“Home. I want to go back home. At least for now.”
Mama put a hand on her hip and turned back to the scorched-smelling eggs. “I sure thought a daughter of mine could stand up to trouble better than this, but you go on. I won’t stop you.”
Mother Dane trudged into the kitchen, still wrapped in her dressing gown. “Here you two are,” she announced, swiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s a blessing for Emmy her daddy’s out of town; else we’d be planning a wake this morning.” She glanced toward the skillet, sniffing the air. “You burning those eggs, Bert?”
Mama faced her. “Magda, can Nash fetch Charity into town this morning?”
“Sure thing, honey. I ain’t going nowhere.” Mother Dane ambled to the counter, her attention on the platter of crispy bacon. “Where’s she running off to this early?”
“On a fool’s errand.”
Perhaps weary from her own nocturnal battle, Mother Dane didn’t press. “Let me go dress and tell Nash to square the rig. That is, if I can find him. How something as bodacious big as that man disappears with such dependable regularity beats all I ever saw.”
Charity eased toward the exit. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mother Dane. I’m already dressed. I’ll go tell him myself.”
The kitchen door closed behind her, and Charity ran for the foyer, careful not to look toward the stairs. On the way, she hoisted her bag from behind the chair where she’d left it and burst onto the wide porch—straight into the arms of Buddy Pierce. They collided, and her bag jerked loose from her hands and skittered across the porch.
“Whoa, there!” he cried, pressing her against him to keep her upright. At such close proximity, his voice sounded deeper than usual and seemed to rumble from his broad chest.
“Morning, Miss Bloom. So we meet again.” He squinted when he smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Not that I don’t enjoy these encounters, but a simple hello would do. Unless you need a good fright to start your heart in the mornings. Have you tried coffee?”
She pulled free and peered up, raising the brim of her bonnet so she could see. “Mr. Pierce, where on earth did you come from? You simply must stop creeping up on me.”
He had the starch to grin. “My sincere apologies, ma’am. I’m getting right good at it though.”
She brushed at her dress and tightened the ribbon holding her hat while she fought to regain some dignity. “If you’re truly sorry, you can rescue my bag from that hedge.”
Buddy glanced behind him then walked to the edge of the porch and bent down. She watched him hesitate before poking in a lacy bit of cloth and closing the latch. She bit back a smile when he returned red-faced.
He held up her satchel and studied it. “Didn’t I tote this inside just last night?”
“You did.”
“And now you’re bringing it out again?”
“Give it to me, please.”
“You seem in an awful big hurry to get somewhere.”
“That’s because I am.” She snatched the upraised bag from his hand. “In fact, I’m about to give you an opportunity to repay me for ambushing me at every turn. You may give me a ride into town.”
Buddy looked at the door. “I’d be happy to, but...”
Charity followed his gaze. “I see. You have business inside. Very well, I’ll wait for Nash.” She started for the steps, but he grabbed her sleeve and hauled her around.
“Not so fast. My only business is to see that you and your mama are settled and to offer my help with moving the rest of your things.”
“Is that all? In that case, you needn’t worry. We’re just fine.”
He cast another doubtful peek at the house. “Well, if you say so...”
“I do.” She took his arm and urged him toward the steps. “Shall we go?”
He settled his hat lower, studying her from under the brim. “Well, yes, ma’am,” he said, allowing her to lead him from the porch. “I guess so.”
***
In the distance, a high bank of black clouds closed on the horizon, a dark swirling wall with a fluffy white top. It snuffed out the light as it inched forward, pulling a curtain over the bright, sunlit morning. Buddy wondered what more rain might do to the rutted streets of Humble. The lowland area of Southeast Texas suffered frequent flooding, but he’d heard more thunderstorms than usual had rumbled through the small town in recent weeks.
He glanced at Miss Bloom, who had remained silent for most of the ride. Quite out of character for the spirited young thing he’d first met in the hotel. He found it odd he hadn’t seen that woman since, except for a glimpse on Mrs. Dane’s porch.
Buddy pulled up to the crowded boardwalk in front of the Lone Star Hotel and set the brake. Hopping down, he made his way around the wagon with the mire sucking audibly at his boots. Necks craned as he helped Miss Bloom down, careful to keep her dress out of the mud. When he offered his arm, she took it, and he led her through the mob to the door of the hotel.
Inside, he intended to hang back a respectable distance to allow her to conduct business in private, but she clung to his arm and steered him straight to the counter.
“Morning, Sam.” She beamed at the clerk. “I’m going to need a room for a few weeks for Mama and me.”
Sam frowned. He seemed loath to be the bearer of bad news, especially to her. “I’m dreadful sorry, child. There are none to be had.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Hmm, I expected as much. When do you suppose that will change?”
The little man shook his head. “Not in the foreseeable future.”
“I see.” Her slender fingers drumming a rhythm on the countertop, she stared at a large portrait dominating the far wall as if the mustachioed man in the frame might lend her wisdom.
The aging clerk pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher with a palsied hand. “If you don’t mind my asking, has something happened out at your place?” His anxious expression and the way he hovered near Charity reminded Buddy of a brood hen and her chick.
The pretty hatchling smoothed her fluff and released a weary-sounding breath. “It’s quite complicated, really. You see, Mr. Pierce here saw black stuff on Mama’s chicken and—”
Buddy took hold of her shoulders and pulled her back, upsetting her balance as well as the angle of the blue feather protruding from her straw hat. “What the lady’s trying to say is”—he stared into her startled eyes, using his to flash a warning—“there are much-needed improvements going on at their house. It’s not the safest place for them just now.”
Sam eyed Buddy, his frown deepening. “As I recall, you’re not a registered guest of the hotel, so why do I see your face in my lobby most every day of late?”
Buddy nodded. “Nothing gets past you, does it? You’re right, of course. I’m not official.” He grinned and held out his hand. “Name’s Buddy Pierce. I guess you might say I’m a guest of a guest.”
Ignoring Buddy’s hand and his explanation, the man turned back to Charity. “Is there something else I can do for you, my dear?”
She stepped to the counter again, adjusting her hat and frowning at Buddy before she answered. “I understand there’s a waiting list.”
“Why, yes, there is.”
“Can you put us on it?”
“I can, but I warn you, it’s long.” He pulled a ledger from under the counter and slid it toward Charity. Names filled the page from top to bottom on several sheets. “Might be weeks before we can get to you.” He tilted his head toward the window. “The boom, you know.”
Buddy watched Charity, waiting for her reaction. The news was sure to upset her.
“Very well.” She took the pen in her gloved hand and scratched her mama’s name on the last line. Following suit with the others, she added the number two and circled it then pushed the book back to the clerk and nodded. “Thank you, Sam.”
The old man’s gaze swept Buddy. His Adam’s apple bobbed several times before he finally squeezed a question past his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, little miss, bu
t have you found adequate shelter for you and your mama until we’re able to accommodate you?”
“As a matter of fact, we have. Mama will be staying at Magdalena Dane’s house. I’ve decided on a more sensible arrangement for myself.” She fixed Buddy with a determined glare. “You heard right, Mr. Pierce. I won’t be going back to Mother Dane’s.”
Before Buddy could react, she walked away. He caught up to her near the door and offered his arm again. She took it, and he swept her through the crowd outside. At the wagon, he helped her swing up onto the seat then watched her until she began to squirm.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, looking down at him from the rig. “Let’s go.”
Buddy blinked. “Fine. Where to?”
“Home.” She dared him with her eyes and sat up straighter, plucking at the folds of her dress. “I’m going home, and there’s nothing more to be said about it.”
His mouth dropped open. He closed it fast and swallowed. “I’m sorry, you can’t do that.”
“Oh, but I can. I declare, Mr. Pierce, you’re forgetting yourself.”
Buddy hurried around the wagon, swung up beside her, and studied her angry face. “Didn’t your mama tell you?”
From the look of her, it was clear she’d heard those words before. She leaned toward him, her speech slow and deliberate. “Tell me what?”
“She leased the house. To the oil company as living quarters for the roughnecks.”
Thunder boomed overhead and lightning marbled the darkened sky. A quirky wind bore down on them, pushing back Charity’s hat and raising tendrils of black hair to the heavens. Against the angry backdrop, she reminded Buddy of a snake-tressed Medusa.
“What did you say?” Her eyes narrowed, heightening the illusion. “Just when did she do that?”
“We worked out the deal last night, while you were ... um ... resting. That’s why I showed up this morning. I knew you’d need a hand with your things.”
Charity’s gloved fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap, and her chest heaved. “That infuriating old woman. That’s why she let me go so easy.” She whirled on Buddy, balled fists going to her waist. “She can’t do this. It’s my house, too. If she can lease it without telling me, then I can unlease it. You tell that oil company the house is no longer available.” She drew herself tall, obviously pleased with her stand. “That’s right—the deal’s off. Now take me home this instant.”
Buddy shoved his hat back with his knuckles and scratched his head with his thumb. “That won’t exactly be possible, ma’am.”
“And why not?”
“It’s too late. When I left your house this morning, twenty men were eating breakfast at the table.”
Thunder sounded again, closer this time. Charity leaned toward him once more, staring hard, as if that would help his words sink in. Her big green eyes, so near he could see tiny flecks in them, flooded with tears that spilled over and down her cheeks. When she collapsed against him sobbing, Buddy couldn’t decide whether to comfort her or hide her from prying eyes. He chose the latter.
Righting her hat, he pulled it low to hide her face then clucked at the horse to pull away from the boardwalk. He scrambled for the reins, fighting hard to concentrate on his driving instead of the weeping girl clinging to his side.
Buddy steered the horse down a side street that ran alongside the railroad tracks and parked the rig. Setting the brake, he pulled Charity closer and patted her shoulder while she cried. He searched his mind for comforting words but came up painfully short. “There now. It can’t be all that bad.”
“Yes, it is!” she wailed. “How can you say that? I’ll be sleeping in the streets tonight.”
He tried not to focus on how small she felt against him, how soft. “I’m right sure that won’t happen.”
“It has happened. I have nowhere else to go. I can’t stay at Mother Dane’s. I won’t.” Her wail became a sob, and she hid her face in her hands. “Don’t ask me to explain. You wouldn’t understand.”
He cleared his throat. “Oh, I don’t know so much about that. I might understand a lot better than you think.”
Charity grew still against him. “What are you implying, sir?” When he didn’t answer, she leaned to stare up at him, her face a swollen mess. “You know, don’t you?”
Buddy raised his brows. “Any way I answer that question makes me a cad. If I say yes, I risk embarrassing you. If I say no, I’ve deceived you. Which do you prefer?”
She burrowed into his chest again. “I could just die. Oh, please don’t look at me. I’m so ashamed.”
“There’s no need to be.”
“Yes, there is. I’m a jealous, spiteful shrew.”
Buddy couldn’t help but smile. He was glad she couldn’t see him. “I’m sure you’re neither of those things.”
“I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
He patted her on the back. “I can’t imagine you doing anything wrong.”
She tilted her head and peered up at him. “Last night Emmy climbed out a window to be with Daniel. I locked her out of the house ... in her nightdress.”
One look at her guilty expression should’ve been all the warning Buddy needed to keep a straight face, but his callous sense of humor betrayed him. He was going to laugh whatever the cost. He held her and roared until his sides ached.
When he dared to look up, he was shocked to find Charity beaming. Her nose was still red, her eyes bright with tears, but mirth lit her glowing face. By golly, the Okie was right. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Her big eyes held his for a heartbeat, and he forgot to breathe.
“You are a cad indeed, sir.” Her rebuke might’ve stung if not for her broad smile.
He took off his hat and placed it over his heart but couldn’t stifle a smile of his own. “I guess I owe you another apology.”
“Well, don’t you bother. Though I’m touched by your sincerity.”
“Miss Bloom, I sense you doubt me.”
She waved her hand. “Please, call me Charity. Now that I’ve bared my soul and given you a glimpse of my lower nature, I believe we can dispense with formalities.”
Hat still at his chest, he bowed his head. “I would be honored.”
Huge raindrops began to fall, pelting the top of Buddy’s bare head. Instinctively, he held his hat over Charity.
She leaned from under the brim and peered up at the sky. “Now do you see how awful this is? I can’t even get in out of the rain. There’s no place for me to go.”
“Wait a minute.” He should have thought of it before. Or had she just inspired him? “I think maybe there is.”
“But where?”
The rain came down harder, soaking them to the skin. Buddy handed her his hat and took up the reins, whirling the horse into the street. “Hang on,” he shouted. “You’ll find out when we get there.”
CHAPTER 6
Bertha lay curled at the foot of Magdalena’s green-striped divan, one finger dead center of a checker. Magda sat across from her, propped against the flower-print pillows at her back. Earlier she had raised the sash to ease the cloying stillness. Now the scent of rain wafted in on a lively breeze that pestered the curtains and flapped the shade. Though it put up a brave front, the morning sun had lost its battle with a murky sky. The shadowy corners crept so close they’d soon need to trim a lantern or abandon their game altogether.
Magda squirmed and sighed. “That’s it, Bertha. You’ve made your move. It’s my turn.”
“Hold your horses. I ain’t let go yet.”
Another huffy exhale from across the board brought Bertha’s attention to Magda’s face. “You mind to stop all that blowing? You’re about to scatter these checkers.” She scowled and leaned away some. “Besides, you ate onions this morning, didn’t you? Your breath could peel the paper from these walls.”
Magda lifted her chin. “You know I like a few diced on my scrambled eggs.”
“Humph! A few would mean you could still taste
the eggs.”
Reaching around to the side table, Magda picked up her coffee cup. “Just hush and play, would you?”
Bertha looked up as big Nash came through from the kitchen carrying one of Magda’s dining room chairs. On the way he banged it against the doorpost and bumped everything he passed.
Magda grimaced. “Land sakes, Nash. There won’t be nothing left.”
He glanced up and smiled as if he’d just noticed them in the room. “Maybe so, but whatever left gon’ stand up straight. I fixed that wobbly leg you been fussing ’bout so long.” He set the chair down and pushed it up to the table.
Bertha saw right away that the back of the chair stood four inches shy of the other five in the set. “Lookie there, Magda,” she hooted. “You called it right. There’s hardly nothing left.”
Magda scooted forward to look. “Nash! What on earth have you done?”
He flashed another big smile and gave the chair a good shake. “See there, Miz Dane? She’s steady.”
Slumping against the sofa, Magda shook her head. “Never mind that fool thing. Have you seen Charity this morning?”
“No, ma’am. I ain’t seen her since last evening. I would’a reckoned she’d be in the parlor with you all.”
Bertha gave him a pointed stare. “Do you see her in here anywhere?”
He gazed about the room. “I don’t see her in here a’tall. Is she s’posed to be?”
Magda winked at Bertha. “I thought you saw everything that happens around this place.” She took another sip of her coffee. “Where’ve you been all this time?”
“Where’ve I been?” He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “Doing what I s’posed be doing, Miz Dane. Caring for old Rebel and tending chores. So unless Miss Charity come out to the barn, I wouldn’t be likely to see her, now, would I?”
“Well, keep an eye out for her, you hear? She wanted a ride into town, but since the buggy never left the yard, I can’t imagine how she went. I don’t guess you hauled her on your shoulders?”
His grin returned. “No, ma’am.”
“Did you turn Rebel out to graze?”
“No, ma’am, he’s still in his stall. It’s coming up a powerful blow out there. That old sky black as pitch. The pasture ain’t safe for old Rebel jus’ now.” With that, he tipped his battered hat and backed out the way he came.
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