by Merry Farmer
Woody leaned closer to her, and Meizhen’s pulse quickened. Her gaze dropped to his lips, soft and half-parted. She was suddenly keenly aware that they sat on a bed. No one was around to see if they disobeyed Chi-ming’s no kissing rule or not. And in that moment, it was as though the brightness and warmth of the sun outside had turned to liquid gold and swirled through Meizhen’s veins. Surely no rich man in a city could make her feel the sweet expectation that being so close to Woody made her feel. The heat in his eyes said the feeling was shared, which made Meizhen’s heart beat faster.
Woody’s mouth was inches away from hers when a loud clucking noise sounded from the hay bales across from the bed. Meizhen gasped and pulled back at the same time that Woody jumped.
“Hey, how did you get up here?” he asked, his voice rough. The round mass of orange-brown feathers turned out to be one of his hens. The other two poked their heads up from a space between hay bales a moment later, then hopped up to come see what the fuss was all about. “Acting as chaperones, are you?” he asked the hens, then turned to explain to Meizhen, “Gigi has always been a stickler for rules.”
The intensity of the emotions swirling through Meizhen were such that she laughed harder than she should have. The hens didn’t seem to mind, though. They strutted closer, cocking their heads to look at her with their shiny eyes.
“Oh, that’s right.” Woody stood suddenly, shuffling to the bureau. “You’re right. I almost forgot,” he told the hen that Meizhen thought was Fifi.
Chi-ming might have considered Woody unintelligent for talking to his animals as though they were friends, but Meizhen was convinced the way Woody treated his animals was beyond smart. How many times in the last, lonely months had she wished she had a friend, someone to share her thoughts and sorrows with? Not only was Woody’s kindness likely what made him so skilled with his animals, it meant he would never feel completely alone. And as far as she was concerned, that was smarter than any book learning. Chi-ming was wrong for a third time.
Woody finished sorting through the top drawer of the bureau and turned back to her, something in his hand. “I want you to have this,” he said.
He held out a small brooch with an amber stone. Meizhen took it from him, pressing a hand to her heart. “It’s beautiful.”
He shrugged and sat beside her once more. “It’s not much, but it belonged to my mother.”
Something deep and intense burst in Meizhen’s chest, causing her eyes to sting. “Oh, Woody. I can’t take something this precious from you. We…we don’t know for certain if we will marry.” Although her mind was closer and closer to being made up with every second that passed.
Woody shrugged. He took the brooch from her hand and pinned it to her bodice. “I want you to have it anyhow, whatever you decide. My ma was a pretty woman, though work put lines on her face and knobs on her hands, and ultimately took her before her time. You’re the prettiest woman I’ve known since Ma, so you should have it.”
Meizhen was certain she was going to cry. The gesture was too sweet, and the tenderness with which he fixed the brooch to her bodice left her trembling with desire. And yet, at the same time, knowing the gift came from his mother only reminded Meizhen of how deep family ties bound people together. What would her own mother say if she married someone against Chi-ming’s will? Would she and her father refuse to spend their twilight years in America if their entire family couldn’t be together in one place…because of her.
Chi-ming had been wrong about many things, but perhaps he was right when it came to making decisions with head over heart.
“You okay?” Woody asked, brushing her cheek as soon as the brooch was fastened.
Meizhen nodded. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said. Everything he was offering her was beautiful.
He studied her for a few more seconds before taking a deep breath and cutting through the thickness of emotion between them. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Why don’t we go down to Nacho’s place to get some grub?”
The easy way that he soothed the growing tension inside of her made Meizhen laugh. “Yes. I would like to see your friend Nacho’s restaurant.” She moved toward the edge of the loft and the ladder, Woody following.
“It’s not so much a restaurant as a grub hall,” Woody explained with a wry grin. “Nacho’s not the best cook.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said as she started down the ladder.
She just hoped that the same could be said about whatever decision she made about her future.
Chapter 6
Well, shoot. Woody tried not to get too caught up by the emotions pounding through him, but he’d almost kissed Meizhen up in the loft, and it had shaken him to his core. Not just because he’d promised Chi-ming he wouldn’t kiss her, but because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Meizhen was the only woman for him. Ever.
And if she left to marry some richer, smarter man in San Francisco, he’d never recover.
He tried not to let the ache spreading from his heart—and his groin—effect his brain too much as he helped Meizhen back into her coat, donned his own, and took her arm to escort her away from the barn and into the heart of Noelle once more. He tried, but the ache of longing had just about taken over what little brain he had.
“Nacho’s place is where most everyone goes when they can’t or don’t want to cook for themselves,” he explained, fighting the rough note in his voice that had been there since sitting so close to Meizhen on the bed that could be theirs. “The food’s not fantastic, but it sticks to your ribs.”
“Oh?” Meizhen glanced up at him, her pink cheeks giving her the look of an angel. Although Woody’s gaze kept dropping to her lips. “Do you eat there often or do you cook for yourself?”
Her lips were like ripe cherries. He wondered what they tasted like, wondered what all of her tasted like. Judging from the tone of her skin, she might just taste like honey, and that was fine with him.
He blinked. She’d asked him a question.
“Oh, uh, hmm?” He shook his head. “I mean, yeah, I’m not a good cook. I eat here most of the time.”
He let go of her arm and rushed forward to hold the door open for her. The diner was already busy with miners and townsfolk sitting at the long table in the center of the room and a few couples already enjoying quieter accommodations at the scattering of smaller tables around the perimeter. Woody gestured for Meizhen to head toward one of the small tables that was free.
“I will have to cook you traditional Cantonese cuisine,” Meizhen told him with a smile. “Not that I’m much of a cook myself. But if I am able to find the correct spices here in the mountains, I will try gai lan with oyster sauce.”
“That sounds—” Woody’s heart jerked to his throat as his mouth watered, then bounced to his gut and back up again. “Does that mean…. Are you saying…. You’re going to….” He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question.
Meizhen’s face flushed darker, and she looked down, her black lashes brushing against her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said, but her delicate lips curved up in a slight smile.
“Woody. Amigo.” Woody was shocked out of his paralyzing expectation by Nacho slapping him on the back. “Have you and your lovely bride come for lunch?”
“Uh…um….” Woody couldn’t for the life of him bring his head out of the clouds of potential joy he’d shot into.
At least, he couldn’t until the four men sitting at the end of the diner’s long table snorted and snickered at him. Then he returned to earth with a thud.
“Yeah,” he said, heating with embarrassment. “We’re here to eat.”
The men at the table—Bud, Jerry, Horace, and Stu, all miners working for Charlie—laughed harder, shaking their heads. “What a dolt,” Jerry muttered.
The ache in Woody’s heart turned as painful as the stab of a knife. He slanted a look at Meizhen. Her eyes were still lowered, but her smile was gone, along with some of the color from her face.
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br /> “Right this way,” Nacho said with absolute kindness for Meizhen. “I saved the best of my tables for you. And I will prepare the best food I have.”
“Thank you,” Meizhen said, full of grace.
They followed Nacho to a table in the corner of the room, nearer to the kitchen, where it was warm. They were out of the direct line of sight from the men at the table as well.
“Sorry about that,” Woody said once he’d helped Meizhen remove her coat and held her chair for her. “Some of the fellas who work for Charlie are a little…rough around the edges.” He would have used much stronger words to describe them, but Meizhen had been subjected to enough already.
“They remind me of the sailors on the ship that brought Meiying and I to America,” Meizhen replied with a sympathetic smile. “Small minds with no imagination.”
Woody wanted to smile in return, but he couldn’t help but think he was a man with a small mind too. “I…I suppose you like intelligent men?”
Meizhen’s eyes went wide. She reached her hand across the table to touch his. “That is not what I meant at all. I—”
“Here you go.” They were interrupted as Nacho brought them two large plates filled with colorless pieces of chicken, tired-looking beans, some rice, and piles of tortillas. “My best, just for you.”
Woody’s heart sank further. Insults from other men in town and unappealing food were not going to cause Meizhen to make up her mind in his favor. But Meizhen still smiled at Nacho, nodded, and said, “Thank you.”
“De nada.” Nacho bowed slightly to her, then returned to his kitchen.
Woody picked up his fork and started shoveling chicken, beans, and rice into the tortillas to make tacos, the way Nacho had showed him years ago. He took a bite out of the first one, then paused. Meizhen stared at her plate, fork in hand, looking baffled.
“Have you ever eaten tacos before?” he asked, setting his food back on his plate.
“No, I haven’t,” Meizhen answered, her cheeks going pink again.
“It’s easy.” Woody picked up another tortilla and held it ready to be filled. “All you do is load the chicken, beans, and rice into the tortilla like this.” He demonstrated by scooping some beans with his fork and tipping them into the tortilla.
In the process, several of the dry beans rolled right out of the tortilla, hit the table, and spilled onto the floor. As they did, a chorus of snorts and laughter sounded from the end of the long table. Woody glanced reflexively over his shoulder to find the earlier four watching him and Meizhen intently, then sent an apologetic look to Meizhen. His face burned with shame.
“Like this?” Meizhen picked up one of her own tortillas and carefully spooned chicken into it. She didn’t spill any or make any sort of mess, and she didn’t show any signs that she had even noticed Woody’s clumsy demonstration.
“Yeah,” he said, his confidence returning. “You can fill it up as much as you want. Then you fold it over and eat it, like I did with the other one.” He put down the taco he was building and picked up his half-eaten first one, finishing it off.
Meizhen grinned, crinkles forming around her eyes, and imitated him. Her expression dampened a little as she chewed her first bite. “I will do what I must to find spices from my homeland to cook for you.”
Woody’s heart trembled at her implication once again, but this time he shared a grin with her, knowing she was saying as politely as she could that Nacho’s cooking wasn’t great.
They continued eating, though, and grinning at each other across the table. Nacho brought out two glasses of water and set them on the edge of the table before going back to work. Woody hardly noticed. He was too busy falling in love with Meizhen’s smile as she tried to eat tacos the way he was.
It was only when Bud got up from the end of the table and casually strolled past Woody and Meizhen’s table, knocking one of the glasses of water off as he went, that Woody snapped back to reality. But before he could call Bud out for what he’d done, Bud snorted and said, “Clumsy fool. Look how you made a mess.”
The other men stood from their seats to watch and laughed at Bud’s scolding.
“I didn’t spill anything,” Woody said. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d—”
Bud knocked Woody’s knife off the table. “Look. You’ve gone and done it again. Stupid oaf.”
Frustration cut through Woody like lightning. He usually just rolled his eyes when the fellas teased him this way. They got bored when he didn’t react. But with Meizhen there, he might just have to break his personal rules and teach Bud and the others some manners.
“What was that?” Horace said, striding over to join Bud. “Cat got your tongue?” he snapped before Woody could make his reply.
“He’s as stupid as any mule,” Bud laughed. “Can’t even eat like a civilized man.” He knocked Woody’s fork off the table. “Whoops.”
Woody shot a glance to Meizhen, dreading what he’d see in her eyes. But Meizhen’s face was completely passive. For all Woody knew, she hadn’t even noticed the men causing them trouble. She just kept eating her taco.
“Hee-haw, hee-haw.” Horace made shrill donkey sounds. “What’s that, mule man?”
“Whoops,” Bud said again before pushing the second glass of water off the table.
Only as soon as the glass left the table’s edge, Meizhen shot her hand out and caught it. The gesture was so fast and so skilled that not only did the glass not drop, the water didn’t spill. More amazing still, Meizhen wasn’t holding it grasped in her hand, she had her palm flat, and the glass rested on it as though her hand were a table.
Woody, Bud, and Horace went silent. Meizhen glanced up at Bud then. Her eyes were as hard as steel. She stood slowly from her chair, the glass still balanced perfectly in her hand, her fierce eyes never leaving Bud’s. Bud took a step back. Woody expected Meizhen to set the glass back on the table, but she didn’t. Instead, she did something fast and bendy with her hands that caused the glass to jump from one to the other, then back again. Then suddenly the glass was balanced on one of her elbows, then it looked like it was sliding down her arm, then balanced on her shoulder. A split-second later, it was back in her hands again, and before any of them could so much as take a breath, she perched the glass on one finger in front of Bud.
Not a drop had spilled.
“I would humbly request that you return to your lunch and let us return to ours,” she said, her voice gentle and quiet.
For a moment, neither Bud nor Horace moved. From the end of the table, Stu called, “Or what?”
“Yeah,” Jerry seconded, eyes flickering nervously. “Why should they do what you say?”
Meizhen smiled pleasantly. She set the glass back on the table, still smiling. Then she took a step back, did something twisty with her upper body, and all of a sudden, she was upside down, flipping toward Bud and Horace—kinda like a cartwheel, but much bendier—forcing them to back up the entire length of the room. She kept coming at them until they were well past the end of the long table.
And then—Woody had no idea how she did it—she twisted and stepped up onto the table’s bench with her hands, flipped again and twisted until her back was nearly bent double, did a funny kind of pirouette on one foot onto the top of the table, then finished by delicately lifting her skirts and pushing Bud’s mug of beer off the table with her booted toe.
“Whoops,” she said, the same way Bud had when he knocked things off their table, only with infinite sweetness and a smile that could melt butter. “Such a shame to be so messy.”
With her skirts slightly lifted, Woody realized that she was still perfectly balanced on one toe. His jaw dropped and his pulse pounded. He wasn’t sure he’d actually seen what he thought he’d just seen. But he was fast enough to hop up and rush to the end of the table, offering his hands to help Meizhen down. When she smiled at him, lowered to her feet, and let him put his hands around her waist to lift her down, Woody thought he might burst with pride in her. She felt so good in
his arms as he set her on the floor that he debated keeping her there.
Up until Jerry whistled and said, “Woody, you lucky dog.”
“Yeah, there ain’t many women as flexible as that,” Horace added.
The other two snorted.
“That’s my future wife you’re talking about,” Woody said in a low growl, like a dog who was normally friendly but had been pushed too far. A few of the other patrons of the diner watched in stunned silence, surprised to see Woody confronting anyone.
“Yeah, I bet she is,” Stu said, throwing as much innuendo as possible into his comment, then snorting with laughter.
“Why, you—” Woody raised his fist.
Meizhen put her hand gently on his arm. In an instant, all of the anger and guile inside him vanished. She turned her fierce eyes to the laughing men, instantly silencing them.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for making something clear to me,” she said, cool as the crisp, winter air outside. When the four of them only stared at her, she went on with, “I see now that only the best of men in Noelle were chosen to receive brides.”
The room went silent. Meizhen stared down each of the miners in turn. All either turned away or lowered their heads. When she seemed satisfied that they understood her, she turned back to the table to fetch her coat. As soon as one of his friends who had been watching guffawed at the way Stu and the others had been set down, Woody snapped back to full awareness. He jumped after Meizhen, holding her coat for her and helping her into her winter things. He didn’t blame her one bit for wanting to get the heck out of there. He’d come back and pay Nacho later. But as he and Meizhen left the diner, Woody was certain he’d never been prouder of anyone in his life than he was of Meizhen right then.
Chapter 7