Hannah grabbed the lapels of his flannel shirt. “—have any idea who I am. Why, if you think—”
“It’s not that. I didn’t say—” Grant backed up a step.
Hannah followed him all the way to the wall. “—I’ll stand by and let Sadie get thrown out of school because of the color of her skin—”
“I’m sorry. Really, Hannah. I wasn’t suggesting—” Grant caught her hands where they were shaking his collar. She seemed determined to strangle him to death.
She tightened her grip. “—or slam the door in the face—”
Grant stopped trying to placate her and leaned over her, “Listen, I didn’t mean to imply you had anything against orphans. If you’ll—”
“—of any child—”
All his tension uncoiled like a striking rattler. “—just shut up for a second—” He pulled her hands off his throat.
She yanked away from his grip. “—orphan or not, who wants to learn—”
He just needed her to shut up for a minute so he could tell her how much he appreciated her standing by him, and how sorry he was she had to face down a mob, and how annoying she was, and how pretty, and sweet— He turned her around and trapped her against the wall. “—and let me apologize, I’ll—”
She turned her face up, her eyes flashing with fire and spirit, her cheeks flushed. “—then you’re the most insulting man I’ve ever—”
He couldn’t think of any other way to close her yapping mouth.
He kissed her.
It worked.
She shut up.
He jumped back so fast he tripped over a desk. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Hannah covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide, watching him like he’d grown rattles and fangs and attacked her.
Grant shook his head and felt his brain rattle, so maybe he was close to growing the fangs, and he was very much afraid he might attack her again.
Hannah ran her tongue over her lips as if she wanted to wash the taste of him away. “That can’t ever happen again!”
“That can never happen again.” Grant couldn’t back farther because of the desk. That’s the only possible reason he went forward instead. And kissed her again.
“Let go of me!” Hannah wrenched away from Grant, which was hard with her arms wrapped around his neck. But she managed, with Grant helping, to pry her hands loose where they’d gripped the hair curling down the nape of his neck.
Grant looked aghast. “That never should have happened.”
“Never, not ever.”
“It’s never going to happen again.” Grant turned his back on Hannah and figured out that if he moved sideways he could get away from her. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? “We don’t even know each other,” Grant added.
Hannah smoothed her hair, which Grant noticed was messy.
He remembered running his fingers through it. How long had he spent kissing her? Her lips were pink and a bit swollen. He looked closer. He moved closer.
Those lying pink lips said, “We don’t even like each other.”
Shaking his head to break the spell Hannah had cast over him, Grant pushed his hat firmly on his head and looked straight at her out from under the low brim. “Oh, maybe we like each other a little.”
“Some.” Hannah’s eyes found his. . .and held.
“But it was wrong.” Grant turned away to prove he could.
“Oh yes, it was.”
“Very, very wrong,” Grant agreed, suddenly furious with her for being so certain, because in his whole life he’d never felt anything so right.
At that moment, three dozen children flooded into the room.
Grant saw Hannah’s knees give out, and she caught herself before she fell by leaning against the wall. It was a good thing she saved herself from collapsing because Grant wasn’t capable of moving.
If they’d been a few seconds earlier, the whole school would have walked in on them. By nightfall, all of Sour Springs would know he’d kissed the new schoolmarm in front of all her students. Something like that had to be followed immediately with a wedding, or Hannah would immediately be fired. And if they announced an engagement, Hannah would be fired with everyone’s best wishes for happiness, and Grant would be saddled with a wife—a meddling, potato-burning wife. He looked sideways at her, leaning against the wall, both hands clapped over her bright pink cheeks. An annoying, nosy, beautiful, kindhearted wife who’d offered to sacrifice her job to fight for his children.
That wasn’t going to happen since Grant had promised himself and God a long time ago, on a cold Texas morning in Houston, that he’d never marry. The day he took six children home with him, he dedicated his life to caring for children nobody wanted rather than having even one speckled-eyed child of his own.
Besides, he didn’t have room for her. He’d have to put her on the kitchen floor.
Next to him.
“Gotta go.” Grant ran out of the building like a man being chased by a pack of hungry wolves, or worse yet, one pretty little woman.
Hannah wanted to send him on his way with a swift kick.
And she might have if she could get her knees to stop wobbling.
Suddenly her spine stiffened, if not her knees. What if he’d kissed her knowing a kiss would make her stay away from him? And by staying away from him, she’d naturally stay away from the Rocking C, which meant she’d never know for sure what went on out there.
She thought of the few times she’d seen Parrish in action. The man had a masterful front he’d put on for others who questioned whether he should be allowed to adopt children with no mother in the home. Her skin still crawled when she thought of the times Parrish had rested a loving hand on her shoulder while he spoke of his devotion and wanting to help those less fortunate. She’d known full well that the same socalled loving hand would punish her brutally if she didn’t smile and call him daddy for the onlookers.
Grant wasn’t like that. Her heart knew he wasn’t. But what if her heart was reacting to a handsome man who made a public display of his affection for his children? He’d said he never let them go to school. He made it sound like he was protecting them. But what it amounted to was the children were cut off almost all the time. Had Hannah’s intervention stopped him from doing exactly what he wanted to do? Getting his children back home and putting them back to work?
Hannah couldn’t trust her instincts about Grant. And she couldn’t face him.
Hannah closed her eyes and prayed for wisdom. Her prayers kept being interrupted by the memory of Grant’s strong arms and how wonderful it felt to be held.
Stirring restlessly, she knew she couldn’t go out to the Rocking C to inspect again. She didn’t trust herself. Chewing one stubby thumbnail, Hannah decided that as long as he left the children in school she’d know they were released from any hard labor for a few hours every day. So she’d stay away from the Rocking C as long as the children were here. But if Grant pulled them out, she’d have to go back.
She thought of Grant’s head lowering toward her, pulling her close, and something very sweet and rather desperate turned over in her chest. She’d shared lots of hugs with her sisters in her life. But she’d never been held by a man.
She’d seen moths fluttering toward a burning lantern. They’d fly straight into the flame and be burned, sometimes to death. The moths never learned, or maybe as they burned to death they finally did. Until it hurt that badly, the pull of the warmth and light was too powerful. Even if Grant had done it to keep her from finding out his secrets, mesmerized by the heat of his arms and his kiss, she still felt the pull.
How humiliating!
Even more humiliating, what if he tried to kiss her again? She knew deep in her heart that she might well kiss him back.
While the children settled in their desks, she headed for the outdoors, hoping the sharp cold would ease the burning in her cheeks and cool her crazy thoughts about Grant and how badly he needed a mothe
r in that house of his.
She wanted to—had to—avoid Grant, and to do that she had to keep his children in this school.
NINETEEN
He had to get his children out of that school!
He practically fell down the steps of the schoolhouse in his hurry to escape whatever had happened in there.
He slammed into something soft. His attention abandoned the disaster that was Hannah, and he saw that he held Shirt Lady in his arms. She leaned toward him; her lips seemed to be pursed. She might be going to kiss him.
A door opened behind Grant and he turned, knowing it had to be the schoolhouse door. Grant looked straight into Hannah’s eyes. She was just a couple of yards away at the top of the three steps. She was flushed, her lips still shiny and swollen, looking as bothered as a woman could be. He knew it was about that kiss. He was mighty bothered himself.
Hannah saw him and her expression turned to horror. He read every bit of what she was thinking. Grant, holding someone else, another woman, seconds after he’d been kissing the daylights out of Hannah.
Lips came at him, and he saw them just in time to dodge. Shirt Lady missed his lips and grazed his neck ever so slightly. He shuddered. Her lips were soggy and flabby and. . .
Hannah made a sound that distracted him from his revulsion. A wounded wildcat growl, part pain, part fury, all dangerous. She was in a good position up there to pounce, too.
Grant braced himself to be buried under two women.
Hannah’s expression of horror and fury changed to utter contempt. She whirled around, her tattered skirt flying, and stormed back into the schoolhouse, slamming the door so hard the whole building shook.
Sick to imagine what Hannah thought about what she’d witnessed, Grant turned back and saw Shirt Lady zeroing in on him again with those disgusting lips. He’d rather kiss one of his longhorns, one who’d just sucked up a river full of brackish water. He ducked before he could commit his third act of stupidity concerning a woman’s lips in less than a minute.
Shirt Lady almost fell, for the second time, because of his clumsiness. Then she staggered and cried out with pain. Her hands tightened around his neck.
He reached up to free himself.
“No, please, be careful. My ankle. I think I sprained it. If I let go, I’ll fall.”
Grant stopped in his headlong effort to free himself from these poison ivy arms. He shook his head to clear it, knowing he was still reacting to Hannah—to what had happened inside the school and out. There was no sense knocking Shirt Lady over just because he was upset with the schoolmarm.
“Sorry. Here, let me get my arm around your waist.”
Hannah wanted to get her hands around Grant’s neck.
She should have gone all the way inside, but that window, right by the door, was too handy, and she looked out at that lowdown, stinking polecat as he slipped his arm around his girlfriend, seconds after the skunk kissed Hannah!
She should have moved on, but it was like she wanted the pain. Hannah watched Grant practically sweeping the horrible seamstress off her feet. Standing, staring, Hannah knew it was a good thing to see. Let it burn her eyeballs to cinders so she’d remember.
She’d always been afraid of men. Her father had taught her well. But for some awful, ridiculous reason her common sense had deserted her with Grant. Even when he was scowling and snarling like a smelly old ogre, she’d never been scared. That just proved that not only was she right to be afraid of men, her instincts were also never to be trusted.
Boiled down to its simplest form. . .she was an idiot.
Prudence smiled and leaned close. Grant slid his hands up her arms. Hannah couldn’t see his face, shadowed by his hat, but she could see that nasty Prudence, batting her eyes like a Texas dust devil just blew straight in her face.
Hannah finally had all she could take. She forced herself to turn from the window.
School!
She was a teacher. She had students and responsibilities and a life that had nothing in the world to do with that awful, lowdown Grant or his appalling mistreatment of both Hannah and that dreadful Prudence.
Hannah smoothed her hair and forced her breath to come more evenly. She wished her heart would stop thudding. More than thudding, it seemed to be breaking, but she couldn’t imagine why. She’d barely had one kind thought about Grant in all their brief, unpleasant acquaintance.
Well, there’d been a few kind thoughts. More than a few in all honesty. And a few pleasant moments. Extremely pleasant.
Then she decided, despite her firm belief that God wished her to be honest in all things at all times, this once she’d go ahead and lie to herself about those kind thoughts and pleasant moments and dwell on the bad ones. She’d pick them apart, see that even worse things lay beneath Grant’s disgusting behavior.
She squared her shoulders as she imagined shoving him off that train platform the first day. She’d have saved herself a lot of time and trouble if only she’d known.
Feeling marginally cheered by the image, or at least capable of not bursting into tears in front of her class, she marched into her true calling. Working with children. . .only children. . .no man ever!
Grant firmly unfastened Shirt Lady’s clinging hands. He controlled the urge to gag as he peeled her loose. “Should I help you to the doctor’s office?” Doc Morgan was nearby. That’d get rid of her right away.
“No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Grant stifled a groan.
Prudence smiled. “I don’t think it’s broken. I just need some help getting home.” She looked up at him, and she must have had something in her eye. Her lashes flapped as if she was trying to dislodge a dirt clod.
“I’ll help you then.” What choice did he have? His natural inclination, which was to shake her off him like a slimy leech, would leave the woman lying in the dust. He didn’t know much about women, unless they were his children, but he was sure dropping Shirt Lady in the dirt wasn’t right.
He slid his arm around her back. His head cleared enough that he realized the woman was almost letting him carry her. Her ankle must really hurt. Grant walked the length of the meager Sour Springs Main Street with Shirt Lady clinging to him.
Mabel came to the door of the general store, wiping her hands on her apron. “Howdy, Grant, Prudence.”
Grant controlled a flinch. Prudence. He thought of her as Shirt Lady, and he wasn’t going to stop now. He was determined to never know this woman well enough to learn her name.
“Good morning, Mabel.”
Expecting Shirt Lady to say something about her injury, Grant hesitated. Then it seemed like it was too late somehow. Oh well. Surely Mabel could see the woman limping.
“Tell Harold thanks again for coming out to help yesterday.” Grant reached up and tipped his hat.
Harold appeared in the door behind Mabel with a big grin on his face. “Mornin’, you two.”
You two? Like they were a couple or something? Grant had to fix that misconception.
“Can we hurry along, Grant, honey? I’m anxious to get home.”
Honey? Grant was suddenly almost pulled along. Prudence didn’t seem to be favoring her ankle as much. That was a good sign.
“So, when are you going to keep our next date?” Prudence’s voice had a piercing quality that carried up and down the street. Grant was sure Mabel and Harold could hear. He saw Doc Morgan grinning at him as the man unlocked his office.
“What date?” Heart sinking, Grant knew these fine citizens of Sour Springs were drawing the wrong conclusion. And he hadn’t cleared a bit of it up by the time they’d reached the shirt shop.
“You said you were too busy to come for supper the other night, remember? Come on in now and have a bite of my seed cake and some coffee.”
Prudence kept dragging him, but Grant drew the line at actually going into her store. He didn’t want to be alone with the little ivy plant for even a second. He dug his heels into the wooden sidewalk. “Gotta go. No time for cake
.” Wasn’t that pretty much what he’d said last time, and look how much trouble that had gotten him into.
“Then when, Grant?”
It came to Grant in a flash that instead of fighting he should go along with her. Better the town folks knew there was nothing going on between him and Hannah. Of course nothing could ever come of a date with Shirt Lady. His skin crawled when he thought of that almost-kiss he’d dodged.
The woman had definitely set her cap for him, and he couldn’t let her go along believing they might be suited. But one date would solve a lot of problems between him and Hannah. He made a promise to himself not to be alone with Prudence for a second. He’d just come to her door, take her for a nice public ride so Hannah and everyone would see them but nothing improper could be even whispered, then he’d drop her off and run like a scared rabbit.
“Um, how about we go for a ride some evening?”
“I’d be proud to make dinner for you. I’m an excellent cook.” Prudence must have that dirt back in her eyes again. With her ankle hurting and her eyes all stinging from the dirt, it was a wonder the woman didn’t want to go on inside and get some rest.
“It wouldn’t be proper for us to be alone in your room, Prudence. But we can take a quick ride. Just this once. You know”—Grant felt he had to be honest. The woman needed the truth—“I’m not planning on taking a wife. I’ve got a house too small for a gnat to find a place to settle in. I’m running all day every day to keep up with the children, and I’m planning on taking in more when the need arises. There’s no room for a wife in that.”
Shirt Lady’s eyelids stopped flailing and her smile went kind of hard around the edges, but Grant was impressed that she held onto it at all. The mention of the children bothered her. And hearing that they couldn’t do more than just take a single ride had to pinch her feelings.
Half expecting the door to slam in his face, instead she said, “I’d enjoy your company, Grant. Even if it’s not a wife you’re looking for, we could be good friends.”
Somehow, Grant sincerely doubted he could ever be friends with a woman who didn’t like children. He decided he’d said enough for now though. “I’ll come for you on. . .” He hated to do it of an evening; he was too tired. He didn’t want to give up Saturday; he got a lot done on Saturday with the children home. It didn’t seem proper to do something he was dreading as much as this on the Lord’s Day, so Sunday was out.
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