by Deeanne Gist
“Not on purpose. She recognized me. What was I supposed to do?”
Essie spun around, no longer willing to face him. “Oooooh, I cannot even believe this is happening.”
“What’s wrong with Mrs. Lockhart knowing who I am?”
Essie covered her face with her hands. “Don’t you see how humiliating this is? ‘Poor little Essie Spreckelmeyer, the wallflower of Corsicana, finally gets herself a man because she comes part and parcel with the biggest oil company in Texas.’ ”
“Now, just a minute,” he said, grabbing her arm and jerking her back around. “That’s about the stupidest thing I ever heard and not a single soul would ever believe it. You’re smart, you’re pretty, you have a zest for living that others only dream about. You’ve accomplished more in your short life than most could accomplish in two lifetimes, you think nothing of risking your own skin to save somebody else’s, and you make the best green corn patties I’ve ever tasted in my life. That oil company is nothing compared to you.”
Her jaw slackened. “When have you had my green corn patties?”
“On the Fourth of July.”
She stared at him, completely befuddled. “You think I’m pretty?”
“What fool kind of question is that? You’re bound to own a mirror, so you know good and well you’re pretty.”
By slow degrees, her expression softened. “Thank you.” Her gaze swept over him. “I think you’re pretty, too.”
He frowned. “Men are not pretty.”
A smile crept onto her face. “Tony Bryant’s pretty,” she crooned in a soft, whispery voice.
It took him a moment to register she wasn’t baiting him but was instead teasing him. And smiling. She wasn’t angry anymore.
He let out a sigh of relief, then smoothed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “My name is Tony Morgan. Tony Bryant Morgan.”
“Ahhh. That’s right. I forgot. Tony Bryant Morgan is pretty.”
“He is not.”
“He is, too.”
The light picked up the laughter in her eyes, the peaches in her skin.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise you this: I’ll never, ever be anything but completely honest with you henceforth and forevermore.”
Her amusement was slowly replaced with a touch of vulnerability. “Is there going to be a forevermore, Tony?”
Slipping his arms around her waist, he gently drew her close. “There will be if I have anything to say about it.”
He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. Not the way he’d have liked to, but the way he ought to. He tucked her more tightly against him, inhaling her scent, testing the way she felt in his embrace. Her arms snaked up around his neck, her fingers stroking the hair at his collar as she returned his kiss with the same enthusiasm she brought to most everything else she did.
Desire rushed through him and he forced himself to pull back. The yearning he saw in her eyes nearly undid him. Groaning, he pressed his face against her neck and helped himself to the tiniest of tastes before setting her at arm’s length.
“I think we’d better head on home, Essie,” he said, breathing heavily as he waited for the fog in her expression to clear. When it did, she gave him a tender smile, not at all embarrassed by her passion or his.
For the next two weeks, Tony hardly saw Essie outside their training sessions. Even then, with the date of the bicycle race drawing near, all her energies were focused on the track, not the courtship— though he did manage to steal a kiss or two.
Still, she broke their fishing date when an argument flared up amongst her organizers over who was to be the grand marshal for the bicycle parade. Some thought it should be the mayor, others thought it should be a wheeler.
He tried to take her to the soda shop, but she insisted she didn’t have time; race headquarters needed to be set up downtown instead.
On Saturday, the hospitality committee had proposed to greet guests at the front door of the Commercial Hotel with a white porcelain bathtub filled with punch and large cakes of ice. The preacher was none too happy about it.
He’d nodded coolly to Tony. And though Tony was careful to acknowledge the preacher’s greeting, he accepted the fact that some folks were not as friendly as they used to be now that they’d discovered he was a Morgan.
“My congregation is scandalized at the very idea of using a bathtub in public,” Wortham said to Essie.
“But a bathtub is perfect,” she argued. “Think of all the filling and refilling of punch bowls we’d have to deal with otherwise, not to mention the chipping of ice.”
“How ’bout using a horse trough?”
“A horse trough! I can’t have our guests drinking out of the same thing their horses do.”
“A coffin?”
“Ewing, would you please be serious?”
“I am. All my elders are breathing down my neck and a coffin is where I’m gonna end up if you insist on using that bathtub!”
“Listen, if you’re so concerned with propriety, why don’t you and your elders park yourselves in front of Rosenburg’s Saloon and save a few souls instead of pestering me?”
In the end, she got her way, but it caused a strain between her and Ewing, and various members of her church took her to task on Sunday morning, though she didn’t seem too terribly concerned.
Tony’s relief at no longer having to hide his identity had filled him with an unprecedented sense of freedom—regardless of the censure bestowed by a few Corsicanans. Judge Spreckelmeyer had told Moss that he’d known all along Tony was a Morgan—which turned out to be the case—and that he’d thought it best if the boys judged him on his own merits before finding out who he was.
There was a bit of awkwardness among the Sullivan Oil hands for a few days, but M.C.’s crew had no such reservations. Since the other men on the patch held them in awe, their obvious respect went a long way in restoring Tony’s standing in the fields.
Mrs. Lockhart returned from her second trip to Beaumont in just as many weeks, catching up to him on her bike in front of Castle’s Drug Store.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
He assisted her off her wheel, took hold of the handlebars, then glanced up and down the street. “Shall we walk?”
As soon as they were out of earshot, she stopped. “Anna is being most uncooperative. She refuses to enter a convent. She doesn’t find the idea of being swept out to sea by a pirate the least bit intriguing. And she claims you are the only relative she has that would be willing to stand up to Darius.”
“You found a pirate?” he asked, shocked.
“Well, no. But I’m sure I could have.”
He blinked. “I see. Well, Anna’s got the right of it. Convents and pirates are not at all how I would have her proceed. And Grandfather Bryant would have taken her in, but he passed several years ago.”
He turned the bike in the direction of Mrs. Lockhart’s home and started walking again. “How’s Mother holding up? Did Anna say?”
“Your mother has taken to her bed. She’ll be of no help whatsoever.” “No. That doesn’t surprise me.”
“And I’ve a bit more bad news, I’m afraid.”
He glanced at her. “What?”
“Morgan Oil is entering the bicycle race.”
He stopped. “Our bicycle race?”
“The very same.”
“But, Morgan Oil has never once accepted the invitation. It was only extended to us out of courtesy. Everyone knows we wouldn’t accept.”
She said nothing.
He narrowed his eyes. “Darius is clearly meddling. He’s only entering because he knows I’m racing for Sullivan Oil.”
“That was Anna’s opinion, too.”
“Has a wedding date for her been set?”
“August thirteenth.”
The tick in his jaw began to pulse. “Come on. Let’s get you home. For now, I’ve got to get through this race. But after that, I’m taking care of Anna. And Darius, too.”
Half an
hour later, he stormed into the bicycle club. A large group of women sat in a circle, hemming blue-and-white sashes for the assistant parade marshals.
Their chattering came to an abrupt halt at his entry, but he couldn’t have cared less. He walked directly to Essie and snatched the sash she was stitching out of her hands.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
“What’s happened?”
“I’m sick and tired of playing second fiddle to a bicycle race. I want to go to the soda shop, and I want to go right now.”
She pulled the sash back into her lap. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got more to do than I can possibly finish before Saturday arrives. I can no more go to—”
He reached down, pulled her to her feet, then leaned so close he could count her eyelashes. “Put that sash down, Esther Spreckelmeyer.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you bully me. I will not leave my members in their time of need.”
“You wanna make a bet?”
Shirley Gillespie stepped beside them and reached for the sash. “Go on, Essie. You’ve been working ten times harder than the rest of us. A walk to the soda shop will do you wonders.”
Essie tightened her hold on the sash. “I don’t want to go to the soda shop. I want to hem sashes.”
Shirley began to peel Essie’s fingers away from the fabric. “We’ll be fine. Won’t we, girls?”
A chorus of affirmations filled the room, urging Essie to go.
He could see it was a matter of pride now, and if nothing else, Essie had more than her fair share of pride.
He placed his lips next to her ear and whispered, “I want a kiss and I’m not waiting one more minute. So you can either come outside and give me one or I’ll take it right here in front of God and everybody.”
She immediately let go of the sash. “Good heavens.” She glanced at her members. “Ladies, I’m afraid I must—”
“Go on, honey,” Mrs. McCabe said. “You give that young man of yours a little attention.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Bunert said. “You’ll find your man has to roar like a lion and posture and establish himself as king of the jungle. But don’t let it trouble you none. We all know it’s the lioness who’s really in charge.”
“It’s the lioness who does all the work, you mean,” Mrs. Gulick said. “While the ‘king’ lounges around and waits for his supper to get hunted, caught, killed, and laid at his feet.”
Shirley gently pushed them toward the door. “Perhaps y’all had better get going.”
Tony glanced around. “Actually, I’m thinking about changing my mind and helping with the sashes. The conversation has become rather … enlightening.” He winked at Mrs. Zimpelman.
The women tittered. If they had been surprised to find out he was a Morgan, they’d been quick to come to his defense when townsfolk had a cross word to say about it. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn their loyalty, but he was sure glad he had it.
Even still, he didn’t linger. Clasping Essie’s hand, he pulled her out the door, down the steps and around to the side of the building lickety-split.
Pressing her against the wall, he covered her mouth with his.
Their kiss was long, wet, and pure heaven.
“I thought you were taking me to the soda shop,” she murmured against his lips.
“I am.” Holding her face with his hands, he kissed her again, running his thumbs along her jaw, her ears, her neck. “I’ve missed you.”
“ Mmmm.”
When his passion began to outpace his good sense, he buried his fingers into her hair and pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.
“ I can only afford one soda,” he said. “You want a Coca-Cola or a Dr. Pepper?”
She smiled. “I like them both. It makes no difference to me.”
“Let’s go, then.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he headed toward town, looking forward to sharing a drink in one glass with two straws.
chapter TWENTY-TWO
TIPPING HIS hat, Tony stepped off the boardwalk, allowing two women to squeeze past. Town was always crowded, but with tomorrow’s parade and race, the streets, hotels, and restaurants teemed with people.
A wheeler darted between an oncoming carriage and a wagon. Drivers cursed and horses whinnied, but the rider gave them no heed. Turning south, he hugged the edge of the street, heading straight for Tony.
Tony jumped back onto the walkway and out of the way, accidentally jostling a farmer and his son.
“Excuse me.”
The man had no time to respond before he was caught up in the movement of the crowd. The bicyclist whizzed past.
Glancing over everyone’s heads, Tony spotted the Commercial Hotel another block up the road. In conjunction with City Hall, Essie’s club was hosting a reception for the oil companies participating in the race. He’d received a telegram from his mother. She, Anna, and Darius would be attending. Fortunately, Anna’s betrothed planned to stay behind in Beaumont.
Tony looked both ways, then loped across the street, avoiding horse droppings and dodging traffic. At the steps leading to the hotel, he paused to brush off the front and shoulders of his jacket. It would be the first time he’d seen his family since being disinherited.
“What’s the matter? Worried they won’t allow a field worker into the party?”
Recognizing his brother’s voice, Tony glanced sharply over his shoulder. Darius approached the steps, sporting a new goatee, carefully shaped and trimmed. His Prince Albert suit, however, fit a bit too loosely. Seemed he’d lost some weight. On his arm, Mother stood in her widow’s weeds. She frowned up at Darius before sending a sympathetic smile in Tony’s direction.
“Tony!” Anna gasped, drawing his attention. A vision in white and yellow, she wore the diametrical opposite of Mother’s black clothing.
He barely had a chance to take it all in before his sister launched herself into his arms. Managing to stay upright, he clasped her tightly while her feet dangled above the boardwalk.
“You have my word,” he whispered, “you’ll not marry Tubbs or anyone else unless you want to.”
“Oh, Tony,” she responded, her voice cracking.
He gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“I absolutely adore Mrs. Lockhart,” she said quietly in Tony’s ear. “Thank you for sending her.”
“Anna,” Mother hissed. “Would you please conduct yourself with at least some semblance of decorum. Get down. Tony, release her at once.”
He lowered her to the ground and brought his mother’s gloved hand to his lips, her familiar scent of lavender teasing his nose. “You are looking well, ma’am.”
His words contradicted his thoughts, though. The severe black gown accentuated her drawn appearance and sallow coloring. Even the powder she’d used could not disguise the circles beneath her eyes. Were they testament to her grief or to her distress over the events following Dad’s death?
“If you would, Dogbone,” Darius said, his tone sarcastic, “be a good boy and follow a few steps behind us. I don’t want anyone to think we’re together.”
“Enough of that, now,” Mother said.
Darius placed his hand under her elbow and guided her up the stairs.
Tony watched them pass, then looked at Anna.
She rolled her eyes, holding Tony back out of Darius’s hearing.
“He’s been an absolute beast. For a while now I’ve been wishing Dad had disinherited me, too. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with our charming brother day in and day out.”
For a split second, Essie thought Tony had grown a goatee overnight. Then she realized it wasn’t Tony at all, but his brother. She stood at the hotel’s parlor door, receiving guests with Mayor Whiteselle on her left and his wife on her right. A good many folks had arrived already, and the pleasant hum of conversation drifted about them.
She was so caught up in studying Darius, she failed to notice the person ahead of him in line until the woman spoke.
/> “How do you do?”
Essie jerked her attention to the task at hand. “Ma’am. Thank you so much for coming, and welcome to the Corsicana Oil & Gas Bicycle Invitational. I’m Essie Spreckelmeyer.”
“Miss Spreckelmeyer, at last. So nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Essie felt her face heat, silently cursing that blasted newspaper article. She never knew how to respond to references of this sort.
Saying “thank you” didn’t seem quite right, yet ignoring the comment wasn’t acceptable, either.
“Ma’am. And you are?”
“Leah Morgan. I’ve heard my Tony is courting you?”
Essie’s lips parted. This was Tony’s mother? Good heavens. She was clearly much younger than Essie’s parents, yet she looked so tired and downtrodden. Did she mourn for a man who never saw fit to love her back? Did she mourn for him the way Papa mourned for Mother?
She squeezed Mrs. Morgan’s hand. “Yes, ma’am. Tony and I are indeed courting. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I would very much like to find a few moments to visit later, if you are able. For now, however, please allow me to introduce you to our mayor’s wife.”
She made the introductions, noting that while Mrs. Morgan’s black silk gown was fashionable, the style was quite severe.
“Would you look at that?” Tony’s brother said, drawing Essie’s regard. “Punch served out of a bathtub.” He smiled at her. “How quaint.”
His eyes were the same coffee color as Tony’s. Same broad shoulders, same height, same hair, no dimple.
“You must be Mr. Morgan,” she said. “Welcome to the Corsicana Oil & Gas Bicycle Invitational. I’m Miss Spreckelmeyer.”
“Not the Miss Spreckelmeyer?” he asked, taking a step back and looking her up and down. “The one who is so well known for her participation in a bicycle, um, competition up north?”
He might look like Tony at first glance, but his skin had a distinctly yellowish tint to it, giving him an unhealthy appearance. And the warmth of his voice did not match the coolness of his eyes.
“Even more important, though,” he continued, “the Miss Spreckelmeyer whom my half brother has taken such keen notice of?”
