Sweet Dreamin' Baby

by Mary Kay McComas

  Sweet Dreamin' Baby

  Mary Kay McComas

  Copyright © 1992 by Mary Kay McComas. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Denise Marcil Literary Agency, Inc.; the agency can be reached at dmla@denisemarcilagency.com.

  One

  Webster, Kentucky, wasn't much of a town. But the roads were paved, the people were somewhat friendly, and it was as far away from Stony Hollow as Ellis could get on sixteen dollars and eleven cents worth of gas.

  Jobs were scarce. Most folks worked in the mill a few miles down the road. Ellis, too, had asked for work at Webster Textiles. Her name had been added to a long waiting list for the first unskilled job opening. With her employment opportunities suddenly narrowed to a fine line and her pockets near empty, she was grateful for the part-time work she'd been given at the tavern—a popular place called the Steel Wheel.

  But it wasn't enough. Ellis needed money. Lots of money. And she needed it as soon as she could get it.

  She leaned against the bar, her problems heavy in her heart. She'd been lonely and poor most of her life, but she'd never felt more alone or desperate. She tapped the plastic serving tray with her thumbnail and chewed her lower lip. She wasn't earning the money fast enough. What she needed was a second job, she decided. She'd start looking for one the next morning.

  "These here bottles ain't goin' to walk over to them tables, little girl," Tug Hogan said in a matter-of-fact manner, barely glancing at her before moving down the bar to replenish another beer. The big, burly man was the owner and only bartender of the Steel Wheel. From the beginning he'd warned her that if she couldn't keep up with the quick, steady pace of taking orders and delivering drinks to his customers, he'd let her go. It was a threat that brought terror to the pit of her stomach.

  She didn't approve of the imbibing of bottled spirits for other than medicinal purposes, and it scuffed against her grain to be working in a place where they flowed so freely. But her circumstances had taken her beyond caring. A job was a job after all, and she was eager to keep it.

  She hastily put the five tall bottles of beer on her tray and carefully maneuvered her way around tables and patrons to a gathering of three men and a solitary drinker at the back of the bar near one of the two pool tables.

  The front door of the bar burst open and a rush of icy October wind assaulted the back of her neck, sweeping a chill into the warmth she'd finally accumulated inside her pullover sweater. She glanced absently at the offender, a tall young man who presently began to respond to a handful of casual greetings. She shivered and hoped he wouldn't dawdle before he closed the door.

  She blinked as he turned toward her, a beam of dim light defining his features. She did an immediate double take. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. She stared as a strange tightness gripped her low in the abdomen and her heart began to flutter erratically about in her chest. He was as big as life and twice as natural.

  She gaped openly at his well-formed frame, at the broad shoulders that filled the thick flannel shirt and quilted vest; at the slim hips and muscled thighs wrapped comfortably in blue denim. It was his face, however, that held her attention. There was no denying his strong, handsome features. He had the look of a man who plowed straight furrows and went to the end of each row, someone honest and dependable. But there was also the mien of a rounder, a pistol, a card, a fun-loving fellow. And tying the two together was a calm, quiet gentleness that made her efforts to swallow her amazement rather difficult. He smiled at someone, and her breath caught in her throat.

  "Hillbilly!"

  The name jolted Ellis from her reverie and forcefully brought to mind her reasons for being where she was. Ridiculous rubbish. She didn't have the time to be taken by a man's good looks. With a quick peek at Tug Hogan she reminded herself of how dearly she needed to keep her job, of how little time she had to earn a great deal of money, and of how much she loved what she'd left behind in Stony Hollow.

  She looked at the man who had called out to her. He was narrow eyed and looked like forty miles of rough road.

  “You gonna stand there all day?" he asked, elbowing one of the three men at the table next to his when he noticed her discomfort. "Hillbillies don't know if they're comin', goin', or standin' still."

  "Shut up, Reuben," one of the other men said, offering Ellis an apologetic smile. His face looked slightly familiar to her, but like everyone else in the dimly lit, smoke-filled room, he was a stranger to her.

  More accurately, she was a stranger to them. In the two weeks she had been in Webster, she'd hardly said more than one word at a time to anyone. She'd learned early that the less you said, the less you were noticed, and the less you were noticed, the less people bothered you. But it didn't appear to apply to newcomers in small towns. Ellis's silence actually generated curiosity in the townspeople, and her continued reticence brought forth a mixture of attitudes toward her.

  She set one of the beers on the table in front of the man who'd called her a hillbilly and turned to set the others before the man who'd tried to apologize, without a direct look at either of them. She didn't mind being called a hillbilly. Truth was, she was a hillbilly. But she did mind the term being used as an insult—and she hated it when the expression invoked pity.

  "Howdy, brother," a humor-filled voice came from directly behind her. "Does your wife know where you are?"

  "Of course," said the man who had smiled at Ellis. "She gave me just enough money for two beers and told me to have a good time."

  All the men laughed as if it were a very good joke before the man called Reuben spoke again.

  "What kinda man needs his ol’lady's permission to have a few beers? Never thought I'd live to see the day when a good ol' boy like Buck LaSalle would be abendin' hisself like a pretzel for a female," he said, unaware of the ominous stillness around him.

  Ellis set the last beer in front of Buck LaSalle and lifted her gaze in apprehension, knowing what alcohol could do to a man's temper. He surprised her with a good-humored wink. At the same time the man behind her laughed.

  "There ain't a man in three counties who wouldn't give his right arm to have Anne for his wife, and you know it, Reuben Evans," he said. "And if you're here lookin' to raise a breeze with a LaSalle, you'd best address yourself to me, not to my brother."

  Ellis couldn't help turning to look at the young man she'd seen moments earlier standing in the doorway, nor could she keep her knees steady when she did. She glanced back at Buck and saw the strong resemblance between the two.

  Buck LaSalle's brother was as tall as a steeple. She had to tilt her chin upward to look at his face. He wasn't the least bit put out with Reuben Evans; his personable expression was mild and leaning to lighthearted. She might have doubted his challenging words if she hadn't heard the rancorous undertones in his voice.

  "No call to get on your high horse, Bryce," Reuben Evans said, not quite able to look him in the eye as he spoke. He took a long gulp of beer. "It's no skin off my nose if your brother wants to spend the rest of his life with a ring through his. I just think a woman oughta know her place." He stood then and came nose to chin with Bryce. Fixing him with a pointed stare, he added, "Like my Liddy."

  Ellis watched as Bryce's spine grew as stiff as a stick and his eyes became bright with anger. She'd heard bits and pieces of the Reuben and Liddy Evans story that involved Bryce LaSalle. Reuben had run out on Liddy and their three children over two and a half years earlier, and Bryce had stepped in to take his place for a while. Bryce, Liddy, and the children had become kin in the eyes of the community, all but for a divorce and new marriage ceremony. Then, rather abruptly and without public explanation, they'd split the sheets and gone
their separate ways. Tongues wagged furiously whenever they met in public and were still affectionate and friendly.

  The people of Webster had grown to accept their new relationship as well, until Reuben had returned several months later. He'd been greeted with every obvious detail of the goings on between his wife and Bryce LaSalle during his absence. When Liddy had refused to accept him back into his own home and continued to turn to Bryce for . . . well, for whatever she turned to Bryce for, Reuben had drawn his own conclusions as to the not-so-obvious details of their relationship.

  An odd pang of . . . something registered in Ellis's mind. She hardly knew these people, and she certainly didn't care about them. Still, she felt a sort of empathy for Liddy Evans and quite honestly approved of her choice between the two men.

  Reuben half turned back to the table for another gulp of beer, keeping a wary eye on his wife's former lover. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, saying, "My Liddy's still tryin' to bust my chops for cuttin' out on her, but she ain't stupid." He caught sight of Ellis and muttered, "She ain't no hillbilly girl neither. She'll come around soon enough. She knows her place."

  Ellis, Bryce, and the three men seated at the table watched as he sauntered away. He paid no heed to those he nudged or bumped into on his way to the door.

  "Sit on down, Bryce," Buck said.

  "Sorry piece of work there," one of the other men commented, referring to Evans. The last man added, "If his brain was in a bird's head, the bird'd fly backwards."

  Bryce brought his gaze from the door to the table as an easy grin took its rightful place in his expression.

  "He missed a mighty fine supper tonight," he said, and a unified groan rose from the table.

  "Ya didn't go over there again, did ya?" Buck asked harshly, his disapproval clear.

  "Yep." Bryce sat down at the table, pushing a half-finished beer away from him. "And I’ll keep on goin' till I'm sure he's doin' right by Liddy and the boys."

  "She's not your concern anymore." Buck's tone told of his own concern for his brother.

  "She’ll always be my concern," he said simply, looking at Ellis—actually seeing her for the first time. His face lit up like a new saloon.

  Small and frail, holding her head high with an unconscious air of pride and elegance, the girl had a face that reminded Bryce of one of those special angels he'd seen pictures of in the family bible – the watchful ones. The dim overhead lighting reflected off her blond locks, creating a golden halo around her head. And when she angled herself just so, he could see that her eyes were bluer than the sky. Lord, she was pretty … an angel who'd just stepped off the bus from heaven.

  He smiled at her and asked, "That one mine?"

  "What?"

  He was pointing to the fourth beer she'd brought to the table, plainly ordered in anticipation of his arrival.

  "That one mine?" he asked again, the same faint lights showing his hazel eyes to be as green and gold and warm as an Indian summer.

  It occurred to all of them at once that her continued presence at their table was highly inappropriate considering the exchange of hard words that had just transpired. She'd never been a barmaid before, but she was fully aware that she should have left the drinks and disappeared as any good barmaid would have. To be standing in the middle of a personal upscuddle between two patrons . . . well, to be standing in the middle of anything that didn't concern her was incredibly rude.

  Self-conscious in the extreme, she nodded, picked up the beer, and set it in front of him. She started to leave.

  "I heard ol' Tug hired himself a pretty little gal with eyes the color of bluebells and hair as bright and shiny as a field full of buttercups," she heard Bryce say. 'You must be Ellen."

  She turned to see the other men at the table smiling perceptively and lowering their eyes as if they were reluctant to witness an awkward, intimate moment between two strangers. She looked then at Bryce and was startled to see the appreciation in his eyes. It made her feel like she had a belly full of ants.

  "I'm Bryce LaSalle," he said, his voice deep and soft. "You know my brother Buck?"

  She shook her head and nodded at Buck, then nodded again and once more as she followed his introductions around the table. "Jim Doles. Pete Harper."

  "Ellis," she said after a moment of uncertain silence. "My name is Ellis."

  "Where are you from, Ellis?" Buck asked. Bryce had taken to staring at her.

  "Stony Hollow. This side of Magoffin County." It might have been a leftover reaction to Reuben Evans or it might have been her aversion to revealing even the simplest facts about herself to anyone, but for a moment Ellis thought she saw a knowing look in the men's eyes, a knowledge of where and what she came from and who she was.

  "I'm a hillbilly," she said proudly, feeling an urge to defend the term before they could sully it.

  "Hell, aren't we all?" Buck asked, laughing as the others joined in his amusement.

  The others, that is, except Bryce, who watched her with open interest. She'd made her simple declaration with such composure and dignity that it sent chills up his spine—like hearing the national anthem on the Fourth of July.

  "Some of us are more hillbilly than others," she said softly.

  What Buck had said was true enough. To the world in general anyone living in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains was a hillbilly. But among themselves, there was a distinction between the country folk who lived close to the coal mining or textile towns and in the farming communities, and those who had settled in small hollows and pockets of the mountains nearly two hundred years earlier—those who had kept to themselves and refused to embrace modernization.

  Ellis wasn't one of those descendants by blood, but mountain life was so much a part of her that she might as well have been. She was poor and not as well educated as some, but she had no shame for the fact.

  She lifted her chin and dared any one of the men before her to comment on the differences between them.

  "Will you be wantin' anythin' else?" she asked, her defiant gaze coming to rest on Bryce, who felt a lifting surge in his midsection. What a magnificent creature she was. Small in stature, pure and innocent of face . . . and yet she had more might and power in her mettle than any ten men of his acquaintance.

  "No, ma'am. No, thank you," he said, a curious expression on his face, unsure of how to approach her.

  "Holler if ya do," she said. She turned and walked back to the bar feeling almost brave for the first time since she'd left Stony Hollow.

  She missed feeling as if she had solid ground beneath her. In Stony Hollow she'd been deliberate in her acts and intentions. Survival was another lesson she'd learned early. She could remember years of feeling confused and helpless, times when she had no control over her life. But that hadn't been the case since . . . well, for a long time now, she thought, recalling the exact moment she'd taken control of her destiny.

  She smiled over a precious memory.

  'You caught up?" Tug asked in his gruff, indifferent manner.

  "Yes, sir," she said, glancing quickly at the tables she'd been waiting on to make sure.

  "Haul a Miller keg out and fill the racks then."

  "Yes, sir," she said without hesitating. Taking orders with no please or thank you or intonation of goodwill was something she was accustomed to. Moving heavy objects and working in the cold were not new to her either.

  As a matter of fact, she preferred the mindless manual labor to waiting on the customers. It gave her more time to think and plan, and she didn't have to be polite or answer questions.

  What had that Bryce fellah said? she ruminated as she entered the cold storage behind the bar. That he'd heard ol' Tug had hired a new barmaid? She wondered how many other people had heard the same thing. Did the whole town know that someone new was working at the Steel Wheel? Would they be free with the information if someone—say, another stranger in town—happened to ask?

  Again, a sense of urgency overcame her as she twisted a heavy keg of beer to
the cooler door. She was going to have to work harder and faster at getting the money she needed, she decided resolutely. Bryce LaSalle. His name fluttered through her mind like a butterfly, sunny and springlike. No. She couldn't think about him. There was something about him that pleased her, but she couldn't let him clutter her mind. Not now. Maybe someday, after she had her money and after she was safe and settled, if he were still around ...

  "Can I help ya with that?"

  "What?" Already breathless from exertion, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Bryce's voice. "No," she blurted out, looking in her employer's direction. "I can do it."

  "Let me help. It's too heavy for you."

  "No it ain't." She went back to turning and twisting the keg toward the bar.

  "Hell, ya ain't any bigger than a minute. You'll break your back doin' that."

  For no other reason than that he was a customer and she had to be nice to him, she said, "Thank ya for offerin’, but I can do it,"

  "I don't mind." He really didn't. He was eager to find an excuse to learn more about her.

  "I do," she muttered under a grunt of energy. More clearly she added, "I don't want your help, Mr. LaSalle, I can do just fine without it."

  "There's a difference between wantin' and needin', ya know," he said. Any other female he knew would have batted her eyes, giggled, and stepped aside to let him herniate himself with the beer keg. Ellis's refusal was disconcerting.

  She turned on him with the words to tell him that she neither wanted nor needed any help from him on the tip of her tongue, when she suddenly recalled where she was.

  "Please," she said, pleading with him. "Let me do my job."

  As before, he wore a curious expression as he studied her. He took a step backward; his hands held out in defeat. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean any harm."

  She wanted to call out to him as he walked back to his table. She wanted to explain how important her job was and how much she needed the money she was earning. She hadn't meant to offend him. Thinking about it, she couldn't recollect that anyone had ever offered to perform a chore for her before. He was a strange man, she speculated, turning back to her task with an odd sensation of warmth in her chest.