Sweet Cherry Ray

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “That’s him,” Billy said.

  “And we got Pa’s spyglass with us,” Pocket offered in a whisper.

  Cherry studied the twinkles in Billy’s eyes—in Pocket’s and Laura’s. She knew she shouldn’t encourage them toward tomfoolery—she knew it.

  Still, she felt a smile spread across her face as she said, “Then what are we waitin’ for?”

  

  “See there, Cherry?” Billy asked in a whisper. “If he ain’t got his britches on, then I suspect he ain’t got his gun on neither.”

  “Let me take a look,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Billy promptly placed the old spyglass in her palm.

  “Careful, Cherry,” Pocket said. “If Pa finds out we done took his spyglass without askin’, he’ll tan our hides good.”

  “Shhh,” Cherry whispered from their hiding place behind a big boulder.

  Closing her left eye, she peered through the spyglass. She could see the stranger there in the creek. He was sitting in the water, leaning back against a big rock. Cherry felt her mouth drop open as she looked through the spyglass at the stranger. Bare from at least the waist up, the muscles in his broad shoulders and upper body were like nothing Cherry Ray had ever seen! As he tucked his hands behind his head, seeming to study the clouds in the sky for a moment, she smiled. It seemed she and the Parker kids had caught the handsome stranger completely off his guard.

  “Yep,” Cherry whispered. “He’s as neked as the day he was born.” She smiled, delighted by seeing the stranger in such a vulnerable situation. “I can see his gun too. It’s holstered and lyin’ there with his clothes on the crick bank.”

  “Just like Black Jack,” Billy said. “He’s always dippin’ in the crick this time a year.”

  “That he is,” Cherry whispered, handing the spyglass to Billy when he held out his hand.

  “Must be somethin’ outlaws like to do,” Laura whispered.

  “I suspect most folks—well, fellers anyway—like to bath in the crick now and again,” Cherry answered.

  “Yep,” Billy said as he peered through the spyglass at the stranger. “Our pa’s always strippin’ down to his nothin’s and dippin’ in the crick up by our house.”

  Pocket took the spyglass from Billy and pointed it at the stranger. “What do ya think he’s up to, Cherry?” the younger boy asked. “Why do ya think he rode into Blue Water?”

  Pocket handed the spyglass to Cherry. Closing one eye, she again peered through the glass at the stranger. He still sat in the creek, entirely unaware he was being spied on by four mischief-makers.

  “Pa thinks he’s come here to challenge Black Jack for some territory,” she said. “But I just don’t know.”

  “Well, he ain’t ugly like Black Jack,” Laura said.

  “Lots of women think Black Jack’s awful handsome,” Cherry said.

  “Women like Pinky Chitter?” Laura asked.

  Pinky Chitter was the head girl at the saloon in Blue Water. She was Black Jack’s “woman”—or so she claimed.

  “All types of women,” Cherry said.

  “Do you think Black Jack is handsome?” Laura asked.

  Cherry continued to gaze through the spyglass at the stranger. Was he asleep? He looked it now.

  “Not near as handsome as this ol’ boy sittin’ in the crick,” she whispered.

  Suddenly, Cherry gasped and ducked down. The stranger had looked up—looked in their direction. Her heart was pounding like a herd of stampeding cattle was pinned up inside her. If the stranger saw them—if he found out she and the Parker kids had been spying on him…

  “Here,” she said, handing the spyglass back to Billy. “You all get on home. We better not linger too long here.”

  “We’re safe enough, Cherry,” Billy said. “That ol’ boy don’t even have his britches on. He can’t do much to us from sittin’ in the middle of the crick without his britches on.”

  “Maybe…but I don’t think we oughta wait around to find out. Now get on home before yer pa finds out ya took his spyglass.”

  “All right, Cherry. All right,” Billy grumbled.

  “But come and fetch me if this stranger does anything else interesting,” she said.

  “You bet,” Billy said, smiling.

  Cherry smiled as well—watching affectionately as Billy, Pocket, and Laura hurried off toward home.

  Inhaling a deep breath of courage, she slowly peeked over the boulder back toward the creek. She held her breath, her heart suddenly racing. The stranger was gone! He no longer sat lazily bathing in the creek.

  Cherry glanced about quickly. Where was he? Had he simply finished his bath and taken himself back to town?

  “It ain’t polite to spy on folks when they’re bathin’.”

  Cherry let out an involuntary squeal as she leapt to her feet and spun around to find the handsome stranger standing directly behind her. She gasped, suddenly breathless, as she quickly noted he wore only his pants and gun belt. She glanced at the Colt at his hip, hoping he wasn’t about to add a notch to it at her expense.

  “Whatcha got to say fer yerself?” he asked.

  But she was still speechless. He was even larger up close than he appeared from a distance. As water dripped from his wet hair onto his chest, trickling in rivulets over the muscles of his torso, Cherry began to panic.

  At last, she stammered, “Are—are ya gonna shoot me, mister?”

  She watched as the stranger’s dark eyes narrowed. “I ain’t decided yet. I reckon it’ll depend on whether you were plannin’ on shootin’ me…or whether you were just interested in seein’ me neked.”

  Cherry shook her head and stammered, “I ain’t never shot nobody, mister. I ain’t even armed.”

  He studied her for a moment—from head to toe.

  “Well, if ya weren’t gonna shoot me, then ya must’ve just wanted to see me—” he began.

  “I didn’t want to see nothin’, mister!” she exclaimed. “I-I mean…I didn’t see nothin’ more’n I see right now.”

  “Really,” he stated more than asked.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat as he raked one hand through his wet hair and brushed the rivulets of water off his chest.

  “Well? What do ya think?” he asked.

  “About what, mister?”

  “About what ya see right now,” he asked, brushing more water from his chest.

  “I…I ain’t really thinkin’ on any of it, mister,” she lied. And what a lie it was! In truth, Cherry Ray hadn’t ever seen anything the like of the stranger’s bare chest and stomach! None of the cowboys working on her pa’s ranch looked anything like the stranger did—with or without clothes.

  She looked up to his handsome face when she heard him chuckle.

  “Well, ya ought not to be spyin’ on men when they’re bathin’,” he said. “And ya ought not be out here alone.”

  Cherry’s fear and anxiety began to trade hands with confidence and indignation. He’d smiled and even chuckled—not the behavior of a man who meant to shoot her in cold blood. And furthermore, who was he to be telling her what she could and couldn’t do, where she could or couldn’t be?

  “I come out here all the time,” she told him. “This crick runs right over my pa’s ranch.”

  “May be that it does,” he said, his eyes narrowing once more. “Still don’t mean it’s smart to be wanderin’ about when there’s so many outlaws roamin’ free in Blue Water.”

  “Are you an outlaw?” The question was out of her mouth before she could even think of stopping it. “You here to join up with Black Jack and his boys?”

  “You run off at the mouth all too easy,” the stranger said. “That’ll get ya in trouble if yer not careful.”

  “Everyone thinks yer here to join up with Black Jack. Everyone but my pa,” she said, paying no heed to his warning—though she was momentarily distracted by the deep brown of his eyes and the way his lips barely moved when he spoke.

  “Is that so?” h
e asked.

  “Yep. Pa says you don’t look like a joinin’-up man. He says yer more’n likely a gunman with yer own business to be around.”

  “Well, it would be yer pa that’s right,” he said. “And it would be yer pa that oughta keep a better eye on you.”

  “I’m fine on my own,” she said. Her defiance had been tickled now, and she was determined to stand her ground. She’d lived in Blue Water long enough, seen Black Jack Haley gun down enough men, to know that if the stranger was going to shoot her, he’d have done it by now. If his intentions were anything else along the lines of bad, he’d have done that by now too.

  “Well, I will say this,” he began, looking from her hat to her boots and back again. “Yer a might pretty boy.”

  A teasing smile spread across his far too handsome face. Cherry tried not to notice the flutter in her heart threatening to dampen her flaring temper. He was making fun of her, teasing her about being dressed like a boy! Deep inside she felt hurt, angry that she stood before the handsome stranger dressed like an adolescent boy instead of the feminine young woman she was. For a moment, she was angry with her pa—angry with him for insisting she dress like she did. Yet he cared for her, worried for her well-being, and she knew that too. She wondered if the man before her would be treating her like a child if she weren’t dressed like one. Still, she wondered if her attire had kept her safe. Would his intentions toward her have been more threatening—more along the lines of those of an outlaw—had she been wearing her Sunday pink instead of trousers and a man’s shirt?

  Suddenly, she wondered, in saying she was a pretty boy, was he implying she was pretty or that she looked like a boy?

  “Yep,” he said as her silence drug on, “a mighty pretty boy indeed.” He reached down and picked a foxtail from amid the grass. Cherry watched as he placed it in his mouth and began chewing on it.

  “Well, ain’t that a coincidence,” she said, forcing a smile and fortifying her courage. “’Cause yer mighty pretty yerself. Them girls over at the saloon oughta be linin’ up to—”

  “Ya ought not to be a flirtin’ with strangers, girl,” he said then. “Especially gunmen and outlaws. You might find yerself—”

  “I ain’t flirtin’, mister!” she interrupted. Cherry grit her teeth, determined not to be intimidated when he took hold of her arm.

  “Ain’t you scared of me?” he growled. “’Cause ya oughta be.”

  “I ain’t scared of nothin’,” Cherry said. It was a lie, of course. But who did he think he was? She’d show him—yes, sirree, she would! Cherry would show him she was as strong as any man he’d ever known. She wasn’t about to back down! Oklahoma Jenny never backed down—and neither would Cherry Ray.

  “Nothin’?”

  “Nope,” she said, straightening her shoulders.

  He chuckled. “Oh, yer scared of somethin’,” he said.

  “I ain’t,” Cherry assured him. She felt her eyes narrow. Oh, how he tugged her temper! “I ain’t scared of Black Jack, his boys, or you.”

  “Well, then yer as ignorant as ya are a pretty boy,” the stranger said. His smile faded a bit, and though she would never admit it to him, the fact made her nervous.

  “I’m as good as any man with a rifle,” she said. “Or a pistol for that matter. A horse too.”

  “Are ya a fast runner?”

  She frowned. “Yeah.”

  The stranger’s eyes narrowed then. “Well, ya better be.”

  “Why?”

  “You think yer pa keeps ya dressed like that ’cause he likes to see his pretty little girl runnin’ around lookin’ like a feller?”

  “H-he just worries, that’s all.”

  “And do ya know what he worries about?”

  Cherry felt her heart begin to pound with a familiar anxiety—an anxiety she tried to ignore every day of her life. “That’s why he made sure I’m good with a gun, a horse, and that I’m a fast runner,” she said.

  “Well, that’s mighty fine,” he said. “But that don’t mean ya shouldn’t be afraid.” He was getting under her skin now—implying things that did frighten her.

  “I told you, I ain’t afraid of nothin’, and I can take care of myself just fine.”

  “All righty,” the stranger mumbled. “Then take off a-runnin’. I’ll give ya a good start and see if I can catch ya.”

  Cherry was angry, yes—but suddenly her fear was more intense than her anger. She knew the point he was trying to make. Black Jack and his boys had always been up to no good. Yet the fact was most of the young women in town were glad of Pinky Chitter’s stubborn and possessive personality. Black Jack wouldn’t dare to fiddle with another woman in Blue Water. She suspected Pinky Chitter was the only person Jack was afraid of—afraid she might shoot him square in the back if he strayed too far.

  It was then she realized, however—realized Pinky Chitter didn’t have such an acquaintance with the stranger. She guessed the stranger pretty much did as he pleased. Suddenly, she realized she was most likely very fortunate the stranger seemed uninterested in her. Still, she knew she could outrun him. He didn’t mean to shoot her—of that she was certain. And if he meant to do anything else—well, there wasn’t anybody in Blue Water that could outrun Cherry Ray!

  Without another word, Cherry took off like a gunshot. Leaping over a smaller boulder, she headed for the break in the tree line and home.

  She was quick, he couldn’t deny it. For a moment he wondered if she really might be able to outrun him. Still, he had to get it through her thick little skull—a woman had to be careful in a town like Blue Water, whether or not she was dressed like a boy.

  He took out after the girl. He’d give her a little hope—let her stay ahead of him for just a moment or two. But after that—well, the little pup needed to learn a lesson.

  Cherry smiled as she ran, dodged a tree stump, and leapt over another. The breeze felt good on her face. She could see the tree line ahead, the pasture beyond. In another minute, she’d break free of the trees, and then he’d see! Once she hit the pasture, she knew no one could catch her then.

  “Oof!” Cherry felt the air leave her lungs as strong arms suddenly circled her from behind. Gasping as she felt herself lifted, her feet no longer touched the ground. The breath was knocked from her again when she landed hard on top of the stranger as he clutched her to him and hurled them both to the ground.

  “Let me go! Let me go!” she shouted. He’d caught her! How infuriating! Struggling and kicking, she tried to break free, but the stranger was far and away stronger than she was. In a few brief moments, Cherry found herself lying on the ground, hands pinned above her head as the stranger sat on her legs. She felt her bosom rising and falling with the quickened breath of exertion and irritation. Narrowing her eyes, she attempted to glower her fiercest glare at the man.

  Using one hand to pin her hands to the ground, the stranger took her chin in his other. “Now you listen here, girl,” he said, trying to ignore the way her soft brown hair cascaded over the grass beneath them. In the struggle, her man’s hat had fallen from her head, revealing her long, wavy, chestnut hair and allowing the sun to illuminate the tender beauty of her face. “Wearin’ boys clothes don’t hide ya as good as ya might think…and with all that’s goin’ on ’round these parts, you need to take yer britches down a size or two and be more careful.”

  His eyes lingered a moment on the inviting pink of the girl’s full lips. Dang, she was a pretty thing! It was exactly what worried him. He remembered the first moment he’d seen her the day before—he’d known at once she was a pretty girl trying to hide under a boy’s hat and britches. He was certain Black Jack Haley and his boys had noticed it too. He wondered if her daddy knew he’d only drawn attention to his pretty daughter by dressing her up so.

  “You only caught me ’cause I let ya,” she said, glaring at him with unbridled daring.

  He almost laughed out loud. What a green-broke filly the girl was! Hotheaded, overconfident, and asking for trouble.
“Now that’s a dern lie and ya know it,” he told her as she squirmed, attempting to free herself. “Where do you live?”

  “I told you,” she said, still glaring at him. “This here’s my pa’s ranch. Our ranch house is just over yonder.”

  “Then we best get ya home so yer pa can paddle yer hind end a good bit.”

  Oh, he was arrogant! Who did this stranger think he was—Abe Lincoln? Treating her like a child, throwing her down on the ground. Of course, in the corner of her mind that she was endeavoring to ignore, she knew he was right—he’d caught her far too easily. She guessed she was lucky the stranger hadn’t taken any interest in her—didn’t find her attractive enough to take advantage of.

  “He’s liable to paddle yers for treatin’ me like this!” she threatened however. She couldn’t let him know how completely he’d rattled her.

  “Well,” he began, “we’ll just see who gets paddled when he finds out you were spyin’ on me while I was bathin’ in the crick.”

  Standing, he pulled her to her feet, taking hold of the back of her shirt collar. He reached down, picked up her hat, and plopped it on her head.

  “Now march, you scrawny little pup,” he said, pushing her forward. He still held tightly to the back of her shirt collar. When she tried to bolt and run, he simply pulled her back with a firm grip.

  Cherry swallowed hard. Boy oh boy, was her pa gonna be mad! Hadn’t he just finished telling her to stay away from the stranger? Moments before the Parker kids had appeared on the front porch—hadn’t her pa just warned her about it? Furthermore, hadn’t he warned her away from any mischief? And where was she now? Why, in the clutches of the very stranger her pa had warned her to stay away from—awash with mischief!

  “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

  “What?”

  Cherry turned too look at him, but he held fast to her shirt. “Why…why don’t we just call this a draw?” she asked. “Why don’t we just say I’ve learned my lesson? I’m even willin’ to admit yer a faster runner than me.”