Behaving Herself

by Yvonne Jocks

  She defended her sisters and changed the subject. “Perhaps because you haven't married.”

  “When I do, I will choose someone who's an asset to the Garrison family name.”

  “Oh?” Well , this was interesting! He'd always been not-so-secretly in love with a local woman who had broken his heart by marrying a mining entrepreneur. Since then Thad generally refused to discuss marriage, only son or not.

  His look clearly said he refused to do so today, as well .

  “This is Main Street,” she explained now, letting him evade the subject. "A local family is donating land to the railroad, and there's talk of getting a depot. The Candon Lumberyard is down there, and the church. Here's the livery, and that“—she gestured dramatically—”is the mercantile."

  But as she indicated the mercantile, her tour got more interesting by far. Ferris Hamilton had just limped around the corner, accompanied by none other than her charming Jack.

  Almost immediately, Jack saw them.

  Audra was with another man. Holding hands with another man. Glancing up at that other man as if assessing how he might react once she waved to him and Ferris. With no more information than that, Jack found himself hating the other man with a vengeance.

  He hated that the other man looked to be older than him. He hated the self-assured presence the other man radiated, as if he could take on whatever the world threw at him without breaking a sweat. He hated the fellow's coat and wide-brimmed-hat, both of understated quality. But most of all, Jack hated that the other man was obviously of a caliber such as could step out with the schoolmarm without inciting local panic.

  Jack frowned. The story he'd heard was that Audra couldn't keep company with any man. Maybe, as with so many other “rules,” the pillars of the community looked the other way for someone with wealth and position?

  “Well , well , well ,” muttered Ham as the couple approached. Jack didn't bother answering—it would be a cussword anyhow.

  What really gnawed at him was how pert Audra looked. Her face shone as she tugged the man forward for the inevitable introductions. Until this moment, Jack would have bet everything he had

  —except maybe his watch—on the certainty that he wanted his schoolmarm to be happy. It wasn't as if their own ... friendship could be permanent. It wasn't as if she could find happiness with him.

  But now he knew he would have lost that bet.

  It wasn't noble of him . . . but he didn't want to see Audra happy with this broad-shouldered, brown-haired, respectable fellow who— damn him—even drew Audra closer with a proprietary gesture, as they reached him and Ham. And in all fairness, he didn't even know the man. It turned out Jack didn't want to see her happy with anyone but him, and now was a hell of a time to face that.

  Not that anyone expected him to be noble anyway, did they?

  Audra's dove gray gaze lingered on Jack's face for a moment, and some of that joy shining from her flickered into confusion. He felt even worse, then—he didn't want to see her un happy, did he?—

  and attempted a smile.

  He'd seen that dumb Early Rogers bluff better than his smile felt. But Audra returned it anyway, seemingly relieved by his mere effort.

  “Thaddeas,” she announced, “this is Mr. Jack—I mean, John—Harwood.”

  Jack reluctantly accepted the man's hand and hated his firm, unpretentious shake. The fellow's brown eyes narrowed speculatively, intense. Jack held his gaze like a dare.

  “And this is Mr. Ferris Hamilton. He owns the mercantile.”

  The stranger moved his attention to Ferris; they shook.

  “A pleasure,” said Ferris. “Any friend of our schoolmarm's is a friend of ours.” Weasel.

  Then Audra proudly announced, “This is my brother, Thaddeas,” and like that, everything made sense.

  “Your brother,” repeated Jack, trying to readjust. She could walk with the man in public because they were related. Of course she looked happy—she, unlike him, was fond of her family. And weren't most big brothers proprietary?

  In fact, he could see that this one didn't trust him any farther than he could spit. And he didn't look to be the spitting type.

  Tarnation. Could he have played this any worse?

  “I didn't realize you had family visiting . .. Miss Garrison,” Jack said now, more carefully. Dangerous enough to trifle with a lady. Add a male relative within the same state, and he'd taken his life in-to

  his hands.

  Although even now, watching how Audra's pretty gaze swept between him and the brother, he surely couldn't fault himself for the risk. She was something special, all right.

  “I didn't know either,” she said. “They simply showed up!”

  “They?” There were more of them?

  Audra nodded happily. "Triad brought our grandmother with him. I haven't seen her for a long time. She's a great deal like Aunt Heddy. But smaller."

  “Ah.” That was a relief. He hoped he could defend himself against grandmothers—small ones, anyhow. Audra's smile was infectious. “Christmas has been good to you then, has it?”

  Delight sparkled in her gray eyes as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, then glanced momentarily away. “It's been the best Christmas ever.”

  “I'm pleased to hear it,” he said. If they'd been alone, he would have reached out and brushed his fingertips to her cheek or hair just to make sure she was real.

  “You fellows need to be someplace?” asked her brother then, watching the interchange too closely for Jack's comfort.

  “Just the livery,” said Ham.

  “We're on our way to the Bennett place,” Jack explained further—maybe to make up for trying to stare the fellow down ... or maybe to prove that he had moments of respectability, too. "We got some invites to supper; this one appeared the safest."

  Audra cocked her head. “Safest!”

  Jack waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "One of the other invitations was from Mrs. Estry and her widowed daughter, Nora."

  That, she understood. “Oh.”

  “We won't keep you,” said the brother, and Jack shook hands with less acrimony. If he was leaving town anyway, wasn't it better that Audra be occupied with out-of-town guests?

  But Garrison's narrow-eyed assessment of him made him itchy, all the same.

  “Enjoy Mrs. Bennett's chocolate cake,” advised Audra, glowing like a Christmas angel.

  “We will endeavor to do our best,” Jack assured her, and held her gaze for a moment too long.

  Next thing Jack knew, Garrison said, "If you like desserts, come by for strudel some afternoon this week. You could tell me more about the area."

  Among other things? Clever. “I'm not from around here,” Jack admitted, as annoyed to have to turn down the invitation as he'd been to see Audra on someone else's arm in public. Not that he'd ever aspired to that kind of respectability. "And last time I noticed, I wasn't welcome at the widow Cribb's."

  “Jack used to be a gambler,” explained Audra and Jack blinked at her.

  Used to be?

  Suddenly it al made sense—how much store she'd put into his gift, the way she'd lit up when she saw him in church, her open friendliness this afternoon. It made perfect, damnable sense, and he hated himself for having to clarify.

  “Not quite, darlin',” he told her softly. “I am a gambler.”

  Garrison's intense brown eyes sharpened, and he glanced down at Audra before returning his gaze to Jack. “That so.”

  It was Audra Jack looked at when he answered, wishing he could soothe some of her obvious distress . . . even if that distress implied a proper reaction to his familiarity. “That's so.”

  “But. . . you came to church,” she said. “You said someone was a good influence on you.”

  He wanted to shut his eyes against her pain, to stop it from drawing an equal ache out of him. But he couldn't be a coward, not to her. He winced, but he took the hurt. "I only went to church this once—and it was because of someone's good influence. That doe
sn't mean I've changed who I am, what I do."

  The way she searched his face, trying to understand something he'd thought she knew all along, hurt so bad that he almost wished her brother would shoot him. especially if she hadn't been kissing him at all, just some goody-goody she'd fooled herself into thinking he'd become.

  “No,” she said too softly, low on breath. “Of course not.”

  They shouldn't do this, say this, in front of Hamilton or her brother. They should say this where they needn't refer to each other as “someone,” where he could hold her, kiss her, whisper apologies and “darlings” and comfort... as long as that comfort didn't include his own reform.

  “But you think so highly of folks, you couldn't help but make that mistake of me.”

  Her eyes flashed at him. “It wasn't a mistake.”

  “I'm still a gambler—Miss Garrison.” He added that last formality for her brother's sake. Since she was showing less than her usual restraint, the least he could do was bolster her respectability.

  "Ham here is still a mean-tempered pinchpenny. That student of yours, Jerome, is still a troublemaker. You're an asset to the community, ma'am, but you can't save us all ."

  He feared she would cry; her eyes shone suspiciously bright. But they also smoldered with determination, and her pretty mouth set into a stubborn line that unsettled him more than a little, beneath the grief of having hurt her.

  I can try, her stubborn gaze seemed to say. She didn't realize she'd run out of time.

  “Well,” said Ham. "It'll take me half the night just to make the livery stable; we'd better get going.

  Pleased to meet you, Mr. Garrison. Miss Garrison."

  “Hamilton.” The brother then eyed Jack again. “Harwood.”

  “That's some sister you have,” said Jack, eyeing him back.

  “I know,” said Garrison. “I'd best get her home. You never know what kind of folks come out once the sun sets.”

  “This is true,” said Jack—which left them both at a draw. Jack turned away first, but not because he was afraid of the brother. He just couldn't bear Audra's hurt any longer. Maybe he could try to meet with her, try to explain further.

  Or maybe that would be the most foolish thing he'd done since arriving in Candon.

  Audra could barely breathe, barely think. Jack was still a gambler. He didn't mean to reform. He didn't want to reform.

  And he and Thaddeas did not seem to like each other.

  Now, when all she wanted was to cry alone, or tell someone—anyone—how foolish she'd been and to hear them defend her, she had to hide her distress. There lay the price for her secret affair, for giving her heart outside the boundaries of decent society. She'd enjoyed his kisses, his embraces, but had they been worth this disillusionment? Especially when she couldn't even blame him? He'd always been honest with her. She had nobody to blame but herself.

  The sun set and the sky turned purple as she and Thaddeas made their way down the lane, back to Aunt Heddy's house. The weather was turning cold finally. She saw that Thad's breath misted faintly in the air when he said, “I think I'd best take you home.”

  “We're already here,” she said, only a little shaky.

  Thad said, “No. I mean to Wyoming.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After finishing one's work, a teacher may spend her remaining time reading from the Bible or other good books.

  —Rules for Teachers

  Thad's announcement hung between them as Audra thought: Jack's still a gambler. He doesn't want to reform. Only belatedly did she hear— Wyoming?

  Suddenly she wanted to go home to Wyoming. She wanted her mother's love. She wanted her sisters to share the joy and weight of her secrets. She wanted her father and brother to watch over her, keep her from foolish, scandalous things ...

  Or would they look at her with solemn disappointment upon learning she'd already done them?

  Thad wanted her to go home to Wyoming! finally she managed clarity, alarm. She did not dare look at him for fear of seeing just that look in his eyes, knowing she deserved it.

  For fear of what he'd see in hers.

  So she kept her head down, her eyes averted, as she asked, “Why should I go back now?”

  Thad encircled her protectively. “Reasons you shouldn't have to worry about, Audie.”

  Which felt better than him denouncing her for the hoyden she was . . . except for the niggling guilt that accompanied her reprieve and something that felt oddly like—annoyance?

  She dared peek at him after all . “Why shouldn't I?”

  “Because you are my baby sister, that's why,” he said.

  That answer would have pleased her considerably, once— would have made her feel cherished, safe. But now . . . “I'm a full-grown woman,” she pointed out.

  He slanted a dubious expression down toward her as he reached toward the gate, but she caught his arm. She did not want Aunt Heddy or Grossmutter asking questions. Not until she and Thad had this resolved between themselves, anyway.

  Go home to Wyoming?

  “More grown than not! I've supported myself for three months now.”

  “With Aunt Heddy,” he reminded her.

  What she felt was annoyance, after all . “Paying room and board from my wages,” she reminded him back, standing a little straighter. "I have a position here, Thaddeas. I have responsibilities. I cannot leave without very good reason."

  He considered her seriously, then sighed, nodded. “Let's go see to the livestock,” he said.

  That meant something serious—something he'd rather work through than confront head-on.

  Swallowing back uncertainty, Audra nodded, and they went to the barn.

  Only once Thaddeas was diligently forking hay into the stalls could he admit, "You should go home because that gambler may have illicit intentions toward you. That's why."

  Standing by the carriage horses, Audra petted Buck's nose, hiding her face in the side of his neck and breathing in his wonderful, horsey smell.

  “He called you 'darling'.” Even without looking, she could hear the scowl in Thad's voice.

  “Oh. That's just—” Jack. “Mr. Harwood.”

  “It wasn't just that. It. . .” The men in her family had never excel ed at expressing themselves in delicate situations. “I don't trust him.”

  You don't know him. But Jack's intentions were a little illicit. “He attended church today,” she said from behind Buck.

  “Men who go to church can still harbor illicit intentions, Audie. And he said himself it was just this once.”

  Which means he is honest, yes? She thought better of saying that. If she defended Jack too vehemently, too soon, surely Thaddeas would realize what he meant to her.

  And Jack did mean something to her. Even without her silly daydreams this afternoon, even knowing he still gambled. She was the one who had disillusioned herself, not he.

  “You want to think the best of him,” accused Thaddeas.

  She leaned her cheek against Buck's. "I do want to think the best of him. But I know he's a gambler, he smokes tobacco, he may even drink. He is not always as ... reserved as perhaps he ought to be.

  At the store, I mean," she added quickly.

  “But?” asked Thad darkly. When he forked hay into Buck's stall , Audra lost her cover.

  Luckily, Thad turned his back on her to put the pitchfork where it belonged. She opened the bin of ground corn and used the tin can within to scoop feed for Aunt Heddy's hens.

  “But I cannot believe he would hurt me,” she said, carrying the feed to the chicken yard just outside the barn.

  “That's the way confidence men work,” Thad pointed out, following. "They gain your confidence.

  You might not realize his intentions until he's gone, and you're already ... hurt."

  Without thinking, she looked at him for clarification, but he looked away from her curiosity with equal determination.

  She continued tossing feed, watching the chickens peck greedily at their
bounty. Were she innocent, she might suggest that her brother didn't trust her. But could he trust her? She mustn't pretend righteous indignation if she was not in fact righteous.

  Instead she said, “Well, none of this matters, because Mr. Harwood is leaving town.”

  “When?” demanded Thaddeas.

  She frowned. “I did not think to ask into the details. Shall I pay him a cal and find out?”

  Thad's eyes widened—perhaps because she had never used such a tone with him before. Why she had this time, she could not imagine . . . unless it was that she was upset at Jack's departure.

  She'd been clinging to an illusion about that, too.

  She turned away to school her features—and to carry the tin can back to its bin. When she heard Thad behind her, she reluctantly said, “I apologize. That was rude of me.”

  He said nothing but—knowing him—he might well have shrugged. He drew several breaths, each as if to speak, before he saw through on that promise. “I'm sorry I upset you,” he said stiffly. “I know you would rather think the best of people.”

  She bit her lip. He thought the best of her—thought her as innocent as when she left Wyoming.

  “I told you not to worry about my reasons,” he said now. "And I meant it. Don't fret about your position just now, Audie. I'll see when that fellow means to leave, get to know the townsfolk, and we'll decide later in the week, agreed?"

  She didn't want to know when “that fellow” meant to leave. But Audra nodded, because it was expected of her.

  Or perhaps her brother wanted actual words. “Audra?”

  “Agreed,” she said, her voice thick.

  “That's a good girl,” he said, and turned her around and hugged her, which was when tears threatened. She wasn't a good girl. She was a disobedient light-skirt who had trysts with a transient gambling man in the woods. She'd kissed him with abandon, she'd accepted a gift from him—and in church!—and now she hid that truth from a brother who only wanted the best for her. She was a horrible girl. Rather ... woman.

  And worse, she had no intention of doing anything to change.

  “Audra?” Thaddeas didn't look panicked when he recognized her tears—very little panicked a Garrison man—but he surely did look uncomfortable.