Under the Summer Sky

by Lori Copeland

  Lil nodded. “You want a sody or root beer? I wouldn’t complain none if you wanted to keep me company.”

  The woman definitely had the hunting gleam in her eye. She was pretty, if you favored your women boyish and a bit scuffed up and, unless he missed his guess, feisty. The screen door opened and the town blacksmith stepped inside. Lil’s smile faded. “What do you want, Fisk?”

  The man ignored the less-than-hospitable greeting and marched to the back of the store. He returned moments later, a swath of white cloth bundled around his bulging jaw and tied in a knot at the top of his head. Until now, he hadn’t said a word.

  Lil eyed the bandage. “That tooth botherin’ you again?”

  He grunted.

  “You in pain?”

  Shifting, he glared at her.

  “Yaw. I can see you are. You better let me pull that tooth.”

  His eyes widened and he took a step back.

  “Don’t go gettin’ all squirrely on me. I ain’t gonna pull the durn thing until you let me.” She marched around the counter and located a small vial under the shelf. “You’re going through this stuff like water. Dale says he don’t have another shipment due in ’til next month. That’ll be five cents.”

  Nodding, he fished around in his pocket, a stony glare fixed on her.

  “Fork it over.”

  Five coins landed on the counter.

  “I said fork it over, not throw it over.”

  Fisk picked up the vial, meeting her glower before he gave Jones a silent greeting, turned on his heel, and left.

  Scowling at his back, Lil scooped up the coppers and dropped them in a box. She turned a hopeful smile on Jones. “Well, want that sody?”

  Jones watched the blacksmith exit. She’d been a mite hard on a man in obvious pain.

  “Thanks, but I’ll wait at the café.” He turned to leave when he caught sight of the elephant again. It was tied in front of the window. “You didn’t ride your motorcycle this morning?”

  “Nah, she’s cuttin’ out on me. I think my carburetor’s gone crazy.” She stepped around the counter and trailed him to the door. “Sure you don’t want that sody or root beer?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You can ride my cycle if ’n you want.”

  “No, but I appreciate the offer.”

  “Esau? You want to ride him?”

  “No.”

  “Say, do you know anything about carburetors?” She peered up at him. Her hair looked like she’d thrown it up in the air and jumped under it.

  “No, ma’am. Fact is, your motorcycle’s the first one I’ve ever seen. Heard about them, but never seen one.”

  “That’s too bad. I was hopin’ you might be able to give me some advice.”

  “Sorry.” He opened the door and Esau trumpeted, shattering the morning serenity. Jones mentally shook the oddity aside. For the life of him, he couldn’t see why Tom had decided to leave Chicago and stay here.

  As he passed the alleyway a shadow ducked behind a row of barrels. Intrigued, he turned and followed the silhouette. He went up to the barrels and jiggled them. The wooden containers tipped but fell back into place.

  You’re seeing things, Jones.

  He turned and had started back up the alley when he saw a flash of material behind one of the front barrels. The culprit was a mole—a sneaky mole. Pausing before the suspicious container, he nudged it with his boot. Then nudged harder. Kneeling, he pushed it aside and came face-to-face with an old man. The guilty party lowered a half-eaten pancake, forcing a remorseful smile.

  Jones eyed the pile of trash lying beside him and realized he was eating the café’s garbage. Shoving the barrel clear, he sat down with his back against the café’s outer wall. “Is this where you eat?”

  “First time I ever et here, but it’s fine fixin’s.” He extended a pancake. “Want one?”

  Jones shook his head but couldn’t shake the memories the sight evoked. He’d lived on the streets as a young man, and had eaten many a meal from the same source. “Thanks, but I had my breakfast earlier.”

  They sat in silence. “Name’s Benjamin,” the man said finally. “Benjamin Henry Cooper.”

  Jones took the grimy hand. “Jones.”

  “Mighty glad to meet you, Jones.”

  “You lived in these parts long?”

  “No, just got here.” He rummaged in the trash for a moment. “You live here?”

  “Just passing through. I work for the railroad.”

  “That a fact? You like what you do?”

  “It’s a living.” Jones eyed the soggy pancake. “Why don’t you put that away and come inside the café? I’ll buy you breakfast, and you can keep me company while I have a cup of coffee.”

  The old gent glanced up, pancake halfway to his mouth. “Why would you waste the money?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like to see folks eat garbage.” He’d left home when he was fifteen—though by that time it had ceased to be home. When his father married a woman who didn’t take to children other than her own he’d become an outsider, a nuisance. Something to be ignored.

  “Perfectly good eats,” the old fellow argued. “Folks nowadays are wasteful. Now, this here pancake’s still got a little warmth in it.” He studied it. “Right amount of butter, good and soggy with plenty of maple syrup.”

  “Indulge me. Let’s go inside and get you some hot food.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t.” He glanced out at the street. “She might see me.”

  “Who might see you?”

  “Her.” He pointed. “That purty little lady lookin’ for her Aunt Pauline.”

  Jones glanced toward the alleyway entrance. “Do you know her?”

  “A bit.”

  The old-timer wasn’t making a lick of sense. Why would he follow a stubborn, impractical young woman like Trinity to Dwadlo? He shifted. “What do you want with her?”

  Benjamin licked butter off his fingers. “Used to have feelin’s for her aunt. Real powerful ones. Made my heart all ajigger. I figgered she was dead by now, but I got wind that she was still alive and living here in Dwadlo.”

  Settling back, Jones sorted the information. “You used to be sweet on Trinity’s aunt?”

  “Yep, that little lady’s her great grandniece…or somethin’ like that. There could be another great in there. I wasn’t listenin’ overly close.”

  Jones lifted his hat and wiped his brow. Dwadlo just got stranger.

  “You ever been in love, son?”

  “No, sir. Not the marrying kind of love.” The last thing he needed was a woman ordering him around like his stepmother.

  “Seems odd for a feller your age. Most men are lookin’ if they’re not already taken.”

  “No time, sir. No time. I’m headed out to purchase a piece of land and then I’ll be riding back to Chicago.”

  “Eager to get there, huh?”

  He flashed a quick grin. “Mrs. Curtis should be back by now. Once I send a wire, I’m heading out.”

  “Miss Mae took Trinity out to visit Pauline this morning.”

  Jones shook his head. “You’ve been spying on her?”

  Behind him there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by an angry female voice. “You’ve been following me?”

  Both men started. The two women had approached without making a sound.

  The old-timer scrambled to his feet, dropping a third pancake. Jones slowly rose to meet Trinity’s flashing eyes. Mae Curtis stood beside her, cheeks flushed. “Don’t sneak up on a man like that!” Jones snapped.

  “You should talk,” Trinity noted.

  She could not get that barrel incident out of her craw. He met her stare. “You could get hurt.”

  Her chin lifted. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Take it any way you want, lady.”

  “Jones. Trinity. Let’s retain a smidgen of good manners,” Mae cautioned.

  Trinity focused on the prospector. “And what are you doing here, Benj
amin?”

  He held up his hands. “Now, before you bust a gusset, let me explain.”

  “You followed me.”

  Benjamin nodded. “I did. Guilty as accused.”

  Trinity turned to Mae. “He had feelings for Pauline years ago. Decades ago. Seems he never got over it.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “Never.” He pointed at his chest. “Still pains me right here, real hurtful, like a bullet shot clean through the heart.”

  Jones spotted a grin starting at the corner of Mae’s mouth, but she caught it before it broke out. She nodded, her face perfectly straight. “Don’t you know, sir, that a gentleman should not follow a woman?”

  He bristled. “I ain’t followin’ Pauline. I’ve left her alone for forty-five years.”

  “Look.” Jones held up a hand, hoping to put an end to the conversation. “The fellow is about to move on.”

  “I ain’t either. I’ve come to see my woman.” His whiskered chin quivered with determination.

  “She isn’t your woman,” Trinity said, and then her tone softened. “I’m afraid she wouldn’t remember you.”

  He looked at her sideways. “Is she actin’ nuttier than a squirrel in the fall, and don’t know if up is down or front is sideways?”

  Trinity glanced at Mae. “Well…yes.”

  He shook his head. “That’s just Pauline. She was always nuttier than a pecan pie, but purty. Real purty.” He clasped his hands to his heart. “Her smile could melt the coldest snow in winter.”

  Jones shook his head. “I need to send a wire, and then you can ride out with me.”

  Half an hour later, the wire had been sent and Jones was saddling up. The prospector brought his jenny to the rail and prepared to leave. Jones glanced at the old man and almost felt sorry for him. He had to be up there in years. He’d carried a torch a long time for a woman nobody would claim. “You’re welcome to ride with me until Fargo. That’s where I’ll veer off and head for Chicago.”

  The man shook his head and went about tightening the straps in silence. He was put out, but Jones wasn’t his nanny. He shouldn’t be hanging around bothering the womenfolk.

  Jones mounted up. Trinity stood on the front porch of the store, watching him. For a moment he felt sorry for her—and then he remembered their squabble last night and his sympathy died. She was a hard-headed one. He tipped his hat politely. “Goodbye, Miss Franklin.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “Goodbye, Mr. Jones.”

  “Stop by anytime you’re out this way!” Mae called. “We loved having you!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Tell Tom to behave himself.” With a final glance at Trinity, he made a clucking noise and was on his way.

  The rattle of pots and pans accompanied the two men out of town.

  Trinity watched his back as he left. A niggle of doubt remained. She’d love nothing more than to see Jones ride off and bring their bizarre relationship to a close. But what if he was her last chance at selling her land? The Milwaukee Railroad wasn’t going to offer the sum Robert had suggested…but Jones got under her skin. She’d sooner eat a skunk than sell him her land.

  Mae’s voice broke into her troubled thoughts. “Mercy, it’s hot. Shall we go inside and have something cool to drink?”

  “Thank you, but I think I’ll go back to my room and rest.” It was sweltering, and she had some thinking to do. Some serious thinking. Was she actually going to let Jones ride away? She could easily catch up with him and accept his offer, though it would pain her…but better misery than poverty.

  At least one of them was being very foolish. Quite stupid, actually.

  “Mae…”

  She turned in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Am I being illogical?” Trinity hardly knew this woman, but instinct told her she could trust her. “Should I have sold the land to Jones?”

  Frowning, Mae removed her hat, fanning her face. “Perhaps you were being a mite hasty last night.”

  “Yes, I fear that I was. Hasty is the word. Do you think I should go after him and accept his offer?”

  “That’s a question only you can answer.”

  “The man annoys me. Greatly.”

  Sighing, Mae smiled. “It doesn’t take much to see that, but all men have a way of getting under a woman’s skin. My Tom and I had quite a merry chase during our courting period, but perhaps a body ought not to cut off his nose to spite his face.”

  “Courting! I wouldn’t see the man socially if he were the last one on earth.” She fumed, but had to acknowledge the wisdom of what Mae said. “But…thank you. Thank you for your honesty.” She started off the porch.

  “Supper tonight?” asked Mae.

  “I’ll let you know. I may decide to take a ride in a bit.”

  Nine

  Spotting a pond, Jones reined up a few miles out of town. His horse was already breathing hard and this might be the last water for a while.

  Since they passed a pumpkin patch the old-timer had been steadily dropping behind until he was a good distance away. The heat must be getting to him: in the past half hour his form had slumped down, draped on the animal’s neck. The jenny’s hooves plodded along, pots and pans rattling.

  Jones removed his hat and wiped away the sweat. Why had he invited him to ride along? They still had a fair ways to go before they separated, and the old man couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up. But then, he didn’t appear to be the sort who got in a hurry.

  What to do? He didn’t want the man dying on him, but neither could he afford a long delay. As the jenny drew closer, he squinted. Then he muttered under his breath and slapped a hand against his thigh. The old coot had pulled a fast one. What he had assumed was the old prospector barely hanging on was a couple of rolled-up blankets and a pumpkin with the old man’s hat on it. Jones took a closer look. The man had cut a hole in the bottom of the pumpkin and impaled it on the saddle horn.

  He looked up, his gaze focusing on an approaching traveler. Benjamin? Had he changed his mind and decided to come back?

  Trinity removed her hat and dabbed the moisture off her forehead as she approached Jones, leading her rented horse. She’d vacated the saddle some time earlier. The animal had a terrible gait and she’d prefer blisters on her feet to sores on her backside. “Is it always this hot?” she complained.

  “I wouldn’t know, ma’am. Just passing through.” He peered around her. The old prospector was nowhere in sight.

  Trinity tucked her hanky into her waistband. “You must be wondering what I’m doing here,” she said.

  “The thought did cross my mind.” He looked at her, realizing in spite of himself that she was pretty—big brown eyes and strawberry red hair. Freckles, but skin so clear a baby would envy her. The tiny brown fleck near her mouth intrigued him. Made a man tempted to explore it…

  Her gaze swept the area, landing on the pumpkin. “Where’s Benjamin?”

  “That’s what I was wondering. He was behind me half an hour ago but must have pulled a fast one.”

  She turned questioning eyes on him.

  “The old fellow rigged up his mule to look like he was still on it. I don’t know where he went, and I’m in no mood to go searching.” His gaze scanned the area, then turned back to here. “Why are you here?”

  She drew a breath and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve reconsidered your land offer, and I accept if you add another fifty dollars.”

  “Fifty dollars.”

  “Yes, and I would like the money wired to Sioux Falls. I’d not want to carry such a large amount on my way back.”

  “I reckon you wouldn’t.”

  “And I want to complete the transaction as soon as possible. I’m anxious to go home.”

  Grabbing the jenny’s bridle, Jones mounted his horse. She’d come all this way to demand money? Well, she’d had her offer. Chances were he’d bid too much for a piece of land she didn’t have a clear deed to anyway. She’d refused his proposition, and he was free to rescind the offer. Her loss. Brown eyes and red h
air didn’t sway him. Or that cute mole at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry, ma’am, but the offer’s off the table. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’ve decided that I’d have to see the property before I purchase it.”

  She sucked in her breath audibly. “You would go back on your word?”

  “No, ma’am. I’d have stood straight by my word last night.” He flashed a grin. “But that was yesterday. It’s morning now—late morning—and I’m having second thoughts.” He nudged his horse’s flank and started to ride off at a trot. Running after, she dogged his heels.

  “That’s completely unfair!”

  “No, it would be unfair of you to take advantage of me,” he pointed out. “I haven’t seen the land—don’t even know for certain it exists.”

  “You were there!”

  “Near there—and I wasn’t concentrating on the land. And you need a deed to sell. That’s just plain fact. I’d have to take your word that you own the property outright, and I don’t know you.”

  “You know Tom, and he said it was a good buy!”

  “Could be, but Tom isn’t purchasing anymore. I am, and I’m responsible for my own actions.” He clucked, picking up the horse’s pace.

  “Wait!” She slowed, winded now. Kicking himself, he reined in the horse and rode back. He stared down at her.

  “What?”

  “I’ll take twenty dollars less.”

  He whistled appreciatively. “Twenty dollars less. For prime land?”

  Nodding, she tucked stray wisps of hair under her straw hat. “Twenty-five…and not a penny less.”

  He sat, considering, and then shook his head. “That makes me suspicious. Why would you take less for a prime piece of property?” By the set of her jaw, he knew that if she were prone to violence he would be felled like an oak. She pressed her lips together and swatted at a gnat. He sat atop the horse, grinning.

  She finally answered through clenched teeth. “Thirty dollars, and there isn’t a thing wrong with my property. It’s the best land around, but I want to go home, Mr. Jones…” She paused. “What’s your name?”

  “Jones.”

  She met his laughing eyes. “Jones. Your name is Jones Jones?”