Summer Lightning

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “No, thanks. I’d best be heading back. Lots to see to when you’ve been gone a week.”

  “I bet those pretty girls of yours seem to have shot up since you left.”

  “They sure have.” Jeff turned to Edith. “You won’t believe it, Edith, but they were just babies last week.”

  After some more good-byes and Dulcie’s surprisingly warm farewell embrace that left Edith shy and bewildered, Jeff and Edith walked out to the street. Standing by the boardwalk, Miss Albans and Miss Climson had paused to talk privately.

  Jeff tipped his hat as he opened the gate. “Good day, ladies. Hasn’t the weather turned sunny?”

  Watching carefully, Edith saw no sparks fly between Jeff and either of the two young women.

  Miss Climson said, “I’ll want to have a talk with you about Louise, Mr. Dane. We really can’t have her running wild about the schoolyard like she did last year. And your younger child will be starting this fall too, won’t she?”

  “Yes, Maribel will be there. And Louise has grown up a lot since that little incident with the firecracker.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m all for patriotic fervor but not five months before Independence Day.”

  “I agree completely, Miss Climson.”

  Miss Climson said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker. I hope to see you again soon. Good day.” The school teacher began to walk away.

  Miss Albans said, “My best to your father,” before she followed her friend. Mrs. Green had evidently gone hurrying home to her sons. Edith wondered if sparks ever flew between the warmhearted matron and the widowed man beside her. She was ashamed to admit, in the secret, darkest depths of her soul, that she hoped they did not.

  “I want to stop by Mrs. Green’s a moment,” Edith said. “She promised to give me a pattern for a new style of rose.”

  “A flower?”

  “For embroidery.” She sat on the edge of the buggy’s seat, pressed into the rail at the side, recalling from the earlier ride how close his thigh lay next to hers on the seat.

  “All right, but please don’t stay long. I’ve got to get back. Chores can’t wait for gossip.”

  “I don’t know enough about the townspeople to gossip.”

  “Mrs. Green does.”

  As soon as the buggy drew up in front of the small house, Mrs. Green waved from the window. Then she came out, empty-handed. “I’m so sorry, Miss Parker. I’ve looked but I just can’t find . . . everything’s topsy-turvy. The boys were playing ‘fort’ white I was gone and they’ve turned the settee upside down and were using the legs of my desk as a mock turnspit. I can’t find anything!”

  Jeff offered, “Do you need help to move the furniture back?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve managed nicely. The boys are really good-natured about putting things back, once I remind them. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for your pattern, Miss Parker. I could bring it by later; I’m sure it won’t take me a minute to find it once I’ve set my house in order.”

  “How would it be if I call for it, later on?”

  “Yes, perhaps that will be best.” Her red hair was brighter than ever in the sunshine for she’d run out without a hat. Her skin had that beautifully clear, almost translucent quality, that only red-haired people possess. Even in the strong sunlight, she seemed to have no wrinkles. She also seemed to have missed the liberal sprinkling of freckles most red-haired people fall heir to.

  Yet even with such a flawless face turned up, Edith saw no sparks fly between Mrs. Green and Jeff. There wasn’t enough glow between them to attract an unfussy firefly. Not even the sharp, harsh light of mere physical infatuation. Much perplexed, for her work had just gotten more difficult, Edith sat in silence as they rode out of town. The haze that blurred and gentled the air, giving the landscape the look of an old-master painting, left her unmoved. What could she do? Her task was now not only to find Jeff Dane a bride, but to make him fall in love with the lucky woman.

  Chapter 10

  “So,” Jeff said as they drove to the ranch. “How was it?”

  “I had no idea people still did such lovely handwork. Miss Climson’s workmanship was especially impressive.”

  “That wouldn’t be the reason I’d choose her to marry. But what I mean is, how did they treat you? Earlier I got the idea that you were a little worried about that.”

  “Oh, no. Everything went swimmingly,” Edith said, not really attending.

  “Come to think of it . . .” Jeff peered around the brim of Edith’s hat. “You still look worried. Did something happen? Nobody was rude to you. I know they couldn’t have been.”

  Edith watched the red earth spin away beside the buggy. How much could she tell him?

  Edith said slowly, “I am a little concerned about Dulcie. When I first met her, I didn’t realize she was the bride-to-be.”

  “That’s right. Nobody thought anyone would ever fall for her. Maybe you noticed her teeth . . . ?”

  “They’re not that bad,” Edith said, defending her newfound friend. “Everyone seems to think she’ll start gnawing at the trees to build a dam. Yet I have arranged matches for several young ladies who were much less comely than Miss Armstrong. After all, she isn’t wearing a wig or false padding.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Dulcie. Her fiancé doesn’t mind her teeth, so why should we?”

  He glanced at her. She toyed with her glove, tugging the fingers out of shape and then slapping it into the palm of her other hand. She wasn’t watching the road, as he’d thought, but seemed to be looking inward.

  Jeff stopped the buggy. Edith straightened up to face him. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re really worried about her. Why?”

  “Are you going to stop a buggy every time you want to speak to me? We shall always be late.”

  “But what interesting talks we will have had.” Jeff dropped his hand over Edith’s. “Come on,” he said, “Spill the beans.”

  Quickly, she slipped her tingling hand out from beneath his. “Don’t do that!”

  “Do what?” His face hardened. “Touch you?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Dane. I’m not used to it.” She folded her hands, controlling her sudden need to touch him to dull the sharpness of her rebuke. “I am not a demonstrative person.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you’ve had much encouragement.”

  “It isn’t a matter of encouragement. A lady should have no need to touch anyone, except with a parasol.”

  His smile came back. “What do you do with it? Whack them over the head?”

  Edith pulled her lips in tight against her teeth. When she’d fought down the bubble of her laughter, she said sedately, “Of course not. A lady should only . . . poke.”

  Jeff chuckled. “Right in the back.”

  She didn’t like that cold mask to drop over his features. It was more comfortable to think of him as a happy man than to see the dark emotions he possessed, as did all humanity. Edith would have preferred the whole world show her only its contented side. That way she had no responsibility.

  Jeff lifted his hand as though he’d touch hers again. Instead, he cleared his throat. When he had Edith’s attention, he said, “You still haven’t told me what is troubling you.”

  She had to tell someone or the burden would be too great. “It’s Dulcie. How well does she know this man she intends to marry?”

  “Victor Sullivan only came to town a couple of weeks ago. They met at a church sociable a few days after he got here. I reckon he’s a fast worker.”

  “What do you think of him? Personally, I mean.”

  “Nothing, so far. I haven’t had much to do with him. He’s popular enough, from what I’ve heard. Why?”

  Edith hesitated. How much could he—could any man— believe? “I don’t feel Dulcie is really ... in love with him.”

  “What? Did she say something to you?”

  Edith shook her head.

  “You saw something while you were at the Armstrong
s’? Was she kissing somebody else?”

  “Of course not. Not if she were promised to another.”

  “Well, then . . . ?”

  “I just . . . feel it. My feelings are never wrong about things like this.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  Jeff shook the reins and started the buggy moving again. Grouchy sat down in the back, satisfied they weren’t getting out.

  “Is that all?” Edith asked, shocked.

  “Yeah. Just because you’ve imagined a ‘feeling,’ you’re getting all worried. That’s pretty foolish, don’t you think?”

  “Certainly not! I rely on my feelings.”

  “‘Course you do. You’re a woman. Gwen was the same way. She’d get a creepy feeling and stop dead in the middle of whatever she was doing. Once she told me the henhouse was haunted. She didn’t dare go in. Took me two weeks to convince her there was nothing wrong.”

  “How do you know there was nothing wrong? She might have been right.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe in spooks? That’s . . .”

  “What? Ridiculous? Asinine?” Edith began to feel very warm. A strange jumpy sensation in the middle of her stomach made her understand what the expression “making my blood boil” really meant. His calm dismissal of one half of human existence was enough to send her into a passion.

  “Yes! Damn it, every time a woman wants to get out of trouble, she talks about her ‘feelings’ or her ‘nerves.’ Men don’t play that kind of game.”

  “No, men simply dismiss anything they don’t understand!”

  “We don’t invent ghosts that aren’t there, that’s for sure.”

  “How do you know there weren’t any? If you can’t see them, how do you know they aren’t there?”

  “What?” He shook his head as though to clear it after a punch. “This is too stupid to talk about. How did we get into whether there are ghosts are not?”

  “I don’t know. But personally, I’d rather believe Gwen’s feelings than yours! At least she had them!”

  They rolled into the farmhouse drive. Edith did not wait for his help to climb down. Putting her nose in the air with a sniff, she walked quickly up the path.

  Jeff caught up to her in the cool porch. He seized her by the elbow and turned her around. “Look, Edith, I’m sorry. This ‘feeling’ obviously upset you. Sit down and we’ll talk it over.”

  “There’s no point,” Edith answered, irritated further by his so obviously humoring her. “You aren’t about to believe what I say merely because I have a feeling about Dulcie and this man.”

  “Would it make you feel better if I found out a little about Sullivan? I could go to the Red-Eye and talk around some.”

  “The Red-Eye?”

  “It’s a saloon. Sullivan has been spending time there in the evenings.”

  “A drinker?” she exclaimed, repelled.

  “Don’t look like that. A man likes to take a drink now and again. Even I ...”

  “You’re a father. You shouldn’t be going into saloons.”

  “I’m a father, not a saint.”

  Lifting a stray strand of hair off her forehead, he tucked it under the brim of her golden straw hat. It seemed like the same loving attention he’d given his daughters that morning, but it felt far different. Jeff wanted to pull free the comb that trapped her hair and thrust his hands into the soft, free waves.

  “Edith, men and women are ... different.”

  It might have been wiser, Edith thought, to go directly into the house. It was certainly far from wise to look up into Jeff’s face and murmur, “Different? How?”

  He leaned down slowly to brush the corner of her mouth with his. Her skin was as soft and sweet as the first peach of summer, and Jeff knew a surge of hunger. But he controlled himself, waiting for her to scream, to slap, to run away. Instead, a tremor ran through her as her eyes closed. Ever so slightly, her chin lifted.

  Edith’s knees were trembling. It spread through her body, leaving her too weak to turn away. His scent, so virile and real, filled her senses and made her head whirl. As he cupped her face with his roughened hands, she swayed toward him.

  His lips were warm and soft as they nudged hers. Edith held very still, hardly breathing. He withdrew the merest fraction as though waiting for something.

  Her own lips felt so dry she had to lick them. She chose to do so at the exact moment Jeff kissed her again.

  “Edith!” he said with his chuckling laugh. Then he pulled her close. His mouth, resolute now, swept over hers. Her knees weaker than ever, she clutched his shoulders as he bent her slightly back.

  She didn’t know what to do except hold on. He teased and taunted her, kissing her delicately, then abruptly harder, only to draw away as she pressed closer. A new feeling, something she’d never known before, welled up inside her. Impatience. Blazing impatience.

  Edith kissed him back. She didn’t really understand what she was doing, he knew that, but when she leaned into him, her hands tightening, her inexperience didn’t matter. He wanted to teach her. “Open to me,” he whispered.

  Her modesty made her hesitate but her newfound heedless-ness drove her on. She didn’t know what this would lead to. She realized that at this moment she didn’t care.

  The firmness of his tongue seduced her. She gasped, a tiny noise that seemed to inspire him. As he pulled her nearer still, one of his hands slipped down to cross her waist, pressing on her lower back. Without a second thought, she urged her body against his. From his body, she felt something surge forward that she instinctively both feared and longed for. The fear increased more quickly than the yearning.

  She ripped away, her breath too fast, feeling as though she’d leapt out of the heat of a living fire. With the back of her hand against her lips, she stared at Jeff. His broad chest rose and fell to hurried breaths. She saw he stared back, with as much bewilderment in his eyes as must be in her own.

  “Oh, my God,” he said.

  Her fingers crept to her crimsoned cheeks. “This is dreadful. I don’t know what came over me. Please accept my profoundest apologies, Mr. Dane.”

  “Apologies? Edith . . .”

  “I should not have tempted you.”

  “Edith,” he said again, stepping forward.

  Just as rapidly, Edith stepped back. “Obviously, I did something to tempt you, or you never should have behaved so. A lady will always be treated as a lady so long as she deserves to be. I have failed . . . somehow.” She hung her dark head in shame.

  “You’re joking, right?” Her scarlet face told him she was not. “Listen, Edith, you’re not responsible for ... what just happened. It was me. I ...”

  “You’re very good to take the blame, Mr. Dane.”

  “Jeff. Please remember to call me Jeff, from now on.” He longed to hear her sigh it, to breathe his name in his ear as he buried himself in her. Jeff clenched his shaking hands. He’d never had his imagination run away from him like this before.

  Everything was so clear. He could almost feel it, her white arms entwining around his neck to pull him down, to rest his head against her roundness, urging him on with those arousing whimpers at the back of her throat. And he’d give her such pleasure ... to drive her wild in his arms so when he at last . . .

  Jeff tried to listen to what she was saying, to empty his mind of the riot of carnal images that filled it. “Please, repeat that.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dane. As I was saying, it’s good of you to take the blame. It is what I would expect of a gentleman such as yourself. But I acknowledge my own fault. I shall try not to tempt you again.”

  She saw that his gaze had dropped to where her hand was attempting to still the furious beating of her heart. She took her hand away as quickly as though the ribbon at her throat had turned into a band of fire.

  Sputtering, she said, “I ... I think I should return to town later to investigate the ladies more closely. The sooner we make a decision the better, Mr. Dane. I mean, Jeff. It may be difficult to decide.
I like them all.”

  “My father’s going later on. You can ask him to take you.”

  “Yes, yes, I will. Very difficult,” she added as she hustled indoors to find his father.

  Difficult, Jeff thought, wasn’t the word for it. The half-frightened, half-pitying look she threw him as she left told him what she thought. So might she have glanced at a famished dog to whom she’d thrown a needed if skimpy bone. Clearly, she wished she could do more but had nothing else to offer.

  Jeff ran an unsteady hand through his hair. She had much more to offer than she knew. The untapped passion of her virgin kiss dazzled him. A man could die of such a woman, die happily.

  * * * *

  Later Sam Dane showed some surprise when Edith asked him to let her drive along with him. “You were just there this morning. I wouldn’t have thought Richey had so much to show a lady that she’d head back so soon.”

  “She’s a hard worker,” Jeff said from the next stall. He stood up and looked over the dividing planks.

  Edith tried to pretend he wasn’t there, shirtless. She saw his bare shoulders when he stood. The telltale heat of a blush crept up her cheeks. She addressed herself solely to Sam.

  “Your son has told me, Mr. Dane, that my coming here was your idea. I want to get my work done as quickly as I can.”

  “All right. I can respect that. But I have to warn you . . . I’m just taking the wagon. It’s not very comfortable.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll get going in a bit.”

  ‘Thank you. Uncle,” Edith said, catching a glimpse of one of the girls out of the corner of her eye.

  “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot . . . ,” Sam said, then broke off to cough, covering his slip.

  Little Maribel came around the corner of the barn, a long black cord trailing from her hand. When she saw the adults, she grinned, showing the gaps among her teeth. “Look what I got,” she said, twitching the cord so it made an interesting swirl in the dust behind her.

  Crouching down to be on the child’s level, Edith said, “Whatever is that?”