“The next song will be all skate,” a man’s voice announced over the loudspeaker. “Everybody skate.” The scratch of a record needle was heard, followed by the sound of pleasant organ music. Many of the people who had been content to sit on the benches set up along the side rose to their feet and began skating, crowding the floor.
“Are you ready?” Charlotte asked Owen.
“I don’t suppose you’d wait for me if I wasn’t,” he answered.
“I would.”
“I know.” Owen smiled, and then pushed off onto the floor.
Charlotte was pleasantly surprised to find that Owen was better on roller skates than she had expected. He took things slow, grabbing onto her arm now and again when his balance wavered, and fell only once, an awkward landing that caused him to wince dramatically, his teeth bared in pain. Around and around the rink they went, their hands clasped, troubles momentarily forgotten, and both of them happy. Hannah and Hale occasionally glided past, Hale desperately trying to keep up, but they didn’t notice, keeping the evening to themselves.
“All right now,” the man’s voice said on the loudspeaker after a number of records had ended, “it’s time for couples only. Couples only for ‘The Skaters’ Waltz.’ Couples only.”
More than half of the people who were on the floor retreated to the benches, leaving pairs of men and women for the next dance. Charlotte was happy to see that Hannah and Hale remained. Hale was so happy to have Hannah’s hands in his own that he blushed as red as a tomato.
Maybe there’s hope for them yet…
“I suppose that a couples’ dance would mean us,” Owen said softly into Charlotte’s ear.
“It does,” she answered, losing herself in his eyes for an instant.
Charlotte took the lead, taking one of his hands in her own and placing her other on his shoulder; Owen followed with a hand on her waist. As the music played, a soft medley that reminded Charlotte of a song her grandmother had been fond of, they skated together, side by side at first, then, to Owen’s surprise, with Charlotte turned so that she was skating backward.
“You’re pretty good at this,” Owen said, impressed.
“I grew up in Minnesota, remember?”
“Where your father must have made a fortune in the roller-skating business.”
Charlotte laughed loudly. “No, silly.” She playfully pinched him. “The winters freeze the lakes hard enough to ice-skate on for months. Being on roller skates isn’t that different from being on ice skates.”
“I’m having enough trouble staying off the floor on these.” Owen shrugged. “I don’t have any urge to try anything else. But I suppose we’re not going to find many frozen lakes here in Oklahoma.”
They skated along together, Charlotte enjoying the way he looked at her, at least when he wasn’t glancing down at his feet. It was then, her hand in his, the music reaching a crescendo, the lights flashing by as their skates hummed against the floor, that Charlotte realized she had completely fallen for Owen Wallace. He wasn’t what she had expected to find in a man, but she had found him nonetheless. He’d saved her life, sweetly picked her up from work, gently kissed her, and even been a pain in her backside. She’d fallen for him for all of those things. She wondered what her sister, Christina, would think of him. She even liked the idea that put them out on the roller-skating rink floor, that they were a couple. There was no telling where they would go, but she hoped that they would go together.
Just as she was about to tell Owen what she was feeling, a loud ruckus at the entrance to the rink caused every head to turn in that direction. Three men had pushed their way inside without paying, shoving past the ticket seller. Each of them looked to be drunk, eyes wild and bodies swaying. The one in front, a mean-looking sort with a thin scar running the length of one side of his jawline, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and brazenly lit up, staring holes in all those who skated past him, seeming to dare him to leave. His two companions elbowed each other, pointing and laughing, their voices loud over the music. When the ticket seller tried to insist that they pay, the man with the cigarette pushed him to the ground, causing a few gasps to rise from the crowd.
Without a word, Owen knelt to the floor and began to take off his skates.
Charlotte put her hand on his shoulder. “Owen?”
“I have to,” he said simply.
But she wasn’t trying to stop him; she knew that he was the kind of man who would not stand by and let someone pick on another person who was weaker; it was one of the reasons she had fallen for him.
“Be careful. Please be careful.”
“I’m not the one you should be worried about.” He gave her a look full of determination before heading to the entrance.
Owen hated drunkards who only found their courage in the bottom of a bottle and when they had plenty of friends at their side. He’d fought them outside taverns, argued with them in the middle of the street, and even bled on one while on the steps of a church. Most of them folded soon after the first punch, unable to back up their mouths with their fists, but occasionally there would be a fight.
I wonder which one this will be…
The first one through the gate, the mean-looking one with the cigarette dangling from his lips, eyed Owen closely as he approached, the hint of a smile curling his lips, revealing tobacco-stained teeth.
“Who in the hell’re you supposed to be?” he snarled.
“These folks are here trying to have a good time,” Owen answered, ignoring the man’s question while he tried not to ball his fists for the confrontation he already knew he couldn’t avoid. “You’re welcome to join us, but you’ll need to pay first, same as all of us have done.”
“And what if we don’t want to?” the larger of the other two men asked menacingly, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest, the taut muscles of his biceps straining hard against the fabric of his shirt.
“Then we’re going to have a problem, I reckon.”
“Are we now?” the one with the cigarette said, and the three men all laughed. Owen could smell the alcohol as it wafted off them, the fuel that had brought them all to this crossroads, intent on ruining a simple night of roller skating for as many people as possible.
Without warning, the group’s leader, the man who had been smoking, flicked his still-burning cigarette toward Owen, striking him in the chest. It hadn’t hurt him at all, hadn’t startled him, either, but before the cigarette had even bounced to the ground, Owen was already throwing a punch, slamming his fist into the man’s nose, so that blood spurted down his chin, and a squeal of pain shot from between his teeth.
“You son of a bitch!” the large one shouted.
Owen ignored him, turning his attention to the third man. He had remained silent thus far, something that made Owen believe he would be particularly dangerous, but now he let his fists do his talking. Owen blocked his punch, slipping a left under the man’s guard and into his ribs, making his knees wobble. He meant to follow up, to press his advantage and thin their numbers as quickly as possible, but it was not meant to be. Agonizing pain shot down his side as the huge man decided to enter the fray and pounded Owen’s already damaged ribs. He fell to one knee, desperately fighting to stay conscious, stars dancing in front of his eyes.
“Owen!” he heard Charlotte shout.
Now, clutching his hurting ribs, Owen supposed that he had bitten off more than he could chew. But as painful as it was, he knew that he couldn’t have acted differently; he’d just have to take his lumps.
He’d expected his beating to be delivered promptly, but when it didn’t come as he’d expected, he looked up, wondering. It was then that he found that a beating was being administered, just not the one he had expected.
Hale had already knocked one of the men, the silent one, unconscious on the floor, where blood poured from his mouth. The bigger man, the one who had struck Owen such a painful blow, now cowered, his hands up in surrender against a foe even larger than he was. Hale
showed him no mercy, driving his fist, a hand used to maneuvering horses around easily, into the man’s breadbasket. With a whoosh, he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.
“Next time,” Hale growled, “why don’t you start by picking on someone your own size?”
Even as Owen smiled at Hale’s words, he saw that his fellow ranch hand was in danger; the rowdy with the cigarette had regained his senses and had flicked open a switchblade; the rink’s lighting glinted off its steel. He meant to shove it into Hale’s undefended back.
Get to your feet, Owen!
Struggling upright, Owen somehow managed to find his bearings long enough to rush forward and, at the last instant, grab the man by the shoulder. The knife slashed with hard intentions and Owen managed to avoid it only by an inch, before he responded by landing another punch to the man’s face, striking him flush on his scarred jaw. This time Owen put his weight into it and sent the bully back to the floor; this time the man lay unmoving.
For a moment, both Owen and Hale stood there, breathing hard.
“What the hell took you so long to help me?” Owen smiled.
“I had to take my skates off.” Hale shrugged. “If I hadn’t, I’d still be on the other side of the rink.”
“Then I suppose I should be glad you did.” He extended his hand and with no hesitation Hale took it, shaking it vigorously.
Before either of them could say another word, almost all of the roller-skating rink’s patrons began clapping. Only one person, a woman he faintly remembered being at the school when he went to pick up Charlotte, seemed unhappy; her arms were folded over her chest and her face screwed up in displeasure. Owen didn’t pause to wonder why. When his eyes found Charlotte, he was convinced that no one was cheering louder than she was.
Chapter Twenty-three
ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, Owen?”
Charlotte sat beside him in the truck as they drove back to the ranch. The moon was brushing the treetops as it set. They were alone; after Hale’s show of bravery when he came to Owen’s rescue and helped him dispatch the troublemakers, Hannah had considered him a hero and chosen to ride with him in the back of the truck. Even now, she was held tightly in his arms. Charlotte wasn’t sure of if it was out of a need for warmth or affection, but she hoped it was the latter.
“I’m fine, Charlie,” Owen answered her. “I didn’t fall on the skates as many times as I thought I would. The fight was nothing.”
“You didn’t fall because I was holding you up,” she teased.
“I’m sure that was it.”
“But I am glad that Hale took his attention off Hannah for a minute.”
“Not as glad as I am.”
Charlotte hoped the relationship between Hale and Owen had changed as a result of the fight; it would have been almost impossible for Hale not to reconsider his opinion of Owen, for tackling that bully to help the rink owner. Now Hale couldn’t continue to believe that Owen was capable of fouling the well or any other mischief. It looked as if they might now become friends. It was too bad that Owen had needed the fight to accomplish it.
When Owen had walked over to the men, Charlotte had known that there would be a fight, but she had done nothing but try to stay out of the way. A part of her had wanted to join him. There had been no silencing the shout that had escaped her lips when he had been knocked down.
The police came soon after the fight had ended, rounding up the three drunkards and hauling them off to jail. After Hale and Owen were thanked profusely by the owner of the rink, the two couples had skated to a few more records, but Charlotte had found it hard to concentrate on anything other than Owen. Her heart still fluttering as they clasped hands and glided across the floor…
“A fight wasn’t what I was expecting on our first date,” she said with a sly smile.
“Just wait and see what I’ve got planned for the next one.” He laughed. “It’ll make tonight look like ‘ring-around-the-rosy.’ ”
“I can’t wait.”
The ranch house came into view. They crossed the creek and reached home faster than Charlotte would have liked. It was silent and still, the clock nearly ready to strike midnight, and only a single light shone deep in the house. The steady ticking of the cooling engine sounded loudly in the night.
Hannah and Hale headed off toward the cabins, arm in arm, Hale laughing beside her so easily that it was hard to imagine he had ever been so terrified simply to be around her. Dew dripped from blades of grass, bats dived hungrily from their hiding places in search of unwary bugs, and somewhere in the far distance a coyote let loose a lonely howl, but neither Charlotte nor Owen moved to part from each other.
“I’m not ready for this night to end,” Charlotte admitted.
“Me either.”
“So what do we do about it?”
“Well,” Owen said, scratching at the whiskers on his jaw, “I still need to feed Cinnamon. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.”
“I would like.”
Walking toward the horse barn, they held hands, and contentment filled Charlotte. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew where this night was headed and knew that she could put a stop to it, could go to her room in the main house and be content with their date as it was, but that was not what she wanted. She wasn’t naïve, wasn’t ignorant about what paths romance could take. Owen wasn’t just taking her to a destination; they were walking toward their future. Her heart fluttered with every step.
They saw no one as they walked along together and heard little more; through the open window of a cabin came the sudden snippet of large voices and raucous laughter. A variety show was on the radio, originating from a studio many hundreds of miles away, coming through the air around them, zipping past the moon and stars.
As Owen pulled open the doors to the horse barn, their hinges creaked. Without the starry sky to provide illumination, the inside was pitch-black. With the surety of a blind man who had grown used to his surroundings, Owen found an oil lamp on a table that was invisible to Charlotte’s eyes, and brought it to life with a match. Though deep shadows danced wildly and often before her, she felt secure and unafraid because she was with Owen.
Cinnamon was happy to see them; she pawed at the ground as they approached, shaking her dark mane. Owen slipped a feed bag over the horse’s head and she ate contentedly as they cleaned out her stall. Charlotte was happy, content to work beside him, and after Owen had run a wet brush across Cinnamon’s back and sides they stood for a long while, neither of them saying a word, but both felt an undercurrent of expectation.
“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Charlotte asked.
“How could I possibly forget?”
“That moment is often the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thought I have before I go to sleep.”
“Our kiss…?”
“Mmmm,” she murmured in acknowledgment.
Owen turned to look at her then, tipping his hat back on his head, the flickering flames of the oil lamp dancing in his eyes. His big hand moved into the space between her shoulder blades. “I can’t say that memory hasn’t crossed my mind a time or two,” he said. “To say otherwise would make me one hell of a liar.”
“I’m sure you’ve shared plenty of kisses with other women,” she teased, “kisses that were much more memorable than ours.”
“Not a one, Charlie,” he answered quickly, his tone suddenly serious as he released her and looked into her eyes. “No kiss I’ve ever had could compare with the one I shared with you.”
Charlotte was not so naïve that she didn’t know a man as handsome as Owen had attracted other women. Some doubtlessly wanted him desperately. She was certainly not the first to taste his kisses, but the strength of Owen’s declaration, the power contained in his words, told her all she wanted to know. She went willingly, eagerly, although a touch nervously into his arms.
“I’ve never expected to feel this way, Owen,” she confessed. “I thought this happened only
in the movies or in books, that it existed only in fantasies that lonely women told themselves to make up for the life they were living, but not the life they wanted. But then I met you.”
“So what do you think now?” he asked, holding her closer, his thumbs tracing a gentle path over her bare skin.
This was Charlotte’s moment of truth. Should she dare to reveal her true feelings, to climb out on a limb, vulnerable, allowing herself to be hurt if Owen did not return her affection? It was daunting, but she had never been the sort of woman who was afraid to take a chance or who would run from something because it was difficult.
“I think, no, I’m sure I’m falling in love with you,” she said, taking the chance.
Her honesty momentarily took Owen aback, her words were a commitment, and he must decide if he wished to match it.
“I hope that I can be worthy of your love,” he said.
“In the end, that’s for me to decide.”
Owen nodded. “I understand that it was hard for you to say right out,” he said, pausing before adding, “because I’ve had to make a few hard choices in my life.”
“What are you saying?”
“Love is something that I don’t make any claims to understand. Horses,” he said with a grin, “now them I know. But growing up as Hannah and I did, never knowing my father and having to struggle every step of the way, meant love was a luxury that I couldn’t afford to even think about.”
“You loved your mother and I can tell you love your sister from the way you take care of her.”
“You’re right,” Owen said, his voice soft. “But I’ve not been able to consider love, real love, with a woman.”
“Don’t you want a woman of your own, Owen?”
“Are you applying for the job?” he teased. “After all, you’re the perfect candidate.”
Giving her no time to respond, Owen gathered her into his arms as his lips hungrily found her own. She rose on her tiptoes to meet him, settling her arms behind his neck, her fingers burying into his thick hair.
Charlotte held her eyes shut as she allowed herself to be carried away by the moment, as if looking on what they were sharing might cause it to suddenly vanish like a dream that was too good to be true. She had kissed boys before, nothing more than school ground flirtations, but kissing Owen, kissing the man who had won her heart, was an experience she didn’t want to end. When his tongue entered her mouth, she wasn’t repulsed but captivated and playfully nibbled on his lips in return and entwined her fingers into his hair so tightly that he gasped.
Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] Page 21
