by Betty Brooks
"That was different," he said gruffly.
"How?" she asked.
"Grandma an' me loved each other."
"An' I think I love Robert."
"One meetin ' ain't enough to know, " he said gruffly. "Love is somethin' that grows with time, child. You don't look at a man an' make up your mind like that." He patted her cheek. "You shoulda had a woman to teach you what you needed to know about things like that. If your ma had lived, she could-"
"But she didn't live, Grandpa. And I don't have no woman to give me advice. I'm gonna get by just fine anyways."
"I hope so, child. I promised your pa I'd look after you an' l'm a tryin' my best to do just that."
"I know. But there comes a time when you gotta let go, Grandpa. And the time's now. I found my man. Now all I gotta do is make him see I'm the woman he's been awaitin' for all these years." She looked at him anxiously. "You won't do anythin' to drive him away. Will you, Grandpa?"
He sighed. "No. I won't do nothin' to make him leave. I hope you ain't settin' yourself up for a fall, young'un. But I'm afraid you are. And I'm afraid it ain 't gonna be an easy fall, neither, but a mighty hard one."
As though brought on by his ominous words, a jagged streak of lightning flashed overhead. It was followed by a tremendous boom of thunder, which caused Rainey to flinch and jerk to her feet.
"Rain's comin'," old George growled. Curling his gnarled fingers around the cane resting beside his chair, he rose stiffly and lumbered painfully toward the door.
Although his arthritis must be paining him, he would utter no word of complaint, Rainey knew, because it wasn't in his nature to grumble about what couldn't be helped.
"Do you want some coffee, Grandpa?" she asked. "Don't mind if I do, Granddaughter." He lowered himself onto a chair beside the kitchen table and sighed with relief. "You got the dinner cooked up already?" he inquired.
"It's done." She put his coffee on the table within reach of his hand, then went to the open door to peer anxiously outside where rain splashed gently against the hard-packed earth. "Please, God," she muttered. "Don't let the rain keep him away."
She heard Grandpa muttering behind her, and turned to look at him. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Nothin', girl," he said shortly. "I done said all I'm a gonna say on the subject."
"Thank the Lord for that!" she snapped, becoming impatient with him. "'Cause they ain't nothin' you could say would change my mind. I found the man I been lookin' for an' I aim to have him. I ain't never told you who to keep company with." She set her chin at a stubborn angle and flung a long lock of dark hair across her shoulders. "Ain't nobody, nor nothin' gonna get betwixt Robert an ' me. An' you can lay your money on that, if you've a mind to."
"You keep a civil tongue in your head, Rainey."
"I ain't meanin' to be disrespectful, Grandpa. But I ain't gonna let nobody-not even you-keep me from latchin' on to Robert."
Old George frowned heavily and swirled the coffee in his cup. "It takes two to make a match, girl. He may not be willing to go along with what you got planned."
"He may not be of the same mind at first," she admitted. "But afore it's all over, he'll come around to
my way of thinkin'."
As though ignited by the tension in the cabin, the storm broke with all its fury. Lightning zig-zagged over head, streaking across the sky. Thunder boomed, seeming to shake the little cabin to its foundation. And the rain that had been falling gently began to pound the earth with such intensity that nothing could be seen more than a few yards away.
Anxiety dimmed her anger, and Rainey hurried to the door, peering out at the deep puddles of water forming in the yard. "He prob'ly won't come now," she said mournfully. "Not when it's raining so hard." She looked back at her grandfather. "Do you think he'd do that, Grandpa? Do you think he'd just stay home when he's expected here?"
"Would if he's not a fool."
"He's not a fool!" she snapped, her irritation surging forth again. "And it wouldn't be polite to stay home after sayin' he'd come. He'll be here right enough. I just know he will."
"Then why do you keep asking me?"
Ignoring him, she peered out into the rain. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she saw a horseman emerging from the forest. "He's here, Grandpa!'' she cried, her heart quickening its pace."Robert's come." Mindful of her appearance, she shook out her skirt and straightened her bodice, pushing the neckline ever so much lower, then waited eagerly to greet the slicker-clad man who was dismounting beside the porch.
It seemed an eternity before their visitor finished wrapping the thin leather reins around the porch rail and turned to face her.
"Hello, Rainey," Thorne said gently. "Are you going to ask me inside?"
Before Rainey could gather her scattered wits, George Watson called out a greeting. "Come on in here, Thorne, boy!" He rose stiffly to his feet to greet the newcomer. "What're you doin' out in that rain?"
"I was looking for a stray when I got caught in the storm," Thorne replied.
Seeming unaware of Rainey's extreme disappointment, Thorne removed the slicker and hat, then hung them on a nail left outside the door for that purpose. When he turned his attention to Rainey again, his brows lifted in surprise. "Well, now," Thorne drawled slowly. "Don't you look pretty today."
Mumbling her thanks, Rainey peered past his large frame into the pouring rain. "You didn't chance to see nobody else out there, did you, Thorne?" she asked hopefully.
"Sure didn't," he answered cheerfully. "You expecting somebody, Rainey?"
"Robert Golden is comin' to dinner," she mumbled .
"Golden?" Thorne's eyebrows lifted. "That name sounds familiar."
"He's the new teacher."
"Rainey fried up two whole chickens for dinner, Thorne,'' George Watson said."There's more'n enough for four people, and we'd be mighty pleasured if you'd break bread with us."
“I wouldn't want to intrude where I haven't been invited," Thorne said, his gaze on Rainey.
She ignored his look and felt guilty for having done so.
"Well, hell!" Grandpa growled. "I just invited you, boy!"
Rainey felt like strangling the old man. Any other time she'd have welcomed Thorne, but not now. She wanted Robert to herself, had relied on Grandpa napping after dinner. But there was no chance of that if he had company to visit with.
Thorne sniffed the air appreciatively. "I've yet to meet anyone who can turn out fried chicken like Rainey. Something smells delicious."
"There's raisin pie for afters," George Watson said eagerly.
Their voices faded from Rainey's consciousness as she became aware of another horseman. "He's come," she cried. "Oh, Grandpa, Robert's here! He came, just like I said he would!" She hurried onto the porch, unmindful of the drips that dampened her dress and hair, her gaze locked on the man she'd selected to share her future with.
"She's in an all-fired hurry to see him," Thorne said morosely, watching Rainey greet her guest.
George Watson's bushy brows lowered. "She's right taken by the new teacher, Thorne. Been talkin' about nothin' else since the day she invited him over."
"I couldn't help but notice," Thorne said quietly. He hadn't expected Rainey to look so darned feminine in her gown. He should have known, though. He'd seen the way her breasts had been outlined by her wet shirt the day she'd fallen into the pool where he'd been swimming. He remembered that as he took in the sight of her now, standing on the porch, dressed in her finery, her full breasts pushing against the cloth of her bodice.
That memory caused a tight sensation low in his groin, but there was no sign of the tension that stretched his nerves, as well as his breeches, when he spoke again. "She's going to get wet standing on that leaky porch."
"She don't see them leaks," George muttered. "She ain't got eyes for nothing nor nobody except that teacher. It's a shame, too. A pure-dee shame. She worked mighty hard on her dress and now she don't even know it's gettin' wet." He heaved a long sigh. "Rainey n
ever set much store by female doin's afore, but I'm a guessin' things are gonna change around here now."
Thorne knew George was right. He was deeply worried by that fact. He watched Rainey enter the cabin followed by Robert Golden. Introductions were made and, although it obviously pained old George, he tried to hide his feelings. "Robert Golden, eh. Never heard of a man wearing a last name like that afore."
Golden smiled. "It's not an unusual name in my part of the country."
"And where is that?" Thorne asked, intent on learning more about the man who might prove to be a contender for Rainey's hand.
"St. Louis," Robert replied. "Do you know the area?"
"I know it."
"You just set yourself down there, Robert," Rainey said quickly, pointing out the chair that Thorne usually
occupied when he was there. "And you, Thorne, take that chair over there."
Thorne concealed his displeasure at being moved across the table from Rainey. But instead of seating himself as the other men had done, he followed her to the stove. "Let me help you put the meal on the table, Rainey." He wanted to establish his relationship with the Watsons and could think of no better way to do it. After grace had been said and the food passed around, the men began to talk among themselves about the latest doings on the mountain.
Rainey was content to sit and listen to the sound of Robert Golden's voice as he answered questions about his home in the east and his family members that were still there. He spoke of society balls and tennis games and sailing and other things, people and places that she knew nothing about. His way of life was strange, so different from her own life here on the mountain where she had been born.
"What made you decide to come to Thunder Mountain, Mr. Golden?" Thorne asked politely.
"Call me Robert." The invitation seemed almost a command. "The answer is simple, Thorne. At one time I thought of entering the ministry. My family objected strenuously and I conceded to their wishes." He smiled sadly. "They were right, of course. And in time I realized that. But I never quite gave up my dream. When I heard about this position-working with deprived children it seemed the answer to a prayer. I applied and was accepted, and here I am."
Thorne glanced quickly at Rainey and spoke with deliberate calculation. "So you consider your work here on Thunder Mountain as an alternative to the ministry."
"Yes. You could say that." Robert's teeth gleamed whitely as he smiled at Thorne. "You appear to be an
educated man, Thorne. I take it you're not from these parts?"
Thorne felt irritated at the teacher's assumption that anyone from these parts couldn't possibly be educated. But he curbed his irritation, knowing it was a natural deduction since the man had probably not encountered anyone on the mountain who had been educated beyond the eighth grade. But then, neither had Thorne. "I was raised in St. Louis," he said shortly.
Robert's eyebrows lifted. "You're not Eugene Lassiter's missing son?" he inquired.
"I admit to being his son, but I didn't realize I was missing," Thorne replied, knowing his tone was abrupt.
Robert's eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile widened. "What in the world are you doing here? And on a farm, too. Surely, a son of Eugene Lassiter has no need to work."
Thorne felt Rainey's curious gaze. "You seem to know a lot about my family," he told Robert.
"It's none of my business, of course," Robert Golden said quickly. "I was just curious."
Rainey glared at Thorne, silently accusing him of being rude to her guest. Thorne ignored the look but fell silent, allowing the conversation to wash over him without hearing the content. His mood matched the weather, but by the time the meal was finished, the storm clouds had dissipated but his emotions remained unsettled.
Rainey worked hurriedly, intent on cleaning up as quickly as possible so she could join the men on the porch. She had been tempted to leave the dishes but had resisted the temptation, needing to show Robert how neat and tidy she could keep the cabin . Finally, though, the last plate had been dried and stacked with the others, and she removed her apron and brushed her hair into a silky mass, then hurried outside.
Robert Golden was just on the point of leaving.
"You can't leave yet!" she cried, unable to hide her disappointment.
"I'm sorry, but I must," he said, smiling down at her. ”I’ve been invited to Julia Given's home for supper and have papers to grade before I go there." He shook hands with the men, then kissed Rainey's knuckles. "The meal was excellent, Miss Watson. And your company was delightful. You have my undying gratitude for extending the invitation."
Undying gratitude. Her disappointment at his departure was tempered slightly by those words. She would make it her business to invite him for the evening meal next time. "We was real pleasured by your visit," she said, the back of her hand still tingling from the feel of his lips against it. "Don't be no stranger here, Robert. Hear? Come see us again . . . anytime."
Her eyes drank in the sight of his lean body as he mounted his horse and rode into the forest. Then she turned to the men watching her silently. "All right," she said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring angrily at them. "What did the two of you do to make him leave so fast?"
"We didn't do nothing," George Watson said quickly. "He was just ready to leave, Rainey. What's the difference anyway? The man had done filled his belly with fried chicken and taters and good raisin pie an' they was no more reason for him to stay. Can't say as I mind him goin', neither, 'cause he ain't our kind of folk. A body can't rightly feel comfortable with his sort."
"Grandpa! You did do something." Her eyes flashed to Thorne's. "Or was it you, Thornton O'Brien Lassiter? It would be just like you to drive away my only beau!"
"Is that what he was, Rainey?" he asked softly. "I'm afraid I didn't know. He certainly didn't have the look of a man who'd come here to court you. Didn't even offer to help with the dishes when the meal was over."
"He didn't have to!" she snapped. "He was a guest here! Just like you are! And I never saw you offering to
wash the dishes, neither."
"Now, that ain't fair, Rainey," George said. "Many's the time Thorne offered to wash the dishes for you. And he's always bringing in wood for the stove. He ain't never come here without askin' was there somethin’ that needed doin'."
"None of that matters one whit to me," she snapped. "I didn't ask Robert here to wash dirty dishes. But I did expect him to stay and set awhile with me." She looked down at herself and tears of pity misted her eyes. She thought of the long hours she'd spent gathering the ruffles and sewing them to the long skirt. "I made this here dress just so's I'd look like a woman for Robert and . . . and he d-didn't even notice."
"I'm sure he did," Thorne said gently. "It's a lovely dress, Rainey. The blue in that gingham exactly matches your eyes."
"Them 's words I wanted him to say," she said, sniffing. "Just like that, too, all soft-like. But he didn't really see me, did he? Didn't hardly even look my way." She felt a wave of depression settle over her. "I don't know how to be a lady, don't know how to catch a man's attention. I'm no good at things like that."
"You don't have to learn those things, Rainey. You come by them naturally," Thorne said softly.
"But he didn't hardly look at me," she wailed, allowing her tears free rein. "And after all the trouble I went to." She clutched his shoulders and buried her head against his chest. "What's wrong with me, Thorne?"
Although Thorne felt secretly glad that Robert Golden had left, he found himself sympathizing with
her. She had gone to a lot of trouble and, although the teacher had said a polite thank-you, there had been no real appreciation in either his voice or his manner.
But then, to give the devil his due, Robert Golden hadn't the slightest notion of how hard she'd worked to make the dinner a success.
"I have needle holes in my fingers from sewing this dang dress," she cried piteously. "And he didn't say nothing about it, didn't even seem to notice how pretty it
was."
"Man didn't notice much of nothin' 'cept for the food on his plate," George Watson muttered, stomping inside the cabin.
Thorne slid a comforting arm around her waist and reveled in the feel of her warmth against him. "I'm sure he noticed," he comforted, even as he wondered why he bothered.
"I tried so hard," she muttered, wallowing in self-pity.
"I know you did," he sympathized . "But maybe you tried too hard, Rainey."
"I had to try hard! I don't know nothing about anything! Least ways the things that catch a man's eyes." She looked piteously at him, her eyes glittering with moisture, and, like a man hypnotized, he reached out and touched her cheek. It felt warm, soft, silky. He wanted to take her in his arms, wanted so badly to cradle her head against his shoulder, but he couldn't move. He merely stood there, cupping her cheek as though it were something precious.
She was so childlike in her innocence, and yet so womanly, too. It was all he could do to keep the desire he felt from showing.
"You know what a man like him wants, don 't you, Thorne?" she asked.
"I suppose he's used to women who flutter their lashes and practice their feminine wiles," he said mildly.
"What's feminine wiles?" she asked, knuckling the tears away. "Tell me how to practice them."
Feeling a sense of deep frustration, he ran a hand through his dark hair. "It's not something I can tell you about, Rainey. It's something women just learn by themselves."
"Well, I didn't, Thorne." Her tears were gone now, and there was sudden determination in her voice. "And you know it. I don't know nothing about things like that. But it's past time I did! And you could teach 'em to me."
Her words startled him, and he wondered if she'd lost her senses. Him? Teach Rainey how to trap another man into marriage? Not on his life!
As though she had guessed his thoughts, Rainey dug her fingers into his shoulders. "Don't you look at me like that, Thorne! I set my mind that I'm gonna have that man for my own. And you're gonna help me get him! You're gonna teach me what I need to know so's that man will look at me like I'm a woman!"