Even asleep, Buck cursed.
Then he discovered he was holding in his arms one of the most enchanting women he’d ever seen. The motion of the dance wafted her long dark hair out into the air like silken smoke. Her eyes were the same mysterious hue. And her lips – ah, her lips! That warm, full mouth was made for kissing. Buck was aware he hung over her, hopelessly fascinated, and that she wore a distinctive perfume. Aroma of meatloaf.
Buck looked down and could see she was wearing a costume in a vaguely antique style. The upper part of her gown exposed a good bit of her truly dazzling, pushed-up breasts. There were diamonds at her throat, and at her ears. On her head he saw, amazed, a diamond tiara. She gave him an impish smile.
In spite of the dazzling enchantment Buck was wary. There was something about the whole thing -
Abruptly he looked down again, and his suspicions were confirmed. He was Prince Charming, all right: he had on his best uniform with all his ribbon decorations and awards, including Georgia State Lawman of the Year, his Sam Browne belt, and even his motorcycle police boots, shined like mirrors. And somehow while dancing he was managing to hold his wide-brimmed hat in his uninjured hand.
The only trouble with Cinderella and Prince Charming was that Buck knew all too well who Cinderella really was. Awake or asleep she was beginning to haunt him, the most tantalizing, puzzling, desirable female he had ever known. But he knew in his heart that didn’t make it right. She was still Devil Anse’s granddaughter.
Besides, at any moment the clock would strike midnight and the whole thing would turn upside down.
Cinderella put her hand on his arm and said something Buck couldn’t quite make out. Sure enough, the clock was striking. He noticed now his bad arm was in a sling.
“Be careful,” Buck started to say.
Instead, she twined herself around him. The music grew faster. They spun with it. Buck couldn’t break away. She pressed against him so tightly his shoulder was in agony.
“Ow!” Buck yelled, becoming fully awake.
He still couldn’t move. The same body held him down in the bed, and hands – a mouth – were on his face. His bad arm was caught in between, shooting arrows of pain up into his collarbone. With an oath Buck flailed both arms, disregarding the agony, and flung himself out of bed, dragging the leechlike body with him.
“Wait!” Scarlett O’Hara Scraggs cried. “I’m just tryin’ to make it easier! For both of us!”
Buck staggered to the bedside lamp, hauling her with him. He turned it on.
“Easier?” He tried to pry her arms from around his neck, aware as he did so that her warm, slightly struggling body was pressed intimately against his pajama front. “What do you mean,” he bellowed, “easier for both of us?”
He had no idea what she was talking about. The only thing that was plain was that the Scraggs girl was trying to assault him in his own bedroom. Had tried, actually, to crawl in bed with him.
“Yes.” Those luminous dark eyes were right in his. Her grip was surprisingly strong; he still hadn’t been able to get her hands unclasped from around his neck. “I’m gonna give you what you want,” she whispered huskily.
Without warning Scarlett Scraggs stood on tiptoe, strained upward, and glued her mouth against Buck’s.
His first impulse was to wrench her away from him using whatever force necessary. But then, as those indescribably soft and tempting lips pressed against his, Buck found his vision fogging. The room seemed to slowly revolve. Sensation became so heated that the knifelike pain in his arm and shoulder faded completely away.
Reluctantly, his own arms went around her.
“Scarlett,” he murmured, knowing he was a damned fool but not able to summon enough willpower to do much about it, “open your mouth.”
She did. Wide open.
“Not like that, sweetheart.” He put his thumb under the tip of her chin to gently close it. “Let’s try this again.”
Even as he spoke a small voice in the back of his mind warned him that Scarlett’s actual words were that she was going to give him what he wanted. Buck had no idea what he wanted at that moment, except the impossible.
He was lost. So drowned in the sexy, tender warmth of Devil Anse’s granddaughter that his mouth gently explored her lips and felt them open to him. It was a long time before Buck drew back. After that memorable kiss, Scarlett’s look was as dreamily unfocused as his.
He suddenly had a terrible suspicion. “Scarlett,” Buck said hoarsely, “have you ever been kissed before?”
He could see the answer in her face.
Scarlett Scraggs stood before him in a nightshirt with a faded Atlanta Braves logo on it, evidently something from the church’s used-clothing boxes, her beautiful young breasts thrusting up under the cloth temptingly. Around her ravishing face her dark curls were tumbled and mussed, her mouth slightly swollen with kissing. She looked ravishing. It was more than Buck could stand.
Somewhat roughly, he took her by the hand and pulled her to the door.
“Whatever this is all about,” Buck found himself saying, “it’ll have to wait until morning. We’ll thrash it out then.”
She pulled back from him. “I don’t want to wait until morning. We gotta -”
“It will wait,” Buck barked, “oh, yes it will!” He needed to get her out of there.
But she grabbed the doorjamb with both hands. “Don’t put me out yet! I need to talk to you!”
He pried her fingers loose. “You’ve got to go, Scarlett.” God knows there was regret in his heart.
“I’m sorry, but my – uh, bedroom is no place for you right now.”
She tried to fling herself at him again. “Well then, why can’t you kiss me one more time?” Those gorgeous dark eyes flashed up at him. “You can do that much, can’t you?”
“Not on your life!”
He pushed Scarlett O’Hara Scraggs out into the hall, and shut the door. He was, he realized, shaking.
Buck started for bed, then thought better of it, and returned to the door. And locked it.
Ten
The next morning the weather over the Blue Ridge mountains had cleared, but it was still cold, and the wind blew. Someone on the lower branches of the Living Christmas Tree lost their music to a sudden gust and sheets fluttered away across the courthouse lawn like a flock of winter birds. A burst of laughter broke up the chorus of “The Wassailing Song” and the singers straggled to a stop.
“All right, all right,” Mr. Ravenwood, the Nancyville high school bandmaster shouted. “Let’s hold it down.”
Some of the children who were too small to be a part of the tree were sent to chase the music. Scarlett wrapped her free arm around the wooden bar that held up her part of the scaffolding and shivered so hard that it made the boards shake.
Beside her, Farrie said, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just cold, that’s all.”
Her little sister’s expression said that Scarlett should have worn the good corduroy coat she’d gotten from Judy Heamstead’s church clothing boxes instead of just a light denim jacket. Everyone on the tree or down below among the parked cars was huddled in parkas or down-filled ski coats.
Farrie herself looked like a different child in a blue and white windbreaker, a knitted cap with a big white pompom, and matching blue mittens. Her eyes blazed with excitement, and her cheeks, red with the cold, looked as though someone had painted them. But then Farrie had been singing, Scarlett told herself. Anytime Farrie could sing she was happy.
“What’s going on? Who’s doing that up there?” Mr. Ravenwood had come close to the tree. “Stop it! You’re making the whole thing shake.”
Scarlett ducked her head. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention. Earlier, when they had arrived with Judy Heamstead and her mother, the band teacher had wanted to know if he hadn’t seen Scarlett somewhere before.
She’d wanted to take Farrie and go back to the sheriff’s house right then. If word got around
that they were runaway Scraggses, Scarlett knew, it would be all over. But instead Judy had grabbed Scarlett and Farrie and pushed them toward the tree. “All you have to do is sing,” the minister’s daughter told them. “Nobody’s going to know who you are, and if they do, they won’t think anything about it. My dad is in charge, anyway.”
Mr. Ravenwood was seeing that the music was returned to their proper owners. “Page three, everybody. ‘Here We Come A-Wassailing.’ From the top.”
Scarlett peered at her sheets. Judy Heamstead had just explained to her what “wassailing” meant. Scarlett had never seen the word before in her life.
All the songs for the Living Christmas Tree had been carefully chosen, as they were not supposed to sing about anything that dealt with what Mr. Junior Whitford and the rest of the committee considered to be the Real Meaning of Christmas. That was too bad, as it eliminated just about all the carols any of them had ever heard.
After running through what was left, Christmas was sort of watered down. Although the song they’d just sung, “Here We Come A-Wassailing,” was a lot better than “Frosty the Snowman” or “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.” The same thing went for “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” She saw Farrie’s face scrunch up when Mr. Ravenwood asked them to turn to it. Kissing Santa Claus was nothing to sing about for someone whose mother had been fooling around – maybe not with Santa Claus, but a Nashville guitar player – one Christmastime.
“Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green -
Here we come a-wandering
So – faaiir – to be seen -”
Farrie’s clear voice rose over all the singers, even the Methodist and Baptist church choirs singing down in front. Farrie had a big voice for such a little girl; most people didn’t believe it until they heard her sing. Scarlett saw her sister holding the music sheets up in front of her, but she wasn’t following them, she was looking over the courthouse lawn as though expecting someone.
“Love and joy come to you
And to you, your wassail too
And God bless you and
Send you a Happy New Year -”
Scarlett couldn’t help thinking there wasn’t much for Farrie to hope for if she was looking for Sheriff Buck Grissom. They’d hardly seen him the past two days. He’d brought Scarlett some groceries, but the only one who’d really seen him for more than a brief moment at morning and night was Demon. The dog went to work with him during the day and hung around when he was doing paperwork at night or watching television in the den. Not, they all knew, that Buck was crazy about having Demon around: he’d tried to shut Demon up in the bathroom that morning so he could slip off to work. But they’d all seen what Demon had done to the bathroom door before he let her out.
“Love and joy come to you
And to your wassail, too -”
Scarlett lost her place in the music and stopped. She didn’t have the heart to tell Farrie what had happened in Sheriff Buck’s bedroom two nights ago. She didn’t understand it herself.
Scarlett knew she hadn’t exactly laid the groundwork for the sheriff’s marriage proposal, but what she’d done should have worked. After all, what did Reese Potter want with her, if not that? According to Reese and Loy Potter, it was worth Reese’s brand-new pickup truck, which they’d offered Devil Anse.
Buck Grissom was different, she knew now. In his room he’d acted as though he were feeling the same strange, exciting things as Scarlett.
Inwardly, she sighed. That kiss had opened a whole new world. Then something had happened. Right in the middle of the best part, when he was breathing hard and looking into her eyes and there seemed to be a pocket of fire about to burst right between them, Buck had pushed her out the door and locked it!
Since then he hadn’t spoken two words to her.
“All right, cut! Cut!” the music teacher shouted down below. “We’re not getting anyplace with that one. Let’s try something else.”
Scarlett leaned up against the wooden bar and rubbed her cold nose. The Living Christmas Tree was scheduled to sing every night at dusk on the courthouse lawn during the last five days before Christmas. Topmost position on the tree was going to be the Spirit of Mistletoe, who had a solo that was still to be announced. On the rest of the tree Bells and Angels stood on alternate rows, the “candles” the Angels were going to hold in their hands actually flashlights so the ever-present wind from Makim’s Mountain wouldn’t bother them.
She had to stop thinking about Buck Grissom, Scarlett told herself. Nobody wanted the sheriff to show up and hang around for the rehearsal and take them back to his house any more than she did. But it wasn’t going to happen.
Mr. Ravenwood was wagging his arms up and down. “I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” He looked up to the tier of Angels. “You up there,” he said, pointing. “How long have you been singing contralto?”
It was a minute before Scarlett realized he meant Farrie. Heart pounding, Scarlett stuck her head through the plyboard and looked down. “She doesn’t know what that means,” she called. Neither did she.
The band teacher took off his John Deere cap and ran a hand through his hair. “Make her come down here.”
It took Farrie a moment to climb down, Scarlett right behind her. As soon as everybody found out they were Scraggses they were going to start for the sheriff’s house. Even if they had to walk the whole way.
“She has a tremendous, powerful voice,” a Bell was saying. “Little girl, where’s your mother?”
An Angel came up to stand beside them. “I think they’re the Heamsteads’ houseguests.”
The director studied Farrie. “Sing ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.’” He handed her a sheet of music so she could follow the words. “Not all of it – just a couple of lines.”
Scarlett stepped back. The choirs were crowding around Farrie and she knew what was going to happen. Just as soon as her sister started to sing they would ask a lot of questions. She saw Farrie with both feet planted firmly, ready to open her mouth, and thought that she never looked more like a bushy-haired, snub-nosed pixie, her black eyes gleaming.
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
Their old familiar carols play -”
After the first words bystanders were exclaiming. Scarlett backed away even more. Farrie could sing, there was no doubt about that. She just had to find a way to get both of them out of there when she stopped.
Judy Heamstead had followed her. “Where are you going, Scarlett? Mr. Ravenwood’s excited about your sister’s singing. Aren’t you going to listen?”
Scarlett sidled across the courthouse lawn toward the parking lot. “I’ve heard Farrie plenty of times. Listen, are you’n your mother going home anytime soon?”
“In just a few minutes. Scarlett, what’s the matter with you?”
Scarlett shook her head and kept going.
There was no need to hang around. She shouldn’t have let Judy and her mother talk them into singing on the Living Christmas Tree. It was not where Scraggses belonged.
Neither, Scarlett told herself as she turned to look back at the courthouse, was learning to cook out of cookbooks, or dressing up in other people’s clothes. Fish out of water. That’s all they’d been all along.
After the fussing over Farrie’s singing died down people would only make fun of her. It was time they gave up all this foolishness and left Nancyville.
In the parking lot Scarlett leaned against the Heamsteads’ car to wait. She didn’t see until the last moment the tall dark shape that suddenly loomed up at her.
Scarlett’s heart leaped. Maybe Buck was meeting her like this! Maybe they could get the misunderstanding between them straightened out.
Maybe he’d hold her in his arms and kiss her again, she thought hopefully.
“Well, Scarlett girl,” the tall shadow said, “looks like you’ve fixed yourself up real good.”
Scarlett whirled to run, but Devil Anse grabbed her. She looke
d beyond him to the crowd on the courthouse lawn, wanting to yell for help but knowing it wouldn’t do any good.
“Farrie and I don’t have anything to do with you anymore!” she burst out.
“Now listen here, Scarlett.” He gave her arm a shake. “I got something mighty important for you to do and I don’t want no messin’ up, y’hear me?”
When she didn’t speak, Devil Anse nodded. “That’s right, listen good, girl. Me’n Sheriff Buck Grissom’s got a agreement, the first time we managed to get such a thing for our Scraggs business. That’s something to brag on, seeing how his daddy wouldn’t never listen to no talk. Every time the old sheriff saw me he’d start shooting up everything for a mile and a half with that sawed-off shotgun he used to carry. I never could get one word in edgewise. But the boy’s different. I allus said young Grissom’s reasonable.”
Scarlett stared at him. “What did you do?” she cried.
Someone backed their car out down the parking lot. It started toward them. Devil Anse pulled her behind a car.
“Ain’t nothing permanent, yet,” he growled in Scarlett’s ear, “it’s in the nature of a free trial offer. But I figure the way things are going yore young sheriff won’t waste too much time.”
Scarlett pulled back to look up into his face. “Grandpa, you tell me what you done!”
He gave her arm a cruel twist.
“Ain’t what I done, girl, it’s what I want you to do. Now, when you’ve made young Buck happy, you just deliver a little message for me. Tell him in view of all I have done and am going to do for him, I want him to just stay at home, rest up, and not worry about any hijackings.”
Scarlett managed to wrench her arm away. “When I have made him happy?” The full meaning was just sinking in. “You mean -”
When he nodded, she yelled, “I won’t do it!”
“Won’t do it?” The shaggy white brows came together. “Scarlett, don’t talk to yore old grandpa like that. Didn’t I let you have that puny baby sister of yourn to play with, when she’s never going to be no good except taking up space and eating food what should go to the able-bodied? You got a durn sight better treatment, girl, than you deserve, all things considered.”
Moonlight and Mistletoe Page 8
