Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (18 page)

Hale stood out on the walk that led from the drive to the main house, uneasily shifting his considerable weight from one foot
to the other, looking around him as if he was either expecting someone else to join them or worried that someone would; as
far as Charlotte could tell, no one else was about.

“I hope I wasn’t interruptin’ anything important,” Hale said.

“Not at all.” Charlotte smiled, the look of seriousness on his face causing a ripple of worry in her chest, so she could not
help adding, “Is something the matter?”

It had been a while since Hale had said anything about his romantic attraction to Hannah, but Charlotte had noticed that he
hadn’t been quite as shy as he normally was around her; over lunch the day before, he had even managed to make eye contact
with Hannah without blushing a crimson red. Charlotte had begun wondering if he would even need any more of her advice, but
she suddenly worried that Hale had somehow managed to voice his feelings, only to receive the sharp sting of rejection in
reply.

“How well do you know Owen?” he asked.

Hale’s words momentarily stunned Charlotte. “What… what do you mean?” she stammered. “I… don’t understand…”

“I’m askin’ only ’cause I know you’ve spent some time with him,” he explained, his brow intently knit, “what with your drivin’
back and forth from town and talkin’ with him round the ranch. I need to know what kind of fella he is… whether he’s a good
sort or…” He left the last unsaid.

“Why are you asking me this, Hale?”

“Look now, just tell me if you know what he’s… up to.”

“And I’m not telling you a thing until you tell me why you’re asking,” she shot back, cutting him off.

For a long moment of silence, they simply stared at each other, two stubborn people who were each reluctant to give an inch,
willing to fight hard for information. Though his physical size was imposing, it was Hale who finally relented.

“All right then.” He sighed. “You got a right to know.”

Reluctantly, Hale described to Charlotte what had happened that morning at the communal well, about how someone had fouled
it with kerosene and that John Grant had concluded that the perpetrator must be staying on the ranch. Though Hale did not
speak of his suspicions, it was clear who he held responsible.

“And… and you think it was Owen…?” she asked incredulously. “… You suspect that he did it… that he put the kerosene in the
well…?”

Hale slowly nodded.

“No, Hale, he couldn’t have done it!” Charlotte argued, grabbing him by the arm. “I just know that you’re mistaken; you have
to be! There has to be an explanation. You’re talking about Hannah’s brother!”

“Just ’cause they’re blood don’t mean he’s as good a person as she is. I got a brother who’s a hell of a piece of work, always
drinkin’ and gamblin’ and even whorin’,” he explained, suddenly realizing the words he had chosen, hastily adding, “if you’ll
pardon my language.”

But Charlotte’s mind was already elsewhere, paying Hale’s cursing scant attention as her thoughts raced over the implications
of his accusations.

While there was little doubt that Owen Williams had a rough exterior, needling and antagonizing her with his sharp tongue
and wit, he had also revealed something more to her… something that confused her feelings for him. She thought of him so often
that it kept her up at night.

In the days since Owen had shouted at her during the wildfire, Charlotte had begun to view his actions differently; it struck
her that maybe the reason he’d shouted at her, had insisted that she go to the main house, was really because he was scared
of what could happen to her if she stayed. After all, he had helped her when her skirt caught fire. She could still remember
his lips so close to her own and the look on his face. This was not a man whose heart was unfeeling.

“Owen may be many things that you can take offense at,” she said defiantly, “but he’s not the sort of man who would do what
you’re accusing him of. Absolutely not!”

“This ain’t somethin’ that’s been come to lightly,” Hale insisted. “But rather than argue it with me, try to see it my way.”

“Which is?” she shot back, her hands on her hips.

“Between me and Del, we know each man and woman livin’ here on the ranch and can vouch for ’bout all of ’em,” he explained
calmly, his eyes desperate to get her to understand. “Those that we don’t know ain’t more than a couple, a handful, but ain’t
none of us know Owen, not really.”

“Only because you haven’t tried.”

“He hasn’t let us.”

“That still doesn’t mean that he’s the one who did it!”

“He lives just next to the well,” Hale argued, sticking to his conclusions. “When he told it, he said there weren’t no sounds
out by the well, but if there were someone out there, he’d of had to have heard it!”

“But he was the one who reported what happened at the well! If he had been the one who did it, why draw attention?”

“He must’ve… must’ve wanted to… to look innocent,” Hale stumbled, forgetting the strength of his convictions, if only for
a moment. “Besides, him and me had…” he continued before his voice faded.

“You and he, what?” Charlotte demanded.

“It’s nothin’…”

“Hale McCoy, if you don’t tell me what’s going on between you and Owen,” she snapped, determined to learn all that he was
hiding, “I swear to you that not only won’t I help you with Hannah, I
might
just put a bug in her ear about how horrible a man I think you are!”

“You… you wouldn’t…”

“Oh, I most certainly would!”

From the look in Hale’s eyes, he knew instantly that Charlotte meant what she said. With a heavy sigh, his broad shoulders
sagging, he said, “Owen and I… well, I… I punched him…”

Charlotte’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Why… why did you hit him?”

“Because of the way he treated you during the fire.”

“You saw that?”

“I was takin’ a couple of buckets from the pump when I saw him knock you to the ground.”

“He was trying to help me!”

“At first,” Hale agreed. “But then I heard how he yelled at you and saw the tears in your eyes when you walked away.”

Charlotte imagined what must have passed through Hale’s thoughts, watching as he had been, as she emotionally broke down.
Shame of embarrassment colored her cheeks.

“When I confronted him, he made me so damn mad that my temper got the better of me and I hit him.”

Though there was a part of Charlotte that couldn’t help but feel thankful for how Hale had stood up for her, she
knew that it was no excuse for the bad conclusions he had made. “Just because he spoke to me that way doesn’t mean that he
was responsible for fouling the well.”

“I understand that you don’t wanna believe it, I do, but no amount of wantin’ it to not be so is gonna change the fact that
it looks an awful lot like Owen is guilty. I came to you ’cause I figured you’d be honest…”

“And I have been.”

Hale nodded. “Then I guess I just gotta do my job and find who’s to blame.”

“He didn’t do it, Hale!” Charlotte said emphatically.

“We’ll see.”

With that, Hale turned and walked back toward the barns, leaving her alone on the walk.

Charlotte’s heart ached as anger, bewilderment, and so many other emotions that she couldn’t even describe descended on her,
vying for her thoughts. There was only one way in which she could hope to settle them.

Determinedly, she headed toward the horse barn.

Charlotte found Owen at the back of the horse barn on the far eastern edge of the ranch grounds. In the light of a flickering
oil lamp that hung beside a stall, his bare arms glistened with sweat. He didn’t notice her until she stood before the stall
where he was tending to a brown and white horse. He tossed a bristle brush into an empty pail with a clang and leaned against
the closed gate, a mischievous smile on his face.

“What brought you here, Charlie?” he asked.

“Who are you, really?” she replied, her voice tighter than she’d intended.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I want to know who Owen Williams is,” Charlotte answered, her hands knotted into tight fists, the nails of her fingers digging
into the flesh of her palms. It was reassuring to her that there was no one else around. “I want to know what kind of man
you really are.”

“Did you get a crack on the head?” Owen chuckled, tipping his hat back and wiping his brow.

“Answer me,” she insisted, stepping so close to him that only the wood of the gate separated them. “Are you the man who shouted
such horrible things at me during the fire, who takes pleasure in teasing me about my name?” She paused. “Or are you the man
who apologized and said he understood what it was like to lose a mother?”

Charlotte could see that her words had struck a nerve when he sucked in his breath. Then he quickly covered his reaction,
choosing to laugh it away, but she wasn’t willing to play along. Quickly, she reached up, seizing his face and turning it
back so that their eyes met. “For once, I want you to be honest with me.”

Slowly, Owen nodded. “What kind of man am I?” he repeated.

“That’s something everyone wants to know.” Charlotte looked him straight in the eye.

“Everyone?” he asked.

“For now, let’s just start with me.”

“I’m a good guy.” Owen grinned.

“Then why did you shout at me when my skirt caught fire?”

“I suppose this is where I should just lie to you,” Owen answered, a sly, confident smile again crossing his handsome features,
“just say I didn’t want to be a nursemaid while I was trying to do my job, but it looks to me like you aren’t going to take
that as an answer.”

“I’m not,” she agreed.

“Then I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you the truth. I shouted at you, because I wanted you to get the hell out of there.
I was afraid that something terrible would happen to you. Like you catching on fire when I was not near enough to help you.”

“Why couldn’t you have just told me that? Why did you have to yell?”

“Because.” He shrugged.

Charlotte gave him a look that said,
I don’t believe you…

Owen sighed. “Because if I had told you the truth about why I didn’t want you to be there, I was afraid that you might guess
the reason
why
.”

“Is this also why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I reckon so.”

From the first moment she laid eyes on him in the
ranch dining room, they seemed to be playing a game; and, as with most games, they were destined to play until there was a
winner.

“So instead of being honest, you chose to be mean to me.”

“I did.”

“And then Hale came and punched you for it.”

Charlotte’s words appeared to take all of the wind out of Owen’s sails. Slowly, his pride deflated; he was like a poker player
who had believed his cards to be unbeatable, right up until the instant his opponent laid down a better hand. “So that’s what
this is all about,” he finally answered.

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to shrug.

“He came in here all in a snit, talking about how badly I had treated you, and then I made things worse by suggesting that
he was only mad because he was in love with you.”

Charlotte laughed. “That’s ridiculous! Even a blind man could see that he’s in love with your sister!”

“And I’m sure not blind.”

“Then why did you say something so stupid?”

“Sometimes taking a beating is easier than admitting the truth.”

“Which is?”

Owen wasn’t willing to answer that question, instead choosing to steer the conversation to a different subject. “So Hale’s
the reason you’re here talking to me.”

“He didn’t ask me to talk to you.”

“But you’re here because of something he said to you. Let me guess. He told you about the well.”

She could see that Owen had become defensive; he leaned away from her, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving
her. There was no point in talking about the particulars, what he had discovered, whom he had told, even why Hale suspected
him; there was only the fact that he was being accused.

“He thinks that you did it, that you were the one who ruined the water.”

“I didn’t do it,” he declared adamantly.

“I know.”

“If that’s the case, then why are you here?”

Owen’s words wobbled Charlotte’s resolve. She had been unsettled by Hale’s brash accusation, but there was much more to her
rushing to Owen’s defense than the belief he was not guilty; in fact, she didn’t know exactly why she defended him.

Maybe it was the way he looks at me…

“I came because Hale doesn’t believe you.”

“We both know that.”

No easy reply presented itself to Charlotte, so she remained silent.

“I think I know why you came out here.”

“Why’s that?”

Slowly, with the calm, assured intensity of a predator stalking smaller prey, Owen stepped back and pushed open the horse
gate. Behind him, the horse whinnied but made
no move to leave. When Owen stepped toward her, the look in his eyes made Charlotte move back involuntarily.

“Because you have feelings for me,” he ventured.

“I came because I would hate to see anyone falsely blamed for something they didn’t do,” she lied, uncomfortable with how
close to the truth he had come.

“That’s not it,” Owen answered.

“Besides,” Charlotte kept on, unheeding, “Hannah has been such a good friend to me ever since I came here that I owe her enough
to look out for her brother.”

“That’s not it, either.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.”

More quickly than the hungry flames that had leaped from the burning bush to set her afire, Owen closed the space between
them, leaning down to tenderly place his lips against hers. His hand found the delicate small of her back and drew her closer,
pressing her body against his. Shocked at first, she found herself giving in to her impulses. The taste of his lips, the feel
of his whiskered cheek as her hand rose to touch it, the musky smell of his sweat, and even the sound that rumbled deep in
his throat, all combined to overwhelm her. She strained to meet his advances, her mouth just as hungry as his; her eyes closed
as she enjoyed a feeling that was as intoxicating as it was new. When Owen finally broke from her, she had no idea how much
time had passed since their kiss began, but somewhere deep inside her, she knew that she
would be counting the hours, days, weeks until she was in his arms again.