Gingham Mountain (29 page)

“I know what to do.” Horace slurped the last of his coffee and slapped the tin cup on the table. “Get this table cleaned up. He’ll be here soon enough. You don’t want him seeing there’s two people living here.”

“I’ll get him inside somehow. The sprained ankle worked last time, except he left me at the door. This time I’ll force him to bring me in. Collapse if I have to.”

“All we need is to get him one step inside. I’ll be behind the door and knock him cold. By the time he comes around, the whole town will know he’s been in here too long. Won’t matter what he says, they’ll believe you.” Horace rubbed his hands together. Prudence could see he was already counting the money.

Prudence tried her best not to let the greed shine in her own eyes. “Stop talking about it. I’m afraid he’ll see it in my face how much I’m looking forward to our marriage.” Prudence laughed.

Horace put his hands on her. Money always brought out the animal
in him. He pulled her hard against him.

“Stop it. It’s almost time for him to get here. Don’t mess me up.”

Their eyes locked. “This is the big score, Prudy. The one we’ve been waiting for.”

The light in Horace’s eyes made Prudence’s heart bound with excitement. He lowered his head to mess her up good just as they heard the clatter of wagon wheels pull to a stop by the shop door.

“He’s early. Maybe he’s lookin’ forward to his big date.” Horace let her go with a crude laugh.

Prudence’s living quarters were in the back of her shop. She hurried ahead of Horace to let Grant in. Horace followed, and as Prudence brushed the wrinkles out of her prettiest gingham dress and straightened her hair, Horace slipped behind the door, his eyes hot and excited.

Prudence knew he wanted to finish this now. So did she. If she could just get Grant to take a single step inside. . .  She inhaled slowly, concentrating on replacing the hungry look of greed with one of adoration for the stupid fool now knocking on her door.

She reached for the knob.

Grant pulled his hat off his head as Shirt Lady swung the door open. “I don’t have much—”

“Grant, you’re here at last.” Prudence threw her arms around his neck and came at his lips again.

Grant ducked and he accidentally kinda butted her in the lips with his head.

“Oww.” She pressed one hand to her mouth and clung to him with the other.

He pulled loose quick while she was distracted. “Uh, sorry about that. I’m a clumsy one, for a fact. Listen Shirt. . . uh. . . I mean. . . uh. . . ” Grant had to think for a second, but he remembered—much to his
dismay. “Prudence. I’ve got a. . . uh. . . the thing is. . . ”

Her eyes met his, something sharp and knowing in them. She glanced down at his feet as he backed away. She could tell he was canceling their ride most likely.

“I left this dangerous pile of logs. . . .”

“My fault entirely, Grant, honey. Don’t worry a speck about that little bump.” She slipped past him and practically ran to the wagon.

“Now, Prudence, the thing is. . . ”

She climbed up that wagon quick as a squirrel scaling a tree trunk. Grant sighed. Now he was going to have to get her down. He’d told Harold he had to run an errand and to keep Charlie working for another few minutes. But Harold wanted to close up shop, so there just wasn’t going to be time for a ride. He slumped as he followed after.

“Let’s go, Grant. You promised.” She shined those wide eyes on him, and he thought he saw tears getting set to fall. Well, he’d been a father to girls for a long, long time. A few tears didn’t matter a bit to him. Women went with waterworks just like a beaver and buckteeth.

“I can’t take you riding.” Grant choked on her name. The woman made him feel as awkward as an ox trying to sled down a hill on a toboggan, and there was no denying it.

He thought of Hannah at that moment. Of course he thought of Hannah most moments, so that came as no surprise. No ox on a toboggan with Hannah. He hadn’t put a foot wrong there when he’d kissed her. Except he shouldn’t have done it at all. But he’d never come within a mile of knocking her in the head. Probably a shame. A good head butt might have ended all of Grant’s troubles. But no, everything had gone just right. In fact, it was so right he’d. . . 

“Hi, Harold.” Shirt Lady’s overly loud voice drew him back to the present. “Grant and I are going for a little ride.”

“No, I’m not!” Grant decided. Since the woman was determined to have her way, he’d have to be doubly determined to get rid of her. “If you’d have let me finish, I was trying to tell you I’ve got a problem out
at the ranch and I can’t take time for a ride. Plus, I’ve got to get Charlie home. With Joshua hurt and. . . ”

“Joshua hurt?” She stopped her babbling to Harold and turned on him.

Grant got the impression that he’d said something important, but he couldn’t think what.

“Yes, with him hurt, I don’t like leaving the children alone.”

“I heard he died.” The little witch’s eyes narrowed into something that made a shiver run down Grant’s backbone.

“Where’d you hear that?”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, talking too fast, she said, “I heard he fell off. . . off. . . I mean I heard he fell. I heard it was a long fall, and I guess I assumed he’d died.”

Grant suddenly didn’t give two hoots and a holler whether he hurt Shirt Lady’s feelings. “You thought I’d have a son die and just go on as if it were nothing? I talked to you in town the day after it happened. You think I’d send the rest of the children to school the next day? You thought I’d agree to go riding with you a day after my son died?”

The longer he talked the more furious he got. It was all true. The woman really did believe all of that. “You didn’t notice in this little town that there wasn’t a funeral? Or what’d you think I’d do? Just toss him in a dirt hole and pay it no mind?”

The nasty hag’s face turned stony, and she didn’t answer his questions. Well, what she’d said before was all the answer he’d ever need. “Get down from the wagon. Now! I’ve got to get home. There’ll be no ride now. . . nor ever.”

Prudence held the spot and Grant crossed his arms. At last she moved, swinging down, slipping and tumbling toward the ground.

Instinctively, Grant moved to catch her.

She cried out in fear and pain. And instead of guilt or regret, all her caterwauling made Grant’s stomach turn to be this close to the battleaxe.

His children had been right. Of course, he’d already known it. He wanted to kick himself for thinking this was a good idea, all because he wanted to make sure Hannah didn’t have any crazy ideas about him just because. . . just because he. . . he had. . .  crazy ideas about her.

Shirt Lady said in a tearful voice, her arms clinging around his neck, “Just help me inside. The ankle you hurt storming out of the school and colliding with me is acting up again.”

Grant practically lifted her off her feet in his hurry to get shed of the woman. “Fine.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you with my comment about Joshua. I just heard he had a terrible fall. I thought terrible meant that he’d died. I didn’t think about funerals and such. Please don’t be angry with me, Grant. Please!” Her voice rose to a screech and tears now flowed freely from her eyes.

“Okay, I misunderstood.” Grant didn’t think so, but he’d do about anything to get her to quit squalling. Anything but go on a ride with her. He hustled her the few steps to her door while she seemed determined to drag along like a freight wagon with the brake on. “But I’ve got children. And you don’t like children. That’s as clear as the Texas sky. That makes us a bad match, and there’s no point in wasting time denying it. We won’t be going on any rides, ever.” He swung her door inward and stepped back, letting loose of her waist.

She gasped in pain and caught at him. “Just please, get me to the chair.”

He let her grab his arm but kept it extended, holding his body well away from her. For some reason the woman had a knack for ending up hanging from his neck. Her clinging arms gave him chills. Like ice cold chains were wrapping around him.

Grant saw a straight-backed chair only a few feet into the murky store. How could the woman see to do any sewing? “Okay, but the door stays wide open.” He took a step in.

“Pa, you need any help?”

Grant turned and saw Charlie just a step behind him.

“Yeah, reckon I could use some help. She fell off the wagon and hurt her ankle and now she needs me to help her inside.”

“Miss Cartwright, could you help, too, please?” Charlie said, turning to look back.

Lifting his eyes, Grant looked over Charlie’s shoulder.

And there stood Hannah, her lips pursed, her arms crossed. Ready to start in nagging him, too, most likely.

Grant wished mightily for a chance to climb back up that mountain and tangle with cliffs and trees and a razor-sharp axe. His life made sense when he was doing things like that.

“I’ll be glad to help, Charlie.” Her eyes were as bright and burning hot as the blue at the heart of a flame. “What exactly is the problem, Prudence?”

“Uh. . . I. . . my ankle is. . . ” Shirt Lady straightened and took her arm off Grant’s neck, favoring her leg but standing well enough.

“I thought you were limping on your right leg when you first fell. Now it’s your left. Did you injure both of them then?” Hannah’s chin lifted, defiant and strong, but Grant saw the hurt in her eyes.

And why wouldn’t she be hurt? He’d kissed her twice now. The woman had a right to believe, if Grant was an honorable man, that he wouldn’t do such a thing unless he had feelings for her.

Grant let the child-hating Shirt Lady go to stand or fall on her own and had his hands full not reaching for Hannah and that pert chin and sassy. . . 

“Good night, then, Grant.” Shirt Lady stepped back and closed the door with a hard snap.

“Pa, what were you doing with that mean old hag?” Charlie said it plenty loud for Shirt Lady to hear. Grant didn’t even consider shushing the boy. “Why, she told me after church the other day that I smelled like a—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Charlie.” Hannah spared Grant
one last look, contempt laced with pain. Then she whirled away and headed for the diner straight across the street. Her ankles were working just fine. Why couldn’t Hannah ever collapse in his arms?

Unable to stop himself, Grant rushed after her. “Hannah, wait.” He caught her arm just as she stepped into the alley, where she’d go around to the back to climb the stairs.

She jerked free and turned on him. “Wait for what, Grant? For you to start yelling at me? Or maybe parade your girl around in front of me and the whole town? And would that be before or after you try and steal another kiss?”

“She’s not my girl. I just. . . I just wanted. . . you to know there wasn’t going to be anything between us. The woman’s been pestering me for a carriage ride and I thought. . . ” Grant’s voice faded away.

“You thought you’d make it clear that you were just dallying with me when you. . . when you. . . ” Her eyes brimmed with tears

Grant would have done anything to make it up to her. He could feel his control slipping. “Hannah?” He suddenly loomed over her. He hadn’t meant to get this close or be this angry or feel so out of control.

“What?” Those fire-blue eyes faded to warm instead of burning. Instead of hurt there was longing. He suspected she could see that longing reflected back at her in his speckled eyes.

“Get upstairs right now.”

“But I. . . ”

“Right now, Hannah, before I give you one more reason to hate me.”

The eyes held. The moment stretched.

Grant took rigid control of himself and waited and hoped she’d go away and stay away. He clenched his hands to keep from reaching for her. He clamped his teeth to keep from asking her to come see what he had planned for his house. He locked his neck to keep from lowering his mouth to hers. He prayed to God for the self-control not to break all of his promises.

Neither of them moved. It was as if a cord bound them and stretched
taut between them. Suddenly the cord snapped. Hannah whirled and ran down the alley and around the corner.

Grant held himself still as he heard her door open then slam shut. “Good for you, Hannah.”

Then he turned to see Charlie sitting on the wagon seat with a weird, satisfied look on his face. He’d ridden a horse to school, and now it stood tethered to the back of the buckboard. Even the horse looked smug.

Feeling beset, Grant practically leapt into the wagon and headed his horses toward home.

Being a father was the only thing Grant had one bit of talent for. Although he was discovering he had a gift for making women cry. With a stifled groan, he knew the addition he had planned for his house wasn’t going to be enough.

He pulled his Stetson low on his brow. “How’d you like your own room, son?”