Chasing Charity

by Marcia Gruver

  The trail to the Danes’ house felt farther than it actually was, even after the horse accepted his plight and picked up the pace. With tremendous relief, Buddy finally pulled up to the house and climbed down. The rain had stopped completely. He shrugged off the blanket and headed up the walk.

  The door opened before he reached it, and Charity’s mama blew out of it raving. “Where’s my girl? Was it you hauled her away from here?”

  He held up his hands. “Your daughter’s fine, Mrs. Bloom.” The feral gleam in her eyes brought to mind the liveryman’s estimation. She looked like Crazy Bertha.

  “I said where is she? Why’d you take her, and what’ve you done to her?”

  Flustered, Buddy glanced at Mrs. Dane, who had come to stand behind her friend. The big woman took one look at his face and came to his aid.

  “Bert, let the boy get a word in. It appears he has something to say. Let’s hear him.”

  “Talk fast, stranger. Magda, fetch me your shotgun for if’n I don’t like what he has to say.”

  The cold left Buddy, driven away by fear of the tiny, wild-eyed woman. “Ma’am, on my honor, Charity’s safe. I got her in out of the rain, and I’m sure she’s warm and dry by now. Don’t worry, I left her in good hands.”

  “Where at?”

  “In town. I put her up at the Lone Star Hotel.”

  A shrill scream exploded from Mrs. Bloom’s tight lips, and she charged him, head down, like a bull. He caught hold of her forehead before she could ram him and held her off. She swatted at him with both hands, connecting only with the air.

  “Bertha!” Mrs. Dane caught her around the waist and hauled her back. “Let the boy explain.”

  Bertha thrashed against her friend’s grip. “You heard him. He’s done took her to the hotel and tarnished her.”

  Buddy rocked back on his heels. He’d never heard such talk from a lady before, and her words stunned him. Then he got mad. Being accused of the same thing twice in one day was quite enough.

  “No, ma’am, I did no such thing.” He had to shout over her screams. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your daughter. Last I saw, she was standing in the hotel lobby where I left her, soaking wet and exhausted—a condition she came to be in through no fault of mine.”

  Mrs. Bloom ceased her struggling and stared up at him, no longer Crazy Bertha, just a guilt-ridden, heartbroken mother. She dropped her gaze before his accusation. “Why didn’t you bring her here, then?”

  “She refused to come back. No disrespect intended, ma’am, but you have a stubborn daughter.”

  From behind Bertha Bloom, arms still locked around her waist, Mrs. Dane nodded. “An inherited trait.”

  His fiery indignation cooled, Buddy pushed back his hat and stepped closer. “I only did what I thought best for Charity.”

  Mrs. Dane chimed in again. “He got her off the streets, Bert. You should be grateful for that, anyway.”

  Mrs. Bloom pursed her lips in thought, pressing her finger against them. The conclusion she came to smoothed her furrowed brow. She nodded then looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Dane. “Turn me loose, Magda. I got my right mind now.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Now let me go.”

  Mrs. Dane cautiously complied but held her arms at the ready, just in case.

  Mrs. Bloom looked up at Buddy. “You swear on all things holy that you ain’t hurt my daughter?”

  “I don’t hold with swearing on holy things, ma’am, but you have my word as a Christian gentleman. I’d cut off my arm before I’d hurt her.”

  Bertha Bloom folded her arms, stock-still except for her tongue, which slowly traced circles in her cheek. She tilted her head. “You mean that, don’t you, son?”

  “Ma’am, I sure do.”

  “Will you help me bring her home?”

  He chewed over his next words then decided to take the risk. “I don’t mean to interfere in your business, Mrs. Bloom, but don’t you think you’re asking a lot of Charity? To stay here, I mean?”

  She weighed and measured him with a glance. “You know a few things about us, don’t you, boy?”

  “I know enough. I believe your daughter feels she doesn’t have a home. Provide her one, and she’ll come.”

  She jutted her chin. “Fine—then help me.”

  Buddy cocked his head and frowned. “Me, ma’am?”

  “Who else? You’re the only one that can.”

  “How so?”

  She looked into the distance and drew a long, ragged breath. “I never trusted no oilman before. I’ve hated and shunned the lot of you. But something about you rang true from the beginning.”

  She fixed him with a stern gaze. “You’re the one who talked me into leasing my house and half my property to pay for this well. Now get yourself over to my place and find oil. Else clear off so I can take my daughter home.” Mrs. Bloom’s direct stare was a challenge.

  Buddy answered it with a nod. “There’s oil beneath your land, all right. A lot of it. I’d stake my reputation as an oilman on that.”

  “Then go coax it out of the ground so I can buy my daughter a place to live. I’ll give you two months to look. If you don’t find anything by then, you clear out and I reclaim my property.”

  Despite the fire of his enthusiasm, the cold had begun to creep back into Buddy’s limbs. He couldn’t control the shivers that took him. “I’ll g–get on over there f–first thing.”

  Mrs. Dane latched onto his sleeve. “Not so fast, young man.” She held him at arm’s length and looked him over. “Soaking wet and chilled to the bone. You won’t be able to do anything if you catch your death.”

  Her grip tightened and she started for the house. He had no choice but to follow. “You need to get into some dry clothes. My husband’s about your size, only shorter. ’Course, he’s fleshy around the middle, not muscled up like you. I guess some of his things will have to do.”

  She paused and wrinkled her nose at him. “If you don’t mind my saying, you need a good washing. You smell worse than a buffalo herd.”

  In one last desperate attempt, Buddy pulled free of her grasp. “Yes, ma’am. I reckon that’s true, so I’d best get on back to town.”

  Mrs. Dane linked arms with him, but not in the delicate, genteel manner of a lady. In fact, she nearly wrestled him to the ground. “Don’t make me take you by the ear, young man. Dry clothes and a warm tub is what you need, and I’ll be taking no sass on the subject.”

  She dragged him past the front door and into the parlor. “You might as well save yourself the twenty-five cents. That’s what a soak in hot water costs in town, you know, plus fifteen cents for a shave.” She winked over at Mrs. Bloom. “I’m offering fifty cents worth of scrubbing, two dollars worth of duds, and a plate of vittles if you’re hungry ... and it won’t cost you a plug nickel.” She chuckled. “And, Mr. Pierce, ‘free’ is a bargain you can’t afford to pass up.”

  ***

  Satisfied with the angle of her hat in the vanity mirror, Charity pulled on clean gloves and stepped into the hall. Two rooms down, a man stooped next to the keyhole struggling to fit his key into the lock. After a closer look, she realized it was Buddy, though something about him seemed different. She closed her door hard to get his attention.

  He leaped and whirled as if she’d shot him, then spun without a word and went at the lock with a vengeance.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she feigned anger. “So there you are. First you help a lady and then you run out on her.”

  Buddy’s frantic fingers stilled. He straightened slowly and turned, one chestnut brow arched to the sky. “You know, a man can run into a heap of trouble in this town for that very thing.”

  Stunned by his angry face, Charity clasped her hands at her chest. “What very thing?”

  He abandoned the stubborn key and charged like a bantam hen with chicks. “Trying to help a lady, that’s what. Do you have any idea the humiliation I’ve suffered?”

  For the first time sh
e noticed his manner of dress. He wore a white shirt, suitable for Sunday service but made for smaller shoulders and a wider waist. Gathered folds allowed the sleeves to fit his big arms, but they ended far shy of his wrists. A woman’s sash of robin’s egg blue held up black trousers six inches too short and miles too big around the middle.

  She stared, trying to take it all in. “Oh, Buddy! What in the world?”

  “See what I mean?” He held his arms out to his sides. “This is my reward for the good deed of the day.”

  Charity ached to laugh, but the look on his face warned her not to. She pointed at his waist. “Is that...? Why, Mother Dane has a sash exactly like that.”

  “Not anymore, she doesn’t.”

  “Oh no!”

  His gaze jerked to her handbag and his scowl quenched her grin. “Where do you think you’re going? I’ve just wrestled a bobcat over putting you up in that room, and now you’re leaving?”

  The breath caught in her throat. “Mama.”

  “As bad as she was, your mama wasn’t the worst of it. I’d sooner face Custer’s Indians than deal with that Dane woman again. She had me shucked and in a tub before I could say Jack Sprat. Then she trussed me in this getup and left me no choice but to ride into town looking as queer as a pig in a parlor.”

  Charity jerked a hand to her mouth, glad he couldn’t see behind it, and tried to look appalled. “How scandalous! They’re a couple of ruffians, those two. Oh, Buddy, I should’ve warned you. Would have, too, if you’d bothered to tell me where you were going.”

  An elderly couple appeared at the head of the stairs, saw Buddy, and openly stared. Charity guessed they’d caught sight of him downstairs and were still in a stir. As they passed by, the grinning old man pointed at Buddy’s bare ankles and whispered something about floodwater. In front of their door, they looked back with amused eyes, collapsed into giggles, and scrambled inside.

  Buddy slouched and hung his head. “I’ll have to fight every man in Humble before I live this down.”

  “Why on earth did you go to the Danes’?”

  “Why do you think? You ran off without a thought for anyone. In a storm yet. For all they knew, a twister had you in a Louisiana swamp by now.”

  She stared into his eyes and knew his claim to be true. Ashamed, she dropped her gaze and leaned on the wall. “If not for you, it might’ve.”

  Buddy drew a deep breath then released it along with his air of indignation. He leaned against the wall beside her—too close—and lifted her chin with his finger. “Hardly accurate, since there was no twister. And stop changing the subject. Where are you off to?”

  “I have business outside town.”

  He shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’ll keep until tomorrow when I can go with you.”

  She raised her brows. “I’m grateful for the offer, but I’ve conducted business on my own for some time now. I think I can manage.”

  “And I gave my word to your mama that I’d watch out for you. I don’t need you getting into mischief that I’ll have to answer for later. Besides, you won’t make it back before nightfall. I get the feeling Humble isn’t the same safe town it was before.”

  Buddy was right. The streets grew wilder every day. She could count on one hand the times she’d been in town after dark, even before the boom. She stood upright and faced him. “Fine, you win. But why can’t we go right now?”

  “I’m exhausted and hungry, that’s why. As soon as I change out of this silly garb, I’m finding myself something to eat and going to bed.”

  Her heart sank. At the mention of food, the rumble in her stomach picked up something fierce, but she wouldn’t be eating until she sold her dress. Planting her feet, she got ready to take him head-on, though she felt dwarfed by his looming size. “I’m sorry, but I must go now. If you can’t go with me, I’ll be forced to go by myself.”

  “Why? What could be so all-fired important?”

  She wilted a bit. “I can’t say. It’s personal.”

  “You have to give me more than that if you expect me to jump to your bidding.”

  Reluctance to answer his question knocked the air right out of her bluff. She gave a careless toss of her head. “Very well, then. Will you take me first thing tomorrow?”

  “I have business of my own in the morning.”

  Her hungry stomach lurched. “I see.”

  “I should be finished sometime after lunch. We’ll go then.”

  She burned with curiosity but wouldn’t ask. She didn’t hide it well, though, and he volunteered the information.

  “I happen to be headed out to your place.”

  Her head jerked up. “Whatever for?”

  “I promised your mama I’d get things moving along out there. First thing tomorrow I’ll be riding out to see if I can’t speed up those drills.” He ambled over to the door and set to work struggling with the lock again. “Blast it all. What’s wrong with this infernal thing?”

  “Buddy?”

  He turned.

  “Take me with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” She pouted, irked that he returned to the lock, dismissing her.

  “It’s no place for you. The yard is crawling with roughnecks and buried under equipment. Besides, I’m not taking the rig.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “Too muddy to walk. I’m going by horseback.”

  “I can ride.”

  He exhaled and shifted his weight to the other foot. “Why do you want to go out there anyway?”

  Was he irritated at the lock or with her? “Just do. I’m curious.”

  “Well, the answer’s no.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the door. He still fought with the key. After a bit she eased over to him. “You know, I think that must be the wrong one.”

  He straightened and frowned as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “You think so?”

  She watched him figure it out. He’d have to go downstairs, and he’d sooner be poached and pickled.

  “Charity, could you...?”

  “Exchange it for you? Of course.” She took the long brass key from his hand and dangled it between them. “In exchange for a favor.”

  His hopeful eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t bushwhack me like that.”

  She smiled her sweetest smile. “Such a harsh word.”

  He threw up his hands. “Who spawned the hardheaded women in this town? Go on, then. Get my key. But you’d best be ready to head out first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll be ready. I promise.” She rushed to the head of the stairs and then turned. Blast pride—she was desperate. “Buddy?”

  “Now what?”

  “I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m faint from hunger.”

  “Lucky for you, I am, too. We’ll rustle up a bite downstairs before we turn in.”

  “Wonderful idea.” She lifted the hem of her skirt and started down the stairs.

  “I just hope you can keep up tomorrow,” he called after her. “Because I won’t be coddling you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The fiery red and gold horizon, visible between fat, knotted trunks, belied the cold of the morning as Charity followed Buddy out of town. The horses’ steady footfalls were quiet on the pine straw blanket, and the creak of leather and occasional snort of a horse were the only sounds to break the stillness. In the chill air, their breath, and that of their mounts, came out in smoky billows of mist. Charity shivered and drew her shawl closer, her attention on Buddy’s back.

  His spine as rigid as a tomato stake, he sat tall in the saddle on the big bay. As for his vow not to coddle her, so far he’d failed to keep his threat. While she couldn’t claim Buddy had pampered her, he had certainly tended to her needs.

  After staring hard at her denim britches, he wouldn’t allow her to go with him to the livery, insisting she wait inside the hotel instead. In no time he returned with a gentle horse for her, shortening the stirrups before
taking her elbow and helping her aboard. Then he led her through the swampy streets, guiding the little mare past the mud holes and deepest ruts before handing over the reins.

  Charity blushed remembering how Buddy looked at her when she opened the door dressed in men’s pants. She guessed the women in St. Louis wore split skirts or riding habits, but Humble afforded no such luxuries. Women here made their own by cutting wornout frocks up the middle and sewing them into flared legs, or they borrowed jeans from a man. Thankfully, she’d packed an old pair handed down from her slip of an Irish grandfather.

  She stared down at her legs. A mite snug and hardly the latest fashion, but the pants served her well for sitting a horse. “It’s mighty cold, isn’t it?” she asked then cringed, waiting for Buddy to order her to return to her room. She needn’t have worried.

  The quarrelsome man hadn’t said ten words to her all morning. He’d had even less to say at dinner the night before.

  She itched to get him talking again and searched her mind for something to draw him out. “Hey, what’s that over there?”

  Buddy looked over his shoulder, and she pointed near the edge of the trail. “Are those coyote droppings?” She winced at her choice of topic but forged ahead anyway. “You know, I think they are. He left some tracks, too. See? In front of the droppings. One paw in front of the other, as clear as day.”

  He acknowledged her findings with a grunt and turned away again.

  “Coyotes don’t usually come in this close to town. Wonder what drew him?”

  Buddy shrugged. It seemed the most he would give, so Charity gave up. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  A quarter mile from her property, a commotion the likes of which she’d never heard reached Charity’s ears. The sound grew louder as they neared the house, yet Buddy seemed unconcerned. She longed to ask about the source of the racket, but her offended pride wouldn’t allow her.

  As they rode up even with the yard, the hullabaloo frightened the horses. Buddy’s mount sidestepped, prancing and bobbing his head until Buddy dug in his heels and coaxed him forward. Charity’s skittish little mare fell in behind. They picked their way to the rear of the house and reined in at the edge of chaos.