Liz Ireland (5 page)

At least...until now.

She fought against the sagging sensation in her shoulders. Yesterday she’d been Cecilia Summertree, the town schoolteacher, with the best room in Dolly Hudspeth’s boardinghouse. Now she was nothing but a washerwoman, Lupe Viega’s replacement, with a squat room overlooking the biggest privy in town.

Her mind whirred, and then she caught sight of the many sets of eyes fastened on her. None of them seemed to truly appreciate the desperation of her plight. Not even Tommy, who moments before had spoken as her ally. Although, God bless him, the boy was still chewing mesquite gum against school rules.

Suddenly, she became self-conscious. This building, which she’d so recently considered her own, was no longer a welcoming place. Not while Pendergast ruled there.

Before she could voice a response, Jake stepped forward, locked on to her elbow and steered her down the steps. Cecilia sputtered at his manhandling, but he no longer cared what she thought or how angry she became. Her being there was making him nervous.

As he deposited her on the first step, she pulled away and whirled on him. “You—you brute!” she spat angrily.

“Brute?” Jake asked, feigning wonder. He puffed out his chest and tugged at his vest in mock pride. “No one’s ever called me that before. I rather like it.”

What a horrid man! Cecilia thought. And to think that even last night she had toyed with the idea—ludicrous now—that he was actually rather attractive.

“Stay out of my way, Pendergast,” she warned.

“Out of your way? Just yesterday you indicated you were going to be my shadow. Perhaps you should take your own advice.”

Her blue eyes flashed with ire. “That wasn’t advice, Pendergast, it was a warning.” After sending him a final glare, she spun and beat a hasty retreat.

Jake smiled lazily as he again watched Cecilia huff toward town, relieved to have survived the encounter so successfully. He was getting to her. Soon her better sense would prevail—Cecilia would tire of doing chores for Dolly Hudspeth and run back to Daddy’s ranch, leaving him in peace.

But until that time, he would have to be very, very careful—and pray he had enough money to keep these students good and bribed till he was ready to beat it out of town.

E
ugene Pendergast would rue the day he came to Annsboro, Cecilia vowed. He’d actually humiliated her in front of her former students, dismissing her as if she was a—a nobody! Of course, she had to admit that she had behaved rather disgracefully herself, standing on the schoolhouse steps ranting about warnings—but he’d provoked her!

She clenched her fists at her sides as she marched down the dusty street, passing right by the turnoff to Dolly’s house. With all the pent-up frustration inside her, she would probably be able to get the wash done in no time, but she couldn’t face Dolly just yet. Her friend would sense something had happened, and Cecilia didn’t want her to know that she had designs on Pendergast. Designs to get him fired, that is.

But how?

At her frantic pace, she’d nearly covered the entire length of the town when she spotted Buck reeling out of Grady’s saloon. He was supposed to have taken her trunk full of clothes back to the ranch the night before, but by the looks of him the man hadn’t made it home at all.

“Buck McDeere, get over here!” she bellowed.

Although the street was practically deserted save for the two of them, the slow-moving cowboy looked muzzily in her direction before appearing to focus on her. Woozily, he shaded his eyes with his hand and stumbled forward. God only knew what he’d done with his hat.

“Buck, have you been in that place since last night?” Cecilia demanded.

“Have not. Just since this morning.”

“This morning?” That was strange. “Did Daddy send you into town for something?”

“Yep. You.”

Cecilia gulped.

“He heard about the new teacher, Cici. He doesn’t like the idea of you staying with Dolly now. ‘Imposing’ is how he put it.”

“Damnation!”

“He’s been stomping around all day, saying you think you’re too good for the rest of us.”

Cecilia puffed up with indignation. “That’s a lie!”

“I know that, but your father’s been bent out of shape ever since you left the ranch.”

“He’s been bent out of shape since I came back from New Orleans.” Which is why she hadn’t spent much time at home. Of course, she could understand him being mad about her being tossed out of school, but what did he care if she stayed cooped up on the ranch with him or not?

Buck hesitated, then told her, “He says you ought to get married and learn your place.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Have you ever heard anything so infuriating?” Marriage!

“I knew you’d be mad.” He clasped his hands in a pleading gesture. “Please, Cici. I’m just the messenger.”

“Oh, bother.” Some days it just seemed as if the whole world was plotting against her. Cecilia stamped her boot and held her breath against the dust she’d just kicked up. “I’ll have to think of something. Meantime, Buck, you shouldn’t have been so nervous that you had to spend the entire morning with a whiskey bottle. If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up like poor old Dooley Hodges.”

Both of them shook their heads sadly. Dooley Hodges had been a crackerjack ranch hand before he’d had the misfortune to fall in love with a woman at Grady’s. When the girl had said she wouldn’t marry him, he’d decided to stand sentry at the bar, effectively cutting off her clientele. Unfortunately, the girl moved on and Dooley didn’t. He became a permanent fixture on his bar stool, until finally he just collapsed in an alcoholic funk. His people, from Fort Worth, had come for him, and Dooley was never heard from again.

“Poor Dooley,” Buck said, still shaking his head. “Bet he’s working in a store, or some such.” As if that was a fate worse than death.

“But of course, if his family hadn’t come for him, the temperance ladies probably would have run him out.”

Buck nodded. Some of the farmers’ wives deeply resented the presence of the bar—not to mention brothel—in Annsboro. Their husbands barely scratched out a living anyway, so it was a small wonder women begrudged cash money going to the consumption of women and alcohol, when some of them couldn’t afford to make decent winter clothes to send their children to school....

School!

A tantalizing vision of Eugene Pendergast being run out of town, with several large, outraged farm women on his heels, hurling rocks at his swiftly retreating back, flitted titillatingly through Cecilia’s imagination. Her lips curled up in a wide smile. Could she manage it? she thought, wondering whether Lysander Beasley had given Pendergast the same pompous morality lesson he’d given her.

It just might work, she thought, her heart racing. All she needed was an accomplice. “Buck, listen to me. I promise I’ll explain my extended stay to Daddy, in person, if you’ll just do me one tiny little favor.”

Buck regarded her through suspicious, bleary eyes. “Aw, Cici, why don’t you just come on home?”

“Because my home is right here,” she lectured sharply. “And if you liked me half as much as you’re so fond of saying you do, you’d understand that.”

“I do, but I don’t understand—”

“I’m a lady, Buck. What’s the point of being a lady if you’re stuck where nobody ever sees you?”

Buck rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, but your mother was a lady, and she lived out there.”

“And died there,” Cecilia snapped.

He winced at her piercing words and shrugged in obeisance. “Okay, okay. What am I supposed to do now?”

“I want you to get that new schoolteacher rip-roaring drunk.”

Buck let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “No, really,” he urged, then saw the earnest, withering look on her face. “You’re not jokin’ me?”

She paused a moment for effect. “I am not.”

And while Buck was inebriating her nemesis, she would get to work on her own line of sabotage. And she knew just where to start. For years, Lysander Beasley had stumped around the county trying to raise money for new school readers—because, of course, his daughter at six could read better than most adults. Finally, with generous contributions from Cecilia’s father and some others, he’d been able to purchase fifteen new Gibson readers. It would be too wonderful if anything happened to those precious books during Pendergast’s short tenure.

Buck was having trouble accepting her orders. “But I don’t even know the man. He might not be the kind to get liquored up.”

“Last night I saw him gulp down two glasses of Dolly’s potent blackberry wine like it was water. He drinks, all right.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Cecilia said in her firmest schoolmarm tone. “Buck McDeere, if you don’t do this for me I’m going straight home tomorrow to tell Daddy I saw you reeling out of Grady’s at half past eleven. Don’t forget who Dooley Hodges worked for. Daddy’s sensitive when it comes to workers and the bottle.”

“Aw, Cici, that’s...that’s—”

“Blackmail.” Cecilia smiled. “Same as you’ve done to me since we were kids.”

Buck shrugged helplessly and Cecilia knew she had him. Mentioning their long history never did any harm, since he considered that to be one of his best selling points as a suitor.

“All right,” he said. “I guess I’ll try.”

In her triumph, Cecilia beamed a smile at him and reached over to squeeze his arm. “Buck, I’m sorry for thinking you’re such a good-for-nothing.”

Buck grinned back happily. Although he was a bit nervous about his mission and suspicious about Cici’s motives, maybe she’d appreciate his efforts. He’d been trying to rush her for five years now and frankly, he was beginning to feel a little discouraged.

* * *

Pendergast took her hand and gazed deeply into her eyes. Cecilia remembered thinking that his dark eyes had a smoldering quality, and that was the word that came to her now. Lit by fire, they were, and desire for her alone.

They stood by the pond near her house, almost dry now since August. Still, the trees there provided shade, and a very promising privacy. With only a quick glance to confirm that they were alone, perfectly alone, he pulled her into his arms. Before Cecilia could react, his lips covered hers, warm and persuasive...

And then he started singing.

Cecilia bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. Pendergast had kissed her!

No, no, he hadn’t. Fuzzily, as she attempted to gain her bearings in the dark, her mind began to make sense of what had happened. She’d been dreaming—but surely, it had been more like a nightmare! Her labored breathing certainly indicated that something traumatic had occurred.

And yet, as she strained to remember the dream, her recollections were not at all unpleasant. First she’d been captivated by his coal dark eyes, which had drawn her closer to him without his even touching her. But how could that have happened?

Of course, the answer was that it
hadn’t
happened. But the scene was so vivid—his lips, his voice, singing...she could hear it even now. That truly was strange. She could make out the tune quite clearly. He was singing “Lorena”!

Cecilia pushed back her coverlet and hopped from the bed. Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck out the window to hear the mournful ballad. Someone was singing down the street, but it didn’t sound like Pendergast. It sounded more like...Buck!

A light breeze brought with it the ripe smell of the side yard, causing Cecilia to duck her head back inside. She groped through the darkened room for her robe, then remembered that it was one of the items she’d sent home. Letting out an exasperated breath as the singing neared the house, she left her room in her nightgown and bare feet to meet the roving minstrel.

The evening was unseasonably warm as she stepped outside through the front door, but she crossed her arms over her chest instinctively as the fresh air made contact with her scantily clothed body. Narrowing her eyes toward the road, she caught sight of Pendergast and Buck, draped over each other so that she could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. They weaved off the main road toward the house.

As they came closer and Cecilia’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight, it became clear who was who. Buck, staggering and singing, was on the left, and Pendergast on the right, was practically dragging him along—cold sober!

She couldn’t believe how miserably Buck had failed her. Her only comfort was that
she
had had a successful evening. After the boardinghouse residents had gone to bed, Cecilia had sneaked over to the schoolhouse, climbed through a window and tossed out the readers. Unfortunately, she had to toss herself out the window, too, and had done a belly flop in the dust. But in so doing, she had discovered the most ingenious hiding place for the books—on a ledge in the crawl space beneath the schoolhouse steps.

Which only proved that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

Regardless of her state of dress or who might see her, Cecilia sped off the porch and sprinted across the dry grass of Dolly’s yard to meet Pendergast and Buck. The sharp splintery blades poked at the soft pads of her feet.

“Buck, you idiot!” she said under her breath, coming to a quick stop in front of the pair. “Do you want to wake up the entire town?”

“And the next county.”

Cecilia looked at Pendergast, who seemed none the worse for drink. How had he managed it? In fact, his eyes were clear, almost twinkly, as they regarded her state of undress.

“Buck wanted to see you,” Pendergast said, grinning madly. “Said something about a man named Dooley Hodges and camping out on your porch until his relatives hauled him away.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Cecilia frowned. This was a terrible mess. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.”

“He insisted,” Pendergast explained, and then his gaze again swept her from head to toe, making her feel nearly naked, which of course she was. “Now I can understand why.”

A vision of her dream by the pond flashed through Cecilia’s mind. She felt her face burn and was glad there was only a quarter moon’s worth of light illuminating her embarrassment.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” she asked fretfully.

Seeing her distress, his expression softened. “Honestly, Cecilia, I couldn’t send him off to your father’s ranch. He’ll stay in my room for the night.”

Suddenly, Cecilia relaxed a bit. As much as she hated to admit it, this was her fault, and Pendergast was at least being decent about it. And he was right. She wouldn’t want Buck to have attempted the ride home, or risked her father’s wrath when he got there.

“All right,” she agreed, then bent her head toward his companion. “But Buck, you’ve got to try not to wake up Dolly or Lucinda.” Mrs. Baker slept like a rock.

“Dolly or Lucici—cinda,” Buck slurred loudly.

Cecilia looked doubtfully at Pendergast. “I’ll help you get him upstairs.”

He nodded, and Cecilia ducked underneath Buck’s other armpit. His crazily limp body was terribly unwieldy, and by the time they made it inside and to the stairs, bumping and thumping all the way, Cecilia had lost all hope of not waking the others.

“Shh,” she entreated, and Pendergast nodded.

Backfired. She couldn’t believe her little scheme had blown up in her face. What had she done to deserve this?

Oh, well. At least
she
had managed to set a trap for Pendergast. Beasley would stroke when those expensive books turned up missing, and Pendergast would bear the brunt of his wrath. She smiled already in anticipation.

“You know,” Pendergast whispered seriously, “the man probably wouldn’t be driven to drink if you didn’t tease him so unmercifully.”

“What?” Cecilia almost shrieked.

He ducked his head and pressed a finger to his mouth in warning. “Shh.”

“Don’t shush me, Pendergast,” Cecilia said, spitting the words over Buck’s practically unconscious head. “How dare you deign to tell me my business after spending all of three days in this town?”

“Fine,” he answered. “I won’t mention it again. I reckon it’s none of my business if you choose to ruin this man’s life.”

Cecilia’s eyebrow shot up in alert. “You
reckon?
Is that one of your Philadelphia words, Mr. Pendergast?”

“No, actually, I picked it up on the train.”

“I’ll just bet you did,” she replied.

“You know, you ought to consider going to Philadelphia someday. Maybe you’d pick up some manners on the train.”