Chasing Charity (13 page)

Doubt flickered in his eyes. He wagged his head, but his voice wavered. “You gon’ lose me my job, Miss Emmy. I got mouths to feed.”

She had him. Lowering her long lashes, she let her shoulders slump and her arms go slack. “Of course. I understand. Don’t you worry about me none. I’ll be fine.” Trudging to the side of her bed, she plopped back down on the mattress. “I’ve grown accustomed to living in this room.”

Like a convicted man offered a reprieve, Nash jerked open the door and started out ... then paused on the threshold and sighed. “I reckon if you was to tell your mama she heard me wrong ’bout you running for the woods ... if you was to tell her I found you in the barn tending old Rebel ... I wouldn’t say you was lying.”

Emmy wanted to run and wrap her arms around him but remembered her state of undress and stayed put. She tried to convey the depth of her gratitude in the fervor of her quiet response. “Thank you, Nash.”

He glanced at her with hooded eyes. “I’m plain weary of breaking commandments for you, girl. You’ve kept me sorrowful before the Almighty till my drawers be worn at the knees. Try and behave yourself for a spell.”

She gave a dutiful nod. “I will. I promise.”

He waved a bony finger in her face. “If you really want to thank me, stay on this side of that window from now on, leastwise while wearing your scanties.” Looking around, he added one last thought. “If your mama don’t nail it shut, that is.” His scowl disappeared, replaced by a wide grin. He closed the door behind him, still chuckling as he made his way down the hall.

Emmy dropped the quilt and spun in a circle, then fell across her bed. She’d done it again—worked Nash with the skill of a puppeteer and had him prancing to her will. With the aid of her reluctant marionette, Mama would believe her. Oh, she’d call Emmy reckless, lecture her on modesty, and that would be that.

As she lay staring at the ceiling, an unfamiliar sensation wormed its way into her chest, not unlike the feel of the dung beetle on her thigh. The usually sweet victory bittered in her mouth like an underripe persimmon. She wasn’t herself somehow and wondered if it showed. Curious, she scooted to the edge of the bed and leaned to stare hard at the mirror.

Her familiar image peered back at her, just the same as before, save a few sticks and leaves in her matted hair. Exactly the same ... except for the eyes. Eyes that gazed back, guilty and troubled, in a way they’d never done before.

“Oh, pooh!” she told her reflection. “I’m being silly. Nothing has changed.” She’d plied her tricks like always and managed to save her hide.

She picked up her brush and worked it through her tousled hair, pushing aside the scattered emotions that made this time feel different. Because the difference was, if Emmy admitted the truth, her game had lost its pleasure ... and made her feel like she’d wallowed with the hogs.

Charity didn’t slow down until the trail opened out onto town. With a frightened glance at Daniel, still following in the distance, she dashed through a rain-soaked clearing, slip-sliding through the mud in her haste.

Sensitive to her fear, Red trotted stiff-legged beside her, the hair along the ridge of his back flared like porcupine quills.

Her dread of Daniel seemed unreasonable. Yet the chill she’d felt while staring into his brown, soulless eyes had oozed around her, encasing her in fright the way sap envelops a bug. His effect on Red didn’t help.

Before they made the turn alongside Rogers & Grossman’s Dry Goods Store, Red stopped for one last throaty growl aimed in their pursuer’s direction.

In her heart, Charity knew it wasn’t the first time she’d noticed Daniel’s callous behavior toward others. The confusion came from his ability to turn it off in an instant while his winsome ways and aching good looks lulled her into believing she’d imagined the whole thing. Indiscretions too blatant to overlook, she’d explained away as a onetime occurrence, a momentary weakness. Until today.

“Charity, wait. What’s got into you, girl?”

Her heart lurched. Daniel’s long-legged stride had nearly closed the distance between them.

Red’s growl deepened to a vicious snarl. Charity tapped his head and sped up. “Let’s go, boy.” Wheeling too sharply around the corner of Rogers & Grossman’s, she drove straight into the middle of Jerry Ritter, one of Buddy’s men.

The poor man shouted, “Whoa!” then grabbed her and spun around to keep her from falling.

Buddy stood behind him on the boardwalk wearing a surprised grin.

Mr. Ritter beamed down, aglow with delighted surprise. “Well, shucks. Hello there, Miss Bloom. Are you all right?” He held her wrist and helped her gain her footing. “Best be more careful, ma’am. You’re liable to get yourself hurt.”

Buddy took the two steps down to the ground. “I thought you reserved that manner of greeting for me. Looks like running folks down in the street is just your little way of saying howdy.” He chuckled. “I have to admit, I’m a mite disappointed.” He sobered, his brows knitting together. “Say, aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

She shot an anxious glance behind her. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m in a terrible hurry.”

Buddy drew near and pulled her close, his gaze following hers to the corner. “What’s wrong? You look like the devil’s chasing you.”

Daniel rounded the building. Red whipped in front of her and crouched, baring his teeth. He cut loose with frenzied barking, his deep bray piercing Charity’s ears. Daniel froze, but the dog didn’t seem to be the thing holding him this time. In fact, despite the fuss Red was making, Daniel appeared not to notice him. His gaze seemed fixed on Buddy’s hands resting on Charity’s shoulders.

A curse spilled from his sneering mouth and he spun in the opposite direction, his frantic gait from earlier slowed to a cocky swagger.

Charity released her breath. The muscles in her legs, tensed so long in flight, relaxed in a rush of warmth. It left them trembling so hard Buddy’s hands, still on her arms, were the only things holding her up.

Lee Allen, whom she hadn’t noticed before, bounded down to stand beside Jerry, his attention on Daniel’s back. “Was that fellow giving you trouble, ma’am?”

Embarrassed to admit how much, she shook her head.

Bristling as much as Red, Jerry puffed like rising dough and glowered after Daniel. “If he does, we’ll sort him out for you.” He sniffed and hitched up his britches. “Shouldn’t take but a minute.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle myself,” she protested, not sure whether she told the truth.

Buddy pinned her with a no-nonsense look. “Did he hurt you?”

She glanced away. “Of course not.”

“Threaten you in some way?”

Squirming, she raised pleading eyes to Buddy’s.

He gave an answering nod. “You boys go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”

Mr. Allen hooked his finger in Jerry’s suspenders and hauled him around. “Let’s go, Jim Jeffries. You retired from the ring this year, remember?”

A blank expression wiped the scowl from Jerry’s forehead. “The champ’s retired? Who told you so?” Meek as a baby bird, he followed Mr. Allen up to the boardwalk, still pecking for information. “Huh, Lee? Jim Jeffries quit boxing? Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

Buddy stared over Charity’s shoulder until their banter and heavy footsteps faded. His chin hovered so near, she noted wisps of whiskers too fine to shave at the edges of his mouth. They were golden brown like the hair curling from under his hat, only several shades lighter. The longer ones curved around his top lip, and she wondered if they tickled.

His gaze swept back and caught her looking, his soft green eyes turning her heart to pudding pie. He smiled. “Want to talk about it now?”

The compassion in his voice made mush of her insides.

Oh no! I’m going to cry.

She covered her face ... too late. Buddy sheltered her under his arm and gently guided her ... somewhere. When they stopped, he turned her against the front of his shirt and let her weep.

Though it felt so nice to be there, Charity composed herself as fast as possible and pushed free from his tender embrace. Wiping her eyes on the handkerchief he offered, she stole a quick glance at him. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me. All I do is pout and squall.” She blew her nose, mortified that it honked like a prodded goose. “I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you this is the most I’ve cried since Papa died. Things are so awful now, no matter which way I turn.” She sighed. “I guess I’m finding it hard to cope.”

Rocking back on his heels, Buddy shot her a piercing look. “You didn’t lock your friend outside again, did you?”

She gasped. “Absolutely not! Don’t talk foolish.”

He grinned. “Sorry. Just trying to make you smile. I’ve decided I don’t like seeing you cry.”

Charity returned his smile. “I’ve given you plenty of chances to come to that conclusion, haven’t I? You must be sick of me.”

Buddy cupped her chin in his double-portioned palm and pulled her head up, snaring her with the intensity in his eyes. “Sick of you? Oh no, ma’am. Not by a long shot.”

A peculiar weakness, accompanied by the same warm sensation that afflicted her whenever she thought of him lately, nearly buckled her knees. Except this time the power of her feelings nearly swept her away. When the sky tilted, she refocused to find that the world consisted of little beyond the brim of Buddy’s hat. Shocked by a bold urge to caress the fuzz on his lip, she lowered her eyes and backed away.

Determined to shake off his spell, Charity raised her head and looked around. He had led her around by the rear door of the dry goods store behind a mountainous pile of empty crates. The stack formed a half circle that butted up against the woods, creating a private, cozy den of sorts. The pine boxes held the mixed odor of whatever wares they’d last held. Some smelled strongly of coffee, some tobacco, and a few reeked with the pungent, clingy tang of onion. Red worked his way along the line, busily sniffing out any odors she had missed.

By the look of the cigar butts and empty liquor bottles littering the ground, they weren’t the first inhabitants, but the secluded nook was nice.

Buddy pulled down several crates, testing them with his weight until he found two he trusted. He placed them next to the stack, facing each other, then bowed at the waist and motioned for her to sit. “Milady?”

Laughing despite her unease, she gingerly sat, straightening her skirt around her legs. Red trotted over and curled up at her feet, while Buddy pulled his seat a little closer and perched on the edge, watching her without saying a word.

Just as the silence grew heavy, he spoke. “I think the reason you get teary-eyed so often is because you haven’t let it out.”

Charity jerked her gaze to his earnest face.

He blushed, but his eyes held steady. “I’m serious. Maybe you just need to have yourself a good cry. A stomp-your-feet, pound-on-something, bawl-for-all-you’re-worth sort of cry.”

“Very well, if you insist.”

He held up both hands. “Whoa, now. I didn’t mean right here and now.”

His panic amused her, and she grinned. A twinkle lit his eyes as a slow smile replaced the fear. She started to laugh, and he laughed with her.

When they were quiet again, she gave him a shy glance. “I suppose you want to know about Daniel.”

He eased back a bit. “It’s none of my business really.”

She scooted forward, bothered by the distance he’d put between them. “That’s not so. After all, you have quite a stake in me by now. One I’m bound to repay.”

His head swung from side to side. “Nonsense. You don’t owe me a thing. I only hope I’ve earned your friendship.”

She tilted her chin. “Oh, Buddy, you’ve earned more than that. You have my eternal gratitude.”

Brows drawn in concentration, he mulled over her words. As if he’d made up his mind, he suddenly leaned across the dog and took hold of her hand. “If that’s so, I hope I’ve gained your trust as well.”

Surprised at the direction he’d taken, she squeezed his hand. “You know you have.”

He squeezed back, sending a jolt along her spine. “Will you answer one question for me, then? I’ve no right to ask, but it concerns a matter that’s hounded me since we met.”

Hesitant, because she had no idea what he might be about to say, she steeled herself and nodded. “Go ahead and ask.”

“Why were you so angry the day we found oil on your land? It wasn’t just about leaving your house, was it?”

He had noticed. She knew it that day. Scattered emotions crowded to the surface, all struggling for release.

What’s wrong with me? I will not cry again!

She swallowed hard. “I don’t want the oil.”

He scrunched his brow and lifted his chin.

“Well, not the oil itself,” she hurriedly explained. “I mean the money, I guess.”

From the deeper scowl lines on his face, she reckoned Buddy was truly puzzled now.

He cleared his throat. “Most folks are right happy to get their hands on more dough. Especially that much.”

She drew up her shoulders and pulled her hand free. “No amount is worth what it’s doing to our town. I detest the sight of those derricks. Especially Mr. Beatty’s number two well—the way it stretches to the sky, belching smoke and steam. It’s an ugly old eyesore.”

Doing a poor job of stifling a grin, Buddy slumped over and braced his arms on his knees. “Ma’am, that well pumps over eight thousand barrels a day from a depth of seven hundred feet. I hate to contradict, but she’s considered quite a beauty around these parts.”

“I don’t care. I hate her.” With a forceful swipe of her arm, Charity brushed at her skirt as if dashing Mr. Beatty and his well to the ground. If only she could so easily rid her lap of all the problems clustered there lately—all caused, directly or indirectly, by the oil boom.

Buddy angled his head. “That’s a harsh tone from such a pretty little mouth.”

“It’s true. I hate her. And let’s not insult my gender—that hulking stack of iron is no lady. I don’t want to add to the unsightly display in Humble by erecting one like it in my own backyard.”

Buddy patted her clenched fists. “Dear girl, don’t you understand yet? The boom is here. There will be oil derricks stretched across this land as far as the eye can see. In a year or less, they’ll be so thick you can jump from one to the other and make it clear across town without ever touching the ground. What’s one more going to hurt?”

She stared at him a moment then pressed her knuckles against her temples. “Oh, Buddy, I hope not. And I sure don’t want Mama to have any part in it.”

He curled his finger under her chin and lifted her face. “It’s going to happen, Charity. With or without your mama’s well. You can’t stop it, so you may as well reap something from it to make a better life for the two of you.”

She pulled away. “Why do people keep saying that? We’ve always been poor. It’s all we’ve ever known. But we were happy with the life we shared, at least before Papa—” She cut off a ragged sob just in time. Only an odd little hiccup escaped to give her away.

Buddy stood, pulling her up with him. He nudged Red’s flank with his boot, startling him awake and sending him scurrying aside. Then his arms went around her again, and she melted against him.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

She nodded against his chest. “He was a wonderful man,” she said when she could speak. “I don’t say that because time has sweetened the memories. He really was special.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him?”

She searched his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, I’d like to hear.”

Before she realized it might not be proper, she traced circles around the top button on his shirt with her index finger while memories flooded to the surface. Suddenly self-conscious, she jerked her finger away. “Papa was funny. Always teasing. When he came into a room, he brought life through the door. Back then our house seemed fit to burst at the seams with love, joy, and laughter”—she grinned up at him—“and long-eared dogs. Papa bred the finest bloodhounds in the state. They were his passion.” She tipped her head toward Red, falling asleep again beside her crate. “He was one of them. Papa’s favorite. He belongs to Shamus Pike now.”

“How’d you wind up with him?”

She grimaced. “It’s a story you don’t have time for. Suffice it to say, I can’t get shed of the old rascal.”

Buddy grinned. “He’s a fine specimen, all right. I heard about him in town. A lot of folks still boast about Thaddeus Bloom’s prized hunting dogs. What happened to the rest?”

Her finger wandered to the button again. “Mama sold them. Every last one.” Aware she sounded like a resentful child, she softened her tone. “I told her I would take care of them, but she said we could barely afford to feed ourselves, much less a pack of hungry hounds.”

“And you were sorry to see them go.”

She sighed. “It felt like losing Papa all over again.”

“It may have been for the best, though, don’t you think? It would’ve been a lot of hard work for a—”

Her hand came up. “Don’t dare finish that sentence. I’ll have you know I stood toe to toe with Papa from the time I could walk. There was nothing girlie about me growing up.”