Travis

by Georgina Gentry

  “I’m looking after you.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “And he’s older than you. I know what he’s got in mind.”

  “And what would that be?” She looked up into his eyes, saw the hesitation there, thought he might kiss her.

  Instead he took a deep breath and stepped away. “Never mind, you’re too innocent to know about such things.”

  If he only knew, she thought as she turned back to her stove, shaken because of that moment, knowing she had wanted him to kiss her. She realized she was falling in love with him. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but there didn’t seem to be a good answer.

  Chapter 10

  The next week, when Violet took the children to the library to check out books, Miss Knowlen cornered her. “How are all you poor children getting along?”

  Violet managed a smile. “We’re doing just fine, thank you.”

  “You know, the townspeople are beginning to talk. They think it’s not a good idea for a man to try to raise all those children by himself.”

  “We’re managing,” Violet said again.

  “Well, just remember, I’m always around to help. I did tell you I was unmarried, didn’t I? And I’m only forty—thirty-five.”

  “I’ll tell Travis,” she said and retreated to the fiction section. True, she could barely read, but she was learning fast and she loved the romances where the plucky heroine landed the handsome bachelor at the end.

  The following week, it was Miss Brewster, the schoolmarm, who caught her one morning out on the school grounds. “How is your father?”

  “Just fine. He’s working at the gun shop.”

  “Yes, I know.” She frowned and her spectacles slid down her nose. “Everyone in town is saying he should get married so he’d have a woman to help with all those children.”

  Violet squared her shoulders. “We’re doing just fine alone, thank you.”

  “As many eligible women as there are in this town, he shouldn’t have any trouble finding a wife. Of course, a well-educated one would be a big advantage in rearing children.”

  “Yes, it would.” Violet ran into the schoolhouse to end the conversation.

  She knew that often, the pretty rich widow, Charlotte Van Mayes, came by the gun shop. It was amazing how fast her cowhands went through ammunition. Violet noted the widow had stopped wearing mourning and was now wearing bright colors. Conveniently, the lady also often brought a picnic lunch with her, and so Violet’s plain sandwich for Travis went uneaten.

  Violet did a slow burn over all this, but of course she couldn’t say anything because she was just a child. Sometimes she lay in her bed at night in the late May heat and thought about Travis. She hungered to go into his embrace and have him kiss her, really kiss her. In her dreams, he came to her room at night and she held up her arms to him.

  “Make love to me,” she would whisper.

  And he would murmur, “I thought of nothing but you all day. I want to make slow, passionate love to you all night and at breakfast, let’s talk about marriage.”

  “Marriage?”

  “Yes, and then we’ll adopt all the kids and have some babies of our own.”

  He would kiss her, putting his hot tongue in her mouth and kissing her breasts until she was gasping and aching with pleasure. And then she would wake up and find herself drenched with perspiration and hear Travis’s breathing from his room across the hall. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive, she thought in helpless desperation and sobbed into her pillow.

  As June came, Jethro Jenkins still walked her home sometimes, though she tried to discourage him. More than once, she saw his big brother, Leroy, watching them from behind a tree or fence. The way Leroy looked at her made her nervous, but she didn’t say anything.

  Pleasant Valley stayed its sleepy self, the hound dog sleeping in the middle of the dusty main street, the elderly, plump sheriff asleep in his chair out in front of his office. Most of the rounds were made by his young deputy, Williard, who was really one of the local ranch boys.

  The only excitement of the day was when the southbound train came through at four o’clock in the afternoon, and the northbound train came through at seven o’clock in the evening. Both rarely stopped, so after awhile, Violet didn’t notice them except that their passing rattled the house windows.

  School came to an end the first week of June with recitations and songs in the morning and the picnic and dance planned for that afternoon and evening.

  The children gathered around Violet as she packed the picnic basket. “Isn’t this going to be fun?” she asked. “All the stores are closing early and tonight there’ll be a dance and maybe even some fireworks.”

  The gun shop had closed for the celebration, so now Travis leaned against the door and watched her. She was pretty, no doubt about it. No, she was more than pretty, she was . . . he couldn’t come up with a name for it. He’d come to depend on the young girl. Sometimes at night, he could hear her moving restlessly in bed and his desire rose as he thought about her. You sick bastard, he would scold himself, she’s just a kid. You either need to marry or go over to the saloon and take one of those gals upstairs.

  Still he never quite got around to doing that. He told himself it was because with all the expenses, he really couldn’t afford it. However, when he thought about it, he realized the only female he wanted to bed was just thirteen years old. You rotten rat. He would turn over and put his pillow over his head and try to sleep, but it was difficult.

  Now he watched her packing the picnic and said, “May sure went by quick, and now it’s June and school’s out today.”

  Kessie made a face. “I hope no dumb boy asks me to dance tonight.”

  “Don’t worry,” laughed Harold. “They won’t.”

  “Now, boys,” Travis frowned. “Don’t tease your sisters. If no one asks them to dance, you do it.”

  “What? Me dance with Kessie?” Houston’s face screwed up in disgust.

  “It’s only polite,” Travis insisted. “You can’t leave your sisters standing on the sidelines like wallflowers.”

  Little Bonnie patted Growler. “What’s wallflower?”

  “Kessie,” Harold joked and immediately, the redhead whacked him with a dish towel.

  “I don’t want to dance with some stupid boy who will step all over my shoes,” she complained. “And Houston and Harold don’t know how to dance anyway.”

  “I’ve been teaching them a few steps,” Violet said, wondering if Travis would ask her to dance tonight. She was looking forward to it.

  Travis laughed. “Houston is becoming a crack shot and horseman since I’ve been working with him.”

  “And Harold has read every book in the local library,” Violet said.

  “Besides,” Kessie sniffed, “dancing is for silly girls. I’ve got more important things on my mind.”

  “Like what?” Travis asked.

  “I hear the Texas suffragettes are coming to town for the July Fourth parade,” Kessie said. “And I plan to be in it.”

  Harold shook his head. “We’ll all die of embarrassment if you do.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Travis laughed and watched Violet put the icing on her chocolate cake. Without thinking, he walked up behind her and put his big hands on her slight shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  He felt her stiffen and realized the children were all watching. He didn’t want to step back, but he did. He had had the sudden impulse to kiss the back of her brown hair.

  Harold leaned against the counter and watched Violet icing the cake. “I bet I know who won’t be a wallflower.”

  “Who?” squealed Bonnie.

  “Violet, of course. Half the boys in school, especially that Jethro Jenkins, have been mooning after her like idiots.”

  Travis frowned. “Word around town is that those Jenkins boys, especially that grown one, are nothing but trouble.”

  Violet looked up at him and he thought she had never
seemed so fragile and lovely. “I can take care of myself.”

  Travis felt annoyed . . . or was it something else? “I don’t think so, young lady. Now if you have any trouble with any boy, you let me know.”

  Violet looked at him a long moment and he couldn’t read her face. “I’m not used to anyone looking out for me—I’ve looked out for myself for so long. But I’m not expecting any trouble.”

  Travis said, “Boys, why don’t we go on ahead and help the other men set up the tables?”

  “I was hoping to lick the bowl when she finished,” Harold said.

  “Me bowl,” Bonnie yelled. “Me and Growler bowl.”

  “See?” Travis laughed. “Besides, there’ll be plenty of cake at the picnic. Come on, let’s go.”

  The three of them went out the front door and walked down Main Street. It was a busy scene, tents and tables and a big wooden platform for the dance set up on the wide street on the other side of the railroad tracks. Here and there were booths where ladies were selling cookies and knickknacks and even a kissing booth for the more daring women.

  “Now, boys,” Travis said under his breath, “let’s all watch out for Violet tonight. She’s too young and innocent to know what some men are capable of.”

  “I think she can take care of herself,” Houston said.

  “No, she can’t, she just thinks she can,” Travis growled. “Now if we take turns dancing with her, that doesn’t give any of the other galoots a chance.”

  “I don’t wanta dance,” Harold complained. “I want to play games and eat.”

  “Now you mind what I say,” Travis scolded. “The men of her family have to protect her.”

  “Do we have to protect Kessie, too?” Houston asked.

  Travis laughed. “I don’t think Kessie is in any danger.”

  They stopped to help set up some tables.

  “Howdy.” The tall owner of the hardware store shook hands with Travis. “We got all the streets blocked off so no one can drive a horse and buggy into the crowd.”

  “Too bad we can’t do something about the trains,” Travis said.

  “Well, we know exactly when it comes through and we can hear it for miles, so that’s no problem.”

  Travis and the other men continued to set up tables and booths as Violet and the girls walked up with their picnic basket.

  Violet watched in disgust as the pretty widow, wearing an expensive pink dress, complete with a matching lace parasol, stepped out of her fancy buggy and Travis hurried to help her alight. She fluttered her eyelashes at Travis. “Thank you, Travis. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Ma’am, it certainly is.” He touched the tips of his fingers to the brim of his hat.

  Violet moved close enough to hear the conversation.

  “Travis,” the pretty widow said, “I plan to save you most of my dances tonight.”

  Travis turned beet-red and fumbled with his hat. “Why, thank you kindly, Mrs. Van Mayes.”

  “Oh, don’t you think we know each other well enough that you can call me Charlotte?”

  At this point, Violet couldn’t stand any more. She walked up and said, “Travis, I could use some help with some things.”

  The pretty widow glared at her, but Violet pretended not to see.

  “Sure, young lady, what do you need?”

  Violet took him by the arm and led him away on some pretext about a table. When she looked back, Mrs. Van Mayes was still glaring at her.

  “What did she want?” she asked Travis.

  “Just visiting, friendly like most Texans,” he said.

  “She’s not a Texan, she’s a Yankee,” Violet bristled.

  “But she’s a pretty one, ain’t she?” Travis grinned.

  Violet had a terrible surge of jealousy. “I think she’s got her cap set for you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Travis shrugged. “But everyone in town is saying I ought to get married.”

  “We’re doing just fine,” Violet said. “We don’t need her.”

  “Why, young lady.” He stopped and looked down at her. “I do believe you’re jealous.”

  She felt the hot flush rise to her face. “Of course not. It’s just that I don’t think she’s right for you, that’s all.”

  He winked at her. “Missy, I’ve had a lot of experience with women; I don’t need a kid telling me about them.”

  He was telling her to mind her own business, she thought as she turned away. How could she compete with the beautiful and rich girl? Especially since she was only thirteen years old. She went to help put cloths on tables while gritting her teeth in frustration.

  “My, my, ain’t that a sight?” Travis sighed, looking down the street.

  Violet turned and looked.

  Mrs. Van Mayes was walking down the sidewalk to another booth, her pink bustle wiggling enticingly.

  “Well, could you stare any harder?” Violet snapped.

  “I might could.” He grinned and then turned back to help her set up a table.

  “Who are those ladies?” Harold asked, shielding his eyes with his hand from the sun.

  Both Violet and Travis turned to look. The gaudy, scantily dressed girls from the Cattle Drive Saloon had come out on the balcony of their building and were watching the proceedings with interest. They wore bright feather plumes in their hair and lots of paint on their faces.

  Violet’s face colored and Travis rushed in to answer. “Uh, those are girls who work there.”

  “What kind of work?” Harold asked.

  Violet looked at Travis and shook her head.

  Travis stumbled. “Aw, we’ll talk about it sometimes.”

  “Like serving lemonade?” Houston asked.

  Violet sighed with relief. “Exactly.”

  “Then why are they wearing a lot of face paint and not much clothes?” Kessie said.

  “Feathers,” Bonnie lisped.

  “What?” Travis asked.

  “Nothing,” Violet snapped and said, “Bonnie, keep Growler from getting up on the table and eating the fried chicken.”

  Houston was still staring at the saloon girls and one of them waved at him.

  Travis said, “Now boys, you all just stop looking at them. They won’t be coming to the celebration.”

  “Why not?” Houston asked. “I might like to try dancing with that pretty little blonde.”

  Violet seemed to be struggling for words. “Because they aren’t welcome. The ladies of the town don’t want them there.”

  “Why not?” Harold asked.

  “Never you mind,” Travis said. “Now let’s help set up the dance floor over past the train tracks and let those ladies get back to serving their—aw, lemonade.”

  “Among other things,” Violet said pointedly.

  Harold was still watching the girls on the balcony. One of them noticed him staring and waved at him again. Now all the girls were waving at him.

  Violet looked at Travis. “Can’t you do something? People are noticing.”

  “Now what do you expect me to do? Go tell them to stop waving?”

  Now Harold waved back.

  Violet snapped, “I don’t think they’re waving at you, Harold. I think they’re waving at Travis.”

  “Now can I help that?” Travis made a motion of helplessness.

  “Then stop looking at them,” Violet snapped.

  “Now what’s wrong with you?” Travis asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t know much about women, but I know when one says ‘nothing’ in that tone of voice, there’s definitely something,” Travis said.

  Kessie sighed. “Can we all just forget about the saloon girls and spread our picnic?”

  “Good idea.” Violet sounded relieved.

  Travis took a deep breath. A man had a right to look, didn’t he? It had been weeks since Travis had had a woman and a couple of those girls looked eager and pretty. He didn’t expect to have to answer to a slip of a girl who sometimes acted more like a w
ife than a child.

  Violet stared up at the girls one last time. They made her uneasy because only weeks before, she had been an over-painted, scantily dressed saloon girl herself and she wanted to put that behind her, but this had reminded her of it all over again. Funny, one of those girls looked familiar, but it was quite a distance and she was probably imagining it. As heavily painted as they were, who could tell one from another? That was all she needed, to run into a girl who knew her from the old days.

  “Are we ever gonna eat or are you gonna keep standing there lost in thought?” Travis teased her.

  She started. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just trying to remember if I brought the lemonade.”

  Travis grinned down at her. “If you didn’t, there’s a stand over there run by Miss Knowlen, the librarian, selling lemonade.”

  “The library can use the money.” Violet nodded. “Go buy some and I’ll spread out our tablecloth while you’re gone.”

  Growler sat next to Bonnie.

  “Hungry,” the toddler complained.

  “Here’s a piece of chicken to hold you until I get food laid out,” Violet said. “And don’t give it all to the dog.”

  Travis sauntered down the row of booths with Harold and Houston with him. “We’ll find the lemonade, boys.”

  They passed the kissing booth and Miss Brewster, the skinny schoolteacher, leaned out and called to him. “Hello, Mr. Prescott. How about a kiss for a dime? The school needs the money.”

  Houston and Harold both nudged him. “Go ahead, Travis.”

  About that time, the little Avery girl from school, with her black corkscrew curls, stuck her head up out of the booth. “Hey, Houston and Harold, come kiss me for a dime.”

  They started backing away, but Travis caught them by the collars. “Now remember, boys, it’s for a good cause.”

  Both boys turned beet red.

  “I don’t want to kiss her,” Harold muttered.

  “I’d rather kiss Growler,” Houston said.

  “Oh, it won’t kill you. Here.” Travis dug in his pocket and handed them each a dime.

  “No.” They both shook their heads.

  “Well, would you rather kiss Miss Brewster?”