Ace's Wild (Hqn)

by Sarah McCarty

  “This isn’t over, teacher,” he threatened, before taking a step back. “I want my boy back.”

  He could want until the cows came home. As long as there was fight left in her, Terrance was staying safe. After another futile glare around the store, Brian left. It wasn’t until she couldn’t hear his boot steps anymore that she turned and leaned back against the counter. Closing her eyes, she let the fear drain.

  Fumbling beneath her cape, she took her hankie out and dabbed at her cheeks. She would never let that brute have access to Terrance. He could come bearing court orders with a judge in tow, and she wasn’t going to let it happen. Terrance was just a child. If Brian scared her, what must he do to a boy helpless under his care? How many times had Terrance hidden in a dark corner like she’d hidden in the mercantile, hoping and praying his father wouldn’t find him? How many times had those prayers failed? How many times would they fail again?

  She licked her dry lips. It was too easy to imagine exactly how he’d felt, because she was feeling it now. And it had her legs shaking and her breath soughing in and out of her lungs. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. If she trusted her legs, she would have walked over. As it was, she settled for turning her head. Mr. Orvis, the shopkeeper, was behind the grocery-laden counter, one of his hands out of sight. Two smartly yet plainly dressed women stood before him.

  “You all right, Miss Wayfield?” he asked, catching her eye.

  Picking up a red velvet ribbon, she pretended to study its quality. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. She would be in a moment.

  After a glance at the door, he brought both hands up to the counter and started packing the groceries into a box. The women, ranchers’ wives she saw in town infrequently, looked between Mr. Orvis and her, then at each other. “We’ll be back later for our purchases, Mr. Orvis, when you get things—” another look at Petunia “—cleaned up in here.”

  It was an insult pure and simple, and as the women swished out, spines straight, it stung. Petunia knew it shouldn’t—she knew the truth—but it did.

  “I’m sorry about that, Miss Wayfield,” Michael said with a sigh, continuing to pack the groceries. “Some people have more money than manners.”

  She forced a smile and put the ribbon back on the spindle. “I hope I’m not driving away customers by frequenting your establishment.”

  Mr. Orvis smiled and put a pack of sugar into the box. “Not a chance of that. There isn’t another mercantile around for fifty miles. If their tail gets too much into a twist, they can order from the catalog, but—” his smile took on a conspiratorial edge “—they’d still have to place that order through me.”

  Because he was also the post office. “I still appreciate the support.”

  “You taught my Milly her letters after the last teacher said it was impossible. I’ll not be forgetting that.”

  “Nothing is impossible.”

  “That’s a good motto to live by.”

  Yes. It was. “All the same, thank you.”

  She wandered away from the haberdashery, no clear direction in mind. Still too nervous to leave.

  “Do you need help with something?”

  The letter in her pocket rustled. Did she want to send it?

  There would be no turning back if she did. Her father would come for her or send someone. They would sweep her up and carry her off just like a princess in the fairy tale and install her back in her tower. Her father would pull the drawbridge, summon the Prince Charming of his dreams and for the rest of her life, she would plod down the path he laid out.

  She rubbed her fingertips over the envelope in her pocket. She had to make a choice. Brian Winter was gone for now, but he’d be back. Ace was gone, but he’d be back. But for right now, everything was calm.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  He motioned with his chin. “I can give you some of that ribbon for two cents a yard.”

  “That’s very generous.” But without her teacher’s salary, her money was very tight. Another worry to add to the pile. She smiled politely. “Maybe another time.”

  “All right, then, another time.” He moved the box aside. “Anything else?”

  With the box gone, the jars filled with sweets took prominence. She thought of Terrance, Brenda and Phillip and the start she’d wanted to give them. Guilt stabbed deep. “I could use three sticks of that maple sugar candy you got in.”

  Her funds might be low, but she could afford that.

  “Always thinking of the children, aren’t you?”

  “I try.”

  He tore off some paper in which to wrap the candy. “For what it’s worth, Miss Wayfield, I don’t think it’s right you can’t get your job back. This town was darn lucky the day you were robbed and had to stay in Simple, if you don’t mind my saying. It’s not easy getting a teacher in here at all, let alone one who cares more about the children than finding a husband.”

  “I’m sure your next teacher will care.”

  “Well, until we find one it’s old maid Chester who’s filling in again.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Exactly. She’s the one who told me my Milly was too stupid to learn her letters.”

  “Milly’s not stupid.”

  In two folds he had the candy secure. “I know it, but she had Milly and every kid in town believing it.”

  Oh, she was well aware of that! Petunia didn’t know what was wrong with Milly’s mind. Things got confused from the page to her brain, but she wasn’t stupid. She clutched the candy.

  “I contacted a very learned man in Boston about her situation. I had hoped to have a response by now, but...” She sighed. “The mail is so uncertain.”

  “What will my Milly do now that you’re gone?”

  “You’ll just have to work with her yourself.”

  “I’m not a teacher, ma’am.” He handed over the candy. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  She took the package from him. “At the beginning.”

  “She was so proud when she learned to write the letter A.”

  “It was a big day.” She smiled, remembering that moment. The child had practiced laboriously for a week to get that letter right.

  He spat. “She won’t even go in that building now.”

  This was news to Petunia. “But she must! She’s come so far.”

  Mr. Orvis shook his head. “She won’t, and I can’t see where there’s a point with prune face Chester riding roughshod over that class.”

  She clutched the candy. “You can’t let her give up.”

  Both of his hands flattened on the counter. “You have.”

  “I certainly have not. My situation changed.”

  “I understand the difficulties, but bottom line, ma’am, when you tucked your tail between your legs and gave up without even a fight, you left a lot of children holding the bag.”

  Including his daughter. “It was never my intention to stay.”

  “We all know you intend to go to California and help a bunch of children you don’t know.”

  Taking her coin out of her reticule, she held it out. “Then I don’t understand the problem.”

  He waved away her money. “We kind of hoped you’d come to the conclusion our children mattered just as much.”

  Petunia didn’t know what to say to that. It was all a moot point. “Whether I wanted to stay or not is neither here nor there now, is it? A woman with my sullied reputation won’t be allowed around the children. The school board was quite clear on that in the letter they sent me refusing my request for reinstatement.”

  He huffed. “As if those who come out here from the East don’t have a skeleton in the closet.”

  “What makes you think that?”


  “Why else would they choose the hardship of Texas over the ease of living back East?”

  He had a point. She could only shrug. “It’s easier to ignore a skeleton you haven’t had a peek at than the one that jumped right out and yelled, ‘Boo.’”

  He frowned. “Yeah, but it’s still not right.”

  No it wasn’t. Neither was it fair for him to taunt her with the impossible. “Thank you for the candy.” She held up the package. “The children will enjoy it.”

  With a sigh he nodded. “You’re welcome. And Miss Wayfield?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t be a stranger.”

  * * *

  FOUR LITTLE WORDS, but they echoed in Petunia’s mind, lingered down in her spirit, and lifted her mood. More so than any cinnamon roll ever could.

  Don’t be a stranger.

  As she headed back home, Petunia wondered if Mr. Orvis knew how much those four words meant to her. How much his praise meant and his continued faith in her shored up her faltering courage. Ever since she’d landed in Simple, the convictions of her lifetime had been shifting. Her abduction had rattled them around good, shattering a few and straining some others. But in the middle of that hell, she’d also found the parts of her that mattered. She’d grabbed a piece of victory from chaos. She’d come out of the flames of hell stronger and more determined.

  But not alone. The little voice inside insisted on being heard. You didn’t come out alone.

  No, she hadn’t. Ace and Luke had saved her. Ace had balanced her. Hester and Maddie had given her acceptance. Luisa had given her comfort. She’d thought that was the end of it, but now Mr. Orvis had offered a hand, too. And well, she shook her head, wrestling with the potential of that. Did that mean everyone in town didn’t condemn her? Was that even possible?

  Stepping down off the walk, she crossed the alley. It was amazing how much difference one offer of friendship during bad times made in a person’s outlook. It was a hard-earned lesson, and one she wouldn’t soon be forgetting.

  Hefting up her skirt hem, she attempted to climb up the other side. An effort that would be easier if the town would settle on one height for these sidewalks rather than experimenting with different ones. But that was just part of the charm and growth of Simple. Everyone had an opinion. Every decision spurred an argument. And every argument resulted in the process of solving it being recorded. It was, when she thought about it, a unique way of reserving one’s spot in history.

  The scent of tobacco drifted over. With one foot on the sidewalk, the other firmly planted in the dirt, she looked down the alley. There, halfway down, Brian stood, hat pushed back, leaning against the building, one knee bent with his foot braced against the wall. He could have been doing anything, but as he smiled around the smoke clenched in his teeth, she knew he’d been waiting. For her.

  Again that cold, sick gathering of fear in her gut, only this time it wasn’t so easy to push it aside. Rabid-skunk crazy—her father’s phrase for the cleverly insane—jumped into her head. The man was rabid-skunk crazy. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, his smile or the threat contained in both.

  “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to take my hand?”

  She’d know that calm, even drawl anywhere. Ace. He was back and standing on the walk before her. A big broad-shouldered, lean-hipped silhouette backlit by the sun. Calm. Strength. Safety. Ace.

  Petunia not only took his hand, she practically jumped into his arms, too.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ACE CAUGHT HER EASILY, his arms closing around her back. He smelled faintly of wool, coffee and just, well, him. His heavy coat cushioned her landing. Her cape swirled about her legs. She took another breath, inhaling him as best she could, blatantly cleansing her sensory palate. Sunshine and earthy potential. That was Ace. Balance and peace simmering with dark excitement.

  His voice rumbled by her ear. “I would have helped you, if you’d let me.”

  She shook her head, clinging to him and the illusion of safety he presented a second longer. After the confusion of her thoughts the past hour... “I couldn’t wait.”

  Nothing could have been more true.

  His finger under her chin lifted her face to his gaze. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes narrowed. “We’ll have to work on your impatience.”

  “Or we could just let this time slide.”

  His brow lowered. “Any particular reason this time is special?”

  She leaned against him, shamelessly extending this moment where the world was balanced. “None that matter now.”

  Hopefully, her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. The last thing she needed was for Ace to see Brian and jump to conclusions. She wasn’t up for a fight right now. She was too aware of how it could look, Brian being in the alley and her lingering in the entrance. Either way would set Ace off and right now she just wanted...she took another breath...this.

  Over Ace’s shoulder, she saw Luke’s familiar gray eyes and easy smile. She’d been so wrapped up in Ace, she hadn’t even seen his friend standing there. The way he touched the brim of his hat in an informal salute was a warning. Her breathing deepened as he walked around her and Ace. It caught as he leaned back to look down the alley. Breathing stopped altogether when his brow cocked up. Was Brian still there? Had Ace seen him? His expression was deadpan in response to her frown. She bit her lip. He pushed his hat off his forehead and leaned back against the wall. But he didn’t say a word. She let her breath out in uneasy relief.

  “I stopped by the house,” Ace said. “Hester said you were off in search of cinnamon buns.”

  “You stopped by the house?”

  He shrugged. “The school. Providence. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “It is a school. And a house.” She stepped back, everything in her protesting the distance. Propriety gave her no choice. “You’re correct with either.”

  He let her go in gradual increments. Shoulder, arm, hand and then the starkness of freedom. His smile didn’t fool her probably any more than hers fooled him. He was studying her. She kept her smile steady. “It’s looking good with that new paint.”

  They’d been dressing up the place one room at a time. The colors were far bolder than she would have chosen. She shifted her stance, renewing her balance. “I thought the colors were a bit bright, but Maddie said the house lacked a smile.”

  “Nothing a child needs more than a smile,” Luke interjected from where he lounged.

  Who could argue with that? But she still missed the soothing tones of her home. Bright yellow in the parlor was just jarring. But there was no denying the children’s pleasure in the choosing and the results. “Yes. And with all that color it should be a very big one.”

  Luke smiled. He had a nice smile with just the slightest unevenness that gave him a charming boyish appeal, totally ruined when one’s gaze dropped to his gun belt and the weapons attached there. “I heard Brenda has a bright pink in mind for her room.”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid it’s a done deal as soon as Mr. Orvis finds the paint color.”

  Her campaign for soothing tones was definitely dead.

  Ace chuckled. “She’ll change her mind in a few years.”

  “I somehow doubt the color choices will get better.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  She straightened her cape. If only it was that easy to straighten her composure. “I prefer something more...soothing.”

  “And elegant?”

  She avoided his gaze. “Liking harmony isn’t reprehensible.”

  “No, it isn’t.” His grip switched to her elbow. “Did you get that cinnamon roll yet?”

  “I got distracted.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luke’s eyebrow raise. The urge to shake her head at him to keep quiet was strong.

>   “I heard tell Maddie just pulled a fresh batch out of the oven,” Ace murmured, his fingers stroking so lightly on the inside of her elbow, she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “You’re trying to entice me.”

  His head cocked to the side, and the corner of his mouth kicked up in the slightest of smiles. “I’m doing my best.”

  Her mouth watered. He’d smiled at her just like that while they’d been making love. A teasing, purely masculine smile that slipped beneath her defenses and found everything feminine within her and sparked a response.

  “Did she really make them this late in the day?”

  “Yup.”

  The pressure of his fingers through her sleeve was light. But with every second that passed she became more aware of each individual digit of the pressure of the imagined heat. She looked up at him, liking the way the sun warmed his eyes. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

  “Or maybe Maddie just took a notion to make a fresh batch of rolls.”

  It was possible. It was also possible that Maddie had made the rolls especially for her. Ever since her attack, her friends seemed to think food should be her solace. To the point her dresses were getting too tight, and her curves a bit more amplified. She wished it were possible to touch that curve of his lips. To steal that smile for herself, to keep it and the feelings it inspired within her forever. “Anything is possible.”

  Ace glanced up. “You coming, Luke?”

  Luke smiled that easy smile of his. “Not right now. I’ve got something to do.”

  “Need any help with that?” Ace asked too enigmatically for Petunia’s peace of mind.

  “Nah.” Luke tugged his hat down. “Just going to spread a little Christmas cheer.”

  Ace’s grip on her elbow tightened imperceptibly. Petunia got that sinking feeling in her gut. She’d seen how men were when it came to women with a sullied reputation. Things that before were unthinkable in regard to a woman suddenly became plausible. She found it hard to believe that anyone would believe that she would meet Brian in the alley, but there were very few options open to a tarnished woman for employment. Most of them relied upon the generosity of a man. Now, common sense would say Brian didn’t have a pot to spit in, but she’d found through her experience in life and work that where speculation flourished, common sense often held no place.