Sweet Dreamin' Baby

by Mary Kay McComas

  'Yes, ma'am."

  Soon there were two bees buzzin' and busy at Looty's. Ellis took orders at the tables and booths on the right side of the front door and up and down the counter, and Looty did the cooking and took orders left of the door. She also managed the till after Ellis called for help during her first attempt at it.

  The breakfast rush lasted another hour before it began to slack off. Looty took time to show her the cash register and to explain the ins and outs of her business.

  She did a week's work on Saturday as most everyone in the county chose that day to come to town to shop and do business, and the mill ran on half-crews to cut the overhead, freeing more mill workers to be out and about as well. Sunday morning the rush came closer to midmorning, with folks stopping by after church services. Friday and Saturday nights varied, depending on the movie being shown at the theater, firehall dances, and activities at the high school. The rest of the time her customers consisted of a few regulars who came in at distinct intervals during the day and kept Looty busy enough to need somebody to help her.

  "I need to tell ya that I got another part-time job," Ellis told Looty, wanting there to be no misunderstandings between them. "Two, actually. Mr. Hogan hired me to work at the Steel Wheel noon to six every day 'cept Sunday, and Friday and Saturday nights if one of his regular girls don't show up."

  With social hours being similar in both the bar and the diner, Ellis's working hours didn't sit too well with Looty, but before she made any judgment, she said, "You said two other jobs."

  "I'm helpin' out at the LaSalles. Buck and Anne LaSalle?”

  "Know 'em well," she said. “You helpin' till the baby comes?"

  “Yes, ma'am. And I ain't sure what all I'll be doin' yet or how much time I’ll be needin' to do it, but I'm gettin' meals and a bed, so ..."

  "How bad you want this job, girl?" she asked, her eyes narrowing keenly as she studied Ellis.

  "Bad, ma'am."

  The old woman continued to stare and consider.

  "I open here at six sharp every mornin'. You come when you're finished at the LaSalle's place, but no later than eight. I'll keep ya till ‘leven-thirty, then you can go on down the road to Tug's place," Looty said, taking over Ellis's life the way she had the conversation. “You'll be wantin' some time off, so Sunday's ya stay half the day."

  "No, ma'am. I mean, I wouldn't mind workin' the whole day. I ... I need the extra money."

  “You'll need the time to rest your body more," the older woman said firmly. "Sunday's are half-days, and iffen I can't handle the rest, I'll have to give that no-good niece of my husband's a second chance. Between whiles, we'll watch how ya do here, and if ya work out, we'll follow the money you're makin' at both places. Ya might have your druthers and take a mind to workin' more here and less there."

  "Yes ma'am," she said, the proud owner of three jobs. Her spirit traveled miles over the tree-covered mountaintops to Stony Hollow. It hovered over a small shack with a stone chimney, listening to those within. It grew warm and content and hopeful of joining them soon.

  She waited on tables at Looty's till half past eleven, then went directly to the Steel Wheel to do the same, paying little attention to the noon hour as it came and went, less to the meal she missed. If the truth be known, her breakfast at the LaSalles had been the hardiest meal she'd had in two weeks. She hardly noticed the twinges of hunger anymore.

  By early evening, her pockets weren't exactly bulging with tip money, but they were twice as heavy as the night before. Her feet felt the same. Twice as heavy and throbbing twice as hard. The ache in her calves and lower back reminded her of a night with little sleep in cramped quarters, and she smiled, thinking of the bed awaiting her at the LaSalle house.

  "I don't suppose you're smilin' like that 'cuz you're thinkin' of me," said a familiar voice at her side.

  She turned and leaned her elbow on the bar as if he hadn't startled her, as if she'd been expecting to see him, as if her knees hadn't suddenly gone weak, but she didn't speak. She pretended to watch Tug Hogan fill her tray with beer bottles as Bryce's clean, soapy scent filled her senses. She swallowed hard, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

  "Were ya thinkin' about how dashin' and charmin' I am?" said Bryce, teasing her with his eyes.

  "Ya think so much of yourself, I ain't about to waste my time on it," she said, raising her voice above the music from the jukebox.

  "Auk!" he cried, throwing his hands over his heart and looking to the bartender for help, "Am I bleedin', Tug? This here's my favorite shirt." He looked back at Ellis. "You ever met such a prickly gal before?"

  "Hadn't noticed she was, till you come in," he said, surprise registering in the slight elevation of his bushy brows.

  "Trust me," Bryce said, rubbing his wound. "Can ya believe that she's not thinkin' me a dashin' and charmin' fellah, after all I've done to convince her that I am? What's a fellah gotta do to get her attention?" he asked the bar owner, grinning playfully.

  Tug glanced at Ellis, who was feeling much too warm, then back to Bryce. "Try orderin' a beer."

  Bryce's laughter dissolved into a cough. It was several seconds before he could chuckle and speak again. "That's real original thinkin' for a bartender, Tug. A fine idea." Ellis turned away to deliver the beers on her tray. "Any other suggestions?" she heard him ask.

  She bit her lower lip as she weaved between tables, over outstretched legs and around chairs. Had Bryce really come to see her? she wondered, or had he come in to drink? Did he truly want her attention, or was he teasin' her again, playin' and flirtin' with her in the manner that came so natural to him?

  She hadn't forgotten Liddy Evans, either. She didn't hold with one woman taking up with another woman's man. Bryce's relationship with another man's woman was his business—though it somehow seemed less sinful when she thought of Liddy's husband.

  Bryce fell into conversation with Tug and didn't speak to her again, yet she was acutely conscious of his gaze. She came and went from the bar with her orders, feeling as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  Time crawled by. She kept hoping he'd leave without speaking to her—still she was expecting him to say something and found herself feeling disappointed when he didn't. Her emotions grated back and forth on her nerves like a saw.

  His arm would brush against her shoulder, or he'd turn on his stool to look at her and graze her hip with his knee, and she'd step away as if burnt. She was unsteady, ready to topple.

  "Racks are gettin' low," Tug said, setting four beer bottles and a glass on her tray. "Stock 'em when ya can."

  “Yes, sir." She delivered the beers and the specially ordered glass and went straight to the cooler. She took bottles out of boxes four at a time, two in each hand, and set them on the shelves separating the bar from the cooler. The task was nearly finished before she caught Bryce watching her through the glass doors on the other side.

  "I'd take it kindly if you'd stop watchin' me," she muttered through one side of her mouth a few minutes later, being careful not to look at him directly. She leaned her back against the bar and rubbed warmth into her arms.

  "How can ya tell I been watchin' ya?" he asked, leaning close to be heard over the din in the bar.

  "I seen ya."

  "So that means ... you've been watchin' me," he said, pleased with his own insightfulness. "Quite a coincidence, don't ya think?"

  She gasped, and the truth burned in her cheeks. Intending to give him an indignant tongue-lashing, she turned to see his teasing grin and the frolicsome gleam in his eyes. She snapped her mouth closed and looked away, not knowing how to respond.

  "Ah, Ellis," he said, laughing softly. “You don't have much of a sense of humor, do ya? You're just not sure what to make of me, are ya?"

  She looked at him and decided to be honest. "You're the beatin'est thing I ever come across."

  "How so?"

  In so many ways she was hard put to find a place to begin.

  "I
... I don't know. Ya just are," she said. Vocalizing her finer emotions wasn't something she did effortlessly. She could count the times she'd been asked how she felt about something on one hand –with three fingers missing.

  "Well, ya don't act like you're afraid of me," he said more to himself than to her. He coughed twice in his fist, then asked, "So, is it that you don't like men in general or just me in particular?"

  But she did like him ... to a certain extent. . . . Certainly as much as she could allow herself to like anyone. Still . . .

  "No. I think maybe I do like ya," she said cautiously. "You been good to me, and I thank ya." She hesitated. "I just don't know why."

  "Why?" He made it sound like a foreign word.

  “Yeah. Why are ya bein' nice to me? I ain't kin. Ya don't even know me. I keep waitin'—" she stopped abruptly and looked away.

  "Waitin' for what?"

  She glanced at him and lowered her eyes again. She'd never been given anything without something being expected in return. Most often, she'd been given food, shelter, and clothing in exchange for her labor. But there had been times when more was demanded of her.

  "Waitin' for what, Ellis?" he asked a second time, his voice gentle and reassuring, his suspicions and fears climbing. "Do ya think I'm bein' nice to you 'cuz I wanna get ya in bed with me? Is that what ya think?"

  She couldn't look at him, let alone admit the truth. What else did she have, that someone like Bryce LaSalle could possibly want?

  "I usually think long and hard before I lie to someone, Ellis," he said, leaning closer so she wouldn't miss what he said. "And I just plain don't wanna lie to you." He paused briefly. "I think you're about the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life, and I sure wouldn't complain if ya wanted to be with me. But the truth is I don't want ya if you're thinkin' that you're payin' off a debt."

  Her peek at him turned to an all-out stare when she realized he was in earnest. There was no humor, no twinkling in his deep-set eyes. No grin on his lips. What would his lips taste like? she wondered, shifting her weight against a sudden throbbing sensation between her legs, her heart pounding.

  "Why, then?" she asked, hardly aware that she'd voiced the question. "Why are ya here? Why are ya helpin' me? Why are ya bein' so nice?"

  He released a soft, incredulous laugh—as if he were as baffled by her as she was by him.

  "I guess 'cuz I want to," he said. "Like in the bible where it says it's better to give than to receive. I feel better givin' than I do takin'."

  "So I'm . . . charity." The word stuck in her throat.

  "No!" he said, quickly denying what he didn't feel. "It ain't that at all. It's ..."

  "I don't need charity and I don't need your pity," she said, her spine as straight as a lightning rod.

  "Pity?" He smothered another cough in his fist.

  "I don't need nobody's help. I'm strong and able and I can tend for myself."

  He leaned back to get a good look at her, a dazed expression on his face. When he could think of something to say, he said it.

  "Fine. You're takin' it all wrong, but you have it your way, little prickly bush. I told Anne she was wastin' her time worryin' about you," he said, irate and not trying to hide it. Lord, she was like a burr under his skin, making him angry every time he rubbed her wrong. "I told her no self-respectin' masher would bother with someone as unfriendly as you, but no, I had to get up out of my sickbed," he coughed again for emphasis, "and drive all the way down here to check on you."

  "Check on me? How come?"

  "She didn't think Looty'd put you to work directly. She was expectin' ya to come home and unpack and settle in. She was hopin' you'd take a nap before ya came to work tonight."

  "A nap?" She hadn't taken a nap during the day since she was three years old. Still, it was . . . nice of Anne to concern herself.

  "Anne." He said the name with an amused tolerance, as if he thought her crazy but harmless. "She thought you looked tired this mornin'. And she doesn't think you're eatin' proper, thinks you're too thin." His lively green eyes caught her attention before he purposefully allowed his gaze to lower and lazily peruse the condition of her petite form. "Ya might have to stand up twice to get a good shadow, at that. And you do look tired. But if what Looty and Tug have been sayin' about ya is true, ya would."

  "Lord a'mighty! You been talkin' to everybody about me?"

  "No." He wagged his face in hers. "I got better things to do, Miss Prickly. I happen to be sick. I feel like hell, and all I wanna do is go to bed," he told her. "But I care about Anne, and she sent me out lookin' for ya. So I started at the beginnin' and called the diner. Ya think I enjoyed listenin' to Looty go on and on about how you're the hardest workin' girl she's ever seen? Like I was interested? Then I get the same stuff from Tug when I come here. And all I came to find out was what your plans were so I could tell Anne when you're comin' home."

  Ellis was a bit stunned. Despite their delivery, she'd just received a bushel of kind words.

  "They said that about me?" she asked in wonder.

  He studied her with the curious expression she was growing used to seeing on his face. Her sudden pleasure baffled him.

  "They did," he said softly, as if he'd never been angry or put out in his life.

  She took a moment to savor the pride and satisfaction she was feeling, then remembered something else.

  "I'm sorry I made Anne worry. We were goin' to list out the chores she wanted doin'. I shoulda used Looty's phone to call her." She hesitated, thinking of warmth, a bed, and safety. She sighed heavily. "I reckon I should move on and let Anne hire someone who can help her proper. I ain't sure I'll have the time now, 'tween the other two jobs."

  "That's up to you and Anne," he said, placing his faith in Anne's art of persuasion to keep Ellis from moving out until she was better prepared. "The two of you can chew on it after supper."

  "No, we can't."

  His dark brows rose in question.

  "See, that's the thing," she said, feeling guilty for accepting a job she wouldn't be able to carry out. "When Mr. Hogan's short on help for nights, I can stay on and work extra. I need the money more than I need a bed."

  His eyes narrowed keenly. “You're plannin' to work eighteen hours a day?"

  "Any time I can," she said, uncomfortable under his intense gaze. "I told ya I need money; I need it in a hurry. And your sister-in-law oughta get someone she can count on."

  "How long are ya plannin' to work like this? How much money do ya need?" He'd known men to work long days to pay off hospital bills or gambling debts or lawyers, but only when the debt was urgent. "Are you sure you're not in trouble?"

  It wasn't any of his concern how much money she needed or what it was for or how she went about earning it, but she somehow felt compelled to tell him.

  "I need one thousand five hundred thirty-six dollars and eighty-seven cents." She shrugged. "More if you take in a place to live and a bit to fall back on."

  "You're savin' for a new car?"

  "No." She frowned and looked thoughtful, her guard slipping away unnoticed. "Though I expect I'll be lookin’ in that direction soon enough. The truck needs a fine hand to keep it runnin', and I ain't at all mechanical minded."

  "Then what do ya need all that money for?"

  She looked at him and realized that she'd opened her door too wide. Yet sharing what little she had had felt good.

  "It's personal," she said, not unkindly. "A debt. So I can get back what's mine."

  He considered this, and then shook his head. "You can't work yourself to death payin' off a debt. It ain't like it'll get up and walk away."

  "I ain't workin' myself to death."

  "The hell you ain't. Look at yourself. You're pale, too thin, and ya can hardly stand up straight you're so tired."

  "I'm okay."

  "Like hell," he said, turning to look down the bar at Tug Hogan. "Hey, Tug," he bellowed, and when the man turned to look at him, he said, “You gonna need Ellis all night or c
an she leave early?"

  "No," she said, frantic as Tug walked to their end of the bar. "No. Don't say nothin'. This ain't your concern."

  "There a problem here?" Tug asked, standing on the other side of the bar from them.

  "No," she stated emphatically.

  “Yes," Bryce said just as vehemently. "She's workin' herself sick. She needs to sleep."

  Tug's hooded gaze passed to Ellis. She squirmed beneath his scrutiny, finally bursting forth with, "I can do the work."

  "I know," he said. "But I won't be needin' ya after midnight."

  "But I"—he turned his back on her and walked away—"need the money," she said, her words dwindling to a bare whisper as she realized the futility of arguing. She turned to Bryce with murder in her eyes. "Look what ya done!"

  "Tug's a good ol’ boy. He wouldn't have let ya go if it wasn't as plain as the nose on his face that you're as wrung out as yesterday's dish towel." He thought he saw tears welling in her eyes before she looked heavenward and closed them in an effort to control herself. Instantly contrite, he tried to soothe her. "He ain't holdin' nothin’ against ya. Tug likes ya."

  "What about the money?" she asked, refusing to be soothed.

  "How much money can ya make in a place like this in two hours? And is it worth makin' yourself sick for it?" he asked. "Where's your head, for chrissake?"

  "It's mindin' its own business," she said, taking note of a customer who was trying to get her attention. "And that's more than I can say for yours. You just leave me alone, ya hear?"

  "Fine," he said as she turned to go. "Don't dawdle on your way home. Anne goes to bed early these days, so I'll have to wait up to show ya your room."

  She turned to face him. "Don't put yourself out. I ain't plannin' on takin' the job, so I won't be stayin' the night. I'll call Anne in the mornin' and tell her so myself."

  "Fine," he said. "You just keep on doin' what you gotta do, and I’ll do the same."