The Hired Man

by Lynna Banning

  Now Fanny had attached herself to Cord’s arm. That poor girl was so obviously desperate for attention Eleanor felt sorry for her in a way. She couldn’t bring herself to be too critical since she herself had once felt just as desperate to escape from an unhappy situation. In many ways she felt that women—all women—were sisters under the skin.

  She pressed her lips together. However, she did not want Cord to be the one to assuage Fanny Moreland’s loneliness. When the young woman reattached herself to Cord’s arm, Eleanor found herself on her feet.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Miss Eleanor, where are ya going?”

  She didn’t know which of the men gathered around had spoken and she didn’t much care. What she did care about was rescuing Cord. She grabbed up her sun hat and headed across the meadow. “Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I see my children over there.”

  Halfway to where Cord stood talking with Fanny, she met Molly and Danny coming toward her. “Cord gave us some lemonade, Mama, and now we’re hungry. Can we eat our picnic now?”

  “Yes. You two start unpacking our lunch. I’ll just go tell Cord.”

  “Aw, he’s being ’costed by that pretty Fanny lady.”

  “’Costed? Daniel, what does that mean?”

  “Aw, you know, Ma. Cord says it’s when something jumps on you and you didn’t see it coming.”

  She tried not to smile. “Molly, you help Danny unpack our picnic, all right? I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “And Cord, too?” Danny inquired.

  “I...think so. Unless he has other plans.”

  “Aw, Ma, he doesn’t want to be with that lady. He wants to eat with us.”

  “And just how do you know that?”

  Her son dug the toe of his shoe into the ground. “Cuz he’s sweatin’. I saw him sweatin’ when I passed by him talkin’ to that Fanny lady.”

  “Maybe he was just hot,” Eleanor suggested. “After all, it is a very warm afternoon.”

  “Nah,” her son insisted. “He’s sweatin’ an awful lot.”

  He streaked off toward the picnic blanket, followed by Molly, who flopped down and opened the wicker basket.

  Eleanor moved on across the grass toward Cord.

  “Oh, Mrs. Malloy,” Fanny called out. “How nice that y’all could bring your children to the Fourth of July picnic!”

  Eleanor smiled and nodded.

  “Ah do hope the fireworks won’t be too late for them,” Fanny continued. “Ah have no idea how late children are allowed to stay up in the evening since ah have never had any of my own...” She sent Cord a look Eleanor could only describe as simpering.

  “...though ah have often longed to have a child.”

  “I understand,” Eleanor said quietly. “However, before such a blessed event befalls one, one might want to get married first.”

  Fanny’s smile slipped. She seemed suddenly at a loss, and Eleanor recognized the naked expression of pain and longing on the woman’s face. Immediately she regretted her barbed comment. But when Fanny possessively slipped her hand into Cord’s, Eleanor regretted that she had not been even more pointed.

  She rescued the jar of lemonade from Cord’s other hand and he purposefully disengaged himself from Fanny’s grip. “I hate to drag you away,” she murmured, “but Molly and Danny are getting hungry.” She then turned to Fanny.

  “It was nice to see you again, Fanny. Be sure to remember me to your aunt and uncle.”

  “Oh, ah will. Uncle Ike talks about you all the time. Aunt Ernestine, too,” she added. With a melodramatic sigh, Fanny moved off toward the riverbank, and Cord fell into step beside Eleanor.

  “I saw you start off,” he said. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  Eleanor laughed. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” she teased. “I hated to interrupt.”

  He shot her a sidelong look. “Are you joking?”

  “Well...yes. Actually I was dying to interrupt.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you,” she said with another laugh, “Molly and Danny are getting hungry.”

  They walked on in silence for a few yards and then Cord stopped, unscrewed the top of the mason jar and held it out to her. “Thirsty?”

  She accepted it without a word, tipped it up and swallowed three good gulps. “Yes, I was thirsty. And hungry, too. It’s time for our picnic.”

  “Thank God. I thought you’d never ask.” They moved on a few more steps and then Cord halted again. This time he moved to face her.

  “Eleanor, I...uh...have a confession to make.”

  “Oh?” His tanned face looked so serious she experienced a sudden misgiving. “What is it, Cord?”

  “Well, I— Oh, jumpin’ jennies, there’s no easy way to say it.” He looked at the ground, then up into the sky, then his gaze moved back to her. “I’ve been teaching Danny to ride.”

  She laughed aloud. “I know.”

  “Huh? How could you know? We’re always at least two miles from the farm.”

  “I know,” Eleanor said again, “because Danny’s jeans and shirts have smelled like horse for weeks.”

  “We thought for sure we’d fooled you,” he confessed. “You’re pretty sneaky.”

  “Oh, no, Cord. I am merely observant. You are the sneaky one.”

  He downed a big swallow of lemonade and studied her with raised eyebrows. “Hot damn.”

  “Don’t tell Danny that I know just yet, Cord. He’s been on such good behavior that I’d hate for it to end. He’s been watering my garden without my asking, and yesterday he hung the parlor rug out in the yard and beat the dust out with my broom.”

  “Okay, that’s a deal. I won’t tell him. Now, let’s go eat. Confession makes me hungry.”

  They feasted on fried chicken and potato salad and lazed the afternoon away while the sun dropped toward the smoke-colored hills in the distance and guitar music drifted on the air. Cord taught Molly to play Mumblety-Peg with his pearl-handled pocket knife, and then he began to wonder why none of Eleanor’s admirers were hanging around any longer. Eleanor apparently didn’t care. She laid her sun hat on the blanket beside her and stretched out, keeping the children between them.

  After a while she sat up. “Cord, wouldn’t you like to go over and visit with Ike and Ernestine Bruhn? And Fanny?”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Don’t go, Cord!” Molly begged. “I wanna play more Mumblety-Peg.”

  “Because,” Eleanor said slowly, “I was rude to Fanny earlier. I would like to make amends.”

  He gave her a long look. “Then why don’t you go visit with Ike and Ernestine. And Fanny. I’m happy playing Mumblety-Peg with Molly.”

  “And besides,” Danny pointed out, “it’s gettin’ dark. The fireworks are gonna start any minute.”

  “Oh,” Eleanor said with a quiet smile. “I’d forgotten about the fireworks.”

  When it was full dark, the fireworks started with a spectacular red-white-and-blue starburst that brought gasps and cheers from the crowd sitting along the riverbank. Molly flopped onto her back beside her mother, and Danny craned his neck to peer upward.

  As the showers of colored stars floated down from the blue-black sky, Cord watched Eleanor out of the corner of his eye.

  The exploding fireworks overhead reminded him of something. After a full minute of trying to recall what it was, he groaned and bit the inside of his cheek. It was like the burst of light at the moment of climax when one made love to a woman.

  He shut his eyes, wishing he hadn’t made that particular connection. He wanted to touch Eleanor so bad he had to bend his knees as his groin swelled. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his gaze from straying to where Eleanor lay prone beside him.

  The little flo
wery bursts overhead went on and on until Cord couldn’t stand it one more minute. He stood up.

  “Are you gonna visit that pretty lady?” Danny asked.

  “No. Just...getting some air.”

  “That don’t make sense, Cord. We’re outside. There’s plenty of air right here.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Eleanor corrected.

  “Maybe not,” Cord said in a hoarse voice. “But I’m goin’ for a walk anyway.” Anything to keep him from watching more of those firework climaxes.

  He made a circuit of the entire picnic area, from the maple trees at one end of the meadow to the tangle of vines and cottonwoods near the riverbank. Then he made another circuit, his hands jammed in the pockets of his suddenly too-tight jeans. On his third trip around the picnic grounds, a shadow slipped to his side. Eleanor. Oh, God.

  “Cord, is something wrong?”

  “No.” Yes, dammit. Something is eating my gut and burning up my privates.

  “Was it something I said? Or did?”

  “No.” Yes. You’ve got to stop looking like you’re glad to see me every morning.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” That was the God’s honest truth. He didn’t want to talk to Eleanor. He wanted to kiss her.

  She tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. “The fireworks are beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. Beautiful.” If she only knew how beautiful. And why.

  “Cord—”

  “Sorry, Eleanor. Guess I don’t feel much like talking.”

  A long, pregnant silence followed. Just when he’d gotten himself under control she opened her lips and blew it all to hell. “I feel like that, too, sometimes,” she said softly. “Like not talking. Like I just want to be quiet and stop thinking about things.”

  Cord mumbled some sort of response.

  “Do you know what I do when I feel that way?” she pursued.

  “What?” He didn’t mean it to come out so gruff. Then again, he was feeling gruff, so why not?

  “I go for a long walk, like you’re doing. And I talk to my apple trees. I tell them all about... I tell them what’s on my mind.”

  “Yeah? Do your apple trees give you any advice?”

  “Oh, of course not. They just listen. And pretty soon I’m feeling calmer inside and I can go back to sleep.”

  He shook his head. “You want to be my apple tree tonight?”

  “Yes, I’ll be your apple tree, Cord. What’s wrong? Is it Fanny Moreland?”

  He laughed out loud. “Why do women think a man’s troubles are always about a woman?”

  “Because we’re women. We have a great deal of intuition and understanding and—”

  “Eleanor?”

  “Yes, Cord?”

  He took three long, deep breaths. “Eleanor, stop talking.”

  “What? But I thought—”

  “Eleanor, for God’s sake, shut up.”

  * * *

  “Molly, stop fidgeting!”

  “I’m not fidgeting, Mama. I’m dancing.”

  “Dancing! Here? At the dressmaker’s?”

  Verena Forester leaned over the Butterick pattern book spread open on the counter. “It don’t bother me none, Miz Malloy. These new dresses you want, they for the dance out at Jensen’s Saturday night?”

  “Oh, no, Verena. I had in mind just an everyday dress for...every day.”

  “I wanna go to the dance!” Molly cried. “And I wanna wear my pretty new dress.”

  Eleanor fingered the bolt of red-and-yellow calico Verena had laid across the thick pattern book.

  “This’d be real nice made up with a deep square neck and a double ruffle at the hem,” the dressmaker observed.

  “Oh, I think not a deep square neckline, Verena. Just a shallow neckline and only one ruffle at the bottom.”

  “And what about yer daughter, Miz Malloy? You want just the one ruffle on the skirt?”

  “I—”

  Molly tugged on her sleeve. “Mama, can I please have two ruffles? Please? And make them twirl out,” she added in an aside to the dressmaker.

  “Twirl out? Child, whatever do you mean, ‘twirl out’?”

  “You know.” Molly spun in place and lifted her skirt so it belled out.

  Verena caught Eleanor’s eye and grinned. “How ’bout I make both yours and your daughter’s a full six gores? Oughta be real fetching in this here red calico. Oughta ‘twirl out’ just fine.”

  “Well...”

  “You can pick ’em up on Friday, Miss Eleanor. The dance isn’t ’til Saturday,” Verena said with a smile.

  “We are not attending the dance.”

  “Oh. I thought your girl here—”

  “No,” Eleanor said decisively.

  Molly tucked her small hand in Eleanor’s as they left the dressmaker’s shop. “Can we get some ice cream, Mama?”

  Eleanor mentally calculated how much money she had left to last until the apple harvest in the fall. “Maybe a small dish.”

  “Where’d Cord go?”

  “He stopped at the mercantile to get some more flour and ten pounds of sugar.”

  “And some lemon drops?”

  Eleanor laughed. “I don’t know about any lemon drops.” They crossed the dusty street and stepped into the restaurant next to the Smoke River Hotel, where the waitress showed them to a table.

  “Expectin’ anybody else?” she asked.

  “Why, no, Rita. Just us.”

  “Oh. Saw yer hired man go into the mercantile a while back. Thought he might be joining you.”

  “He’s buying some lemon drops!” Molly announced.

  “I see. That means you won’t be wanting any strawberry ice cream, then, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Molly protested. “And Cord might want some.”

  Eleanor caught Rita’s eye and shrugged.

  “Maybe he’s talkin’ to that pretty lady,” Molly whispered.

  Eleanor shrugged again. It was quite possible that Cord was, in fact, talking to the “pretty lady,” Fanny Moreland. It was no concern of hers. Lately he hadn’t even mentioned her, but he’d seemed tense and preoccupied, and that was a sure sign that something, or someone, was on his mind.

  A little stab of something poked into her belly. A hunger pang, maybe. She had skimped on her breakfast to come into town with Cord, and she knew that while she and Molly had visited the dressmaker, Cord had intended to go to the mercantile. Maybe Fanny would be there. She knew that Fanny and Edith Ness, the owner’s daughter, were good friends.

  Another niggle of something wormed its way into her brain. Fanny. Fanny was everything she wasn’t—young, pretty and available. Had Cord ever kissed Fanny? Did he want to? She thought about that day when Cord had dug up that gravestone in her new flower bed and he had ended up kissing her. Was that kiss in payment of the bet he’d won about the laundry?

  Or was it something that had just happened, and he was still expecting the kiss he’d won? And if he was still expecting it, when would he ask for it?

  “Ma’am?” The waitress tapped her pencil on her order pad.

  “You two want something to eat?”

  “What? Oh, yes. We’ll have—”

  “Strawberry ice cream!” Molly cried.

  Rita hid a smile. “Two dishes?”

  “Make it three,” a voice called from the doorway.

  “Cord!” Molly screeched.

  Eleanor glared at her daughter. “Hush, Molly. It isn’t polite to shout.”

  The girl turned wide blue eyes up to her. “Why not, Mama? You do it all the time.”

  The waitress gave a strangled laugh and coughed.

  “Three
dishes of strawberry ice cream,” Cord said as he slid onto the chair across from Eleanor. “And some coffee for me.”

  “Sure thing,” Rita said. She slapped her order pad into her apron pocket and bustled away toward the kitchen.

  Cord sent a smile across the table. “You ladies get your shopping all done?”

  Molly grinned at him. “I’m gonna have a beautiful new dress, just like Mama’s.”

  “Really?”

  “An’ we’re goin’ to a dance!”

  His face changed. “Really? Eleanor, I thought you didn’t—”

  “Molly,” Eleanor said in a low voice, “we are not going to the dance.”

  “What dance?” he asked. A cup of coffee appeared at his elbow and he nodded his thanks at the waitress.

  “There’s a big dance out at Peter Jensen’s place on Saturday,” Rita volunteered. “Everybody in town will be there, and most of the ranchers and their wives will come, too.”

  “And Mama doesn’t want to go,” Molly added.

  “Oh, yeah? Why not?”

  “Well,” Eleanor began, “because...” She stopped when Rita returned to set down three big bowls of ice cream and three spoons.

  “Is that strawberry?” Cord asked, picking up a spoon.

  “That it is, sir.”

  “Oh, boy!”

  “Oh, boy!” Molly echoed.

  Cord pinned Eleanor with an inquiring look. “You were saying about the dance?”

  “I was saying that we are not going.”

  “Some reason?”

  She closed her lips over a spoonful of ice cream. “Well, you know how I feel about gatherings with lots of people—”

  “Yeah, I know. But—” he cut his gaze sideways toward Molly “—have you considered that it might be good for...your children to learn to dance?” Again he glanced toward Molly, who was busily shoveling ice cream into her mouth and paying them no attention.

  “She’s too young.”

  “She’s not too young,” he countered. “Girls are girls the minute they’re born.”