Engaging the Competition (2 page)

Nearly blind without his glasses, Harrison squinted into the gloom. Should he forge out into the rain or take his chances in the barn? If he could just orient himself. A crack of lightning reflected in the windows along the east side of Charlie's house to Harrison's right.
Yes.
Surely he could find the cellar if he kept in that direction, on the other hand, if he got disoriented . . .

Perhaps the barn was a better place to hunker down.

“What in blazes are you still doing out here?” The yellow of Charlie's shirtwaist and brown riding jacket bobbed into view.

She rushed into the barn, took off her hat, and flicked it. “Where are your glasses?”

“Dante knocked them off.”

“You've been in here for nearly five minutes. This isn't the time to give him a good rubdown and pick his hooves.”

He fisted his hands. “You told me not to tether him in case he wanted to run, so I figured I'd make sure your animals weren't trapped either.” He took a deep breath to keep from growling.

“Come on.” She pushed open the door and looked out. “No more time for yammering.” She grabbed his hand and yanked.

Shielding his eyes from the ice pellets, Harrison frowned as Charlie led him as if he were helpless. . . . Of course, he
was
helpless, which made him want to growl even more. This woman didn't need any more reasons to think him weak.

Stumbling, he fumbled with his free hand to grasp the earthen wall that suddenly sprang up on his right. “Slow down. I didn't see the step. You've got to warn me.”

“Sorry.”

The door slammed behind him with a thud. He ran a hand across his forehead to flick off the moisture and realized he'd lost his hat. His head brushed against the ceiling, likely making his hair into a muddy nest. Good thing he wasn't an inch taller or he'd have knocked his head off since Charlie hadn't bothered to warn him of the cellar's low ceiling.

Other than the sound of hail battering the door as a wind gust sent precipitation sideways, heavy quiet filled the cellar. He looked
around for movement but didn't sense anyone else's presence beside Charlie's. “Where's your mother?”

“In town.”

That's right, her mother no longer attended their church. He frowned. “Why'd you go back inside the house, then?”

“Money, guns, things I needed.”

So she criticized him for spending time in the barn without his spectacles, but running into the house for guns with a tornado approaching wasn't crazy? “Aren't you worried about your mother?”

“She should be fine in the Lutheran church's basement. She's been going with Marie Eggleston for months now so she can attend ladies' high tea or whatever they call their girly get-togethers after service.”

With his eyes adjusting to the dimness, he could at least see
a bit of shadow and movement now. He took a step away from Charlie but only ran into shelves. He shot out an arm to prevent jars or cans from plummeting to the floor.

To keep Charlie from berating him for his clumsiness, he grasped at a question off the top of his head. “Why didn't you change churches with her?”

“I didn't have friends pulling me one way or another, and I like Reverend McCabe's sermons. I find him inspiring.” She pulled off her hat and thumped it. “Now, back to my first question. Why are you here? This storm was rolling in before church let out. You couldn't have missed it when you still had your glasses.”

Feeling around him at about waist level, he searched for a chair. If he was going to be interrogated, he'd prefer a bit more space, considering she kept brushing up against him. Which wasn't exactly annoying, but it certainly bothered him—in an entirely different way.

The thought that flickered up was not a thought to entertain with a woman alone. If there wasn't a tornado outside, he'd have fled—per biblical instruction.

He bumped back against the shelves again, his hair brushing dirt and possibly bugs off onto his shoulders. A much safer shiver coursed through him at that thought.

Wedding
. Thinking of Charlie's upcoming marriage would help keep his imagination in check. “I heard about your wedding.”

“From who?” Her voice rasped.

With Charlie's breath mingling with his own, he needed the space a chair would give him. There had to be something to sit on in the
cellar. His leg hit against a crate. He flipped it over. It didn't exactly feel sturdy, but if he didn't sit directly in the middle . . . “Reverend McCabe told me.”

“Well then, I take back what I said earlier. I suppose I only find the man's
sermons
inspiring.”

“I don't think he told anyone but me. I think he thought . . .” Well, if he'd found the reverend telling him about her upcoming wedding odd, surely Charlie would too. And really, why had the reverend thought he should know?

“Why would you care to talk to me about my wedding? You've hardly said a word to me in the past seven years, come April.”

He widened his eyes despite the action doing nothing to help him see. That statement was awfully specific, though true. That's when she'd outshot him at the Sunday school party. But after he'd released his need for vengeance, he'd talked to her . . . when necessary. He didn't go out of his way to shun her or anything.

The door's rattling intensified, and something crashed outside.

To get back to the doorway, he felt for the wall but only swiped at air. What good was he if he couldn't even find the wall? “Did you latch the door?”

“There is no latch. Why would I need to lock myself into the root cellar?”

“Maybe I ought to brace the door, then.” He finally grasped a shelf.

“Don't. If the door gets sucked off, you'd go right with it.”

He pursed his lips. “But without a door, wouldn't we be sucked up anyway? It's not as if the cellar goes more than a few yards back from the door.”

“Then we can slide in down here.” Her dark form moved and disappeared.

Somewhere near his right knee Charlie grunted as if picking up something heavy.

“What're you doing?” Why did it have to be so dark in here?

A short black shadow—maybe a barrel—appeared in front of his feet.

“I dug a hole in the side a few years ago for extra storage space.” Something clattered. “We can duck inside once I clear out a spot.”

He stood with his open, empty hands, feeling like a pitiful excuse for a man. Charlie couldn't think much of him right now, seeing how he was as worthless to her as the barrel in front of him. He leaned
over to scoot it out of the way, hopefully making room for whatever else she pulled out.

“There. I think we can fit.”

He got on his knees near where he'd heard her voice and tried to make out how big the dark space to his right was. Surely he wasn't seeing the entire opening. But when he reached out to the edges, his arms couldn't have been spread apart more than three feet. “Why don't you go in? I'll stay out here to keep from crowding you.”

“Nonsense.” The warmth of her disappeared into the hole, then her hands grabbed his and tugged.

He hit his head on the top of the hole and groaned.

“Sorry.”

He pulled his hands from hers and placed them on the cold earthen soil. He turned around and shoved his way back into the space beside her, and the hole instantly warmed with the proximity of their bodies. The length of his leg ran along hers, and he couldn't get his arm far enough away from her to not feel the softness of her jacket. Her breath caressed his face where she sat next to him, and her hair tickled his lips. He'd never been this close to a woman since he'd been young enough to sit in his mother's lap.

Pushing away only caused dirt from the wall to tumble into
his collar. He tried to pull his one leg atop the other but couldn't maintain the position, and his leg flopped back down on hers. He'd have to leave it there.

And he'd thought her hair on his face had been bad.

Surely no one would fault him for practically being in her lap to hide from a tornado. Though he wasn't exactly certain August Whitaker was nicer than his bullying brother, and Royal definitely would beat the tar out of him for being this close to Charlie if she'd been his fiancée, tornado or no.

Especially since he was now keenly aware of how soft her hair was and how good she smelled.

“So why do you care about who I'm marrying?”

He jolted up, knocking his head into the dirt above him again. Her mouth had practically been against his ear. He tilted his head away. “I don't so much care about who you marry, but the reverend said it sounded like a marriage of convenience. I can't think you'd be happy in one of those.”

“Why not? I'm not emotional like other girls.”

“Precisely.”

“What does that mean? Why wouldn't an emotionless girl be perfect for such an arrangement?”

“If a man couldn't affect the emotions you do possess—and you do have them—there'd be as much delight in such a union as there is in your relationship with the feed store owner.”

“What relationship?”

“Exactly.”

She wriggled beside him. “Why do you get to give me advice? You aren't married. Haven't even known you to spark with a girl, unless you did while you were gone.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. Why exactly had the reverend's worry for Charlie caused him to come out here? He
should've known he'd only ruffle her feathers and make her more determined to continue on the path she'd chosen.

“It's all right, Harrison. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Can August Whitaker handle a gun better than you?”

“I don't know why that would matter, but probably not.”

“What about ranching? Does he know more about that than you? How's he going to feel married to a woman who has no feelings for him
and
makes it her business to be better than him at everything?”

“I don't mind a man besting me—it's just sometimes they can't. Why can't men just be impressed?” She poked him, but thankfully her jab hadn't much effect since she had no leverage sitting so close. “
You
can befriend a man who can ride and shoot better than you, right? So why can't a man befriend me even if I'm better at certain things than he is? Why can't you just be happy I shoot well rather than pout about it?”

Why indeed?

And yet, he
could
shoot better than her. Or at least he was pretty certain he could since he'd never gone through with challenging her to a contest. But he couldn't tell her now. That would only prove her point—that he couldn't simply be impressed. He huffed.

If she knew how many years he'd practiced so he didn't have to appreciate her superior skill . . .

Blast it. She was right.

He wriggled away. They were sitting far too close for her to gloat without him wanting to keep her quiet. And right now, the way he was touching too much of her and his lungs couldn't find air on account of how wonderful she smelled, he
might just be muddleheaded enough to stop her lips with his own.

Charlie tried to hold still in the little hole she shared with Harrison, but he was so close, she was touching more of him than she ought. How many years had she daydreamed about him coming to her out of the blue, declaring his undying love, and telling her his years of aloofness had been for good reason—like a magic enchantress had bewitched him, so if he fell in love, he'd turn into a toad.

Or maybe he'd tell her something simple like his thick lenses had kept him from noticing how pretty her green eyes were, but once he noticed, he fell for her like a rock.

Of course, now that he was close enough to notice the color of her eyes, they were stuffed in a dark hole where she couldn't even see his. And right now, without his thick lenses, his eyes wouldn't appear disproportionately tiny—though any normal-sighted person could see he was handsome regardless.

Who said Charlotte Andrews couldn't be as girly as they come? All one had to do was take a look inside her head and catalog her daydreams about a man who never talked to her anymore.

A silly girl, indeed.

“What did you just huff for?”

Goodness, she better rein herself in before she started thinking aloud.

He fidgeted in a futile effort to move away from her. “I'm sorry I don't smell as good as you, but I didn't know I'd be squished into such tiny quarters with anybody, and since I rode my horse all the way out here—”

“Well, so did I.”

“Fine, then, you're better at smelling pretty too.”

Why was he so put out for not smelling like a woman? “I just meant, I'm sure I smell like horse as well—nothing I haven't smelled before.” She squinted to see more of his face but ended up bumping his nose and jerked away.