Behaving Herself

by Yvonne Jocks

  So much for idealism.

  Slowly Melissa nodded. Even more slowly Audra led each horse to step carefully over the shafts and into place and then, with her friend's help, she hoisted the shafts up and hooked them to the harness and collar harness. Her father could have gleaned through some trick of horsemanship which gelding would best pull near and which one off; she just had to guess— and pray that she had gotten even this much right. The tug chains hooked to the evener— Make sure their tails are clear. Make sure the wagon doesn't ride too close to their heels.

  Yes, Papa.

  Twice more, Melissa suggested fetching Jack. It took all of Audra's self-restraint to keep refusing.

  She longed to have him there, taking charge, telling her that all would be well.

  But sadly, he might not be right this time, and with his reputation, he could hardly do anything to help her beyond the harnessing of the horses.

  When Audra drove away toward Grapevine, with the canvas sides of the surrey up, as if she expected rain, she did so alone—and with the full knowledge that this could be the most foolish decision she had ever made in her life.

  If so, at least she made it for the right reasons.

  Ferris Hamilton showed little appreciation of Jack's sales techniques when Jack returned from Grapevine. “You lied?”

  Depressed and tired, disappointed that he'd have to wait until the next day to somehow get the telegram to Audra, Jack took more offense than usual. “I did not lie; I exaggerated.”

  "You told people we were getting a depot. For all we know, the Rock Island line might not even come through here—"

  “They've got the land already,” Jack reminded him.

  "—much less stop for a depot. What does Candon have to offer them? Folks'll just go on confusing us with Camden anyhow."

  Did the man have no vision? “We'll just come up with something to get that depot, then.”

  “We? Last time I knew, you weren't going to be around much longer anyway.”

  He'd stayed past the shoot-out at the river, hadn't he? “I like to leave my options open,” Jack assured him sarcastically.

  “If you think it's such a good business venture, why don't you buy the damned store? I can give you a good deal. especially considering the money you'll make once we get that depot.”

  What annoyed Jack the most about the suggestion was that for a moment—the briefest of

  moments—he considered it. He'd al but run the place since October anyhow! And whereas Audra could not seriously consider a relationship with a gambler, a storekeeper...

  Reality doused any guttering hope of that. First of all , a storekeeper who used to be a gambler was still a gambler, especially in a self-righteous town where folks had long memories. Even if people accepted him long enough to keep the store in business—which he doubted—the first time a more virtuous, churchgoing competitor moved in, he'd be finished. And the first time a horse vanished or a wife strayed, who'd be suspected? That gambler who kept store!

  He wouldn't do that to Audra—assuming she were gullible enough even to attempt it—and he should be shot for considering doing it to himself. No more cards? No more drinking? Sundays at church, right alongside Whitey Gilmer? To keep appearances he'd either give up fun or give up his honesty about fun. If he turned into one of those hypocrites, how could he help but start hating himself? Or, worse, hating Audra for tempting him into it? Some hope that was.

  Jack made a rude gesture, then stomped off to bed. Dreams eluded him.

  * * *

  The next day, Jack worked on how to deliver Audra's telegram. She deserved to know that her folks had answered; that her mother was proud of her and counting the weeks. But she didn't deserve Jack showing up on her aunt's doorstep, or even tossing pebbles at her window from the bushes, to get it to her. In any case, he didn't know which window was hers.

  His only choice was to find a respectable go-between.

  Figuring his odds, Jack went by the livery, saddled Queen, and rode out in the direction he'd heard tel he'd find the Rogers farm. He passed the place—easy to recognize from the board with the name Rogers carved into it, by their gate—then led his mare into the woods, left her hitched to a tree, and crept up on the farmhouse the back way. Once he had sight of it, he settled onto his haunches and played solitaire in the leaves, waiting for his chance.

  Thank goodness the weather, though chill , hadn't dropped to downright cold today; Jack found himself waiting for some time. He saw other members of the Rogers family go about their chores, from little girls in calico dresses to the pleasantly plump woman he recognized from the store as Mrs. Rogers, all of them as towheaded as Early himself. Just as Jack began to wonder if Early'd gone to market with his pa, the lanky boy made a show, protesting something—“Aw, Ma!”—as he got pushed out the back door. Moving awkwardly, likely unsure yet of his big body, Early strode to the chopping stump, collected the ax, and then dragged over a piece of brushwood from a tangled heap nearby and set himself to turning it into firewood for the family.

  If Jack distracted the boy too soon, his ma would hear him stop. So he resigned himself to another game while Early strained his suspenders to bring the ax down clean every time.

  Only when the kid took a break—long after Jack probably would have—and strode over to the pump to get himself a drink, did Jack make his move. He whistled, low.

  At first Early didn't seem to notice. Well, wasn't that just fine? Jack was looking for assistance from the kid with the thickest skull in Candon. He whistled again, then picked up an acorn and lobbed it Early's way. It hit the boy in the shoulder— not bad, thought Jack—and finally Early turned. Jack whistled again, and this time the boy took notice.

  First, Early searched the woods with narrowed eyes. When Jack whistled again, he looked over his shoulder at the house, then went by the chopping stump to get the ax before he approached the tree line.

  Jack waited until Early had crept nearer, then whistled again.

  Early spun, wide-eyed.

  Concerned at how handy the boy had proved himself with that ax, Jack stepped out from behind an oak to show himself before Early got close enough to do too much damage.

  Early's eyes widened with recognition; then he grinned. “Mr. Harwood!”

  Jack put a finger to his own lips, and Early nodded quickly. “I'm glad it's just you,” he whispered, stepping into the woods himself. “I was afeared it might be Indians!”

  There hadn't been Indians in this part of Texas since before the boy was born. Jack decided not to point that out. “I want you to do something,” he admitted, “and I'll pay you.”

  “Really? What?” Boys this eager ought to be outlawed for their own safety.

  But as long as they were legal . . . “I've got a message for Miss Garrison.”

  “My teacher?” At least Early had sense enough to frown. “What kind of message?”

  “It's not from me; it's from her mother.” Jack thought quickly. "I was in Grapevine yesterday when a telegram arrived, and I offered to carry it. But I don't want to hurt the lady's reputation by delivering it myself. Will you do it?"

  “To the teacherage? Be glad to!”

  “Don't go telling anyone,” Jack warned. “They might misconstrue it.” Early looked at him blankly, so he translated. “They might not understand.”

  Early nodded. “Yes, sir. I wouldn't want to hurt Miss Garrison or Miss Melissa.”

  So Jack handed over the telegram. Early pocketed it without looking. He didn't even accept the two bits Jack offered him for delivery.

  “But I gotta wash up afore I go,” he said—and danged if the boy didn't blush. “I don't want to visit with ladies all smelly like this.”

  For a moment, Jack wondered if Early were sweet on Audra, too. He told himself it was no concern to him. Audra could hold her own against good boys like Early Rogers. It was the more cunning types like Jack who slipped past her defenses.

  Early seemed to be waiting, so Jack said, “You
do that. And, Rogers!” Early, who'd started to turn, spun back at the compliment of being called by his surname. “Much obliged,” said Jack.

  Early kicked the ground. “ 'Tain't nothin'.”

  “The way folks feel about Hamilton and myself lately, I think it is. You're a good man.”

  Early's proud flush as they shook hands didn't negate Jack's commendation, neither.

  And that, thought Jack, was that. Likely he wouldn't see Audra until she came by the store again—

  not that she should—to deliver the clothing she'd collected or to give Lucy any letters of reference she meant to pass on. And then ... would he have any more excuses for seeing her at all ?

  Was that necessarily a bad thing?

  A bad thing for him, he thought, more than her.

  With no place else to go, Jack returned to the mercantile. Only after lunch—a meal that had improved considerably since Ferris had brought Lucy home—did Jack head out back toward the outhouse and hear someone whistle at him.

  His head came up immediately. Indians? he thought, and grinned.

  Then he ducked the acorn that flew in his direction, and crossed the yard the rest of the way to the outhouse, which Really was the only place folks could be hiding. He also whistled back.

  What surprised him was who stepped out from behind the “necessary.” Instead of Early Rogers, it was young Melissa Smith, and she looked nearly as pale as her bleached hair.

  Jack quickened his step. "What in tarnation are you doing here? This isn't anyplace for a respectable girl, and you know it."

  Only then did he fully see how she looked at him with those big brown eyes. She looked downright fearful—and not of anything immediate, like him. Audra?

  “What's wrong?” demanded Jack, his entire world going still.

  “She's in trouble,” said Melissa, and looked toward the outhouse.

  That was when Early stepped out from behind it, dragging a struggling Claudine Reynolds by the arm. “She's in real big trouble, Mr. Harwood,” he said earnestly.

  Damn.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  In emergencies, teachers should not hesitate to ask for assistance from the school board.

  —Rules for Teachers

  Jack had never risked more on a horse race than he now bet on his race back to Grapevine.

  Audra had been manipulated right into a trap—a trap set by that scheming Claudine Reynolds and, worse, Jerome Newton. According to Early, Jerome had “gone sweet” on their teacher sometime before, but Audra hadn't noticed. Nor had Claudine, or she would never have agreed to Jerome's plan to ruin Audra's reputation by luring her out after dark. What Claudine hadn't figured was that Audra would stay out after dark with Jerome— after which Jerome foolishly hoped that, to save her reputation, Audra would marry him.

  Marry him? One of her own pupils?

  It would be a shotgun wedding of sorts, but to the benefit of the man, using reputation as a weapon instead of a shotgun. Jack would kill Newton before he'd let it come to that. Under no circumstances would that little bastard be rewarded for his trickery ... or touch Audra.

  Queen maintained a strong lope for several miles, hooves drumming along the dirt road in accompaniment to Jack's racing heart, but he could hear her losing her wind. Reluctantly he reined her back to a trot, then a walk. Not that he wouldn't ruin a horse for Audra's sake, even this one.

  But Queen might be of more use to the schoolmarm intact.

  Jack had no intention of letting anyone subject Audra to another scandal.

  Claudine hadn't been the only one of the three youths to look guilty. Early confessed to telling Jerome about a lady he'd heard of, a respectable lady who lost her good reputation after a beau cruelly kept her out past sunset. Then Melissa confessed to having shared with Early the same story—“though I didn't tel him who it was about. Really!”

  “Who was it about?” asked Early, and Melissa said, “None of your business.”

  But from the big-eyed way she looked at Jack, he knew.

  So that was Audra's big secret. He ought to have known it would prove to be less than nothing to him. His instincts had insisted all along that Audra Garrison was pure as the driven snow. That anybody could ever have questioned it, especially him, infuriated him.

  Mixed with the fury, though, was fear.

  What if Jerome, older and bigger, took advantage? Away from the community that knew her and would protect her, could Audra fight him off? What if, Lord forbid, he got her onto a train?

  “Dang her,” he muttered to himself, sickened by the possibilities. What had she been thinking, going off on her own like that, against all rules? Didn't she know that some of those rules—

  schoolmarms not leaving town without permission, not accepting rides with men who weren't relations, not keeping company with folks of questionable character—were to protect her?

  But no. Some damned gambler had to go and talk her into questioning every one of those rules, masking rebel ion as thinking for herself—and look at what happened.

  Queen having caught her breath, Jack spurred her into a trot and then, after she'd warmed to that, another canter. He had to reach Audra before Jerome did.

  If he didn't, and she suffered for it, he would never forgive himself.

  Buck and Boy made slow time, and Audra had difficulty not urging them to a faster gait than the old team could manage. At least she seemed to have harnessed them correctly, and she knew the route north to Grapevine, out of the cross-timbers and onto the grapevine prairie. At least she had a chance to somehow put to rights the scandal that had shaken her own world by ensuring it didn't happen to another young girl.

  But, oh she felt frightened. What if she did not get there in time? Even if Jerome Really did marry her, Claudine faced a life dependent upon a man whom she wanted more for his handsome face and charming words than his true character. Where lay the future in that?

  Leather-gloved fingers tight around the reins, Audra winced at the personal overtones to her thoughts, but made herself face them. As pleasant as she'd found her Christmastime dreams about Jack, they'd been just that—dreams. She did admire him. Desperately. She admired his honesty, his humor, his tenderness, and his courage. She admired his brilliance with numbers and his ability to put others at ease. She doubted she would ever meet another man who could make her heart race with just a smile, make her whole body tingle—even in deep-down, secret places—with just a look.

  She couldn't imagine being held or kissed by anyone else, ever.

  But they had no real future together, nonetheless.

  Any attempted future would mean either ruin on her part or uncharacteristic restraint on his. She could not bear to put her family through the shame of the former, not even for Jack. And she doubted she could, in the end, bear to put either Jack or herself through the incremental deterioration of the latter.

  If they actual y married—hard enough to imagine—she married a man who gambled and drank. If he continued—and why wouldn't he?—she risked becoming one of those women with too many

  children, not enough money, and a husband always out at the saloon. And yet she had no right to cage Jack toward her own ends. He was a gambler. She even loved that he was a gambler. Were he not, he would never have taken so many risks in his pursuit of her. And she'd benefited from those risks as much as—perhaps more than—he had.

  But it made him poor husband material—if better than Claudine's Jerome Newton.

  The wind across the prairie felt colder than in the timbers, and she pulled up her hood. Would she never reach Grapevine? She could tel by the slant of the sun that night would arrive before she and Claudine made it home.

  The surrey began to pass farms and houses again. finally, Main Street—with its telephone poles and brick buildings and yellow depot—rose into view. Audra drew the team up beside a hitching rail, far enough from the track to keep them from spooking if a train came by. When she hopped to the ground, her legs felt weak from sitting so l
ong. Still, there was nothing to do but walk it off. As soon as she hitched the team, she strode back toward the depot.

  A familiar figure, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, stepped out of the building, almost as if he'd been watching for her. She'd made it in time! Jerome had not yet taken Claudine to Louisiana.

  Audra still had a chance to talk them out of such foolishness!

  Instinct itched at her before logic chanced to grasp anything amiss. Jerome must know that she meant to take Claudine home ... so why his smile? And where was Claudine?

  Audra slowed her step, wary now. Something felt very wrong. In fact, the way Jerome continued to stare at her reminded her too clearly of Peter Connors, the day he'd taken her riding.

  Unwilling to distrust her instincts ever again, even for the sake of helping Claudine, Audra stopped completely. Jerome closed the distance between them with a long-legged stride. “Miss Garrison!”

  he greeted. “I knew you'd come. Claudine wasn't sure, but I knew it.”

  Audra said, “Where is Claudine, Jerome? I wish to see her.”

  “I'm afraid you can't,” he admitted, ducking his head in the way she recognized from class as his attempt to appear repentant when, in fact, he was proud of whatever trouble he'd caused. It would seem more charming were he not so tal that she could see his face anyway.

  What had happened to Claudine? “Why not?”

  Jerome slanted his mischievous eyes toward her and confessed, “She's not here.”

  Not there? Audra tried to grasp his announcement and, for an embarrassingly long moment, could not. She'd known al morning and into the afternoon that Claudine had gone with him. She'd left a note. Why would Jerome be here, eight miles from home, without Claudine? He would not have sent her ahead, would he? Not a fourteen-year-old girl, alone!

  Then, finally, Jerome's smile made sense. Claudine had never been here—just Jerome.

  He meant to ruin her.

  “Not here,” she repeated weakly. From the slanting afternoon sun, he'd likely succeeded.

  “No,” agreed Jerome cheerfully. "But we are. Let me take you to lunch, Audra. We've never talked