by Julianne Lee
Lucas wore a red calico shirt, tucked into high-waisted, dark trousers, and rolled up at the sleeves, and a dusty, black felt hat with a round crown and wobbly brim. His horse was a sleek, gray thoroughbred, young enough to show some fire in his eyes and a dance in his step. Lucas rode like an appendage of the animal, and the other rider seemed hard put to keep up.
The brown-headed one was speaking, calling to Lucas. “I don’t see why you never go with us down to Smokey Row any more, my friend. I hope you haven’t completely lost interest in the ladies.” His voice was teasing, and heaved with the gait of his horse.
Lucas, riding to the far end of the ring, called back, his voice amused and on the verge of outright laughter, “My interest is as keen as ever, Sam. It’s only my definition of ‘lady’ that has changed. I’m afraid I’ve got to bow out for health reasons; I wish to keep mine while I’ve still got it.”
“There are sheaths for that.”
“Indeed there are, and you’d best believe I’d never go to Nashville without one. But I find they dull my enthusiasm as well as everything else, and I’d just as soon do without for now.”
Shelby grinned, figuring these guys couldn’t possibly know she could hear them. Or maybe they knew she was there, but didn’t think she could know what they were talking about.
When they rounded the far turn and headed back, Shelby saw a white smile light up Lucas’s tanned face at sight of her. The other rider, about the same age as he, also smiled but not as broadly. His eyes were guarded, and were set too close together. But Samuel didn’t interest Shelby. Her attention returned to Lucas, who was now headed toward her at a trot.
As he passed, Lucas slowed to a walk and touched the brim of his battered hat. “Afternoon, Miss Mary Beth.” The other, coming behind, only nodded to her.
She replied to Lucas, “Good afternoon.” On impulse, she added, “Kind sir.” A giggle rose, but she held it in. This was too strange, but intriguing just the same.
Headed around the ring, Lucas threw a leg over his horse’s neck and turned to straddle his mount backward, keeping his eye on Shelby, his face still lit up with that bright smile. It did her heart good to see him so cheerful. As he reached the straightaway, he flicked his quirt and urged the animal to a relaxed canter, all the while smiling at Shelby with mischief.
A laugh rose now, and she let it come. The other rider tried the same maneuver and was nearly bounced from his light sorrel mare as she shifted to a trot. He clung to the saddle, difficult enough with an English outfit, and pulled himself up as his horse slowed and wandered into the middle of the ring.
Lucas laughed and turned forward on the gray again so that, as he rounded the far turn, he remained facing Shelby. Still at a canter, he raised to kneel on the horse’s back, and gripped the saddle with his knees. Then he threw his arms wide with arched back and chin pointed at the sky as the gray took an easy run down the fence.
Shelby was amazed at the skill required for such a trick. Horsemanship was a survival skill of the times, but Lucas was performing close to magic with this animal.
A huge maple tree stood close by the fence rails, several large branches reaching over and into the ring, blazing in bright orange leaves. As Lucas passed beneath it, he reached up and snagged a couple.
The fellow behind tried to imitate him, but fell to the dust when his horse broke stride and dumped him over her neck.
Shelby could hear the other guy muttering obscenities as he remounted, and she ignored him as she applauded Lucas with pittipat clapping, muffled by fine, white leather gloves and the diary she still held in one hand. He approached, and slipped back into the saddle as if he had been born there. Then he sidled his horse up to the fence and presented to her the bright leaves with a gentlemanly flourish and bow that was probably dated even then. Taken quite aback, she giggled and slipped the tiny, makeshift bouquet into her pinned hair, behind one ear. “That was some fine riding.” She had no clue whether it was something Mary Beth would say, but she was too impressed with the tricks to not say something. Lucas laughed.
A ghost. She was talking to a ghost. But he wasn’t ghostly at all. He was real and solid. And he could see her. He was looking straight at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her quiver. More than looking at her, he was seeing into her and he seemed to like what he saw.
He shrugged and said, “Being neither a Bledsoe nor a Baptist, I must be twice as skilled as anyone else in these parts to be thought half as good.”
For a moment she was at a loss for reply, but stumbled on and said, “That can’t be true. Your family must be well thought-of.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice with a sly grin. “They fear us. Our horses are winners. That’s the only reason they invite us to parties even though we’re not rich like the Peytons and Bledsoes nor ducking each other in Drake’s Creek like...well, ducks.”
She smiled at him, for his grin was irresistible. This man before her was alive, and she rejoiced in it.
He sat straight again and gazed up toward the house as he changed the subject. “I don’t see your father; surely you didn’t come alone.” He spoke with a formality that surprised her, but the intensity in his eyes contradicted his neutral voice and words. Certainly he was scoping out the situation with her chaperone.
“He...um, Father is inside, talking to Amos. He sends his regards.”
Lucas opened his mouth to speak, but the other rider galloped past and flicked his quirt at Lucas’s horse. The gray bolted, but Lucas retained his seat, reined him in, and brought him around in a nervous dance.
“Sam! What was that for?” Lucas’s drawl took on a studied care behind his surprised tone.
“Showoff!” Sam’s mare sidled a little, picking up tension between the riders.
Lucas gave a low chuckle. “It’s not my fault if you can’t stick to your saddle. Perhaps some pitch on your trousers would do the trick.” The gray fidgeted. Steel jingled and leather creaked.
Samuel’s eyes became even more guarded, but he stuck out his chin and said boldly, “You act like a stud when she’s around, Brosnahan. Next thing, you’ll be pawing the ground and snorting through your nose.”
Lucas went red in a hurry and lost his smile. His voice was very low and dangerous. “I advise you to take that back, Samuel. Friendship can allow one only so much liberty, and lately you’ve drawn awfully near the line.”
“I’ll take back nothing, Lucas Robert.” Samuel was working up as much anger as Lucas. “You’re a perfect ass around Mary Beth; the way you strut and prance, you might just as well take her into the breeding barn right now.”
Shelby had to stifle a laugh, but Lucas obviously did not think this funny. His voice rose. “Dismount, Samuel Clarence!” Lucas himself threw a leg over and slid from his horse. “Come down and face me. I’ll teach you to have a filthy mouth in the presence of a young lady. Come down!” He strode to the other horse and his hand whipped out to snag Samuel’s arm. With a heave and a grunt, he jerked his friend from the horse.
Samuel yelled and fell to the ground, then scrambled to his feet and butted Lucas in the gut. There was a loud oof as all the air burst from Lucas and he toppled backward. His hat rolled in the dirt. Samuel jumped on him. Almost as tall and much heavier, Samuel had him pinned and hauled back to pound his face.
Shelby jumped up and down on the fence rail and yelled, “Don’t! Don’t you hurt him!” She tried to climb the fence, ready to give that Samuel a swift kick in the head, but her dress was far too confining and the hoop made it impossible, let alone trying to make it over without displaying her bloomers to the world. Her foot slipped, and she found herself clinging to the rails to keep from falling.
Samuel slugged Lucas, who let out a yell of pain and outrage then Lucas kicked and threw off the heavier man. He leapt to his feet as did Samuel, and they circled each other in the ring. Their horses wandered away from the violence.
Samuel reached for his boot and pulled a knife. The long, pearl-handled b
owie knife with a shiny steel blade glinted in the sun.
Lucas straightened and backed off a step, a look of surprise on him. “You aim to draw blood?” His teeth were pink with it, and he spat into the dirt.
“I’m fixing to kill you, Brosnahan.” Samuel sounded like he meant it.
Lucas appeared truly puzzled, but didn’t let it weaken his stand. “You’ll apologize to Miss Mary Beth first, I reckon.”
“I reckon not.” Samuel lunged at Lucas’s groin.
Lucas swiveled his hips and blocked with his arm, and the knife opened up a long, red gash in the soft underside of his right forearm. With a yelp, he jerked back the arm and staggered back as blood dripped into the dust.
“Damnation, Sam! What’s got into you?” He pressed his other hand to the wound, which bled between his fingers.
Samuel glanced at Shelby and gave her the creeps. This guy had a screw loose somewhere, and his apparent thing for Mary Beth was loosening it even more. He said, “Defend yourself, or let her know I’m the only man here.”
A change came over Lucas. Surprise left, and he glanced over at Shelby with an understanding of Samuel’s goal. Deadly calm came over his tall body and he let go of the wound. His voice was low and dangerous. “Then fight. Do your best.” He flicked his right arm at Samuel and flung blood into his face.
Samuel blinked and wiped his eyes, and Lucas reached down to throw dust as his opponent took a swipe with the knife. Samuel coughed and snorted in the cloud. Lucas dodged the blade. Then Lucas snatched his quirt from the ground and flicked it at Samuel’s face.
“Ow!”
Lucas taunted with a grim smile devoid of humor or even mischief. “Such a child! Be glad it’s not a knife!” He whacked Samuel across the cheek again then dodged the knife. His long body was an advantage now.
Shelby’s heart raced, afraid for Lucas and riveted on the outcome, though she knew Lucas would not die today and that gash on his arm would heal to a gleaming white scar.
Samuel lunged again. Lucas dodged, then snatched his opponent’s sleeve and gave the knife arm a good yank to the rear. Samuel went sprawling with a surprised yell, and the knife made a puff in the dust a few yards away. As Samuel struggled to his feet, Lucas gave him a good boot in the ass and put him on his face again, the air knocked out of him.
“Apologize to Miss Mary Beth.” Victory filled his voice; he was acting the stud again, showing off.
Samuel lay, gasping, then tried to rise. Lucas kicked him again and he sprawled.
“Apologize! I’ve got all day, and I’d be pleased to spend it teaching you a lesson.” Blood dripped from his fingers and Shelby knew Lucas did not have all day. “How about if I just kick your behind till your nose bleeds?”
Samuel muttered, “’Pologize.”
Lucas drew back with his quirt. “So’s she can hear you!”
“I apologize!”
Lucas seemed satisfied with that. “Now get up out of my dirt and get your sorry ass home. Don’t come around here again.”
Samuel hauled himself up from the ground then walked to the fence with his eyes to the ground. His lips were a straight, white line and he gave Shelby an evil glance as he ducked between the fence rails.
Shelby ignored Samuel, as Lucas followed him out of the ring. “Lucas, you’re hurt!” His arm was quite coated in bright, shiny red blood, from elbow to fingertips.
He shrugged and looked at it, then gazed after Samuel Clarence. His voice was soft as he said, “I reckon I’ve lost my best friend.”
She looked at the retreating Samuel. “Not much of a friend. Let me see that arm.”
Lucas sighed as he held it out. “True enough, I suppose. He’s been working up to that for a while now. Him with his ugly remarks and lies and looking at you funny, and all.”
Shelby patted her bodice in hopes of finding a handkerchief, and had to pause at the discovery her chest was well padded with them. But rather than whip out one of those in front of Lucas, she poked her fingers up her sleeve for the one tucked there and tied the cloth around Lucas’s forearm. Instantly it was soaked with dark blood. “You’ll need to go to a doctor and get stitches.”
“Amos’ll do it. He hurts a mite less.” His voice seemed distracted. He wasn’t looking at his arm, but rather at Shelby. When she realized it, her heart leapt to her throat and she couldn’t move or speak. After a moment’s quiet, he leaned down to kiss her.
She ducked and reddened, flustered. “Lucas...”
His voice softened, his feelings for Mary Beth out there on his sleeve. “I’m wounded in defense of your honor; surely I deserve a reward.”
Shelby looked up and her heart thudded at sight of his earnest face, his upper lip swelling and blood-stained. She offered Lucas her cheek.
He kissed it so lightly it felt like being sniffed by a kitten. There was a suspended moment of hope from him, then slowly she turned her face to his and allowed him to touch his lips to hers. Gently he kissed her, his mouth warm and giving. Her heart thudded like a jackhammer. They seemed stalled in time, so close she could smell the horse leather and sweat and tobacco on him, and could feel a puff of breath against her cheek. She swallowed hard, and understood that this was the first kiss between Lucas and Mary Beth.
And Mary Beth wasn’t here.
Chapter 5
December 2004
“Damn this weather.” Jason Brosnahan, still in his pajamas, waited for the electrician to return from the truck. This was taking too long. The temperature in the house was dropping like a rock, and he needed to get some fires going in the rooms if he was going to have heat. There would be no work today; nobody would be driving in to Nashville in this weather unless they were stupid or nuts, and he was neither. He left the door ajar for the electrician, then went into the kitchen and lit up a burner on the gas stove for some heat. While he was at it, he put a pot of water on for coffee.
There was a knock on the door and it creaked open. Shelby’s voice called out, “Jason? You home?”
“Come on in.” Jason hurried to dry his hands on a dish towel so he could greet her. “You’ll have to pardon my casual dress; I haven’t—”
She screamed.
With a surge of alarm, he leapt the two steps to the foyer. “Hey, I’ll get dressed. Hold your horses.” Shelby was standing just inside the front door. “Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensi—”
But she screamed again, looking straight at him, mouth dropped open and eyes wide.
“Shel, what’s wrong?” He hitched up his PJ bottoms and went to her. She backed away, gaping as if she didn’t recognize him. He chuckled at what was surely a very bad joke. “Shelby, come on, knock it off. What’re you doing? Hey, come on inside and get warm. I’ve got the stove going, and I’ll light a fire in the dining room. Want some coffee?” He held out his hand to her, but she hesitated. An arm across her chest, she turned and gazed about her. He would swear she was whimpering, and his patience wore thin as the cold from the open door made inroads beneath his pajamas and crept across the foyer floor. “Shelby, close the bloody door. It’s cold out there.”
She uttered an inarticulate exclamation, then finally moved toward the door. “Who is Shelby? Who are you?”
Jason chuckled, closed the door for her, then took her coat sleeve and pulled her along toward the dining room. “Yeah. Good question. Right up there with ‘Why is there air?’ Want some coffee? I know you want some coffee, ’cause the electricity at your place probably isn’t working any better than it is here. But I...,” he headed for the kitchen, hitching up his pajama bottoms again as he went, in the interest of maintaining his modesty, “...I have a gas stove and don’t need no steenking ’lectricity. So have a seat in the dining room and I’ll get you some coffee.”
He quickly put together a tray with two cups of instant coffee, sugar, milk and spoons, and took the two steps back up to the foyer. There he found Shelby still standing there with that arm across her chest. “Come,” he said, and led the way to th
e dining room. He set the tray on the huge, old table, then went to lay some logs on the fire. It cost a fortune to keep all the fireplaces in fuel of a winter, but it was worth it to have a nice, homey flame in every room. Particularly since the electricity was in the habit of going out during bad weather. Welcome to Hendersonville; it had been like that all his life. Once the fire was roaring again, he turned to address Shelby and had to hitch up his pajamas again.
But she was still standing in the doorway. “Are you all right? Come. Sit. That one’s yours.” He gestured to the mug bearing a smiley face, then took the other one and sipped from it as he sat. But Shelby wouldn’t move. She only stared at him. “What’s the matter, Shel?”
“I apologize, sir, but you’ve mistaken me for someone else. My name isn’t Shel. Or Shelby.”
A reply to that evaded him. Not Shelby? He gawked at her for a moment, then said, “Of course, you are. I know who you are; we’ve been dating for a month. Well, sort of dating. We go places. Eat out. Well, we ate out once. Now we mostly drink coffee. Here, have some coffee.” He leaned forward and peered at her. “What do you mean, you’re not Shelby?”
“My name is Mary Beth. Mary Elizabeth Campbell. Who might you be?”
“Shelby, you know who I am.”
“I declare, I do not.” Her speech was formal, and far more countrified than usual, as if she’d just come back from a long visit to the sticks. If this was a game, she was giving it a good go. She looked around the room, wide-eyed. “Where’s Amos?”
Sitting back, he took a sip of the coffee, hoping for a caffeine rush to help him figure her out. “No Amos here.”
