by Carol Arens
In spite of what Grannie and Aunt Tillie believed, Holly Jane was not the one for him. He needed someone sultry, provocative...a woman of experience, who would pass in and out of his life with no more trouble than a whiff of smoke.
“They didn’t always hate each other.” Holly Jane plucked a flower from a bush growing beside the path, sniffed it then slid it behind her ear. “A long time ago when my grandfather, old man Folsom and old man Broadhower were young men, they were fast friends who came from the east and wanted to settle near each other.”
“Something went the hell wrong.”
“And in a hurry. They found the land with the spring, and they bought it. They named their little settlement Friendship Springs. Each of them had ranches that adjoined the other. Granddaddy had the most money so he got the best parcel. The one with the river. It didn’t seem a problem because Broadhower and Folsom both knew Granddaddy would never try to dry out their land.”
“Sounds peachy so far.”
“Fine and dandy until the wives came along. The Broadhower bride and the Folsom bride hated each other. My grandmother said they were both vain and disagreeable women. After being away for a year, Mr. Broadhower came home to find his wife nursing a newborn. She told him she had been raped by Folsom. Mrs. Folsom exposed her as a harlot and a liar, then because of it she ended up beaten and left with a scar on her face. When Mrs. Broadhower fell and broke her leg, then died of the infection, it was all the Folsoms’ fault. It might have been, for all anyone knows. They were all crazy with hatred by then.”
“Looks like they never heard of forgive and forget.”
“There was a time...” Holly Jane smiled, but it was a sad and wistful. The tender expression on her face made his heart squeeze.
“What time was that?”
“So long ago that the families don’t remember it.” Sunshine, hanging low in the sky glinted off her eyes. Old memories seemed to be making her tearful. “It had to do with my carousel.”
“You don’t normally see one smack-dab in the middle of a ranch.”
“Granddaddy bought it for me.”
“Didn’t know he was such a rich man.”
“Oh, it didn’t cost him anything. There used to be a traveling circus that came to Friendship Springs every summer. They rented land from Granddaddy. They’d pitch a tent and set up the carousel. One year they didn’t have the money to pay so Granddaddy took the carousel instead.”
“I reckon you were the envy of the town.”
Her childhood would have been as unlike his in every way there could be.
“Every Sunday after church Granddaddy invited the children from all around to come and ride it. The Folsoms and the Broadhowers got along just fine without their parents to poison their fun.”
“Maybe we ought to fire that carousel up again.”
“Too bad the old steam engine quit. It could be like old times. The Folsoms and the Broadhowers riding and laughing...having peaceful fun. We could have ourselves a big party for the town.”
He’d be able to repair the engine without breaking a sweat. A nostalgic party might not be enough to reunite the families, but who knew? Maybe they could invite the town preacher to keep everyone behaving decently.
They walked in silence for a time. He wondered if she was thinking about how much money it would take to buy him out.
“Colt...” She touched his sleeve as soon as they stepped onto the bridge.
He stopped and turned, gazing down at the loveliest face he had ever seen. He thought for half a second that he might want to look into her eyes forever. It took a good mental shake to remember the only kind of women who had ever wanted him.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“You load up the cake with salt instead of sugar?”
A frown shot across her fair forehead. A breeze lifted the curls at her hairline. “It’s a very good thing that I didn’t. I’d have felt wretched over it. I do apologize for messing the house...for not being more welcoming to you and your family.”
“I wish I could apologize for pulling your land out from under you, but I can’t. A place like this one has been in my blood since I was a kid.” He gazed far out, looking it over from tree line to tree line, from green pastures to the barn. His heart swelled. “I’m sorry you lost it, but I’m damn sure grateful that I got it.”
“Granddaddy had a reason for selling to you.”
“I knew that. Trust me—you’ll never marry anyone against your will. I promised your grandfather...and I promise you.”
She sighed then very boldly reached up and touched the beard stubble on his cheek. He felt like he’d been hit by a lightning bolt and dumped on by a gallon of honey all at once.
“I knew Granddaddy as well as I know myself. I know how he thought and the reasons for everything he did.” She withdrew her hand and arched a fine brown brow at him... She grinned suddenly. “It’s true that he didn’t want me to marry a Folsom or a Broadhower...he wanted me to marry you.”
She turned and skipped across the bridge with the damn pig trotting behind like a bouncing pink ball.
Never in his livelong life had he ever been taken so off guard, so hit from behind...so cut off at the knees.
* * *
“It’s chilly this morning,” Grannie Rose declared, kneeling in front of a pumpkin vine in the garden. “That must be what’s keeping the alligator away.”
Holly Jane knelt beside Grannie Rose and watched as she cut a fat orange squash from the stem. The old woman’s hand was as steady as her own.
“Remember, Rose,” Aunt Tillie said from where she stood beside a cornstalk, plucking an ear. “The alligator only exists in your imagination. He isn’t real.”
“That’s a comfort.” Grannie Rose sighed. “It will be safer for the monkey now.”
“Rose, dear—” Aunt Tillie dropped an ear of corn in the canvas bag tied about her waist “—there is no monkey, either.”
“Are you sure? He seems so real.”
“I’m sure. Holly Jane will tell you that’s the case.”
“I haven’t seen a monkey since the circus used to come here when I was a little girl.”
“A circus in your own backyard! What a marvel. Colt Wesson would have loved that when he was a boy.... That is him over yonder mending the corral fence? He’s not a vision?”
Blessed morning, he was a vision all right, carrying posts and swinging a hammer, working up a sweat without his shirt on even in the cold air. She shouldn’t look at him, but how could she help it? Name a woman who could.
All right, Aunt Tillie, then. Aunt Tillie was not looking at him; she was looking at Holly Jane and quite intently.
“You know, Holly Jane, Colt comes across rather rough, but he’s a very good man.”
“Not your typical Travers,” Grannie put in. “It always caused him trouble growing up, being such a good boy.”
“Why would being a good boy cause him trouble?” That was curious.
“It’s not the Travers way,” Grannie answered. “Poor little mite. His pappy, my son, had his heart set on Colt being a gunfighter. Used to boast about it when Colt was just a baby.”
That explained his name, then.
“You can imagine the trouble it caused when Colt refused to even pick up a gun.” Aunt Tillie glanced at her great-nephew, pride apparent in her smile. “Being a good boy did not mean that Colt was not a rebel. If his pappy said turn left, Colt turned right. If he said sit down, Colt stood up.”
“One day when he was twelve years old—isn’t that right, Tillie, twelve?—his pappy told him to take the hundred dollars they had just robbed from a family, home to the hideout while the rest of them went to another town to rob the collection plate at a church. Our boy didn’t take to thievery, so he hid out in a gully with the mo
ney. Then when it got dark, he went back to the house that was robbed and dropped the money on the front porch.”
“He carried the bruises for that an entire month.” Tillie frowned and dropped a cob into the bag.
“And proudly.” Grannie Rose nodded, her gray hair sparkling silver in the sunshine. “That’s about the time when all the other boys were learning to shoot. Naturally, Colt would have none of that and took up knife-throwing instead. His pappy nearly had a fit and would have gone after him with a whip, but Tillie said she’d use it on him if he tried. Everyone always listened to you, didn’t they, sister?”
“Not when I told them crime was a mortal sin. They laughed at that.”
“What was the worst thing Colt ever did?” Fascinated, she couldn’t keep herself from asking. His past was as different from hers as day was from night. Since he was born and raised a criminal, she couldn’t help but wonder who he really was now. Devil, angel or someone in between?
When she thought about it, what was to keep Colt from drying out both the Broadhowers and the Folsoms and taking their land?
“He used to set hostages free.” The pride in Aunt Tillie’s voice was unmistakable.
“The whole family carried on about how he prevented them from collecting the ransoms. Didn’t make no never mind to Colt Wesson, though. I don’t think we ever did collect a ransom, did we, Tillie?”
“Nearly, once, when Colt was sick with a fever. But he recovered in time to take the money and the young captive home.”
“What happened to him? Was he punished?”
“He has a scar, but Pappy came away from that beating with two. That’s the day when Colt Wesson figured he was too big for beatings and lit out on his own.” Grannie cut a small pumpkin then set it beside the big one. “My son was a good Travers, but not a very good man.”
From across the field she saw Colt finish his repair of the corral gate. He swung it open and closed three times, testing it. Then he put his shirt back on and went inside the barn.
Just because she felt gooey inside when she looked at the man, just because she felt weak in the knees when he looked at her, did not mean that she was in love.
Love did not happen in a blink. It took time to bloom then grow. It was founded on mutual respect...upon putting the other person’s best interest over your own.
It was a slow, steady progression of friendship into an unbreakable bond.
That odd feeling she had whenever he was near, the one that made her want to snuggle close to him could not possibly be love.
But she could be wrong.
All of a sudden, squawking erupted from the barn.
“Looks like chicken and dumplings for dinner, sister.”
* * *
It had been too many years since Colt had tasted Aunt Tillie’s chicken and dumplings.
He held the black hen upside down by the legs. She was plump, pretty and delicious looking. There would be a feast tonight.
She was a squawker, though. Her caterwauling had to be reaching town. Damned if his eardrums weren’t about to pop.
He’d best wring her neck quick and get it over with.
With his thumb and fingers looping the soft feathers, he suddenly felt his balance shift.
One moment he had been dreaming of dumplings then the next he found himself lying on a pile of hay with Holly Jane on top of him pounding his chest with small closed fists.
The chicken wasn’t the only one screeching.
“Let her go!” Holly Jane thrashed and wriggled against him, reaching for the bird that he still gripped by the legs.
He opened his hand. The hen strutted away in an indignant fluff of feathers while Holly Jane scrambled off him.
She stood over him, glaring down fire and brimstone.
“Matilda is a new mother!” Her bosom heaved with her anger.
He smiled, couldn’t help it. For all that she was small, Holly Jane was beautifully formed. Better than that, she was a spitfire of a woman. All sugar and spice...lots of spice. Any man would need to keep a good firm hold on his heart when it came to her. She’d have him roped and tied without him even being aware of it.
Once again, he’d best pay attention and remember the women he was suited for. Harlots and loose women would accept him for what he was and not shed a tear when they parted company.
“Those chickens are egg layers!” She kicked a puff of dust and straw at him.
He sat up and brushed a piece of dried-out manure from his sleeve. Looked like he still had some cleaning to do before Wednesday.
“What do you suggest we eat, Bo Peep?”
“Go ask the butcher in town.” With that she spun about and disappeared into the henhouse.
A few seconds later she marched out, cupping something between her palms. He’d stood up by then so he peered down to see what it was.
“You were seconds away from making little Joey an orphan.” She closed her fingers back up, hiding the black ball of chirruping fuzz from his view. “You, Colt Travers, are a brute.”
He watched her march into the henhouse, back straight and pretty round hips swaying.
Lord, help him. He tried to summon a vision of the tawdriest woman he had ever been with and couldn’t see her.
* * *
Holly Jane sat upon the elephant’s back on the carousel watching lamps being lit in the house. Happy yellow light filled one window after another.
She ought to go inside before Colt came and dragged her to dinner. One humiliation for the day had been quite enough.
Even now, hours later, she felt the blush reach her hairline. It hadn’t been necessary to push Colt down. Her reaction had been pure temper. She might have calmly explained that these particular chickens were not for eating and that she would gladly bring one from the butcher’s shop next time he wanted chicken and dumplings.
“Blame it,” she mumbled, turning on the elephant to watch the sun go down behind a bank of clouds. Normally, watching the sunset soothed her, but not tonight.
Even though he had been the one about to murder Matilda, she was the one about to do the apologizing.
She turned back to face the house and found Colt watching her through the parlor window.
An apology wouldn’t alter her opinion of him. He was a criminal...a brute. Yes indeed, let her linger here in the dark five more minutes and he’d come marching out of the house to haul her to the dinner table.
High-handed is what he was, bossy and arrogant...and opening the front door.
“You coming in, moonbeam?” he called.
Condescending, she couldn’t forget that character flaw. Anyone who called other folks names must have a pretty high regard of himself.
She’d just as well apologize for her aggressive behavior and get it out of the way. Slipping down from the elephant’s back, she walked toward the house. Colt came down the steps and met her halfway.
“Sorry about your hen,” he said. “Didn’t know she was a pet.”
That was mannerly of him; she would have to give him his due. Then again, what kind of apology was it when it was delivered with a grin and a flash of dimples?
“It was an understandable mistake.” And it was, really, now that he was sorry for it. “Most fowl are livestock.”
They walked in silence for a moment, watching an owl circle the darkening sky and clouds gliding in like a blanket.
“I’m sorry I knocked you down.”
“You pack a punch, for a little bitty thing.” Even in the dim light she noticed the glint of humor in his eyes. “You did catch me by surprise, though.”
“You gave me cause.”
“What do you say we call it a draw and go in to dinner?” He winked at her. “It’s pork chops.”
He quickstepped it to the porch.
“You are not a funny man, Colt Travers!”
She dashed past him and up the stairs so he wouldn’t see her grudging smile.
Aunt Tillie and Grannie Rose set four plates on the dining table and one on the floor for Lulu.
Colt pulled out chairs for all three of them. Grannie Rose patted his cheek; Aunt Tillie smiled. Holly Jane sat down, avoiding eye contact with him.
They joined hands for the blessing. Holly Jane held one of Grannie Rose’s hands and one of Aunt Tillie’s. They bowed their heads while Aunt Tillie gave thanks for the cool autumn day and the fact that they did not accidentally eat Matilda.
Supper with the Travers family was a bright spot in her day. Had it been such a short time since she and Lulu had spent their evenings alone? Until now, she hadn’t realized how dreary that had been. With the Traverses here, it felt more like the happy times when her grandparents were alive.
It couldn’t last, of course. She was going to buy back the ranch. After that, things couldn’t help but change.
She came out of her thoughts just in time to see Aunt Tillie send Grannie Rose some sort of message with her eyes.
“How grand that the horses will be coming home on Wednesday,” Grannie Rose announced. “Will you be gone to fetch them just the one night, Colt?”
“If the weather’s good and the horses have a mind to come along peacefully.”
“It’s only a shame that we’re too frail to ride along with you. I recall the time I went on a horse raid with your grandpappy...we were so young, very much in love. It was—” Grannie looked lost in the past for a moment, seeing things that no one else could. “Lovely.”
“It wasn’t lovely for me,” Aunt Tillie said with a huff. “I never got a wink of sleep, thinking you all would get arrested and hanged.”
“As it turned out, Holly Jane, Grandpappy and I got so involved with our campfire that we never did get the horses. By morning the owner had taken the whole lot of them and moved on.”
“Too bad that wasn’t the case every time.” Aunt Tillie looked as though she saw the past as well, and it was sour as a pickle. “Well, the reason that we are sorry to be frail old ladies who can’t travel is because we could both use a new dress. Isn’t that right, sister.”