Untethered

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “She’s right,” Vilma agreed with a nod. “Marie’s right. Everybody knows Widow Rutherford would never do anything the likes of this, Cricket. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to put doubt in your mind. I was just thinkin’ out loud and—”

  “Well, stop thinkin’ at all, Vilma,” Ann scolded. “If you please,” she added as a softener. Turning to Cricket, she encouraged, “Remember…we can do anything we set our minds to do, Cricket. Don’t you always tell us that?”

  Cricket exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Yes…I do.” Sighing once more, she straightened her mask and mumbled, “I surely do…dang my own self.”

  “Shhh!” Marie whispered. “I think I hear someone comin’.”

  Cricket held her breath and listened. Yes—the rhythm of a horse walking at a slow pace.

  “I think it’s him!” Ann breathed.

  Cricket was simultaneously elated with anticipation and scared to death! Heathro Thibodaux would probably strangle her right then and there—drown her in the watering trough—pull his pistol and belly-shoot her. Yet her next thought was, But what if he doesn’t? What if he accepted her kiss and let her be on her way? The not knowing was invigorating to an intensity Cricket had never before experienced.

  Carefully peeking around the old oak tree behind where the girls had hidden themselves to wait, Marie breathed, “I think it’s him. Right there. Isn’t that his horse comin’ this way?” Marie looked to Cricket.

  Anxiously, Cricket peered out from behind the tree into the darkness. Nodding, she whispered, “I told you all. He’s as regular as a mornin’ rooster.”

  “Get down, girls,” Ann instructed.

  Each girl dropped to her belly in the grass beneath the oak—everyone but Cricket.

  “Now don’t lose your gumption, Cricket,” Vilma quietly urged. “Just take a deep breath and do what you’ve come here to do…which is to show Marie King how it’s done, right? That’s all.”

  “I’m already losin’ my gumption, Vilma,” Cricket rather growled as she watched Heathro Thibodaux dismount, allowing his horse to water at the trough. “This is not an easy thing to do,” she whispered to herself.

  “Go now, Cricket!” Marie prodded. “Now! Before he leaves!”

  Cricket inhaled a deep breath, attempting to muster as much courage as her fighting spirit could. She watched Heathro a moment longer, goose bumps breaking over her arms and legs, and she thought of what a dream-borne pleasure would surely come from feeling his lips pressed to hers.

  “I figure…if I hop up onto that old trough, my face oughta be about just level with his…and that’s when I’ll do it. I’ll just jump up on the old trough, and…and then I’ll do it.” She looked to Vilma, Marie, and Ann for reassurance. “Right?”

  “Right,” they all whispered with synchronized nods of encouragement.

  Cricket’s brow puckered, and she bit her lip. Fear was quickly taking over, but she knew Marie must confess her feelings for Hudson that very night—and if Cricket’s courage spurred Marie’s, then she must do what she’d promised to do.

  As she took her first quick steps away from the protection of the oak and the security of friendships, Cricket thought perhaps her heart leapt up into her ears and was doing battle with her eardrums. It was pounding like a locomotive, and she was certain it was just as loud. She thought she might actually faint for a moment with anxiety. But with each step toward Heathro Thibodaux, she continued to breathe—continued to remain conscious.

  “Heathro Thibodaux?” Cricket called as she neared him. She didn’t want to startle him into shooting her before she’d even had the chance to try to kiss him. But her heart nearly stopped when the handsome Texas Ranger looked up, catching sight of her. He was so handsome!

  She paused for only a moment and then continued toward him.

  “Yeah?” he asked as she reached his position and carefully stepped up onto the old watering trough. She balanced by straddling the trough and placing one foot on either ledge of it.

  Her courage instantly began to wane as the beautiful man looked her up and down from head to toe and back, grinning with obvious amusement. “What’s all this?” he asked.

  Oh, his voice was like some beguiling, mystic spell! Low and clear like the wind through a canyon—warm and enthralling like the feel of the fingers of the same wind through Cricket’s hair the time she’d ridden Ann’s black thoroughbred, Harley.

  “I…I’ve come to welcome you to Pike’s Creek, Mr. Thibodaux,” Cricket stammered. “O-officially, that is.”

  Heathro Thibodaux smiled as he again studied Cricket from head to toe. “Have ya now?” he chuckled.

  “Yes, sir,” Cricket confirmed. “I figure that no one has ever properly welcomed you…a-and that someone should have…so I’m here to do just that.”

  Though the only illumination afforded in the darkness was provided by the moon and starlight, it glinted on the gold of his upper-right incisor a moment as he smiled, dazzling Cricket and causing butterflies to hatch in her stomach.

  “Is that so?” he asked, still smiling. “And just how do you mean to welcome me to Pike’s Creek, sweetie? You gonna rob me or somethin’?”

  “No, sir. Not at all,” she assured him, still fascinated by how alluringly handsome he was. “You’ve been chosen to receive reassurance, Mr. Thibodaux…friendship and warmth of community.”

  “Oh, is that right?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Cricket assured him, summoning every shred of bravery she never thought she could wrangle.

  “And what is this gift?” the once Texas Ranger inquired.

  Swallowing the lump of apprehension that had gathered in her throat, Cricket answered, “Why, a-a kiss, Mr. Thibodaux.”

  Quickly reaching out and taking hold of the front of the black vest the man wore, Cricket pulled him to her before her courage evaporated altogether—and holding her breath, she pressed a warm and rather lingering kiss to his lips.

  The kiss lasted only a short time—mere moments. Yet Cricket knew that should she live to be three hundred and thirty-seven years old, her heart would never soar to the heavens on wings of pure rapture the way it had the moment she’d felt the touch of Heathro Thibodaux’s lips to hers!

  His lips were softer than she’d imagined they would be—smooth and titillatingly balmy. She fancied, during those mere moments that she kissed him, that he did not in any way deny her kiss. Certainly he did not recognizably return it, but at least he didn’t push her away at once. At least he didn’t draw his gun and shoot her in the guts.

  As Cricket ended the kiss she’d given Mr. Thibodaux, she found she was breathless—rather unsteady on her feet.

  Using her grip on his vest to steady herself where she stood on the trough, she managed to somehow whisper, “Welcome to Pike’s Creek, Mr. Thibodaux.”

  Cricket didn’t expect anything in return for her having offered a brave kiss to the Texas Ranger. Maybe a nod—a quiet, “Thank you.” But what she did not expect, however—what she never imagined would happen—was the manner in which the man so quickly turned on her.

  A quick gasp escaped her as, instead of offering his thanks for her welcome, Mr. Thibodaux promptly caught Cricket’s wrists in his hands. He was all the more intimidating as he leaned closer to her, glaring at her as he spoke.

  “You girls need to be a little more careful about what you’re playin’ at, sweet pea,” he said almost threateningly. “You all run around town in the dark wearin’ nothin’ but your bloomers and gettin’ into all sorts of mischief. Well, I’m afraid that one day mischief is gonna sneak up behind you and bite your sweet little fanny, darlin’.”

  As intimidated and near frightened as she was by Mr. Thibodaux’s unexpected reaction to her neighborly offering of support, Cricket’s temper was even more piqued.

  “First of all, how do you know what we’re up to or when we’ve been about it?” she asked. “And second, we only do kind things for people…to remind them that they’re cared for and impor
tant. We don’t do anything malicious or unkind.”

  “Well, first of all, missy…just because I don’t ranger no more don’t mean I’m not still wary and keepin’ my eyes on the things around me. And I understand that your intentions are good—I really do.” Cricket fancied his grip on her wrists only tightened as she struggled a little to try and free herself. “But you girls ain’t seen what I’ve seen in this world,” he continued. “It ain’t every man that would allow one of you all to hop up on a waterin’ trough and kiss him the way you just did me…and then let it go at just that.”

  Cricket rolled her eyes, sighed with exasperation, and blushed with humiliation. It was obvious Heathro Thibodaux didn’t share the same vision of community and brotherly love that she and her friends did. It was obvious his previous career and experience had hardened him and harnessed him with a suspicious nature—and her temper softened a little, causing a smidgen of her exasperation to flee her being.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Mr. Thibodaux,” Cricket rather scolded. “This is Pike’s Creek you’re livin’ in now. What in the world could ever happen here? There’s not a man in this town that would…that would take advantage of our kindheartedness.”

  “You’re sure about that, are ya?” he asked as the frown on his handsome brow deepened.

  “Of course,” she assured him.

  “There’s not one man in this town that you don’t trust?” he asked again.

  “Not one,” Cricket answered with full confidence.

  “Are you willin’ to bet your life on that?”

  Cricket frowned again as Mr. Thibodaux’s grip tightened at her wrists—as his eyes narrowed and his gaze fell to her mouth.

  “M-my life?” she stammered, suddenly overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions—mingled fear and exhilaration. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I asked you if you’re willin’ to bet your life on the fact that there ain’t one man in Pike’s Creek who would take advantage of your kindheartedness, girl,” he growled.

  “W-well, yes. I mean no…not my life. I-I mean…yes, I guess,” Cricket stammered. “I don’t think any man here would—”

  “That’s just it,” he interrupted. “You girls don’t think. You run around town, doin’ kind things for folks…but you never stop to think whether or not all folks are gonna be kind to you in return. So now it’s up to me to teach you a lesson.”

  Somehow, and quick as a rabbit too, Heathro Thibodaux pushed Cricket’s arms around to her back, anchoring her wrists tightly in one strong hand, as his other hand roughly took hold of her chin.

  “Say hello to the one man in Pike’s Creek that you better not ever bet your life on, little blossom bottom,” he mumbled a moment before his mouth ground to hers.

  Cricket winced, a quiet squeal of distress sounding in her throat as Mr. Thibodaux pulled her against him, slipped his hand to the back of her head, and physically commanded her to submit to the hot, wet kiss he was forcing to her mouth—to her mouth, not just to her tender and quickly bruising lips.

  Yet Cricket was grateful for her quick wit and instincts, as well as her gift of sympathy, for they whispered to her not to fight him—that the more she fought the Texas Ranger and his ravaging kiss, the more he would endeavor to dominate her in proving his point. And so she quit struggling, quit trying to pull her face away from his. And when she did quit struggling, she immediately sensed not only his frustration but also the softening of his assault on her. In fact, in the very last moments that his open mouth endeavored to more gently mingle with hers, Cricket felt a wild quiver of pleasure race over her spine.

  His dominating kiss ended, and he released his hold on her as he growled, “Still willin’ to bet your life on me, girl?” he growled. Wagging a scolding index finger at her, he warned, “You girls settle this mischief down before you find yourselves in real trouble one day.”

  But Cricket, left utterly confused and torn between lingering delight and dazed distress, felt abruptly weak-kneed and began to teeter where she stood straddling the water in the trough.

  “Now get down from there before you fall and hurt yourself,” Mr. Thibodaux said, reaching over to take hold of his horse’s reins. “And you girls quit this runnin’ all over like a bunch of—”

  Cricket teetered to her left—tried to regain her balance by leaning back. She was unsuccessful, however, and felt her knees buckle and her body begin to fall—even for the fact that Heathro Thibodaux hollered, “Hold on!” as he reached out and tried to grab hold of her. But he wasn’t quick enough, and Cricket gasped as she tumbled backward into the water of the trough.

  The splash of her landing was enormous and startled Ranger Thibodaux’s horse. The horse reared, and Heathro soothed, “Whoa there, Archie…whoa.” Immediately he reached into the trough, taking hold of Cricket’s arms and hauling her out.

  “Are you all right, girl?” he asked. He seemed genuinely concerned, but Cricket didn’t want his concern. She was too humiliated—too disappointed by the outcome of her “welcoming him to town.”

  “I’m fine,” she tersely answered, tears filling her eyes. “Just fine.” Scowling at him as she wrung water out of her petticoats, she said, “Welcome to Pike’s Creek, Mr. Thibodaux. I hope it suits you.”

  Then, crossly flicking water at him, she turned and marched back toward the oak tree where she knew kindhearted friends would be waiting for her.

  “Cricket!” Ann exclaimed as Cricket reached the tree and began wringing more water from her petticoats. “Are you all right? We couldn’t hear a thing the two of you were sayin’ to one another.” She bit her lip as she studied Cricket for a moment, adding, “But we heard the splash well enough. Did you slip or somethin’?”

  They hadn’t heard the conversation? Cricket thought. Not one word of the exchange between her and Heathro?

  “You couldn’t hear us?” she asked, unbelieving.

  “Nope,” Marie confirmed with obvious disappointment. She grinned then, however—her foxish, sly grin—and said, “But that was sure some welcomin’ kiss you gave him. I thought we were gonna be waitin’ here all night before it ended.”

  Cricket glanced back over her shoulder toward the watering trough. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach with miserable disappointment when she saw that Heathro Thibodaux had already mounted his horse in preparation to leave. She heard him growl, “Yaw!” and watched the horse break into an immediate gallop.

  “So?” Vilma prodded. “What did he say? Was he mad or glad? For Pete’s sake, Cricket, you’ve got to tell us everything! We couldn’t hear a whisper!”

  Full realization washed over Cricket then. They hadn’t heard the scolding Heathro Thibodaux had given her—hadn’t clearly seen the kiss. From where the girls stood behind the old oak, it must’ve looked like Cricket simply kissed Heathro, that he’d accepted it, and therefore that the kiss had extended far beyond anyone’s expectation.

  She looked to Marie and saw the hope shining in her foxish eyes—the hope that if a near total stranger had accepted a kiss from Cricket, then surely Hudson Oliver would not spurn hers. And she knew what she must say.

  “He thanked me for welcomin’ him,” Cricket lied.

  “He did?” Marie exclaimed. The hope was welling so thick in Marie that Cricket could almost smell it.

  “H-he did,” Cricket continued. “He said that he was grateful for the welcome, and…and once I started kissing him…he kissed me back.”

  Ann’s blue eyes widened with wild enthusiasm. “Was it…was it simply wonderful, Cricket? Kissing him? Did it make you feel…well…wonderful?”

  Cricket forced a smile as she stripped the wet mask from her head. “Well, if you want me to be entirely honest…”

  “Oh, definitely!” Vilma assured her, smiling with impatient anticipation.

  Cricket’s smile broadened as it became more natural and not so feigned. “Then I’ll say it this way. I have never in all my life experienced anything the likes of what just happened betwee
n me and Mr. Heathro Thibodaux!” It was the truth after all. She had answered Ann’s question with complete honesty. Good or bad, blissful or frightening, Cricket’s moments of kissing Heathro Thibodaux truly had been like nothing she’d ever known.

  Cricket’s three friends squealed with delight, giggled, and threw their arms around her in warm embrace.

  “How marvelous, Cricket,” Ann giggled. “You did it! You kissed him! No matter what happens now…you’ll always know what it feels like to kiss Mr. Thibodaux.”

  “Yep,” Cricket said as more tears filled her eyes. She felt unhappy, confused, spurned. And yet at the same time, a strange thrill would well up in her each time she relived the moments with Heathro in her thoughts.

  “But why did you fall?” Vilma asked. “It’s not like you to be so clumsy.”

  Leave it to Vilma to point out the worst part of the event.

  “Don’t you know anything about kissin’, Vilma Stanley?” Ann asked. She rolled her pretty blue eyes and explained, “When a man kisses you the right way, it makes you dizzy and turns your knees to raspberry jam.” Ann looked to Cricket. “Isn’t that right, Cricket?”

  “Yes…that’s exactly what happened,” Cricket fibbed, smiling and nodding with rigid affirmation. “I-I was so overwhelmed by the bliss of it all…that my knees wouldn’t hold me up any longer. Mr. Thibodaux did try to catch me, but I was already too far gone.”

  The girls all giggled and sighed, and Cricket was relieved that they believed her. And after all, it was mostly the truth.

  But the evening wasn’t about Cricket; it was about Mrs. Maloney, Mr. Keel, and Mr. Thibodaux—and it was about Marie and Hudson Oliver. Cricket knew the faster she turned her attention to ensuring that Marie captured Hudson for her own, the more quickly her own poor experience with the ex-Texas Ranger would begin to fade.

  “All right then,” she sighed. Turning to Marie, Cricket began to unfasten her black corset. “I’m as wet as a rat in a barrel of whiskey. You’re changing clothes before you meet up with Hudson anyway…so might I please strip off these soakin’ things and borrow yours?”