Unable to bear watching it any longer, Moses plucked her off the bicycle seat and carried her to a downed tree alongside the road. Sitting, he set her beside him, murmuring soothing words and awkwardly patting her back. Turning, Hattie wrapped her arms around him and clung, sobbing for every insult and slight she’d ever received, every untrue word ever said about her.
The worst part? Hattie knew in her heart Moses wasn’t wrong. While she hated the unfair judgments people made about her, she also knew she possessed an unthinking tendency to say outrageous things at times. Of course she was never going to sneak into a cathouse. But, Lord love her, she sometimes wished she had been born a male. Their lives were so much freer and worlds more interesting than women’s were.
“You know I didn’t mean it,” Moses kept muttering. “You’re my best friend. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“Then you shouldn’t have said it,” she finally muttered, raising her likely red-rimmed eyes to look at him. But she was incapable of holding a grudge, and her anger washed away with her tears. Besides, Moses was her best friend and she knew she sometimes drove him to the limit, thus bringing out his counterattacks. She summoned a half smile. “After all,” she murmured, “I’d never say anything so mean to you if I didn’t mean it.”
Moses snorted. Raising a hip, he dug a handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to her. “Here. Blow.” Once she did, he mopped up the remaining puddles beneath her eyes with a clean edge and said, “What about the time you swore Florence-May Jordan told you I reminded her of a big blond gorilla?”
“Well, that hardly counts. Who in their right mind would believe Florence-May would ever tell me a blessed thing? We both know what her opinion of Hattie Taylor is. You, on the other hand,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes and speaking in a thick, sugary accent in an exaggerated imitation of Miss Jordan, “are ‘Just so big and strawng!’”
“At least she’s got that right,” he agreed and flexed his biceps. When Hattie pretended to swoon and cried, “Oh, Mistah Mawks!” Moses stood up. “You wanna go home now?”
“Yes. And we can take the shortcut by Mamie Parker’s place. If I’m late coming home again, Aunt Augusta will make me wax the stair rails. And that takes forever.”
“Hattie, with all the talk going around about you, even you must see it’s a bad idea if you’re seen anywhere near Mamie’s establishment. You’ve got a lighted torch in both hands, girl. Don’t go beggin’ a dance on a powder keg.”
“We’ve used the shortcut behind it for years, Moses. I hardly think I’m chancing the ruin of my reputation by pedaling past Miss Mamie’s stable!”
“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if this blows up in your face.”
And it usually does, Hattie admitted silently. She almost did the smart thing and told Moses to take them the long way home. But she was serious about her aunt’s threat. Augusta had promised Hattie exactly that if she came in late again. And if Hattie knew nothing else, she knew Aunt Augusta kept her word. If Hattie failed to show up when she said she would, she would be waxing those railings.
As they drew closer to the infamous establishment, Hattie wished she’d thought to trade places with Moses. He informed her as they crossed the railroad tracks that they were going to whip through the shortcut—and if she didn’t like it she could just lump it.
She’d accepted his conditions. But like it had been on the trip earlier, her visibility was restricted by Moses’ shoulders. When they suddenly stiffened, Hattie knew he must have seen something truly scandalous, and she feared she was going to miss it.
“We’re going home,” Moses said flatly, and started to turn.
“What is it? What’d you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Moses, what is it?” She rose to stand on her pedals, unmindful that her skirts were dangerously close to the bicycle’s spokes. She stared over his shoulders at the stable, which looked deserted and mundane at this hour of the afternoon. For pity’s sake, there was nothing scandalous there. Why, there wasn’t a blessed thing to see aside from . . .
“No.” Her legs losing strength, Hattie collapsed back onto the bicycle seat.
The only thing to see was an old saddle on the corral fence. And, beneath it, the colorful saddle blanket Hattie had given Jake Murdock two birthdays ago.
11
Murdock Ranch
FRIDAY, JUNE 29, 1906
Just when Jake thought his life couldn’t possibly become more complicated, it did. He didn’t know what happened. He’d looked forward to having Hattie spend the summer at the ranch. She was the only person who still regarded him with unquestioning approval. Lord knew his own wife didn’t, and it ate at him. It also turned him cynical at inappropriate moments, a recently acquired quirk that threatened to affect his relationships with others.
Jane-Ellen’s view of him kept changing. One moment she treated him like a harmless friend. The next she regarded him with such revulsion it turned his blood cold, staring at him as if he were a ravening animal without the decency to leave her be. Or failing that, to at least confine his conjugal visits to the dark hours, suitably clothed so only the essentials touched. He invariably left her bed feeling like a sweaty, insensitive clod. As a consequence, he’d reduced his visits to almost nil. Hell, given how infrequently he’d made demands, it was a wonder she’d ever gotten pregnant.
But the pregnancy was a blessing to both of them. Jane-Ellen’s joy might stem in part from the fact that he no longer joined her in her chaste bed. Jake just flat out couldn’t wait until his child—this miraculous life he had helped to create—was born. His baby was going to be someone he’d love unconditionally, who would love him in return. Until then, he’d looked forward to Hattie’s company, to her quick wit, laughter, and adoration, expecting it to soothe his lacerated ego and soften his newfound cynicism. But something had changed her.
Her laughter wasn’t as frequent these days, at least with him. In fact, she seemed to apply great effort to avoiding him. Since coming to the ranch, she’d spent most of her time with Jane-Ellen. That was unusual in itself, given how difficult it had been coaxing Hattie indoors during her past visits. And while Jake had heard her husky laughter once or twice from the other side of a door, he’d given up trying to intrude on her visits with his wife. His entrance into any room Hattie occupied invariably caused her merriment to evaporate like morning mist under the rising sun.
He didn’t doubt she harbored some deep-seated anger toward him. What he didn’t know was why. What the hell had he ever done to her? And why didn’t she just come out and say what was bothering her? It wasn’t like Hattie to be so reticent. This was a young woman who yelled when she was angry and never hesitated to hurl accusations. Christ, she was sometimes outspoken to a dangerous degree. Yet she’d been at the ranch for nearly three weeks and had tried and convicted him of only God knew what.
Had she bothered to level any charges? Hell, no. Instead, she looked through him rather than at him. Left rooms when he walked in. Withheld her laughter. She punished him for a crime she wouldn’t identify. Jake didn’t know how to deal with her when she refused to present him with one tangible grievance he could address. And what was infinitely worse, her antagonism inexplicably incited him to notice her as a woman.
Like things weren’t bad enough. He had a wife who scorned his touch and his visits to the local whorehouse left him empty and emotionally depleted. But, dear God, to suddenly notice Hattie’s enticing curves? It would be ironic if it wasn’t so damn horrifying. He had loved that kid like a sister for years and she’d worshipped him in return. He’d adored the gutsy little girl, the fearless young woman. Appreciated her candor and her laughter, her unique way of looking at the world around her. And he loved her for the way she made him feel ten feet tall when the rest of his life left him feeling like shit. But he had never loved her the way a man loves a woman. Hell, before this visit
, he hadn’t even noticed Hattie’s female attributes, except for the acknowledgment she was growing up. Now, this summer, everything had suddenly changed, including the way Jake viewed Hattie. And he feared there’d be no turning back.
She used to be kind of funny-looking. Hell, she still wasn’t beautiful in the current fashion. But there was something about that flaming mass of hair, those exotic amber eyes, that mouth. And, God, her body . . . Whatever happened to her sturdy little freckled chest? Or even the barely developed breasts she’d had when she was twelve, which was probably the last time he had noticed anything physical about her.
Jake began avoiding Hattie as assiduously as she avoided him. He couldn’t imagine making an improper advance toward her. Yet, sometimes he looked at her across the dinner table and the impulses running through his mind were so carnal in nature it nailed him to his chair.
Scared him to death. He wasn’t exactly overburdened with faith in his self-control these days. And the compulsion to frequent Mamie’s wasn’t half as compelling as what his imagination all of a sudden envisioned.
He began spending even longer hours than usual tending to ranch affairs. For the past eight days, he’d only come into the house to eat and sleep.
If this had been an ordinary summer, instead of hiding in the stables he would have cross-examined Hattie like a hostile witness until she broke down and told him why she was so mad at him. But he doubted anything would ever be ordinary again. His loneliness was exacerbated by these feelings for Hattie he had no business feeling and the need to police his actions for fear of doing something to blow this family apart.
Jake had a sinking feeling it was going to be a long summer.
* * *
—
Hattie picked up the telephone and removed the earpiece from its switch hook. The instrument was still new enough to give her a little thrill as she cradled the black receiver to her ear and raised the candlestick body until its mouth horn was a scant half inch from her lips.
“Central.”
“This is Murdock Ranch. Marks’ Barbershop, please.”
“One moment, please.” The line went silent—then blared with static, background voices, and Moses’ father’s voice snapping, “Confounded contraption. Still makes me jump whenever it rings. Hello! Marks’ Barbershop.”
Hattie jerked the earpiece from her ear. Mr. Marks always yelled into the mouthpiece, convinced the other party wouldn’t otherwise understand him. Hearing his voice, overloud and warm-toned, made Hattie visualize him in his shop as clearly as though she stood outside his big glass window. Snugging the receiver back against her ear, she said, “This is Hattie, Mr. Marks. Is Moses available?”
“Hello, young lady,” Mr. Marks yelled with his customary cheerfulness. “How are you? Hang on, missy. Moses is out sweepin’ the sidewalk. Moses!” he bellowed. “Call for you, son.”
Hattie barely took the time to greet Moses when he picked up the receiver. “Can you meet me at the creek? I’ve gotta get outside for a while or explode.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you! How long before you can get free?”
“Hold on. Dad? You need me anymore this afternoon?” Hattie heard a blurred exchange of words; then Moses’ voice once again grew clear and strong. “Hat? Meet you in about twenty minutes.”
“You, my friend, are wonderful. Bring your suit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed with a laugh. And broke the connection.
Hattie practically skipped to the creek. Lordy, it felt delightful being out of doors. She loved and admired Jane-Ellen dearly, but sometimes Hattie was so bored with their conversations she felt she would shatter and be blown to the four corners of the earth if she didn’t get out.
Hattie had been the subject of too much gossip to enjoy speculating about other people’s foibles and possible indiscretions. And interesting as fashion could occasionally be, she figured one could say all there was to say about it in thirty minutes flat.
She loved speculating about Jake and Jane-Ellen’s baby, however. One day Jane-Ellen’s entire stomach abruptly rolled to one side. It was the bulliest spectacle Hattie had ever witnessed. She would’ve dearly loved to jump up and rest her hand atop Jane-Ellen’s enormous stomach to feel the movement. Shame that Jane-Ellen was so reticent about physical contact.
Hattie knew she and the older woman had little in common, likely because even when Jane-Ellen and Jake still lived in Aunt Augusta’s house they hadn’t spent the sort of concentrated time together they were spending these days. Hattie was accustomed to reading the paper, then carrying on lively debates about the issues at mealtimes with Aunt Augusta—and before this summer, with Jake. Jane-Ellen didn’t read the paper because it made her hands dirty. Neither did she like conversations about ranch business.
In fact, if Hattie wasn’t so disgusted with Jake she would almost feel sorry for him, for it was quite obvious Jane-Ellen didn’t appreciate the way he tracked ranch dirt through the house or occasionally appeared in her immaculate parlor in his sweat-stained work clothes.
Hell’s bells, Jane-Ellen and her guests had nearly swooned the afternoon Jake disrupted their luncheon party by barging through the dining room clad in work-worn Levi’s and an unbuttoned shirt that flapped behind him. He’d made some attempt to wipe blood from his forearms, but it must have been pretty darn slapdash because rusty brown smears still adorned his arms from wrist to elbow.
He explained a bit tersely that he’d just delivered a foal. The mare had suffered through a particularly difficult labor, but Hattie had a feeling she was the only one who understood why he might like a tot of whiskey to celebrate with his foreman. And given Jane-Ellen’s own advancing pregnancy, he probably could have put a little less stress on the labor difficulty. All told, however, Hattie had secretly wondered which offended the good ladies more, Jake’s open shirt and blood splatter or his lack of temperance.
Later that night, in her room down the hall, Hattie had heard Jake yelling as he’d defended his interruption of the afternoon entertainment. Jane-Ellen’s voice had been indistinct, but Hattie didn’t doubt the other woman was giving him the very devil over his lack of decorum.
Not that he didn’t deserve it, but . . . Was nothing ever quite what it seemed? Why was it, this summer, that everything appeared to be just slightly off-kilter?
Jane-Ellen was perfect, wasn’t she? The feminine ideal. She walked, talked, and dressed with elegance and decorum, a splendid example of social success, according to Aunt Augusta. Why, then, did Hattie know it would drive her purely simpleminded if she had to live with her full-time?
Not that it in any way excused what Jake had done. Hattie had always considered him the strongest, the most honorable man in the world. But what he did was wrong. Totally, absolutely wrong. So, why didn’t he seem to care what she thought of him? He had at first; she could tell. But lately, he was never even around to ignore, and when he was around, he ignored her.
Confusing, confusing, confusing.
Hattie beat Moses to the rock pool. She went behind a tree and removed her shirtwaist, walking skirt, and petticoat and draped them over a bush. She sat down to remove her shoes and stockings, which left her clad only in a chemise and a pair of boys’ swim trunks, which she’d convinced Moses to purchase for her in Norton’s Mercantile. She couldn’t get enough of the sense of freedom her skimpy attire afforded her, especially when it came to gliding through the water. It didn’t occur to her how immodest it was. The only person to see it, after all, was Moses.
It occurred to Moses. It was a shock to circle a large boulder and see Hattie sitting in the sun, wearing only what amounted to her underwear. Jeez, she wasn’t even wearing the flannel shirt with the ripped-off sleeves she usually wore.
His father had finally come through on his promised graduation excursion to Mamie Parker’s place, and Moses was no longer ignorant of the ways of men and
women. He was, in fact, a dedicated convert, having taken to the sins of the flesh like a cat to cream. He thought about it constantly, remembering and reliving that astounding night and those that followed. And pausing in the shade of the boulder to covertly eye Hattie, he had to admit it was disturbing that she’d willingly flaunt herself in front of him like he was some harmless gelding. Didn’t she realize he was a man now, and therefore dangerous to appear before dressed in next to nothing?
Wait a minute. This was Hattie. His best pal. Nothing was going to happen between them, regardless of how stupid her clothing choice was today.
That would have been the end of Moses’ thoughts, and their afternoon would have been spent like a hundred before it, if only Hattie had worn her old flannel shirt. Or at least kept her chemise dry.
* * *
—
Jake wasn’t thrilled to be chasing after two teenagers when there was work to be done. But Jane-Ellen’s pregnancy gave her notions, and it was easier to indulge them than argue with her. And a call from the operator at Central had given her the notion that Hattie and Moses Marks were swimming together down at the creek.
Jake had a hard time comprehending what all the fuss was about. Those two had been swimming together for seven years now. He doubted they were doing so nude. Hattie was a well-bred young lady, after all, and God knew, he thought cynically, well-bred young ladies were encased up to their virtuous eyebrows in maidenly modesty. So, he was rocked back on his heels to walk out of the woods and find Hattie’s maidenly modesty nowhere in sight. She was wrapped in Moses Marks’ brawny arms, their mouths fused together in a manner that, although lacking style, lacked shit-all in passion.
And although Hattie hadn’t been swimming naked, she may as well have been. For she wore nothing more than a skintight pair of boys’ swimming trunks that faithfully displayed her shapely ass, hips, and thighs, and a chemise so wet it was transparent.
The Ballad of Hattie Taylor Page 10
