So he’d backed out of the competition and watched her win as per usual.
Pushing his glasses up, he squinted at the ominous clouds in the distance. The menacing gray sheet of rain falling miles away had caused the temperature to drop since he’d arrived at church.
“What do you think, Dante?” He hiked his leg, planted a boot in his stirrup, and pushed himself up into the saddle. “We could make the livery before the storm, but if we go to Charlie’s, we’ll likely have to shelter somewhere before we return.” He pulled off his glasses to rub off a smear. Not only was he practically blind without them, but his mother had lamented that the new glasses made him look ugly. Sighing, he put them back on. Better ugly than blind.
Watching the clouds, he estimated the miles to Charlie’s, the speed of the horse, the movement of the storm, and the number of ungraded essays back home.
Would next week be too late to talk to her? Reverend McCabe had said she planned on marrying within the month. Did that mean thirty days or before the end of March on Tuesday?
He rubbed his forehead. He’d only stew about this at home. If Reverend McCabe thought he should talk to her, then he might as well try. “Let’s go.” He turned Dante east and sped out of town, which was easy since the sane people of Teaville were sheltering in their homes instead of cluttering the streets.
Glancing over his shoulder at the looming anvil cloud, he shook his head at himself. What was he doing? Why would Charlie discuss her life with him—let alone listen to his opinion?
Of which he really had none.
She could marry whomever she wanted without an ounce of his approval.
It didn’t matter to him who she married.
But if Reverend McCabe thought she shouldn’t marry August, and she no longer had her father to talk to . . .
Huge splats hit his shoulders, and he frowned back at the massive cloud rumbling forward faster than before. He groaned. He’d miscalculated. Hopefully Charlie wouldn’t find him odd for risking the storm just to duck into her barn. He nudged Dante faster toward the rambling ranch house settled against a small rise.
As expected, his hat’s brim was failing miserably at shielding his lenses from the rain. Would wiping his glasses with his free hand make visibility better or worse?
Galloping through her gate, he pushed Dante faster.
“What’re you doing here?” Charlie hollered from the clothesline, where she picked up a basket heaped with clothes just as fat water droplets started beating down on them. Without waiting for an answer, she rushed to the porch and through the front door.
Dante nickered at a crack of lightning, and Harrison had to lay a calming hand on him and tighten the reins a little. He wouldn’t enter her barn without permission, but the heavier rain he’d just outraced would hit within minutes.
Stepping back onto the porch, Charlie slammed the door behind her.
He rubbed the edge of his sleeve over his lenses, but all he did was smear water.
“Can’t you see there’s a storm coming?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve got glasses.” Pulling them off, he slipped them under his coat to dry them with his shirt. They wouldn’t stay dry long, but he’d be able to see again for half a minute—enough time to get into the barn.
“They can’t be any good if you can’t see the swirling.”
He pushed his glasses back onto his face and turned in his saddle. The clouds hung heavy, thick, and dark, but the “swirling” looked like nothing more than windblown rain.
“We have to get into the root cellar.”
“I don’t see anything that alarming.” And then the patter of miniscule ice pellets against soft ground surrounded them.
She shooed him. “Put your horse in the barn. I’m going inside for a minute, and then I’ll meet you in the cellar.” She gestured toward the low earthen mound beside the house, where the top half of a door peeked above the ground.
Dante pranced around, ready to go, but . . . “Should I shut up a horse if there’s a tornado?”
She spun around, her teeth worrying her lip, glancing between the storm cloud and the barn, specks of hail bouncing off her Stetson’s brim. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in a tornado before.”
He attempted to wipe his glasses again. A tiny portion of the clouds did seem to be descending, and the rain grew heavier.
“Maybe you should put your horse inside but not shut the stall door. Let his instincts tell him whether he should stay or not.” She turned and ran for the house.
“Come on, Dante.” He rode him into the barn and slid off the saddle. While rain pelted the roof, he wiped his glasses again, then led Dante toward an empty stall. “In you go, boy.” Dante went in willingly, but Harrison didn’t shut the gate.
The barn contained two cows and Charlie’s mare. Shouldn’t he make sure they could escape too? After unlatching the cows’ gates, he stopped to shush the beautiful bay Charlie rode. “It’s all right, lady.” He placed a calming hand to her neck, and she stomped the ground.
Passing Dante, he realized he should remove his horse’s reins so they’d not snag if he bolted.
Dante nuzzled him, and off went Harrison’s glasses.
They slipped off far too easily. “Ugh, just what I needed.” He should’ve gotten ones with temples that hooked around his ears or something. He bent down to search for his glasses and pushed against his gelding’s nose to move the beast back. Squinting, he searched the area around his feet, scanning the stall filled with golden straw and deep shadows.
But of course his gold frames blended in. If only lightning would reflect in his lenses. Kneeling, he patted the floor, hoping to snag them, but a surge of wind rattled the barn and made Dante dance.
If he didn’t find his glasses quickly, Dante would crush them. But if he stayed, Dante just might squash him instead. He stood and shushed his horse. “All right, boy. I’ve got to go. You need to stay back.”
With his foot, Harrison shoved a two-foot swath of straw against the sides of the stall, hoping his glasses went along with it.
A crack of light and a simultaneous boom made him jump out of his skin.
If he was going anywhere, the time was now.
He poked his head out the front door. The world was a swirl of grays, browns, and greens. A sudden gust of cold wind tore through his hair and caught in his clothes.
An onslaught of falling ice turned the world white. Flashing bright lights lit the sky. “Charlie!” His voice was nothing but a whisper lost in the pelting hail, the roll of thunder, and the creaking of wooden things in the wind.
Squinting against the whiteness, he pushed the hair out of his eyes, as if that would help him see. The wall of dark clouds that had trailed him flickered with cloud-to-cloud lightning. Was that a sheet of rain descending or a twister? The sound of a freight train filled the air even though no tracks came near Charlie’s house.
Chapter Two
Nearly blind without his glasses, Harrison squinted into the gloom. Should he forge out into the rain or take his chances in the barn? If he could just orient himself. A crack of lightning reflected in the windows along the east side of Charlie’s house to Harrison’s right. Yes. Surely he could find the cellar if he kept in that direction, on the other hand, if he got disoriented . . .
Perhaps the barn was a better place to hunker down.
“What in blazes are you still doing out here?” The yellow of Charlie’s shirtwaist and brown riding jacket bobbed into view.
She rushed into the barn, took off her hat, and flicked it. “Where are your glasses?”
“Dante knocked them off.”
“You’ve been in here for nearly five minutes. This isn’t the time to give him a good rubdown and pick his hooves.”
He fisted his hands. “You told me not to tether him in case he wanted to run, so I figured I’d make sure your animals weren’t trapped either.” He took a deep breath to keep from growling.
“Come on.” She pushed open the do
or and looked out. “No more time for yammering.” She grabbed his hand and yanked.
Shielding his eyes from the ice pellets, Harrison frowned as Charlie led him as if he were helpless. . . . Of course, he was helpless, which made him want to growl even more. This woman didn’t need any more reasons to think him weak.
Stumbling, he fumbled with his free hand to grasp the earthen wall that suddenly sprang up on his right. “Slow down. I didn’t see the step. You’ve got to warn me.”
“Sorry.”
The door slammed behind him with a thud. He ran a hand across his forehead to flick off the moisture and realized he’d lost his hat. His head brushed against the ceiling, likely making his hair into a muddy nest. Good thing he wasn’t an inch taller or he’d have knocked his head off since Charlie hadn’t bothered to warn him of the cellar’s low ceiling.
Other than the sound of hail battering the door as a wind gust sent precipitation sideways, heavy quiet filled the cellar. He looked around for movement but didn’t sense anyone else’s presence beside Charlie’s. “Where’s your mother?”
“In town.”
That’s right, her mother no longer attended their church. He frowned. “Why’d you go back inside the house, then?”
“Money, guns, things I needed.”
So she criticized him for spending time in the barn without his spectacles, but running into the house for guns with a tornado approaching wasn’t crazy? “Aren’t you worried about your mother?”
“She should be fine in the Lutheran church’s basement. She’s been going with Marie Eggleston for months now so she can attend ladies’ high tea or whatever they call their girly get-togethers after service.”
With his eyes adjusting to the dimness, he could at least see a bit of shadow and movement now. He took a step away from Charlie but only ran into shelves. He shot out an arm to prevent jars or cans from plummeting to the floor.
To keep Charlie from berating him for his clumsiness, he grasped at a question off the top of his head. “Why didn’t you change churches with her?”
“I didn’t have friends pulling me one way or another, and I like Reverend McCabe’s sermons. I find him inspiring.” She pulled off her hat and thumped it. “Now, back to my first question. Why are you here? This storm was rolling in before church let out. You couldn’t have missed it when you still had your glasses.”
Feeling around him at about waist level, he searched for a chair. If he was going to be interrogated, he’d prefer a bit more space, considering she kept brushing up against him. Which wasn’t exactly annoying, but it certainly bothered him—in an entirely different way.
The thought that flickered up was not a thought to entertain with a woman alone. If there wasn’t a tornado outside, he’d have fled—per biblical instruction.
He bumped back against the shelves again, his hair brushing dirt and possibly bugs off onto his shoulders. A much safer shiver coursed through him at that thought.
Wedding. Thinking of Charlie’s upcoming marriage would help keep his imagination in check. “I heard about your wedding.”
“From who?” Her voice rasped.
With Charlie’s breath mingling with his own, he needed the space a chair would give him. There had to be something to sit on in the cellar. His leg hit against a crate. He flipped it over. It didn’t exactly feel sturdy, but if he didn’t sit directly in the middle . . . “Reverend McCabe told me.”
“Well then, I take back what I said earlier. I suppose I only find the man’s sermons inspiring.”
“I don’t think he told anyone but me. I think he thought . . .” Well, if he’d found the reverend telling him about her upcoming wedding odd, surely Charlie would too. And really, why had the reverend thought he should know?
“Why would you care to talk to me about my wedding? You’ve hardly said a word to me in the past seven years, come April.”
He widened his eyes despite the action doing nothing to help him see. That statement was awfully specific, though true. That’s when she’d outshot him at the Sunday school party. But after he’d released his need for vengeance, he’d talked to her . . . when necessary. He didn’t go out of his way to shun her or anything.
The door’s rattling intensified, and something crashed outside.
To get back to the doorway, he felt for the wall but only swiped at air. What good was he if he couldn’t even find the wall? “Did you latch the door?”
“There is no latch. Why would I need to lock myself into the root cellar?”
“Maybe I ought to brace the door, then.” He finally grasped a shelf.
“Don’t. If the door gets sucked off, you’d go right with it.”
He pursed his lips. “But without a door, wouldn’t we be sucked up anyway? It’s not as if the cellar goes more than a few yards back from the door.”
“Then we can slide in down here.” Her dark form moved and disappeared.
Somewhere near his right knee Charlie grunted as if picking up something heavy.
“What’re you doing?” Why did it have to be so dark in here?
A short black shadow—maybe a barrel—appeared in front of his feet.
“I dug a hole in the side a few years ago for extra storage space.” Something clattered. “We can duck inside once I clear out a spot.”
He stood with his open, empty hands, feeling like a pitiful excuse for a man. Charlie couldn’t think much of him right now, seeing how he was as worthless to her as the barrel in front of him. He leaned over to scoot it out of the way, hopefully making room for whatever else she pulled out.
“There. I think we can fit.”
He got on his knees near where he’d heard her voice and tried to make out how big the dark space to his right was. Surely he wasn’t seeing the entire opening. But when he reached out to the edges, his arms couldn’t have been spread apart more than three feet. “Why don’t you go in? I’ll stay out here to keep from crowding you.”
“Nonsense.” The warmth of her disappeared into the hole, then her hands grabbed his and tugged.
He hit his head on the top of the hole and groaned.
“Sorry.”
He pulled his hands from hers and placed them on the cold earthen soil. He turned around and shoved his way back into the space beside her, and the hole instantly warmed with the proximity of their bodies. The length of his leg ran along hers, and he couldn’t get his arm far enough away from her to not feel the softness of her jacket. Her breath caressed his face where she sat next to him, and her hair tickled his lips. He’d never been this close to a woman since he’d been young enough to sit in his mother’s lap.
Pushing away only caused dirt from the wall to tumble into his collar. He tried to pull his one leg atop the other but couldn’t maintain the position, and his leg flopped back down on hers. He’d have to leave it there.
And he’d thought her hair on his face had been bad.
Surely no one would fault him for practically being in her lap to hide from a tornado. Though he wasn’t exactly certain August Whitaker was nicer than his bullying brother, and Royal definitely would beat the tar out of him for being this close to Charlie if she’d been his fiancée, tornado or no.
Especially since he was now keenly aware of how soft her hair was and how good she smelled.
“So why do you care about who I’m marrying?”
He jolted up, knocking his head into the dirt above him again. Her mouth had practically been against his ear. He tilted his head away. “I don’t so much care about who you marry, but the reverend said it sounded like a marriage of convenience. I can’t think you’d be happy in one of those.”
“Why not? I’m not emotional like other girls.”
“Precisely.”
“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t an emotionless girl be perfect for such an arrangement?”
“If a man couldn’t affect the emotions you do possess—and you do have them—there’d be as much delight in such a union as there is in your relationsh
ip with the feed store owner.”
“What relationship?”
“Exactly.”
She wriggled beside him. “Why do you get to give me advice? You aren’t married. Haven’t even known you to spark with a girl, unless you did while you were gone.”
He rubbed a hand down his face. Why exactly had the reverend’s worry for Charlie caused him to come out here? He should’ve known he’d only ruffle her feathers and make her more determined to continue on the path she’d chosen.
“It’s all right, Harrison. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Can August Whitaker handle a gun better than you?”
“I don’t know why that would matter, but probably not.”
“What about ranching? Does he know more about that than you? How’s he going to feel married to a woman who has no feelings for him and makes it her business to be better than him at everything?”
“I don’t mind a man besting me—it’s just sometimes they can’t. Why can’t men just be impressed?” She poked him, but thankfully her jab hadn’t much effect since she had no leverage sitting so close. “You can befriend a man who can ride and shoot better than you, right? So why can’t a man befriend me even if I’m better at certain things than he is? Why can’t you just be happy I shoot well rather than pout about it?”
Why indeed?
And yet, he could shoot better than her. Or at least he was pretty certain he could since he’d never gone through with challenging her to a contest. But he couldn’t tell her now. That would only prove her point—that he couldn’t simply be impressed. He huffed.
If she knew how many years he’d practiced so he didn’t have to appreciate her superior skill . . .
Blast it. She was right.
He wriggled away. They were sitting far too close for her to gloat without him wanting to keep her quiet. And right now, the way he was touching too much of her and his lungs couldn’t find air on account of how wonderful she smelled, he might just be muddleheaded enough to stop her lips with his own.
Charlie tried to hold still in the little hole she shared with Harrison, but he was so close, she was touching more of him than she ought. How many years had she daydreamed about him coming to her out of the blue, declaring his undying love, and telling her his years of aloofness had been for good reason—like a magic enchantress had bewitched him, so if he fell in love, he’d turn into a toad.
With This Ring? Page 22