Feeling around him at about waist level, he searched for a chair. If he was going to be interrogated, he’d prefer a bit more space, considering she kept brushing up against him. Which wasn’t exactly annoying, but it certainly bothered him—in an entirely different way.
The thought that flickered up was not a thought to entertain with a woman alone. If there wasn’t a tornado outside, he’d have fled—per biblical instruction.
He bumped back against the shelves again, his hair brushing dirt and possibly bugs off onto his shoulders. A much safer shiver coursed through him at that thought.
Wedding. Thinking of Charlie’s upcoming marriage would help keep his imagination in check. “I heard about your wedding.”
“From who?” Her voice rasped.
With Charlie’s breath mingling with his own, he needed the space a chair would give him. There had to be something to sit on in the cellar. His leg hit against a crate. He flipped it over. It didn’t exactly feel sturdy, but if he didn’t sit directly in the middle . . . “Reverend McCabe told me.”
“Well then, I take back what I said earlier. I suppose I only find the man’s sermons inspiring.”
“I don’t think he told anyone but me. I think he thought . . .” Well, if he’d found the reverend telling him about her upcoming wedding odd, surely Charlie would too. And really, why had the reverend thought he should know?
“Why would you care to talk to me about my wedding? You’ve hardly said a word to me in the past seven years, come April.”
He widened his eyes despite the action doing nothing to help him see. That statement was awfully specific, though true. That’s when she’d outshot him at the Sunday school party. But after he’d released his need for vengeance, he’d talked to her . . . when necessary. He didn’t go out of his way to shun her or anything.
The door’s rattling intensified, and something crashed outside.
To get back to the doorway, he felt for the wall but only swiped at air. What good was he if he couldn’t even find the wall? “Did you latch the door?”
“There is no latch. Why would I need to lock myself into the root cellar?”
“Maybe I ought to brace the door, then.” He finally grasped a shelf.
“Don’t. If the door gets sucked off, you’d go right with it.”
He pursed his lips. “But without a door, wouldn’t we be sucked up anyway? It’s not as if the cellar goes more than a few yards back from the door.”
“Then we can slide in down here.” Her dark form moved and disappeared.
Somewhere near his right knee Charlie grunted as if picking up something heavy.
“What’re you doing?” Why did it have to be so dark in here?
A short black shadow—maybe a barrel—appeared in front of his feet.
“I dug a hole in the side a few years ago for extra storage space.” Something clattered. “We can duck inside once I clear out a spot.”
He stood with his open, empty hands, feeling like a pitiful excuse for a man. Charlie couldn’t think much of him right now, seeing how he was as worthless to her as the barrel in front of him. He leaned over to scoot it out of the way, hopefully making room for whatever else she pulled out.
“There. I think we can fit.”
He got on his knees near where he’d heard her voice and tried to make out how big the dark space to his right was. Surely he wasn’t seeing the entire opening. But when he reached out to the edges, his arms couldn’t have been spread apart more than three feet. “Why don’t you go in? I’ll stay out here to keep from crowding you.”
“Nonsense.” The warmth of her disappeared into the hole, then her hands grabbed his and tugged.
He hit his head on the top of the hole and groaned.
“Sorry.”
He pulled his hands from hers and placed them on the cold earthen soil. He turned around and shoved his way back into the space beside her, and the hole instantly warmed with the proximity of their bodies. The length of his leg ran along hers, and he couldn’t get his arm far enough away from her to not feel the softness of her jacket. Her breath caressed his face where she sat next to him, and her hair tickled his lips. He’d never been this close to a woman since he’d been young enough to sit in his mother’s lap.
Pushing away only caused dirt from the wall to tumble into his collar. He tried to pull his one leg atop the other but couldn’t maintain the position, and his leg flopped back down on hers. He’d have to leave it there.
And he’d thought her hair on his face had been bad.
Surely no one would fault him for practically being in her lap to hide from a tornado. Though he wasn’t exactly certain August Whitaker was nicer than his bullying brother, and Royal definitely would beat the tar out of him for being this close to Charlie if she’d been his fiancée, tornado or no.
Especially since he was now keenly aware of how soft her hair was and how good she smelled.
“So why do you care about who I’m marrying?”
He jolted up, knocking his head into the dirt above him again. Her mouth had practically been against his ear. He tilted his head away. “I don’t so much care about who you marry, but the reverend said it sounded like a marriage of convenience. I can’t think you’d be happy in one of those.”
“Why not? I’m not emotional like other girls.”
“Precisely.”
“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t an emotionless girl be perfect for such an arrangement?”
“If a man couldn’t affect the emotions you do possess—and you do have them—there’d be as much delight in such a union as there is in your relationship with the feed store owner.”
“What relationship?”
“Exactly.”
She wriggled beside him. “Why do you get to give me advice? You aren’t married. Haven’t even known you to spark with a girl, unless you did while you were gone.”
He rubbed a hand down his face. Why exactly had the reverend’s worry for Charlie caused him to come out here? He should’ve known he’d only ruffle her feathers and make her more determined to continue on the path she’d chosen.
“It’s all right, Harrison. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Can August Whitaker handle a gun better than you?”
“I don’t know why that would matter, but probably not.”
“What about ranching? Does he know more about that than you? How’s he going to feel married to a woman who has no feelings for him and makes it her business to be better than him at everything?”
“I don’t mind a man besting me—it’s just sometimes they can’t. Why can’t men just be impressed?” She poked him, but thankfully her jab hadn’t much effect since she had no leverage sitting so close. “You can befriend a man who can ride and shoot better than you, right? So why can’t a man befriend me even if I’m better at certain things than he is? Why can’t you just be happy I shoot well rather than pout about it?”
Why indeed?
And yet, he could shoot better than her. Or at least he was pretty certain he could since he’d never gone through with challenging her to a contest. But he couldn’t tell her now. That would only prove her point—that he couldn’t simply be impressed. He huffed.
If she knew how many years he’d practiced so he didn’t have to appreciate her superior skill . . .
Blast it. She was right.
He wriggled away. They were sitting far too close for her to gloat without him wanting to keep her quiet. And right now, the way he was touching too much of her and his lungs couldn’t find air on account of how wonderful she smelled, he might just be muddleheaded enough to stop her lips with his own.
Charlie tried to hold still in the little hole she shared with Harrison, but he was so close, she was touching more of him than she ought. How many years had she daydreamed about him coming to her out of the blue, declaring his undying love, and telling her his years of aloofness had been for good reason�
�like a magic enchantress had bewitched him, so if he fell in love, he’d turn into a toad.
Or maybe he’d tell her something simple like his thick lenses had kept him from noticing how pretty her green eyes were, but once he noticed, he fell for her like a rock.
Of course, now that he was close enough to notice the color of her eyes, they were stuffed in a dark hole where she couldn’t even see his. And right now, without his thick lenses, his eyes wouldn’t appear disproportionately tiny—though any normal-sighted person could see he was handsome regardless.
Who said Charlotte Andrews couldn’t be as girly as they come? All one had to do was take a look inside her head and catalog her daydreams about a man who never talked to her anymore.
A silly girl, indeed.
“What did you just huff for?”
Goodness, she better rein herself in before she started thinking aloud.
He fidgeted in a futile effort to move away from her. “I’m sorry I don’t smell as good as you, but I didn’t know I’d be squished into such tiny quarters with anybody, and since I rode my horse all the way out here—”
“Well, so did I.”
“Fine, then, you’re better at smelling pretty too.”
Why was he so put out for not smelling like a woman? “I just meant, I’m sure I smell like horse as well—nothing I haven’t smelled before.” She squinted to see more of his face but ended up bumping his nose and jerked away.
Oh goodness. If she’d already had trouble reining in her thoughts, being squished in here with him, what would her mind do with the fact that her lips had been but a breath away from his . . .
She closed her eyes tight and tried not to daydream. Even if Harrison suddenly decided to declare his love, he couldn’t save her house. She couldn’t lose the home her father built, where Momma had raised her girls and had loved Daddy so fiercely it seemed even death could not rip them apart. Though a year had passed since his heart had stopped, Momma still talked to him as she went about her daily routine.
If finances forced them to leave, Charlie feared her mother’s grip on sanity would loosen. So to save her mother, she would do whatever it took to stay—within reason anyway. Marrying August was the most sensible thing she’d come up with . . . or at least it was practical.
“What are you eating?”
“Eating?” She looked at her hand, or the shadow of it, which she’d pulled away from her mouth to talk. “Nothing.” She’d never have nice nails unless she learned to relax. Hopefully that would happen after she went through with the wedding that guaranteed she’d not lose the house.
The rain grew persistent, or maybe more hail, but at least the door wasn’t flopping about.
Please, Lord, let the house not be a pile of rubble when we crawl out of here.
She hadn’t heard anything to indicate it had been destroyed, but a twister flattening their home would likely hurt her mother even worse than losing it to Royal’s shenanigans.
Something big crashed outside, and yet the wind didn’t sound more malicious than any other storms she’d endured. Surely the wall cloud had passed and everything would be all right. In a minute or two, it’d be safe enough to take Harrison back to the barn.
For a bit longer, she’d endure being improperly close to a man she had fonder thoughts of than her intended. Even though Harrison had ignored her the last several years, she couldn’t shake her one-sided attraction. But she’d have to figure out how to do so now. If Harrison hadn’t tried to hold her hand once in twenty years, he definitely wouldn’t be getting down on one knee in time to save her house—not that he could.
“I suppose I should apologize for coming out here.”
“No, don’t.” She sighed and pressed farther away from him and the scent of his cologne mixed with horse and whatever else smelled good on him. At least now she knew he still cared a little bit about her.
Yet she couldn’t let that knowledge turn into any more daydreams. Harrison couldn’t fix any of her problems, while August could remedy them all.
Chapter Three
The rain pattering grew faint, so Charlie inched out of the cramped hole where she’d been hip to hip with Harrison. “I’ll go check if the storm’s passed.”
Harrison’s hand pulled her shoulder back. “Sit tight. This might just be a lull.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “It’s all right. I’ll still check.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
Did he growl?
She huffed, maybe even growled a little herself. “Why can’t men let a lady do anything? You do realize you’ve no glasses?”
“Sorry, I forgot. It’s pitch-black in here.”
“Right.” She crawled out only to hear the rain coming down in sheets again. The floor inside the doorway was nothing but mud. She sighed and turned back for the hole but stuck her feet in first so she wouldn’t be as close to Harrison this time. Before the rain had lessened, she’d imagined how it’d feel to relax against him even after telling herself not to think about it.
“See. Just a calm in the storm.”
She couldn’t see his face, but he certainly sounded smug. “Oh, like you knew that for certain.” He talked as if they were continuing some long-standing argument, but beyond exchanging pleasantries, they’d hardly conversed together for almost seven years.
“Well, no. I wasn’t certain.”
“Then why’d you volunteer to check?” Her feet hit the back of the wall, so she bent her knees to get the rest of herself inside the hole. “Couldn’t you simply appreciate that I’d do a better job than you and let me?”
Harrison was quiet, so she tried to focus on the beat of the rain instead of his breathing.
“I didn’t actually think it through, Charlie. I was just raised not to let a woman risk her life for a man.”
He fidgeted and knocked the heel of his boot into her hip, and she winced.
“As a woman, wouldn’t you want a man to be willing to die for you? Or would you rather he appreciate your skill at killing yourself and just let you?”
“Whatever made you hate me so much?”
He stilled. “I don’t hate you. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Ever since I shot your rifle at that picnic, you only look at me out of the corner of your eye, as if sizing me up. You talk to me only when you have to. So if you want me to be like every other woman on the planet, maybe you should treat me like every other woman on the planet. At church, I’ve seen you shake hands with, smile at, and greet other women willingly. So why not me?”
“But that’s not because I hate you,” he said slowly.
Sure it wasn’t.
He rearranged himself again, bumping her feet. “Sorry.” He grabbed her ankles, and a jolt of awareness slithered up her skin.
She moved away and tucked her skirts around her legs so he’d not be able to touch them again.
One thing was certain—no matter how silly his grudge—she didn’t hate him. Or even dislike him much. Or at all.
That’s what a man’s annoying good looks could do to a woman. If she wasn’t careful, she’d drift back into her old daydreams about him. Wriggling away, she leaned against the wall. Even so, his foot still touched her hip.
Thunder boomed and bright lightning flashed through the door’s cracks, illuminating them as they both jumped.
“Just so you know, I am appreciative.” Harrison’s voice had lost its combativeness. “I mean, I admire your abilities so much that I . . . I mean, if a gang of thieves rolled into town and I had to pick a woman to be holed up with, I’d definitely want you over any other.”
Well, maybe getting stuck with him in the dark was worthwhile. Maybe he’d finally let loose of his grudge. “Shooting isn’t the only thing I’m good for, you know.”
Silence.
The rain died off again, though water flooded the cellar now, seeping into her skirt near her backside. She grabbed a small box to sit on. Hopefully it wouldn’t crumple beneath her. “I can
do plenty of practical things—even if they aren’t ‘womanly.’ Sure, no man has to come shoot the coon in my coop for me, but knowing how to skin my own game and roast meat over a campfire means I can cook. Maybe not fancy crumbly cookies, but I’ve heard most men prefer meat and potatoes anyway. I don’t need frilly things to make me happy, so there’s less stuff to dust. And if I can round up wayward calves, corral stupid sheep, and keep a barnful of animals clean, fed, and healthy—then I’m sure I can handle a houseful of children. If a man is so threatened by my ability to do his ‘jobs,’ then he’s not man enough for me. So since you asked, that’s why I’m marrying August. He’s the only one not so intimidated by my skills that he can’t see that my land’s worthwhile.”
“You mean, he finds you worthwhile, right? Not just your land.”
She grimaced. She should’ve kept her mouth shut.
“He does find you worthwhile, right?”
Why did he care? She swallowed and looked away. “Guess we’ll find out.”
She shoved herself out of the hole, so Harrison couldn’t ask her any more questions. “Rain’s stopped. I’m checking.”
After throwing open the door, she blinked against the gray light and stumbled up the stairs. Downed limbs full of green leaves were scattered all over her yard, torn shingles and buckets lay strewn about in fresh puddles, and the menacing gray cloud that had left her grass littered with hail crept farther east, leaving behind a clean-swept sky.
“You can come up now,” she hollered before fording the water-soaked lawn to drag her mother’s rocking chair back onto the porch. At least the storm hadn’t done any major damage. She hadn’t the money to rebuild or replace much, so hopefully all she’d have to do was clean up, maybe reshingle a section or two of the roof.
“Charlie?” Harrison stood blinking at the top of the cellar stairs. “I’ve prepared myself to be highly appreciative of your visual prowess right about now.”
Engaging the Competition Page 2