It Happened One Night (6 page)

Sam grinned. Harley's tongue-in-cheek comment spoken in her slow, Georgia drawl was priceless.

“Sammy, I'm so glad I caught you,” Edna Matthews said, as she huffed and puffed her way to where they were standing, then handed him a small box. “The UPS man left this on your doorstep day before yesterday morning, but Henry's dog got to it before I could stop him. It's a little chewed up. I hope nothing is damaged inside.”

Sam took the box. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Matthews. It's a part that I ordered for my lawn mower, so it should be okay. I really appreciate you being so observant on my behalf.”

She beamed. “That's what good neighbors are for.” Then she gave Harley a pointed look.

Sam winked at Harley before introducing her to his neighbor.

“Mrs. Matthews, I'd like for you to meet my wife. Her name is Harley June and she's all the way from Savannah, Georgia, so I'm counting on you to make her feel welcome to the neighborhood.”

Edna Matthews's mouth dropped. Sam Clay was considered a prime catch. To hear he'd been taken off the marriage market was quite a coup. She couldn't
wait to spread the word. She eyed Harley up and down as if imprinting the image for future use and then smiled and held out her hand.

“Harley June? An unusual name to be sure.”

“It's  my  mother's  maiden  name,”  Harley  said. “It's not uncommon to do that where I grew up.”

“I see,” Edna said. “Savannah, you said?”

“Yes, ma'am. It's a beautiful city. Have you ever been there?”

“No. My late husband and I preferred the western part of the States. He was partial to Las Vegas and Reno. Have you ever been there?”

Harley wouldn't look at Sam and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yes, ma'am. I have been to Las Vegas.”

Edna beamed. “Well, then. We have something in common already. As for our Sammy, here, you are to be congratulated. He's considered quite a catch.”

“I consider myself the lucky one,” Sam said, and took the opportunity to end the conversation before Edna invited herself inside as she'd been known to do. “Thank you again for rescuing my package. Next time I have a cookout, you're invited, okay?”

“Why, thank you, Sammy, I'd be honored. I'll bring my Italian cream cake.” Then she looked at Harley. “Everyone loves my Italian cream cake.”

“Sounds good,” Harley said.

“Oh, it's marvelous,” Edna answered. “Do you cook, dear?”

“Yes, ma'am. All Southern girls are brought up to take care of their men, and you know what they say. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

The moment she said it, she eyed Sam nervously, all too aware that the way to his heart had nothing to do with food.

“We're pretty tired now,” Sam said quickly. “Thanks again, Mrs. Matthews. I'll be in touch.”

He headed Harley toward the door, hoping that Edna Matthews was going in the opposite direction. He turned to look just as he put the key in the lock and was pleased to see her disappearing into her own house. Then he opened the door, picked Harley up in his arms, and carried her across the threshold.

Harley was unprepared for the symbolic moment and caught herself choking back tears.

“Welcome home, Harley June,” Sam said softly, then set her down in the hallway and kissed her.

Harley's heart was pounding when he lifted his head, but Sam wasn't through. He reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a small, gold band, then slipped it on the third finger of Harley's left hand.

“I've been saving this for the right time. Is this okay?”

She stared at her hand, remembering the mixed emotions she'd had the first time she'd taken it off, and then looked up at him, unaware that her thoughts could be so easily read on her face.

“Yes, it's okay.”

Sam lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on the band itself, then gave her a hug.

“The guest bathroom is the second door down the hall on the left. As soon as I get our bags out of the car, I'll give you a tour of your new home.”

He was gone before Harley could think, but instead of moving around, she found herself staring at the small circle of gold on her finger and wondering how something so fragile could make her feel so bound.

* * *

Twenty-four on. Twenty-four off. Twenty-four on. Twenty-four off. Twenty-four on. Twenty-four off, then home four days.

After three weeks of marriage, Sam's work schedule at the Oklahoma City Fire Department was, metaphorically speaking, burned into her brain. On the days that he was gone, she cooked and cleaned and worked outside in the yard like a woman possessed. On the days that he was home, she was a little uneasy, still unable to believe that she was living with a man she hardly knew. She knew Sam was doing his best to make her feel at ease, but it was difficult. His brothers and their families had all come calling just long enough to give her the once-over, express real interest in the fact that she'd been named after the father of all motorcycles, tease her about getting married in Las Vegas and let their children stain the living room carpet with Kool-Aid. Even though she'd tried to explain
that  Harley  was  her  mother's  maiden  name,  they hadn't wanted to listen.

Sam had taken them to task in a jesting manner, telling them to quit picking on the love of his life, and then treated them all to barbecued ribs at a local restaurant. Harley had been overwhelmed by their boisterous manner and more than a little intimidated by the monumental platters of ribs and the amount of beer that flowed with them.

One of Sam's brothers had passed her a freshly topped mug of the brew, which she quickly refused.

“Hey, Sam,” his brother said. “What did you go and do—marry a little Southern teetotaler?”

Harley had turned instantly, giving Sam an “I'll kill you if you tell” look, which made him grin.

To her relief, Sam's answer was less than revealing.

“You just worry about your own wife and leave Harley to me,” he drawled, then to her surprise, he leaned over and planted a hard kiss right on the middle of her slightly parted lips.

He'd tasted of barbecue sauce and beer. The swift shaft of want that she'd felt at that moment had pierced clear through to her gut.

He'd seen her expression and whispered in her ear.

“Hold the thought.”

She'd held on for dear life. That night after everyone had gone home, he'd made the thought well worth her while.

There were still the occasional days when she was
certain she'd made a big mistake in coming with Sam to Oklahoma, but they were becoming few and far between. Most of the time she was going through the motions until he wheeled into the driveway and then came striding through the front door yelling, “Hey, Junie, I'm home.”

Life was good. Sex was great. And just when she was getting the hang of being married, she tried to pull a hero routine that would have been better left to Sam.

* * *

There was a cat up the tree in their front yard.

Harley had heard it meowing when she'd gone outside to get the morning paper. Thinking little of it at the time, she'd gone back inside. Later, when she'd gone out again to drop some letters in the mailbox, she'd heard it again and took the time to stop under the tree.

She looked up into the foliage and, at first, didn't see it. But then it spied Harley and the meow turned into a loud, plaintive squall.

“Poor kitty,” Harley muttered, and shifted her stance just enough that she could see a fuzzy orange cat face peering down at her through the branches and leaves.

The cat meowed again, this time adding a warble to the squall.

“I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you, baby? If you come down from there now I'll get you a big dish of milk. Come on...here kitty, kitty. Come on, kitty. Come on. Come on.”

“Waarrrooowww.”

Harley dashed back into the house, returning moments later with a piece of bread, thinking that the scent of food might coax the cat down. All she got for her troubles was another squalling wail.

Five minutes and a bowl of milk on the ground later, the cat was still up the tree and Harley's empathy for the situation had gotten completely out of hand. Instead of going back into the house and leaving the cat to come down after the food on its own time, she was convinced that it couldn't come down. Of course the logic that it had gotten up by itself was now completely lost on Harley June. She wanted to help poor kitty out of the tree, at which point, she had another idea—equally as bad as her first one.

There was a ladder in the garage. It hung on the wall above an old bicycle and a pair of Sam's boots that had seen better days. As she dragged the ladder down from the wall, she kept telling herself she could do this. All she had to do was go up the ladder, brace herself carefully as she climbed up through the branches, get poor kitty and then down they'd come.

The first part was simple. The tree was large. The ladder was tall. She went up the steps carefully, and by the time she was halfway up, could already reach the lowest branches of the tree. It didn't occur to her to be worried that the moment the cat had seen her coming up, it had climbed higher, rather than coming down to meet her.

When she looked up to gauge her position and saw the cat still several branches above her, she frowned, thinking that the cat must have been higher up than she'd imagined. Bracing herself by holding on to the closest branches, she swung a leg out around the ladder and put a foot on the branch. Within moments she was off the ladder and in the tree.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” she called. “Come on, kitty.”

“Maaarrroooww.”

She hefted herself to another branch, automatically elevating her position higher up into the tree, at which point the cat began to hiss.

Harley frowned.

“Look, kitty, don't you want to come down and get some nice warm milk? Come on, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty.”

Harley stretched out her hand. The cat extended its neck, sniffing in the direction of her fingers.

“That's a good kitty. Come on, kitty.”

All she needed was another six inches and she'd have the cat by the nape of the neck. Confident that this could be done, Harley moved just a little bit higher, only slightly aware of the sound of a truck engine coming to a stop beneath the curb.

The door opened—the driver emerging to the tune of country music blasting from the interior of the cab at earsplitting decibels. Harley looked down, saw the top of a baseball cap on a fat man's head and then to her horror, watched her ladder being dragged away from the tree and loaded onto the top of the truck.

“Hey!” she shouted. “That's my ladder! You can't take my ladder!”

The man gave no sign of having heard her above the din of music as he proceeded to tie the ladder down. To Harley's horror, he got into the truck and drove away.

“Stop! Thief!” Harley shouted.

The driver didn't stop and the cat moved up another two branches, this time completely out of sight.

“Oh fine,” Harley moaned, got a sudden burst of vertigo and grabbed on to the branches as the ground beneath began to waver and roll.

For several minutes she clung to the tree without moving or speaking while the cat, having tired of something else occupying what had once been its private domain, climbed down on the opposite side of the tree from Harley and proceeded to eat the bread and drink the milk that she'd brought before ambling off down the street in search of quieter quarters.

Harley stared in disbelief, and was then forced to close her eyes again as, once more, vertigo threatened to unseat her.

“Ingrate,” she muttered, and then sniffed as a few errant tears blurred her vision.

Sam wouldn't be home until sometime tomorrow and it was too far to the ground to just climb down to the lowest branches and let go. The last thing she wanted was to break a leg or an ankle. Added to that, not knowing anyone in the neighborhood but Edna Matthews pretty much limited the people who would
even know she was missing. The thought of being caught up a tree was only less embarrassing than the fact that she'd torn her shorts. Although she was afraid to check the damage, she suspected it was severe because she could feel breeze on her backside where her shorts pocket was supposed to be.

Time passed.

Enough that her legs were beginning to cramp and her fingers were getting numb. Added to that, she needed to pee. It was, except for that morning when she'd come to in Las Vegas and found herself married, the worst day of her life. The way she figured, she had two choices. She could pee her pants and hope they dried before someone actually found her, or she could forget her embarrassment and start yelling for help.

She opted for the latter.

“Help! Help! Somebody help.”

On the seventh call, she heard the blessed sound of someone calling back.

“Who's calling for help?”

“Me,” Harley answered, and ventured a look down. Edna Matthews was standing on Harley's front lawn looking around in complete confusion.

Edna turned. “Harley, dear, is that you?”

“Yes,” Harley shouted.

“Where are you?” Edna shouted back.

“Up the tree,” Harley answered.

Edna's mouth made a small
o
as she looked up in disbelief.

“My goodness, dear. How on earth did you get up there?”

“I climbed a ladder and then someone stole it.”

“Oh my,” Edna said. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Harley said, trying hard not to cry. “I can't get down.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Edna said. “Don't you worry, though. I'll go call for help right now. You wait right there.”

She bolted before Harley could answer. Harley laid her cheek against her arm, resisting the urge to laugh. Where the hell did Edna think she could go?

A few moments later, Edna was back. “I called the fire department, honey. They'll be right here.”