Deep in the Heart of Trouble (21 page)

She’d been training riders for four years now, ever since she opened the club. She’d originally organized the race to bring in new members, but after reading everything she could get her hands on concerning the art of racing and training, she’d come to covet a winning trophy for Sullivan Oil, for her club, and for her town.

Tony caught the clubs, returned them to their bin, then dropped to the floor for push-ups. She stayed in the shadows, telling herself she just wanted to see if he did all one hundred of them. But she lost count after the first fifteen, distracted by the sight he made aligning himself parallel to the floor.

He lifted his body with quick, powerful movements. Arms flexing, legs stiff, toes together. Light from the sconces splashed onto him, highlighting the sweat glistening on his skin. With a final grunt, he lowered himself to the floor and lay on his stomach, unmoving.

She stepped from the shadows.

“Essie,” he said, raising his head. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He pushed himself up and stood, leaving an imprint of moisture the length of his body on the wooden floor.

His dark hair fell in abandon around his face. His chest heaved with each breath, stretching the wet shirt across his shoulders and delineating his muscles in sharp relief.

Arms hanging limp, he rested his weight on his right leg, throwing his hip slightly off to one side. She pulled her gaze and thoughts from their wayward paths, only to be caught short by the intensity of his stare.

“I …” she began. “We … Papa and Mr. Baker … they, uh, they retired to the porch, so I thought I’d come check on you.”

His breathing was the only sound in the quiet of the building.

“I’m glad you did.”

She swallowed. “I thought you’d be almost finished by now.”

“I got a late start.”

“Oh?”

“I stopped by Mrs. Lockhart’s on my way.”

She blinked in confusion. “Mrs. Lockhart’s?”

“Have you seen her backyard, Essie? It’s a mess. I think I might go by and clean it up some while she’s gone.”

“Gone? You went by her house and she was gone?”

“No, not yet. She’s leaving tomorrow for a short visit with her daughter.”

Essie shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why were you at Mrs. Lockhart’s to begin with?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been by to check on her several times since that night I first escorted her to your lecture. She’s rather up in years and has no family in town.”

Essie absorbed that bit of information. Mrs. Lockhart had been such a pillar of the community for so long, it had never occurred to her to think of the elderly woman as fragile or lonely. But she could understand how a newcomer might view her that way.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you. And, no, I had assumed her front yard was a reflection of her back.”

“Well, it’s not. But I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded absently, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “So what all have you done?”

“The first three sets of laps and some of my exercises. I was just fixing to do my last set of laps now.”

“I see,” she took a step back. “Well, go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

Nodding, he retrieved the bicycle leaning against the wall, swung into the saddle and began his regimen. The wheels whirred slowly, then picked up momentum with each passing lap. The faster Tony went, the more he crouched down, like a jockey riding a horse.

She soon found herself caught up in his progress, shouting encouragement and urging him to even greater speed. When he completed his final lap and crossed the imaginary finish line, she cheered. It was one of his best runs by far.

Releasing the handlebars, he sat up, a smile wreathing his face.

Clasping his hands together, he shook them in the air like a winner, then continued to glide around the track once more before pulling to a stop beside her.

“Oh, I wish I’d had my stopwatch!” she exclaimed. “You were splendid!”

He sat straddling the bike, his feet planted on either side. “I do better when you’re here watching.” His voice was low, pleased.

“Well, it’s no hardship to watch you, I can tell you that.”

His expression changed immediately. Reaching out, he clasped her hand and drew her close. Her skirts bunched around his leg.

The bike’s crossbar pressed against her hip.

“You smell good. Like cookies,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth.

Shivers raced up her arm. “Cookies?”

“You know, the kind with cloves. Icebox cookies.” He turned her hand over and rubbed his lips against her palm. “They’re my favorite.”

She stared, fascinated with the difference between her white fingers and his tanned ones, while the dark stubble on his cheek caught against her fingernails.

“Unfortunately, I smell like I’ve been training for a bicycle race.”

She felt his smile while watching the skin beside his eyes crinkle, his expression turning rueful. And though he did smell of a man who’d been laboring, she did not find the odor unpleasant. She managed to refrain from saying so, however.

“Would you like to go fishing?” he asked.

“Right now?”

His smile widened. “Tempting, but I was thinking of after church on Sunday.”

She flushed and tried to step away, but he put a hand against her waist, staying her.

She lowered her gaze. “Yes, thank you. I’d love to go fishing.”

Closing his eyes, he planted a kiss onto her palm. “Sunday it is, then.”

Pulling her hand away, she pressed it against her stomach— whether to capture the kiss and keep it close or to calm the jitters inside, she didn’t know.

She took a step back. “It’s late. I suggest we call it a night.

Why don’t I start putting out the lights while you take care of the bike?”

He nodded and she turned, making her way to the far wall, all the while disconcerted to know that he stayed right where he was, watching her.

It wasn’t until much later that night when she was home and tucked safely in bed that she realized she’d totally forgotten to ask him about his family and the Morgans.

Rolling over, she bunched up her pillow. No need to fret. There would be time enough for that while they were fishing.

chapter NINETEEN

ESSIE COULDN’T remember the last time building a rig had caused such a stir. Every boomer in the patch kept one eye on his job and the other on the Bakers’ marvel.

Two days after M.C.’s arrival, his brother, C.E., descended on Corsicana with their crew of rig builders. Essie watched them with fascination. A tougher, stronger, meaner group of men would be hard to find.

Whiteselle’s Lumber Yard delivered pre-sawed roughs, and M.C.’s crew attacked them like ants on a picnic lunch. They worked at a fast and furious pace, putting every other able-bodied man to shame.

Skillful, ambidextrous, and exceedingly strong, they laid down a derrick floor, then began to nail together the rig’s legs. Dirt clouds churned so thick around the crew that she had to squint sometimes just to see.

When Essie made an appearance, the Sullivan Oil hands invariably stopped their work, but there was no stopping M.C. Baker’s crew. They paid her no mind at all. She wasn’t even sure they realized she was there.

As the derrick went up, the men raised their timbers with a pulley they called a “gin pole.” Muscles bulged, sharp commands abounded, and a good deal of hazing occurred without anyone missing a step.

Essie watched one sweat-soaked man as he steadied a three-by-twelve-inch board in a corner of the derrick, then sank in a spike with three quick blows. Instead of a hammer, he used a long-handled hatchet with a round, serrated head opposed to the blade, hammering spike after spike with first his right hand, then his left.

Tony stood below him, then pointed up and shouted something, but she couldn’t make out his words. In conjunction with M.C.’s arrival, Papa had pulled Tony from his roustabouting and promoted him to tool pusher for the rotary rigs, while Moss would remain tool pusher for the cable rigs.

Tony knew his tools backwards and forwards, but she didn’t think he came close to deserving such a high position. He was, after all, a very recent employee, and they had several other men who had worked longer and were more deserving—if not, perhaps, as qualified.

She also didn’t want people thinking the job had been given to him because of his relationship with her, though she worried that might have indeed factored into Papa’s decision. And until she could find out exactly what had happened to him at Morgan Oil and what his connection to Anna Morgan was, she was determined to maintain an employer–employee relationship with him while in the patch. It wouldn’t be easy, though.

The rig builder shouted something down to Tony, who, in response, threw back his head and laughed. The two shared a smile before Tony turned away from the derrick and caught sight of her.

His face registering surprise, then panic.

He quickly glanced around to see if anyone was near her, then bore down on her, scowling. “What are you doing here?”

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“You heard me.” He snatched his hat off belatedly, pinching the crown between his fingers. “What are you doing here?”

His vehemence shocked her.

“I’m here to watch the construction of our new rig, Mr. Bryant. Was there something you needed?”

He shooed her with his hat. “I need you to leave. This is no place for a woman, and you are distracting the boys.”

“Nothing seems to distract these boys. And even if I were, I own the company. Which means I can go wherever I please—and without having to explain myself.”

“Lower your voice,” he said. He grasped her elbow and propelled her toward the edge of the field where she’d left her bicycle. “I don’t want you challenging me in front of the men.”

She tugged against his hold. “Let go. I want to watch the rig builders.”

He tightened his grip. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

“It is not. Just who do you think you are?”

They reached the street and he jerked her bike up off the ground. “I am overseer of the rotary rigs. And I do not allow females of any sort around the patch—even part owners.”

“You work for me, Tony, not the other way around. You do not have the authority to tell me where I can and can’t go.”

“I told your father I would not accept this position unless I had absolute power on the field. He agreed to my terms. If you have a problem with that, then take it up with him. But for now, you are to put your pretty backside on this bike and ride well out of harm’s way.”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t want me to sling you over my shoulder and bodily carry you all the way to your front door, then I suggest you get on this machine, and right quickly.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He leaned in close. “Try me.”

She didn’t make any move to take the bike from him.

“You have to the count of ten. One … two …”

She could not believe he would actually do it. But, then, maybe he would. And if he did, the men would talk about it all over town, and any respect she’d garnered over the years would go up in a puff of smoke.

“Seven … eight …”

She grabbed Peg’s handlebars. “I am going straightaway to discuss this with my father. We will see just exactly who is boss and who is not. I expect you to be in our office the moment your shift is over.”

Without another word, she mounted the bicycle and, with all the dignity she could muster, rode toward home.

Papa was not at home. Nor at the courthouse. Nor at the attorney’s office. The longer she looked for him, the more irritated she became. He’d promoted Tony without consulting her. He’d excluded her from discussions with the Baker brothers. He’d contracted for three rotary rigs before even seeing if the first one was going to work.

Pulling to a stop in front of the jailhouse, she jumped from the bike, then stormed up the steps and through the door, bumping square into Deputy Howard.

“Whoa there, girl,” he said, clasping her around the waist to keep her from falling. Warm breath from his mouth and nose touched her cheek.

She shoved against him. “Let me go.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now, what’s got you cross as a snappin’ turtle on this fine summer day?”

“Men in general. You in particular.” She scanned the room and found her uncle and father standing beside the sheriff’s desk, staring at her in surprise.

She knew she was behaving badly, but she couldn’t seem to rein in her temper. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Papa.”

“Well, I’m right here. Has something happened?”

“Nothing catastrophic. Just a few things I’d like to get straightened out.”

“Can it wait a minute? Deputy Howard is leaving for Austin this afternoon, and Melvin and I need to finalize a few things before he leaves.”

“Austin? Why?”

“The annual Texas Sheriff’s Association Convention starts Monday, and Melvin is going to send Howard in his stead.”

“Oh.” She tugged the bow under her neck and removed her bonnet. “Very well. I’ll wait.”

Howard moved away from the doorway. “I think I’ll pick up those records from the courthouse on my way to the train station instead of getting them now.”

“Fine,” Uncle Melvin said, then turned back to Papa.

Howard sidled up to Essie, winking at her. She stepped to the right, putting distance between them.

“I like the opening sentence much better than the way we had it before,” Melvin said. “Do you think the petition is strong enough now?”

“Oh, I think it’s plenty strong. The question is whether or not the Association will back it.”

Essie moved to the desk. “What is it?”

“Take a look,” Melvin said, turning the document so she could see. “We want to ride the tide of the anti-lynching crusade led by that newspaper editor in Tennessee. If Billy John can get members of the Sheriff’s Association to sign this petition, the state congress will be hard-pressed not to pass a law punishing those responsible for lynching in our state.”

She glanced at the other papers on his desk but saw no evidence of the postcard she’d seen before. “You can’t arrest an entire mob, can you?”

“Naw,” he said. “But we could arrest the ringleaders and make an example of them.”

Papa checked his pocket watch. “Well, if you don’t need me any further, Melvin, I guess I’ll see what it is Essie wants.”

“No, no. You go on. Billy John and I can take it from here.”

Papa ushered her out the door and to her bicycle. “Now, what is it that has you all worked up?”

She recalled the sting of Tony’s dismissal afresh. “Tony refused to let me watch the rig builders. He practically forced me onto my bike and made me leave.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I forgot to tell you to quit going out there.”

“What?” She stopped pushing her bicycle to stare at him. “You agreed to that without talking with me first?”

He shrugged. “There wasn’t time. Besides, he’s the one running the site now. If he doesn’t want any women out there, then that’s his prerogative.”

They continued down the street. “I’m not just
any
woman. I’m part owner and his boss, to boot.”

“That may be so, but surely you see his point, Essie. The fields are getting rougher and rougher. Tony said you interrupt the work and distract the men, and depending upon what they’re in the middle of, that can be extremely dangerous.”

“What are you saying? That I’m never to go out to our fields again for the rest of my life?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think we have to go quite so far as that. Just lay low for now until Tony has a chance to establish himself in his new position.”

She blew out a huff of breath. “I wish you would consult with me before making decisions like this. You promoted Tony without due consideration. Grandpa or some of our other men should have been offered the position first.”

“I don’t know why you keep harping about this. If we were replacing Moss, then you’d be right.” He shook his head. “We needed a tool pusher for our rotary rigs. None of the men but Tony had ever even seen one. Like it or not, he’s the man most suited for the job.”

She sighed. “That may be true, but something just isn’t quite right. I can’t put my finger on it. But he left Morgan Oil so suddenly, and he knows the Morgan family more intimately than he let on at first.”

“You think he’s lying to us about something?” Papa asked, clearly surprised.

“Withholding, maybe. He knows too much about that family not to have some personal tie.”

Papa considered her words as they turned onto Eighth Street. “Well, let’s put the shoe on the other foot for a moment. Moss or any of the men who report at the house know plenty about our personal lives.”

She supposed he was right. But would Mr. Moss use her Christian name in casual conversation the way Tony had with Miss Morgan’s? She couldn’t imagine him taking such a liberty. Not unless theirs was a more … intimate acquaintance.

No, if Mr. Moss were to call her something other than Miss Spreckelmeyer, it would undoubtedly be in the form of a nickname.

Thank goodness she’d escaped that unpleasant designation.

Essie showed Tony into the study. She’d forgotten he was coming by the house right after work. When she’d instructed him to do so, she’d thought to tell him in no uncertain terms that she would go out to the fields whenever she pleased. To have to concede defeat on the matter did not sit well.

He’d not taken the time to bathe or change. His clothes were splattered with mud. His face was covered in dirt. His brown eyes, however, shone brightly.

“I’d ask you to sit, but, well …”

He smiled. “I understand. You go ahead, though.”

Papa was not at home, so she took his place behind the desk.

Tony moved to the window, leaning back against the sill. “The judge told me y’all bid on some land south of town.”

“That’s right.”

“I went down there and looked it over. Looks like a ripe field.”

“I certainly thought so.”

“When will you know if you won the bid?”

“Anytime now.”

An awkward silence settled over them.

Tony cleared his throat. “The rig builders should finish the derrick within another day or two, but that’s going to cut into our fishing time. Would you mind if we postponed our date until next Sunday?”