Forever Friday (11 page)

“And what if we find it and he captures me?”

“I’d die first,” Gabe said, loud enough for people to stare.

“You would?” Huck asked softly, then realized their legs were touching.

“I’ll never let you go.” He gently grasped her hand. As their fingers entwined, her body tingled with warmth. A glowing warmth mixed with happiness she’d never felt before.

The Galveston terminal was located on Twenty-First Street, only blocks from the beach. As they disembarked, the salty sea breeze carried every delightful aroma of carnival fare: succulent smoked meats, roasted nuts, buttery popcorn. Even the sugary smells of cotton candy and saltwater taffy refused to waft by Huck unannounced.

“There’s a parade starting over on Broadway,” someone called as Huck and Gabe exited the station into the throng of excited Splash Day revelers. “The grand marshal is King Neptune!”

“Look at the people,” Huck voiced above the joyful roar as they
scampered across a busy intersection, then strolled hand in hand down a less crowded side street. “There must be thousands here.”

“According to a source, there should be several hundred thousand altogether. Since we’re headed toward Broadway, how ’bout we catch the parade? That is, if we can find a place to sit. The bleachers will be packed.”

“You’re the cowboy captain. And didn’t you mention a beauty pageant?”

“I did.” Gabe stopped walking and faced her. “But we really don’t have to go.”

“Why not? I’ve never been to one. It’ll be interesting.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “Are you aware that this town has a reputation for—”

“A wide variety of entertainment?”

He nodded.

Clark’s forbidding expression flashed before Huck’s eyes. “The pageant sounds fabulous.”

Gabe laughed. “You’re a fascinating girl, Huck. Is there anything that doesn’t interest you?”

“Closed minds and hearts,” she answered thoughtfully. “Anything else you want to know?”

“Does the lady always speak the truth?”

“Of course.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Unless it benefits me otherwise.”

They strolled another block until the brassy blare of a marching band quickened their pace. “Let’s hurry,” Huck said, her voice brimming with excitement. “The parade’s starting.”

Pulling Gabe’s hand, she led him into the thick crowd. As he’d predicted, the bleachers were full, but Huck smiled sweetly to a stout old gentleman, who let them sit in an area reserved for the yacht club.

“Besides telling the truth, does the lady always get what she wants?” Gabe asked as soon as they were seated.

“Of course. But the appropriate smile helps.”

“Unless it benefits you otherwise?” he finished.

“Let’s just call it a woman’s prerogative.” With an impish grin, she surrendered once again to his sea-sky gaze, thinking her present engagement to Clark Richards a mistake and unexpectedly wanting to tell Gabe everything. She’d eventually have to tell her mother, but Annise Huckabee could be handled.

Huck studied the passing parade and shivered. Breaking up with Clark would be ugly. He’d really frightened her during the hair-cutting incident. And it was more than just the fact he’d grabbed and hurt her arm. It was something else. At first, her brain wrestled with her heart, refusing to admit the truth. But each time she reminisced, the scene became clearer, her mind always focusing upon Clark’s eyes. At the height of their argument, something dark had washed over his pupils. Something opaque and ominous. Then it was gone.

“What happened to that appropriate smile?” Gabe’s mellow tone soothed Huck’s worries, transporting her thoughts back to the present.

“The smile’s still here, ready to charm its next victim.”

Gabe spoke in a weakened tone. “I think it already has.”

When the parade ended they headed toward the beach, after thanking the portly gentleman, who clasped Huck’s hand as if she were his long-lost daughter. The International Pageant of Pulchritude was to begin promptly at two, with several hundred bystanders and a few policemen
lining the seventeen-foot-high seawall. A wooden stage had been erected on the wide sandy beach below, with five folding chairs shaded by an awning for the judges. To the right of the stage was a large yellow striped tent with a banner that read, Dressing Area—Contestants Only. To the left a small band shell, complete with an upright piano and five musicians in black tie playing Dixieland jazz.

“I’m definitely not the only female in the audience.” Huck eyed the other spectators as she and Gabe jockeyed for prime viewing space atop the seawall. She’d heard of bathing beauty contests and was intrigued by the idea. “In fact, there are lots of interested women.”

“Like you, they appreciate beauty.” Gabe positioned himself behind her, gently resting his hands on her waist. He leaned forward. “Because beauty deserves attention.”

She turned her head slightly, then giggled. “Did you notice the dozen or so women grouped right behind us? They don’t appear to be the type who would …” She paused, caught off guard by his clean smell.

Gabe whispered close. “The type who would what?”

His warm breath upon her neck made her shiver. “The type who’d appreciate being here. They look angry about something. Especially the oldest one. She seems to be their leader.”

Before Gabe could reply, the band crescendoed into a lively fanfare. The master of ceremonies, a lanky man wearing a lavender pinstriped suit, climbed onto the stage and shouted through a megaphone. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first annual International Pageant of Pulchritude!” The crowd burst into applause as a line of bathing beauties paraded out of the tent and onto the stage.

“Harlots!” screamed one of the women from the group behind.

“Jezebels!” yelled some others.

The verbal protests continued no longer than thirty seconds as the emcee quickly motioned for three policemen to escort the dissenters out of earshot. “My apologies, folks. I’ll ask our lovely contestants to remain on stage while we try this again.” He turned toward the band. “Gentlemen, the fanfare please!” After the second fanfare and welcome, the crowd burst into an even bigger round of applause.

“What was that all about?” Huck whispered.

“Everyone’s clapping because the contest is ready to begin.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Gabe leaned closer than before, his lips almost brushing her ear. “There seems to be some opposing views about a woman’s sense of modesty.”

“That’s silly,” Huck replied. “A woman’s modesty is her own business, unless she’s breaking the law.”

The band segued into a soft medley of popular tunes as the emcee explained how the girls were judged by beauty
and
poise. He then introduced each of the thirty-nine contestants, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, wearing the latest bathing attire. The sleeveless swimsuits were colorful and form-fitting, some with short skirts that could be removed for greater mobility in the water. Many of the girls were Texans, while others hailed from various states as far away as California and New York. There was also a contestant from Cuba, two from Canada, and even a girl from France. The judges chose ten finalists, then to the delight of the crowd, had the contestants present poses from various angles. As the band played a final number, the judges tallied their scores and chose a winner … a slender southern belle from Mississippi. After the emcee awarded her the cash prize, he placed a
crown on her head, and she marched across the stage holding an American flag.

A few minutes later, Gabe and Huck sauntered along the seawall in the warm afternoon sun. What excited him most was that she’d voluntarily grasped his arm once again. A few hours ago he’d been on the floor of a trolley, tangled helplessly in her presence. And now they strolled atop the immense, concrete barrier where land met sea. It was one of his favorite places on earth.

“Mother says that the prettiest women come from the Deep South,” Huck said. “But that’s because she was born in Alabama.” There had been no more protests and most of the audience had dispersed, ending the controversial International Pageant of Pulchritude until next year.

Gabe studied the delightful girl holding his arm. He’d been right about her, and she grew more perfect for him with each passing moment. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman, but I have to disagree. The most beautiful girl I know is walking beside me … and she’s from Texas.”

“Oh no,” Huck replied. “Now we have a problem.”

“We do?” Gabe began to perspire and slowed them to a stop. As far as he could tell she wasn’t upset, but perhaps he should have been more discreet with the compliments. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. He reached for a Lucky, then paused, realizing he’d never asked if she’d mind. The smell of tobacco, the smoke, or both bothered some people. Besides, he’d have to turn away from her to light it and she might release his arm.

“There’s something you should know,” Huck said. “Before we spend another minute together, I want to be honest.”

“Because the lady always speaks the truth?” Gabe pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his brow.

“I guess it’s a Huckabee curse.” She laughed. “Just now, you said that you disagreed with my mother?”

“I prefer to call it a friendly difference of opinion.”

“Gabe, dear. This is the problem: no one ever successfully disagrees with Mother, unless they know the secret.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He smiled and returned the handkerchief to his pocket. Huck had just called him “dear.”

“Don’t you want to know the secret?”

“Unless it benefits me otherwise.”

“Very funny, Mr. Clever. For your information, I’m the only one of her children who knows the secret and it’s saved me enormous grief. I learned it from watching Papa.”

Gabe started them walking again, relieved that she was comfortable enough to joke about her family. It also meant that she might be planning for him to meet them.

Huck continued. “Mother’s very opinionated about certain topics, especially education and religion. So when she asks you a question and you don’t see eye to eye, avoid falling into her trap. Lightly broach your answer, then coax the truth toward your own advantage—like an honest politician—making your point while gradually changing the subject. It’s fun.”

“Hmm,” Gabe replied. “Never heard of an
honest
politician, but I’ll try your method.” He made a spectacle of clearing his throat, then spoke in a deeper, more distinguished tone. “My dear Miss Huckabee.
Isn’t it amazing how even in Texas, the most beautiful women have roots from the Deep South, especially Alabama … a state known for feminine charm and fine southern cuisine.” He grinned, returning to his normal voice. “So how ’bout we get a bite to eat?”

Huck laced her fingers around Gabe’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “We think so much alike, it’s scary.”

“Are you saying we’re predictable?”

“Never.” Huck frowned. “Predictable is an adjective that doesn’t pertain to us.”

Us
. Gabe savored the word before he spoke again. “So what adjective does pertain to us, Miss English teacher?”

“Hungry,” Huck said. “I haven’t eaten all day.”