Mary Connealy (98 page)

Lips came at him, and he saw them just in time to dodge. Shirt Lady missed his lips and grazed his neck ever so slightly. He shuddered. Her lips were soggy and flabby and…

Hannah made a sound that distracted him from his revulsion. A wounded wildcat growl, part pain, part fury, all dangerous. She was in a good position up there to pounce, too.

Grant braced himself to be buried under two women.

Hannah’s expression of horror and fury changed to utter contempt. She whirled around, her tattered skirt flying, and stormed back into the schoolhouse, slamming the door so hard the whole building shook.

Sick to imagine what Hannah thought about what she’d witnessed, Grant turned back and saw Shirt Lady zeroing in on him again with those disgusting lips. He’d rather kiss one of his longhorns, one who’d just sucked up a river full of brackish water. He ducked before he could commit his third act of stupidity concerning a woman’s lips in less than a minute.

Shirt Lady almost fell, for the second time, because of his clumsiness. Then she staggered and cried out with pain. Her hands tightened around his neck.

He reached up to free himself.

“No, please, be careful. My ankle. I think I sprained it. If I let go, I’ll fall.”

Grant stopped in his headlong effort to free himself from these poison ivy arms. He shook his head to clear it, knowing he was still reacting to Hannah—to what had happened inside the school and out. There was no sense knocking Shirt Lady over just because he was upset with the schoolmarm.

“Sorry. Here, let me get my arm around your waist.”

Hannah wanted to get her hands around Grant’s neck.

She should have gone all the way inside, but that window, right by the door, was too handy, and she looked out at that lowdown, stinking polecat as he slipped his arm around his girlfriend, seconds after the skunk kissed Hannah!

She should have moved on, but it was like she wanted the pain. Hannah watched Grant practically sweeping the horrible seamstress off her feet. Standing, staring, Hannah knew it was a good thing to see. Let it burn her eyeballs to cinders so she’d remember.

She’d always been afraid of men. Her father had taught her well. But for some awful, ridiculous reason her common sense had deserted her with Grant. Even when he was scowling and snarling like a smelly old ogre, she’d never been scared. That just proved that not only was she right to be afraid of men, her instincts were also never to be trusted.

Boiled down to its simplest form…she was an idiot.

Prudence smiled and leaned close. Grant slid his hands up her arms. Hannah couldn’t see his face, shadowed by his hat, but she could see that nasty Prudence, batting her eyes like a Texas dust devil just blew straight in her face.

Hannah finally had all she could take. She forced herself to turn from the window.

School!

She was a teacher. She had students and responsibilities and a life that had nothing in the world to do with that awful, lowdown Grant or his appalling mistreatment of both Hannah and that dreadful Prudence.

Hannah smoothed her hair and forced her breath to come more evenly. She wished her heart would stop thudding. More than thudding, it seemed to be breaking, but she couldn’t imagine why. She’d barely had one kind thought about Grant in all their brief, unpleasant acquaintance.

Well, there’d been a few kind thoughts. More than a few in all honesty. And a few pleasant moments. Extremely pleasant.

Then she decided, despite her firm belief that God wished her to be honest in all things at all times, this once she’d go ahead and lie to herself about those kind thoughts and pleasant moments and dwell on the bad ones. She’d pick them apart, see that even worse things lay beneath Grant’s disgusting behavior.

She squared her shoulders as she imagined shoving him off that train platform the first day. She’d have saved herself a lot of time and trouble if only she’d known.

Feeling marginally cheered by the image, or at least capable of not bursting into tears in front of her class, she marched into her true calling. Working with children…only children…no man ever!

Grant firmly unfastened Shirt Lady’s clinging hands. He controlled the urge to gag as he peeled her loose. “Should I help you to the doctor’s office?” Doc Morgan was nearby. That’d get rid of her right away.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Grant stifled a groan.

Prudence smiled. “I don’t think it’s broken. I just need some help getting home.” She looked up at him, and she must have had something in her eye. Her lashes flapped as if she was trying to dislodge a dirt clod.

“I’ll help you then.” What choice did he have? His natural inclination, which was to shake her off him like a slimy leech, would leave the woman lying in the dust. He didn’t know much about women, unless they were his children, but he was sure dropping Shirt Lady in the dirt wasn’t right.

He slid his arm around her back. His head cleared enough that he realized the woman was almost letting him carry her. Her ankle must really hurt. Grant walked the length of the meager Sour Springs Main Street with Shirt Lady clinging to him.

Mabel came to the door of the general store, wiping her hands on her apron. “Howdy, Grant, Prudence.”

Grant controlled a flinch. Prudence. He thought of her as Shirt Lady, and he wasn’t going to stop now. He was determined to never know this woman well enough to learn her name.

“Good morning, Mabel.”

Expecting Shirt Lady to say something about her injury, Grant hesitated. Then it seemed like it was too late somehow. Oh well. Surely Mabel could see the woman limping.

“Tell Harold thanks again for coming out to help yesterday.” Grant reached up and tipped his hat.

Harold appeared in the door behind Mabel with a big grin on his face. “Mornin’, you two.”

You two? Like they were a couple or something? Grant had to fix that misconception.

“Can we hurry along, Grant, honey? I’m anxious to get home.”

Honey?
Grant was suddenly almost pulled along. Prudence didn’t seem to be favoring her ankle as much. That was a good sign.

“So, when are you going to keep our next date?” Prudence’s voice had a piercing quality that carried up and down the street. Grant was sure Mabel and Harold could hear. He saw Doc Morgan grinning at him as the man unlocked his office.

“What date?” Heart sinking, Grant knew these fine citizens of Sour Springs were drawing the wrong conclusion. And he hadn’t cleared a bit of it up by the time they’d reached the shirt shop.

“You said you were too busy to come for supper the other night, remember? Come on in now and have a bite of my seed cake and some coffee.”

Prudence kept dragging him, but Grant drew the line at actually going into her store. He didn’t want to be alone with the little ivy plant for even a second. He dug his heels into the wooden sidewalk. “Gotta go. No time for cake.” Wasn’t that pretty much what he’d said last time, and look how much trouble that had gotten him into.

“Then when, Grant?”

It came to Grant in a flash that instead of fighting he should go along with her. Better the town folks knew there was nothing going on between him and Hannah. Of course nothing could ever come of a date with Shirt Lady. His skin crawled when he thought of that almost-kiss he’d dodged.

The woman had definitely set her cap for him, and he couldn’t let her go along believing they might be suited. But one date would solve a lot of problems between him and Hannah. He made a promise to himself not to be alone with Prudence for a second. He’d just come to her door, take her for a nice public ride so Hannah and everyone would see them but nothing improper could be even whispered, then he’d drop her off and run like a scared rabbit.

“Um, how about we go for a ride some evening?”

“I’d be proud to make dinner for you. I’m an excellent cook.” Prudence must have that dirt back in her eyes again. With her ankle hurting and her eyes all stinging from the dirt, it was a wonder the woman didn’t want to go on inside and get some rest.

“It wouldn’t be proper for us to be alone in your room, Prudence. But we can take a quick ride. Just this once. You know”—Grant felt he had to be honest. The woman needed the truth—“I’m not planning on taking a wife. I’ve got a house too small for a gnat to find a place to settle in. I’m running all day every day to keep up with the children, and I’m planning on taking in more when the need arises. There’s no room for a wife in that.”

Shirt Lady’s eyelids stopped flailing and her smile went kind of hard around the edges, but Grant was impressed that she held onto it at all. The mention of the children bothered her. And hearing that they couldn’t do more than just take a single ride had to pinch her feelings.

Half expecting the door to slam in his face, instead she said, “I’d enjoy your company, Grant. Even if it’s not a wife you’re looking for, we could be good friends.”

Somehow, Grant sincerely doubted he could ever be friends with a woman who didn’t like children. He decided he’d said enough for now though. “I’ll come for you on…” He hated to do it of an evening; he was too tired. He didn’t want to give up Saturday; he got a lot done on Saturday with the children home. It didn’t seem proper to do something he was dreading as much as this on the Lord’s Day, so Sunday was out.

“Come Friday night, please. Not too late, so the dark doesn’t catch us out riding.”

Well, the woman had beaten him to the asking again. It didn’t suit him a bit, but at least he’d be getting it over with soon, except… “Uh…can we wait a little longer?” He had to be sure Josh was well. Like maybe a year or two?

“How about a week from Friday then?”

Grant couldn’t think of a single excuse. He wasn’t prepared. If he’d known this was coming, he’d have practiced excuses. But who could predict a thing like this? His shoulders slumped. “A week from Friday sounds fine. I’ll be here…before the supper hour. We’ll take a short ride, but I want to get home to my young’uns for the evening meal. Don’t want them alone at night.”

Her smile hardened again. It was a purely frightening expression. But most things about women frightened Grant, so he didn’t know if he could trust his reaction.

“Fine. I’ll see you next Friday then.” She closed the door with a sharp click that didn’t sound near as friendly as her words.

Grant turned and almost ran to his wagon. Women were a mystery to him, and he’d had two mysteries fetched down on him in a single morning. Then he saw Mabel, still wiping hands that had to be bone dry by now, and she gave him a smug smile that he had no idea what it meant.

Three mysteries.

He leapt to the wagon seat. Tossing the brake free with a thump of wood and iron, he yelled.

The horses cooperated nicely and took off as if Shirt Lady chased them, flying on her broomstick.

Finally, Grant found someone who understood him—his horses.

“Why couldn’t you get him in here?” Horace emerged from the back room.

“All you’d have needed to do was get the door closed then rip your dress and start screaming loud enough to draw a crowd. He’d have been forced to marry you and the land would be ours.”

Prudence scowled at the filthy man. “He’s coming by next Friday night. We’ll finish this then. I think you should be here to knock him in the head. Then after he’s been in here a good long time and comes around, I can act out the whole scene. As soon as he’s conscious, I’ll get the preacher in here breathing fire and brimstone, and he’ll force the marriage.”