Why did he have to come on a day her mother’s mind was far from right? “Daddy would have, I’m sure.” Or would have if he knew she was doing this to keep her mother halfway sane. She’d been Daddy’s girl, but Momma was his first love. He’d be heartbroken to see how she was dealing with his loss.
Charlie glanced at August, but he didn’t seem concerned about Momma’s choice of words. Mother’s friend Marie had said most people just figured Momma forgot to change her verb tense when speaking of her late husband—whatever that meant—but August would soon figure out the truth.
Would August be gentle with Momma once he realized she lived in the year 1900, perhaps permanently? Or would he make things worse?
“You don’t mind if I put cattle in your pasture, right?”
The fact that he was asking instead of telling was a good sign. “No, go ahead.”
He spun his hat in his hands. “I could use your help since I couldn’t ask Royal, considering learning about us would get his dander up. And since we’re not quite married yet, not sure if he’d try something to change your mind.”
“Of course.” She glanced at the clock. Harrison was smart enough to figure out a way to manage without her. And even if he needed help, his students adored him. Though she’d been embarrassed years ago to be in his class, since she was older, she never regretted asking him for help. He’d always explained things better than the teacher, and he had been patient, attentive, warm, and caring. Just as he was now when he wasn’t sparring with her.
August stood appraising the front room with a critical eye, and then he looked at her. No smile, just a cool assessment before he headed back outside.
Though August seemed willing to help and had never pushed her around, he didn’t have a personality that drew a person. She’d been avoiding thinking of what marrying him would entail since her reasons were not romantic. But he wasn’t going to consider this arrangement as strictly a business deal. She rubbed her arms at the thought of the wedding night. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?
August was a man’s man—a rancher, toned and rugged. That kind of man, she’d figured, would be the only type to marry a woman like her—she’d need a man who worked hard and who needed a woman to work harder.
But what if what she really needed was the opposite—someone who’d smooth her hard edges, not callus them up? She might get to keep the house by marrying August, but if he had no feelings for her or felt no compassion for Momma, would she end up hating herself for marrying him?
She grabbed her coat and hat and sat to put on her boots, watching Momma wring her hands as she stared at the men outside the window.
Lord, please help Momma recover her mind and become the woman I once knew. Even when I disappointed her with my unrefined ways, she still loved me, and I feel I owe her.
“Momma?”
“Hmmm?” Her mother turned on her way back to the kitchen. Hopefully she’d finish her breakfast without getting distracted over Daddy’s preserves again.
“What if Daddy sold the house? Would you be all right with that?”
Momma shook her head. “Your daddy won’t ever sell the house. He’d die first.”
Charlie clenched her fingernails into the palms of her hands to refrain from informing her of the truth she repressed. “What if we really needed the money? Would you be all right if we sold it then?”
“Daddy spent years building this house for me.” She ran her hand down the doorframe and smiled at the big stone hearth she loved to decorate at Christmas beside the bay window where she placed her freshly cut daffodils every spring. “I’d die before I let him sell it.”
Charlie closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. If she sold the place, Momma might truly die—perhaps not physically, but the house where Daddy had touched the things she touched was likely the only thing keeping her partially sane. She had to save it for her. If it wasn’t for Harrison and his fool glasses, she’d not be hesitating.
She squared her shoulders and went to help August herd his cattle onto the property that would soon be his.
Harrison squinted at his blurry students in front of his desk as they piled their quizzes on the corner. Someone came up behind him but said nothing. “Miss Andrews, you’re late.”
“How’d you know it was me?” Her voice was unusually breathless.
“Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I can’t smell you.”
“What!”
He could just imagine what she looked like now. He glanced over his shoulder, and indeed, her hands had found her hips. “You smell like horse and whatever salve you use on your animals.”
“I can’t believe you just said that loud enough for the students to hear.”
He chuckled. “They know what you smell like too, whether or not I say it aloud.” He turned and put a hand on her shoulder and lowered his voice. “Smelling like you do isn’t a bad thing, not if we like you.”
“And do you like me?”
His cheek twitched. “Of course.”
“When did that happen?”
He cleared his throat. “I . . . I’ve always liked you.”
Her posture didn’t change, and he could feel her scrutiny.
His face grew warmer at the thought of how much he’d actually liked her as a young man. Over the last few days, he’d come to realize the only reason he’d gotten so mad at her seven years ago was because he’d liked her a lot, and that’s why she’d been able to hurt him so badly.
“You certainly have a funny way of showing it.”
Yes, indeed. The scraping of chairs against the floor ceased, and he cleared his throat. He dropped his hand and turned to face his hazy students. “Time to start the next section—the American short story. Open to page sixty-five, please.” At the sound of twenty-four students flipping pages, he picked up his Basic English class’s text and handed it to Charlie. “Here’s my book if you want to read along.”
“Are you going to force them all to read aloud again?”
Force them? “They’re in high school. They read fine.” Did she expect him to read aloud for them when he had to shove his nose against the page to see maybe three words in focus? “All right, class. James, let’s start with you.”
Charlie crossed in front of him. “Let’s have everyone stand when it’s your turn to read, all right?”
The room grew quiet. Was it because of her unusual command, or were they waiting for him to second or naysay her?
He wouldn’t contradict her in front of them, but they’d have to have a talk. This wasn’t the first time she’d given his students directions, but it was the first time she’d done so without consulting him first. Did she think she’d figured out how to teach better than him?
“James?” He gestured for him to stand, and the boy’s chair scraped as he stood.
After several students read, Charlie came closer, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that stole over him when a strand of her hair tickled his cheek. “It’s a minute ’til,” she whispered.
At the end of Forest’s paragraph, he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Forest. Seems time got away from me. We’ll continue tomorrow, no homework.”
The sound of happy muttering, shutting books, and shuffling feet followed.
He held up a hand. “Class dismissed. Have a good lunch.”
After the last student filed out, Harrison turned to find Charlie fiddling with some papers. “Why’d you tell them to stand to read?” He picked up a stack of pencils and sat down in front of the large pencil sharpener bolted to the edge of his desk.
“Because of George.” Her hand went up to indicate the right side of the room, where the young man sat. “He doesn’t read well.”
Harrison chose a pencil, brought it up to his face to make sure he had the tip, and leaned down to find the hole to insert it into the sharpener. “He’s improving.”
“Not enough if he wants a good grade, considering his quizzes.”
“So why have him stand up?” Harrison st
arted cranking.
She shrugged. “I remembered that when I pleased the teachers by being quiet, I didn’t learn much that day. Sitting still took all my energy, my brain couldn’t handle anything more than keeping my foot from tapping and my backside in one spot. I figured George might improve if he could move around some but wouldn’t appreciate being singled out. I doubted you’d be happy if I told the students to walk around the room or something.”
He had to admit, he never would have thought of that. He pulled out the pencil and blew off the shavings. The lead was broken. He reinserted the pencil. “I do remember you having a hard time sitting still.” He checked the pencil again. Still broken. “What else would you suggest to help?”
“You’re asking me?” At his nod, she shrugged. She walked toward him and watched him work the sharpener. “I never did get smarter even when I moved around, so maybe some of us just can’t learn well.”
He frowned at his broken lead again. Maybe he couldn’t see that he was inserting it wrong, or maybe it was just a bad batch of pencils.
“Give me that.” She held out her hand.
He tightened his grip. “You think you can sharpen better than me? All you do is crank.” Why did the woman have to try to show him up on everything?
“I’m just trying to help.” She tugged the pencil from his grasp, and the glint of her pocket blade flashed beside him a couple times.
She sounded genuine enough, so why was she rubbing him wrong? Maybe it was because he couldn’t see her.
“There.” She handed him back the pencil.
He held it two inches from his nose. “That’s the ugliest sharpening job I’ve ever seen. The sharpener makes it smooth and uniform and sharpens the lead as well.”
“But that machine rattles so much it breaks the lead. Whittling doesn’t waste half a pencil.” She picked up another.
Huffing, he stuck in the next one and whirred the machine fast enough to match Charlie’s harried pace. Then his sharpener jammed.
“Ha!” She picked up the last one and was done with it before he got the milling disks unstuck. “See, sometimes a person with no book smarts can be useful.”
“You just always have to win, don’t you.” He forced himself not to run her asymmetrical pencils through the sharpener lest she think he couldn’t appreciate her help.
“I wasn’t trying to win. I was just . . . Never mind, maybe I was.” She rounded his desk and dropped the pile of crudely sharpened pencils into the drawer. “Are you going to quit talking to me again, like you did after the Sunday school party?”
If only that day had never occurred, where might they be now? “I didn’t stop talking to you because you shot better than me—we all knew you could probably shoot better than us—but I wasn’t too keen on hanging around you after you purposely embarrassed me in front of the boys.”
“I did not.”
All right. Embarrassing him was one thing, denying doing so was another. He’d forgiven her for it, but . . . He stood and leaned heavily on his desk. “What do you call picking up my gun as soon as I finished shooting and knocking down every target I missed?”
“You’d just got that gun for your birthday and told everyone how good it was. I picked it up, shot with it, and agreed. I said, ‘That’s an excellent gun.’” She stomped. “I was agreeing with you!”
She’d been trying to make him feel good by doing that? He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and blew out a slow breath. “You’re wrong, Charlie.” He rounded the desk toward her.
She took a step back. “No, I’m not. It was a good gun. And that’s what I said. I know what I said.”
“No, I mean you’re wrong about me.” Had her actions really been that innocent? How could he have missed that all this time? It seemed that he never acted right when she was around. He thumped himself in the chest. “You might think I’m smarter than you, but I’m the fool.” All these years and she’d only been trying to show off his gun. Granted, she’d certainly done it in her gruff, Charlie-like manner. But still, why hadn’t he talked to her about it before now? He swallowed hard and beckoned her to come closer.
She stood still.
“I can’t see you that far away from me. Please come here.”
She reluctantly stepped forward but still out of reach. “I think this is far enough for propriety’s sake.”
“Without my glasses, I can’t gauge your expressions as I normally can. I want to see your face.”
“I didn’t know you ever bothered to look at me.”
“I do, quite a bit.” The reverend had noticed he always stared at her from afar, but evidently she hadn’t.
“But you barely talk to me.” Her voice didn’t quite clue him in on whether she was incredulous, hurt, or something else all together.
“I just told you I was a fool.” Why had he stayed so far away from her? What was he afraid of exactly?
He sighed and sat on the edge of his desk, since she seemed determined to keep away from him. “I thought you had purposely showed me up. I’d worked so hard with my new glasses to shoot well enough to be a part of the boys. They always left me out of their games and teased me about the glasses. But I knew I could impress them if I practiced with my uncle long enough. And that day, I even shot better than Joe and Theodore, and then . . .”
The feelings from so long ago flooded back over him, the same heat filled his face, the same lump stuck in his chest. “Then whomp.” He smashed a fist into his palm. “You swooped in and belittled me. At that age, having a girl outdo you like that—even though we all knew you were good at shooting—well, I couldn’t believe you’d do that to me after all the help I’d given you.”
“I’m sorry.” She laid a hand against the base of her throat. “I just wanted to be a part too.”
“Did you know they teased me whenever I defended you?”
“Defended me against what?”
“They used to call you names. Basically calling you stupid, but I stood up for you. And that of course led to them taunting me over wanting to kiss you and such.”
“You didn’t think me stupid?”
“No. Like you noticed with George—who’s a new student for me, by the way—I knew you were smart, that you just needed help. Generally all I had to do was figure out what you were thinking and rephrase what the teacher or book said so you’d get it. Seemed you learned more by talking than reading.”
Her arms wrapped about her middle. “Can you figure out what I’m thinking now?”
“No.” He blew out a breath and spread out his hands. “Not if I can’t see you.”
She remained where she was.
Really, did they have to be this far apart for propriety’s sake with no one around?
He walked over, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her closer until the hair framing her face was in focus and he could see from her big green eyes down to her nose before things went out of focus again.
All right, so in order to see her expressions, he did have to be closer than he ought to be.
Her lashes swooped up and her eyes scanned his. “You just said you used to be able to figure out what was going on in my brain.” Her breath puffed soft against his face. “Can you still?”
“I’d always thought so, but now that I’ve learned my fifteen-year-old self’s pride got the better of me, maybe I’m not very perceptive after all.” He took in her every eyelash and noticed the slight blue spot in her right eye. “You want to tell me what you’re thinking?”
“No.” She whispered, and her arms tensed beneath his hands.
Did she want him to guess—like a game? He backed away enough to see her whole face though it went slightly out of focus.
Her lips seemed to be twitching, and was she looking at his mouth?
“So after you told the boys I wasn’t stupid and . . . and after they teased you about me and you . . . and you and me . . . Then what’d you say?”
She wanted to know how he’d responded to the kissing chant?
His heartbeat slowed. They were only inches apart, and she wanted him to figure out what she was thinking while she stared at his mouth.
He tried to swallow using his now strangely dry tongue.
That kissing chant hadn’t bothered him because the thought had repulsed him. No—quite the opposite.
But then she’d humiliated him. “Why exactly did you have to shoot down my missed targets again?”
“I wanted to impress you. I couldn’t impress you in school, so I thought I could do it that way.”
“Why did you want to impress me?”
She shrugged under his grasp, and he tightened his grip on her shoulders and pulled her forward. Just an inch lower and they’d . . .
Wait. What was he doing? This woman was engaged.
But she didn’t pull away, and despite them being closer than his visual difficulty required, he dipped his head.
“Ahem.”
He jolted upright, released Charlie, and spun toward the door, trying to make out who’d interrupted them. A boy’s form grew slightly clearer as he walked into the room.
“I . . . I needed a book I left.” Cash Whitaker’s voice made his heart seize.
Since the boy cleared his throat before coming in, he’d certainly considered the two of them to be inappropriately close—and would likely tell his older brother August about what he’d seen.
Oh, why couldn’t he keep his head about him when Charlie was around?
Chapter Six
Glancing at the hallway clock, Charlie slowed. Ten minutes until class started. She was plenty early today. Stopping at the door, she peeked in to see Harrison at his desk with a book held directly in front of his face.
Now that she was here early, she wasn’t sure she should be.
Had he almost kissed her yesterday, or had that been her imagination? He’d been close to her face countless times over the last two weeks because of his eyesight, but he’d never quite held her like that before. His hands had been too tight, his breath too fast—and her daydreams had sprung back in full force. If he’d indeed been able to read her expression . . .
With This Ring? Page 25