long time they held each other, trying to make sense of it.

“Two weeks,” he whispered. “That isn't so much. Anything could have happened. It doesn't mean—”

“I've never been two
hours
late with my monthlies, Jace, let alone two weeks,” she said in a muffled voice, her face buried against his chest.

“I was careful—you
can't
be pregnant.” Easing her gently away from him, he gazed into her tearstained face. “Don't worry. This is all a mistake. Tomorrow, or next day for sure, we'll both have a good laugh about it.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her full on the lips. “You'll see. Now, dry your tears and give me one of those special smiles that'll carry me through the long day.”

Feeling somewhat mollified—because he'd said it was a mistake, and because she never doubted him, not ever—she complied.

“I guess…guess I am being pretty silly. I love you, Jace,” she said. “With all my heart.”

“I love you, too, Datha girl.” They kissed. When their lips parted, Jacel held her for a moment. Just held her, letting his love completely inundate her.

“Datha.”

“Yes?”

“You know…even if it were to be true, I'd stand by you. I'd never let you go through this alone. I'd marry you in a minute, and I'd stay right here in Dignity and saw lumber for old man Jordan till the day I died, and never look back.”

Tears choked Datha's throat. “I know you would, Jace.”

All his dreams, his hopes, his future, he would give up for her if she asked. Trouble was, she'd never ask. She loved him too much to make him give up his future for her.

“Then why you still crying, baby?”

“Because I love you so much, Jace. That's why. I know you love me more than anything, and it doesn't seem fair.”

Squeezing her tightly, he grinned. “I'd die for you, Datha. I'd lie right down in front of a train and let its wheels run right over me if you were ever to ask. I'd stand in front of a firing squad and let them blow a big old hole clean through my chest if that's what'd make you happy.”

Giggling, she tried to stem the tears for his sake. “That wouldn't make me happy, silly.”

She got the weeps sometimes, and she knew it troubled him. Flora Lee said weeps were just part of being a woman, and men would never understand it, so she tried not to get them too often around him.

“Well, I don't think anyone's going to be giving up any dreams,” he told her. Patting her on the cheek, he turned her to face the shed door. “Now, you get on back inside and wash that pretty face and stop worrying. If there's any worrying to be done, I'll do it.”

Smiling, she stole another kiss, then waited while he silently slipped from the woodshed and disappeared beyond the tall hedge marking the back boundary of the Ogden yard.

Wiping her face with the hem of her apron, she told herself that everything was all right. There was nothing to worry about. God loved her and Jacel. He wouldn't let this happen.

She went inside the kitchen and carried the vegetables to the pantry. Jacel was a good man. A kind and loving man. A man who would someday be very important.

Leaning against a shelf, Datha closed her eyes.

Oh God, we didn't mean to do anything wrong.

Don't let my mistake ruin his life.

 

April had dinner with Beulah and her father Thursday night. Nadine Ludwig was staying with an ill sister and wasn't expected back for months.

April realized she wasn't doing a very good job of holding up her end of the conversation. As Mr. Ludwig left the table, she helped Beulah put food away and clear the plates.

“Okay, what's bothering you?” her friend demanded as she stored a cherry pie in the pantry.

“Nothing,” April said. She carried dishes to the kitchen.

“Might as well tell me now. I won't let up. You've been distracted all evening.”

Beulah gathered the silverware as April poured hot water into the dishpan.

“Did I see you with Gray this morning?”

“Mmm.” April scrubbed a dinner plate. “His lady friend is in town again.”

He hadn't looked pleased to see Francesca. Hadn't looked the way April would have expected him to when his fiancée came to visit.

“You have to wonder if a man really wants a woman like her running his life.”

April silently conceded she'd wondered that, too. Gray never spoke about her.

“You think he'll actually marry her?”

April wondered about the grim expression on Gray's face when he'd spotted the buggy rolling into town. He'd said they were not engaged…but why did the French woman continue to visit almost every month, throw silly parties, decorate his office, act as though she owned the man? It was a strange alliance, one April would love to know more about.

“I don't know. Somehow, I can't see those two together.” Beulah carefully dried glasses.

April shrugged.

“You two have spent a lot of time together lately.”

“He says they're not engaged—”

Beulah turned abruptly and grinned. “You've talked about her!”

“Not talked about her in particular. He mentioned something and I asked if the rumors were true, and he said, ‘You can't believe everything you hear.'”

“Then they
could
be engaged?”

“He said they weren't.”

“You get this funny, wistful note in your voice when you talk about him.”

“For goodness' sake. You're going to have to do something about your imagination.”

“Answer the question.”

“I forgot what it was.”

“I've seen how you look at him, April. Gray is a handsome man.”

April rinsed a dish and set it aside. “Not really.” Beulah didn't know about the duel and April hoped to keep it that way. By Saturday afternoon the whole thing would be over, and Beulah and Grandpa would never be the wiser. Still, it was odd not to share her dilemma with her friend; they'd told each other everything since they were old enough to share secrets.

But Beulah couldn't know about the duel; she would certainly tell Grandpa, and he would put a stop to it. April couldn't risk it, couldn't ignore Grace's threat as if it had never happened. April had to bluff her way through, and if Gray's plan worked, no harm would come of it. She would salvage her pride, and Grace's anger would be appeased. And April would be rid of Henry. Well rid of Henry.

“How's Raymond?” she asked, changing the subject.

Beulah's cheeks pinked to a high color. “Who?”

“Raymond Grimes. Haven't I seen him coming out of the pharmacy quite a few times in the last several weeks? He isn't ill, is he?”

“No…” Beulah began, then stopped. “He…just stops by to say hello. You know. Just being polite. We've had supper together once or twice.”

“Uh-huh,” April said, glad to have finally distracted her friend. The last thing she wanted to discuss was her feelings about Gray. They were difficult enough for her to understand without trying to explain them to Beulah.

“Raymond is a nice man. Quiet, but nice.”

Beulah's cheeks grew even pinker. “My, will you look at the time. It's getting late!”

They finished the dishes. Then April walked the short distance to the mortuary, her mind not so much on Beulah and what seemed to be a blossoming love between her and Raymond Grimes, as on Gray and Francesca.

April had no right to resent Gray for entertaining the woman, though it wasn't socially acceptable the way she kept showing up. Apparently she wasn't worried about propriety.