Untethered (10 page)

“Shhh,” Cricket soothed. “He’s home. We all saw the lamp glowin’ in the window. He wouldn’t leave it burnin’ if—”

“Shh! He’s openin’ the door!” Vilma exclaimed.

Again Cricket held her breath as she saw the kitchen door of Mr. Keel’s house swing in—watched Mr. Keel himself step out onto the porch and quickly look from one side to the other before his attention was arrested by the jar and candle at his feet.

“Oh my!” Ann breathed.

Quickly Marie clamped one hand over Ann’s mouth to keep her quiet as four sets of young female eyes widened to the size of turkey platters.

Cricket smiled as she glanced to Ann. Ann had been exactly right—Mr. Keel’s underdrawers were some of the shabbiest imaginable. Furthermore, they were only bottom underdrawers, not long johns. Held secure at the waist by a drawstring, Mr. Keel’s topless underdrawers not only nicely revealed his kneecaps through the holes in them but allowed four of Pike’s Creek’s most mischievous young women a view of his muscular chest, shoulders, and arms.

Cooper Keel was known as one of the hardest-working men in Pike’s Creek—and it showed by means of his anatomy. Even for the dark, Cricket could see that Ann’s cheeks were as red as summer roses.

“Who’s there?”

The sound of Mr. Keel calling out into the darkness startled the girls to further breath
-
holding.

But he didn’t pursue his questioning any further. He simply reached down, picking up Ann’s beautiful quilt. He frowned as he lifted the note a little, and Cricket saw his lips move as he read his name on the front.

Picking up the jar and candle, Cooper Keel grinned, chuckled, turned, and disappeared into his kitchen, firmly closing the door behind him.

“Come on!” Cricket said, taking Ann’s hand and pulling her away from the lilac tree and farther from Mr. Keel’s house.

Once the girls were out of earshot of Cooper Keel’s house, all four erupted into triumphant and gleeful laughter.

“That was wonderful!” Marie exclaimed. “Did you see his face, Ann? Did you see it? He was thrilled with the quilt!”

Ann smiled. “He did seem to like it, didn’t he?”

“He loved it, Ann!” Cricket confirmed. “I’ve never in all my life seen Mr. Keel smile like that. Never!”

“Did you see his face?” Marie repeated. “Ann, you made Mr. Keel smile…warmed his heart. I mean, did you see his face?”

“Did she see his face?” Vilma interjected. “Who had time to look at his face?” It was only then that Cricket noticed Vilma still wore an expression of pure astonishment.

“What do you mean, Vilma?” Cricket asked.

Vilma shook her head as if trying to pull herself from a daze. “Well, I apologize, Ann,” she began, “for teasin’ you about bein’ sweet on Mr. Keel. I mean…he may be as old as your daddy, but I bet your daddy doesn’t look like that without his shirt on. I know mine doesn’t.”

Marie and Cricket nearly fell to their knees, overcome with amusement at Vilma’s continued flabbergasted expression.

“He is well-formed, isn’t he?” Ann said, smiling. “But then again…I already knew that.”

“What?” Vilma exclaimed.

“Oh, stop!” Marie laughed, trying to catch her breath. “Stop! I can’t laugh this hard anymore! My back is achin’ already!”

“Wait a minute,” Vilma said, however. “What do you mean you already knew Mr. Keel was well-formed, Ann Burroughs? How could you possibly know he looked like…like
that
?”

Ann arched a triumphant brow, grinned with harmless gloating, and announced, “Because I saw him swimmin’ naked at the ol’ Morgan swimmin’ hole four Sundays ago, that’s how.”

Cricket gasped with abrupt surprise. “What?” she giggled. “You’re just teasin’ us, right, Ann?”

“Nope,” Ann responded, however. Looking to Vilma, she added, “And close your mouth, Vilma. It isn’t at all becomin’ to walk around with it gapin’ open like an old bear cave.”

“H-how naked was he, Ann?” Marie asked. Even Marie King appeared flabbergasted—and that was a rarity indeed.

Ann laughed, shaking her head—tickled at having astounded everyone. “Only as naked as he was just now, ladies,” she confessed. “He was just wadin’ around in the swimmin’ hole…about waist deep. I didn’t see anything my mama wouldn’t want me to.”

“Well, thank heaven for that, Ann Burroughs!” Vilma breathed at last. Placing a hand to her bosom, apparently to still her startled and chagrinned heart, she exhaled a heavy breath. “I thought sure you’d been ruined for life, girl. For pity’s sake, don’t scare me like that.”

Cricket’s smile broadened when Ann winked at her with achievement. It didn’t take much to rattle Vilma, but Cricket was sure Vilma would still be rattling long after they’d finished their shenanigans and returned home. It was magnificent!

“Now let’s just move on to somethin’ else,” Vilma suggested, fanning her still-blushing face. “We shouldn’t be nestin’ our thoughts on half-naked men, now should we? Let’s just move on with the evening. I believe Mr. Heathro Thibodaux is next on the list. Isn’t that right, Cricket?”

And just like that, Cricket’s profound amusement in Ann’s having flustered Vilma to the core vanished.

“He rides home this way every night,” Cricket whispered. “I can see him through my bedroom window. Every night at about ten, he passes our house on his way home. Then he heads along the old fence line, stops, and waters his horse at this trough out here behind the general store…then disappears into the night.”

When no one else responded to Cricket’s explanation of how she happened to know where Heathro Thibodaux would be that night, she turned to see three familiar faces—each donning an individual expression of being rather thoroughly entertained.

Marie’s long-lash-shaded eyes were narrowed, emphasizing the sly, insightful, knowing expression of a fox that Cricket recognized all too well. Ann’s pretty blue eyes were wide with admiration and delight, just as they always were when she felt deep approval of something Cricket said or did. And Vilma, as always when she felt she’d uncovered something Cricket would rather she not know, arched her eyebrows so high with triumphant understanding that Cricket thought they might leap right off her forehead if she strained them any further.

“What?” Cricket asked, feigning ignorance. Of course she knew the girls found unmeasured humor in the fact that she knew Heathro Thibodaux’s evening routine so meticulously. But she wasn’t about to let on that there just might be something a little obsessive about it.

“Well,
that’s
mighty convenient,” Ann said, winking an understanding, pretty blue eye at Cricket.

“My, yes,” Vilma added with a giggle.

“So what’s our plan then, Cricket?” Marie asked, eyes still narrowed with her signature clever-as-a-fox expression. “Are we just gonna lie in wait, snatch him off his horse when he passes, and tie him up so you can have at him like a kitten to cream?”

Everyone giggled, and Cricket rolled her eyes with exasperation—yet smiling too, for it was a little strange that she knew Heathro Thibodaux’s evening path so well. She also knew that if it had been Marie describing
Hudson
’s habit, she’d be teasing Marie instead of Marie teasing her. It was all in good fun between friends, and Cricket knew it.

“No,” she answered. “I thought we’d wait until he stops to water his horse and then…and then I’ll carefully approach him and…and…”

“And kiss his guts out!” Ann exclaimed.

Marie and Vilma laughed, and Cricket rolled her eyes again. “No, Ann Burroughs. Don’t be a ninny-knickers. When he stops to water his horse…I’ll…I’ll carefully approach him and welcome him to Pike’s Creek…just as any other neighborly folks would do.”

“Well, I doubt that someone like, say, Mr. Keel would welcome Mr. Thibodaux to town in that way, Cricket Cranford,” Vilma teased. “But Widow Rutherford just might.”

Cricket straightened her posture, gritting her teeth with determination to not let Vilma or the existence of Widow Rutherford get under her skin.

Ann came to Cricket’s defense immediately of course with a scolding response. “After Cricket is finished welcomin’ Ranger Thibodaux to town, he won’t even remember Widow Rutherford exists.”

“That’s right,” Marie strongly confirmed. She put a comforting, encouraging arm around Cricket’s shoulders and said, “You do it, Cricket. You kiss his guts out so he won’t ever look twice at Widow Rutherford again.”

Vilma shrugged. “Unless he thinks Cricket
is
Widow Rutherford. How ever will he know who is kissin’ him if you insist on wearin’ that ugly old mask, Cricket?”

Everyone was struck silent—for Vilma did have a valid point.

Over the past week, as Cricket had considered how she would find the courage to not only approach Mr. Thibodaux and welcome him to town but also steal a kiss, she’d come to the conclusion that she would only be able to muster the necessary gumption the task required if she disguised herself. It was one thing for Marie to confess her heart to Hudson Oliver. They’d known each other forever, and, besides, Cricket knew
Hudson
cared for Marie already. But to waylay Heathro Thibodaux—to steal a kiss from him when he didn’t know Cricket from a mangy old mutt—it was apples and onions.

Therefore, Cricket had settled on masking herself a bit in order to conceal her identity. She’d taken a long strip of black cloth left from the new mourning dress
Ada
had helped her make, fashioned it into a mask by cutting two holes for her eyes, and determined she would simply tie the length of cloth at the back of her head.

Yet now that she stood near the watering trough behind the general store, she realized that for all the courage the anonymity of wearing the mask helped inspire in her, Heathro Thibodaux could well assume that the female bandit who was about to kiss him was indeed the Widow Rutherford! Or any other woman in town, for that matter.

“Vilma’s right!” Cricket exclaimed in near panic. “I don’t want him thinkin’ it was Widow Rutherford who welcomed him to town. He might set out to courtin’ her or some such awful thing!”

Marie glared at Vilma, and Ann scolded, “Vilma Stanley! You do beat all!”

“But she’s right,” Cricket reiterated. “What if—”

“Everybody in town, including Mr. Good-Lookin’ Ex-Ranger Man, knows Anastasia Rutherford would never do anything as impulsive or courageous as to ambush him at an old waterin’ trough and smooch him straight on the mouth,” Marie assured Cricket. “He won’t ever in a million years think it was her, Cricket. Don’t let your backbone melt now.”

“She’s right,” Vilma agreed with a nod. “Marie’s right. Everybody knows Widow Rutherford would never do anything the likes of this, Cricket. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to put doubt in your mind. I was just thinkin’ out loud and—”

“Well, stop thinkin’ at all, Vilma,” Ann scolded. “If you please,” she added as a softener. Turning to Cricket, she encouraged, “Remember…we can do anything we set our minds to do, Cricket. Don’t you always tell us that?”

Cricket exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Yes…I do.” Sighing once more, she straightened her mask and mumbled, “I surely do…dang my own self.”

“Shhh!” Marie whispered. “I think I hear someone comin’.”

Cricket held her breath and listened. Yes—the rhythm of a horse walking at a slow pace.

“I think it’s him!” Ann breathed.

Cricket was simultaneously elated with anticipation and scared to death! Heathro Thibodaux would probably strangle her right then and there—drown her in the watering trough—pull his pistol and belly-shoot her. Yet her next thought was,
But what if he doesn’t?
What if he accepted her kiss and let her be on her way? The not knowing was invigorating to an intensity Cricket had never before experienced.

Carefully peeking around the old oak tree behind where the girls had hidden themselves to wait, Marie breathed, “I think it’s him. Right there. Isn’t that his horse comin’ this way?” Marie looked to Cricket.

Anxiously, Cricket peered out from behind the tree into the darkness. Nodding, she whispered, “I told you all. He’s as regular as a mornin’ rooster.”

“Get down, girls,” Ann instructed.

Each girl dropped to her belly in the grass beneath the oak—everyone but Cricket.

“Now don’t lose your gumption, Cricket,” Vilma quietly urged. “Just take a deep breath and do what you’ve come here to do…which is to show Marie King how it’s done, right? That’s all.”

“I’m already losin’ my gumption, Vilma,” Cricket rather growled as she watched Heathro Thibodaux dismount, allowing his horse to water at the trough. “This is not an easy thing to do,” she whispered to herself.

“Go now, Cricket!” Marie prodded. “Now! Before he leaves!”

Cricket inhaled a deep breath, attempting to muster as much courage as her fighting spirit could. She watched Heathro a moment longer, goose bumps breaking over her arms and legs, and she thought of what a dream-borne pleasure would surely come from feeling his lips pressed to hers.

“I figure…if I hop up onto that old trough, my face oughta be about just level with his…and that’s when I’ll do it. I’ll just jump up on the old trough, and…and then I’ll do it.” She looked to Vilma, Marie, and Ann for reassurance. “Right?”