Engaging the Competition

by Melissa Jagears

  She rolled her eyes, but at least his teasing was better than him trying to find his way to the barn alone.

  He held out his hand—not his arm.

  Though she wanted to take his hand again, she’d have time to reflect on the feel of his fingers against hers this time, so she ignored it. With the sun out, he could surely follow if she walked slowly. “Come on.” She waved her hand until he started to trudge after her.

  She skirted puddles, and he slogged right through them. At the barn, she reopened the door the wind had blown shut.

  Her milk cow was muzzle deep in sweet feed.

  “Bonnie! Get out of there!” She shooed the cow back into her stall and shut her in. Crossing over to Sun Dance, she patted her favorite horse, who nuzzled her back. “It got a little scary there, didn’t it?”

  She brushed her fingers through Sun Dance’s mane and frowned over at Harrison. He stood leaning against his horse’s stall. “You’re not going to look for your glasses?”

  He shrugged. “If I couldn’t find them before, I’m not going to find them now—at least not without putting my nose close enough to the ground to inhale things I’m not sure I want to inhale. I figured I could patiently wait to appreciate your skill of maintaining good eyesight.” He pointed into the stall. “Though I did shove the straw against the walls to keep Dante from crushing them.”

  She crossed over to stand next to him. He certainly had pushed a bunch of the straw off the floor and against the stall, but since his glasses were six inches farther back, it’d done no good. She let herself in and took Dante’s halter.

  “Careful, he might step on them.”

  “Wouldn’t matter.” Dante followed her out. Then Charlie went back in to retrieve Harrison’s glasses. She cringed at the shattered lens and the twisted frame. “Here they are.”

  His hand flailed near hers until he clasped his glasses. His expression immediately fell. “Great.”

  “I suppose you need help home then?”

  “Home? How am I supposed to teach tomorrow?” He frowned at the glasses in his hand.

  “Can you get a pair before class starts?”

  “I have to send away for these.”

  She frowned at his pitiful expression. She’d have to do something. “Since you lost your glasses trying to save my livestock, I suppose I’ll have to help you teach.” Because that’s what she needed right now, more time with him. She sighed. She’d have to lasso in her imagination. Especially since without his glasses he was indeed as handsome as she’d suspected.

  “You’d teach my classes?” His eyebrow raised in amusement.

  “We both know book smarts will never be a skill of mine you’ll have to appreciate.” She gave him a halfhearted smile. “But I can surely help you pass out papers, rein in any ornery critters peeking at someone else’s test, or whatever else you might need help with.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  It most certainly wasn’t, but if he’d risk his life to check if the tornado had passed without his glasses for her, she could certainly step back inside a schoolroom for him.

  Stuffing his worthless spectacles into his vest pocket, Harrison cursed his dependency on them as Charlie’s vague form worked at hitching her horse to a wagon.

  He rubbed Dante’s neck. Horses might wander home on their own, but if he got in the saddle, would Dante go directly home with nothing more than a few general cues?

  There shouldn’t be much traffic on a Sunday, and surely roads were wide enough for him to see, if he squinted. He could avoid the main thoroughfares, and the clatter of wheels over brick should signal an approaching vehicle. Dante wouldn’t be stupid enough to step into traffic. Surely they could get home together—slowly.

  He took his hand off the stall gate and forged into the open area of the barn, scanning the ground, hoping to see obstacles before he ran into them. Once his hand touched the opposite wall, he trailed his fingers along its surface and cautiously made his way to Charlie. “I shouldn’t need to inconvenience you with a drive into town. I think Dante and I can get home all right.”

  “But you can’t see.”

  “I can see fuzzy shapes and colors and light. And I’m sure I can remember the turns to get home.”

  “But what if you take a wrong turn?”

  He stared at Dante’s dark shape across the barn, noisily munching on the oats Charlie had given him. “I don’t think we’ll be as bad off as that.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  He frowned at Charlie. Her face was so much a blur, all he could see was a vague bit of red for her mouth and two dark spots for her eyes. He couldn’t even tell where her hands were. “I can’t even guess.”

  “Then I’m driving you home.”

  “Maybe you could just ride to the edge of town with me. Don’t trouble yourself with the wagon.” He could still sit a horse confidently—able to see or not. He didn’t need to be babied.

  “What’re you trying to prove, Gray?”

  He lifted his eyebrows at the use of his surname. Only other men called him that.

  What was he trying to prove? More like what was she trying to prove. “I’m trying to save you the inconvenience.”

  “Nonsense. This will be nothing compared to having to lose a few days of work to help you teach.”

  “That’s just it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you can help me for—”

  “Are you saying I’m not smart enough? I know I wasn’t good in school like you were, but surely I can—”

  “No, I know you’re smart enough to help. It’s just that my glasses aren’t the kind to be sitting on a shelf somewhere. They actually have to make them. I doubt they’ll be here within a week.” Of course, he could buy glasses from one of the stores in Teaville, but spectacles sold from boxes had long ago become inadequate. Why waste the money if she could help?

  She straightened from whatever she’d been doing. “How long?”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing at least two weeks.” He squinted, trying to get a hint of her expression as she stood silently in front of him. He wished he didn’t need her that long, but how could he teach without help? He could let the grading pile up until his glasses arrived, but then he’d get too far behind. He could lecture and make the students read aloud, but there’d be no way to hide that he had to get two inches away from anything to see it. He could pat down the length of the chalkboard to find his chalk, but could he write legibly if he couldn’t see more than a word or two at a time? None of his students were troublemakers as far as he knew, but if someone wanted to get away with sleeping or cheating, they’d have an easy time of it.

  “When will you know for certain?”

  “I’ll post a telegram tomorrow. Hopefully they’ll reply with an expected arrival date within a day.” And he’d buy two pairs. He’d not get himself into this mess again.

  “So be it.” She went back to harnessing her horse.

  He gritted his teeth to keep from objecting to her helping him home again. She’d been right earlier. He hadn’t appreciated her abilities as a kid, but he’d thought he’d left his jealousy behind.

  And for some reason she believed he hated her. He’d assumed since he was a year her junior and incapable of doing the rough and tumble things that she could, she’d not have bothered to think of him at all after they were no longer in school together.

  But now that he knew Charlie craved his appreciation, he’d be careful to mute his desire to prove himself. “Thank you for being willing to help me with my classes . . . and for the ride home.”

  “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  He couldn’t really see her smile, but he could tell she was sporting one.

  Something told him she’d sorely test his newfound ability to express his gratitude in the next couple weeks—especially if she gloated each and every time he did so—or make him wish he’d admitted to admiring her earlier. If he’d not waited until he
was cooped up with her in a hole in the ground, August Whitaker might have had competition for her hand.

  Of course, he was all wrong for Charlie. . . .

  But was August Whitaker any better?

  Chapter Four

  At the back of the classroom, Charlie sat near the two girls discussing the essay they’d been assigned in Harrison’s Collegiate English class. How a really old poem Harrison had droned on about for an hour intrigued anyone was beyond her. Like most people, she’d expect a girl—if one even bothered with high school—to enroll in the Normal or the General courses since that’s all that would be necessary for a girl to teach or help with the family business until she married. Did these two girls really intend to go to college?

  More schooling? Charlie shook her head. Even if she couldn’t ranch, she’d not spend her days sitting in a dusty room reading highfalutin’ pieces of literature. Harrison seemed to know more about all these fancy words than she recalled about the plot of the last dime novel she’d read—which had been so long ago she couldn’t remember much.

  Of course, if she’d been a better reader, book learning might have been more interesting. But books weren’t nearly as fun as shooting a can off a fence.

  And no matter how much she studied, she’d never be as smart as these two girls.

  “Are you all right, Miss Andrews?” Lydia, the pretty one with the light blue eyes and the delicate heart-shaped face, stared at her.

  Charlie frowned. “Do I look ill?” She probably did; Harrison had just told her his glasses wouldn’t arrive for two-and-a-half weeks. How could she tell August she needed to postpone the wedding date she’d insisted on without saying why? For some reason, she didn’t think August would be keen on her helping Harrison for no pay—especially after the wedding.

  “No, but you did sigh with gusto.” Lydia’s lips wriggled with a suppressed smile.

  “Listening to you two talk, I wish God had given me the smarts to actually be interested in this Virgil fellow’s stories.” Charlie shrugged at the other girl, who looked worried. Beatrice wasn’t as pretty as Lydia, but she was heaps prettier than Charlie and smarter than the both of them.

  “Well, I’m actually not that smart. Not like Beatrice anyway.”

  The redhead rolled her eyes. “Hush, Lydia. You’re plenty smart.”

  Lydia shook her head, her brown ringlets bouncing against her creamy neck—the girl probably hadn’t ever been out in the sun. “Beatrice was born smart. I just work hard.”

  The girl was delusional if she thought she wasn’t smart, but if she really did have to work so hard . . . “Then why are you taking the hardest courses?”

  Lydia shrugged. “I like a challenge.”

  Charlie huffed. There were far more enjoyable challenges to be had.

  “You should find something you enjoy reading, Miss Andrews.” Beatrice brushed back her wayward red hair. “One of my cousins loathed reading until he found Gulliver’s Travels. Then he wouldn’t stop. Sometimes you just have to find something to spark your fancy.”

  The only reason Charlie had ever wanted to read was to impress Harrison, but that had been years ago. She looked over to where he sat huddled with a group of boys near the window. Well, it used to be a window, but now it was boarded up since the storm had blown a tree limb through it.

  With his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he listened to his students discussing whatever essay topic he’d given them, she recalled the times he’d helped her figure out what to write when her mind had blanked after being assigned a composition. It was hard enough being older than everyone in the class, but to have to rely on a younger boy’s help to get a passable grade . . .

  She’d once tried to memorize a poem he’d liked in grade school, but by the time she’d gotten halfway through, the Christmas program was over and she had to abandon the task to keep up with the rest of her schoolwork. She never understood why Daddy insisted she finish school when she was educated enough to help around the farm.

  “So that’s what sparks your fancy.” Beatrice giggled.

  “What?”

  Lydia tipped her head toward Harrison’s group. “Him.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I don’t blame you. Without his glasses, he’s handsome.”

  Charlie dropped her gaze to the quizzes she was supposed to be grading and straightened them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an engaged woman.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  “No it’s not.” Beatrice elbowed Lydia. “Mr. Gray’s still in the running for you then.” Beatrice’s eyes glittered and she leaned over to whisper. “Lydia’s a sucker for men who quote literature, and Mr. Gray can’t be much older than us, right?”

  Beatrice peeked over Lydia’s shoulder but dropped her gaze the second Harrison looked their way—even though she must know he couldn’t see past his hands without his glasses. “My brothers are probably his age,” she whispered to Lydia. “My own folks are eleven years apart.”

  He was definitely within eleven years of them, close enough for husband material once they left school. The realization ruffled Charlie’s feathers more than an engaged woman’s feathers ought to be ruffled. It didn’t matter if he married ten years younger or ten years older. Not at all.

  “Who’re you marrying, Miss Andrews?”

  Charlie finished checking a quiz before answering. “August Whitaker.”

  “Oh, the Whitakers.” Beatrice frowned. “They’ve got a kid in almost every class. Haven and Dawn are meaner than two boy bullies put together. My sister’s scared of them though she’s a head taller than both.”

  Lydia scrunched her mouth. “Cash is often in my classes, and he’s never been pleasant.” She glanced at Charlie. “But I’m sure they can’t all be bad eggs.”

  Charlie realized she was pinching the bridge of her nose and released it. She didn’t know much about August, but he was definitely nicer than Royal. Not that she expected him to be her dream come true or anything. But what if she just hadn’t ever seen the mean side of him before?

  Lydia and Beatrice resumed discussing the role of dreams in The Aeneid, and Charlie tried to focus on grading the quizzes before the end of the period. However, her mind kept trying to work through her marital choices again—as if she had more than one.

  Well, of course, there was another choice—she could simply let go of her property—but she loved her mother too much to do so.

  Too bad she’d been so proficient at annoying Royal in school. How was she supposed to know his pestering had been because he liked her and that annoying him back was interpreted as returned interest? And evidently he still liked her. Enough that, even though she’d flat-out refused his proposal last year, he thought stealing her things and luring her ranch hands away would make her beg him to propose again.

  Because bankrupting a woman was evidently how a bully attempts to win a woman’s heart.

  Charlie cringed at the hole she’d scratched in someone’s paper by being too decisive at marking something wrong.

  Of course, reporting Royal to the sheriff would be useless. The lawman was related to the family, and she had no real proof anyway. And though he could steal away her hired hands, he wouldn’t be able to run off a husband. Though a jilted Royal might be meaner than a lovesick one.

  But then she’d struck on a genius plan. His brother August, although big and seemingly slow, was smart enough to calculate the worth of her miles of river-bottom land and had accepted her proposal. And one positive thing about the mean bunch of Whitakers—they looked out for kin above all else. They’d not let one brother destroy another.

  Marrying August meant she’d not lose the house her mother so desperately needed. Momma still made Daddy breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Still pulled his slippers from the bedroom closet and put them away at bedtime. Still bought him his cherry tobacco. Thankfully the store owner thought Charlie was unwomanly enough to have a chewing habit.

  The two times she’d tried to convinc
e her mother Daddy was truly gone, she’d turned hysterical and quit eating for a week. Once Charlie gave in and started pretending her father was still alive—dirtying his old coffee mug, mussing his side of the bed—her mother started eating again.

  She’d already lost her father—she couldn’t bear having her mother trip headlong into insanity.

  Harrison’s hand patted her stack. “Are you done?”

  She blinked and looked around at the empty classroom. She still had several more to finish—how long had she stared off into space trying to convince herself she was doing the right thing?

  He must think her totally incompetent. The quizzes shouldn’t have taken her more than ten minutes. “No. I got lost in thought, but I’ll hurry.”

  She shouldn’t spend any more time alone with Harrison than necessary. August might get jealous.

  Oh, why did Harrison visit the farm last Sunday? And why was he as nice and kind as she remembered—well, before she outshot him anyway. No wonder Lydia had a crush on their teacher. He was patient and helpful and, as they said, quite gorgeous.

  Cash Whitaker.

  Wait. She stopped writing the grade atop the paper and looked at the student’s name again. “You have a Whitaker in this class?”

  “Cash?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, hoping she was grading some other teacher’s quizzes.

  “He sits by the second window.”

  She finished writing Cash’s ninety percent score and flipped the page over. No reason to panic. Cash likely cared little about the identity of his teacher’s temporary assistant.

  “Ugh.” She pressed a hand against her stomach. She couldn’t ruin things with August. She had to keep her mother sane.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just school.” She rushed through the next student’s ten questions. “I don’t see any reason why someone would go through more schooling than necessary.”

  “So I take it you didn’t enjoy my lecture on The Aeneid?”

  “I didn’t listen much, not worth storing in my brain.”