Untethered

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  ❦

  Ada paused, glancing sideways to where Heathro Thibodaux stood thumbing through a pile of work gloves in the general store. Ada was not the most courageous woman to ever be born. But when the ones she loved most were suffering, it then that an unfamiliar bravery often rose in her. And she felt it rising now.

  Yet Heath Thibodaux was intimidatingly handsome—even to a woman such as Ada Cranford who was so desperately in love with a man as handsome as Zeke. And so it took Ada several more moments before the unfamiliar bravery nesting in her bosom actually translated to her feet moving her toward Heath.

  “Pardon me…Mr. Thibodaux?” Ada began. She gasped a little when the man looked at her, the piercing blue of his eyes having the effect of being able to read her very soul.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he mumbled.

  “M-may I speak with you for just a moment?” Ada asked.

  “Why, certainly, Mrs. Cranford,” Heath agreed. “What can I do for you?”

  Ada paused a moment—for she had to play the part well. “It’s…it’s concernin’ my daughter, Magnolia.” Ada was encouraged when instantly the very of color of the man’s face softened at the mere mention of Cricket’s name.

  “Is she all right, ma’am?” he asked. The concern was not only blatantly obvious on his face but also evidently deep. “She went through so much. I-I worry that…that it mighta scared her more than folks think.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what I wanted to speak to you about, Mr. Thibodaux,” Ada ventured, feeling more confident. There was something she didn’t know—something Cricket hadn’t revealed about everything that had transpired during the girls’ victimization and Heath’s rescue of them.

  “What’s that, ma’am?” he asked—though she could see that his guard was up now.

  “She’s not sleepin’ well,” Ada answered—and truthfully. “I don’t think she rests more than an hour or so at one stretch.”

  Heath frowned and nodded. “I suppose none of the girls are,” he offered. “And it’s probably to be expected. Don’t you think?”

  He was asking Ada—truly, concernedly asking Ada whether she thought the girls being restless at night was a reasonable effect of what they’d been through. It was touching. There he stood—a tall, strong, handsome, virile man, looking as anxious as a puppy somehow.

  “Well, yes…I do,” Ada answered. Heathro Thibodaux seemed somewhat relieved. “But it’s not so much her restlessness at night as it is the fact that…that…”

  Heath’s frown deepened with concern. “The fact that what, ma’am?”

  Ada lowered her voice and responded, “The fact that she wakes up screamin’…screamin’ for you, Mr. Thibodaux.”

  He was undone! Ada could tell by the astonished expression on his face, the way the color drained from his cheeks, and the tiny beads of perspiration that instantly appeared on his forehead.

  “Well, I…I-I,” he stammered. “I suppose that’s because I-I was the one that found her, ma’am,” he barely managed. “You know…the person who ended up helpin’ her out in her time of need. Wouldn’t it be natural for her to call for help…for her to call me for help?”

  Ada tried not to smile, but something was sinking into her understanding at last—something concerning Cricket and this handsome Texas Ranger.

  “But you see, Mr. Thibodaux,” Ada whispered, “Magnolia…she isn’t callin’ for help when she cries out—not necessarily anyway. She’s just callin’ for you.”

  He was rattled—rattled beyond any point Ada had expected to see him rattled. Rather nervously he stroked the dark mustache and goatee, which, Ada had previously noticed, perfectly complemented the strong contours of his face.

  “Well, Mrs. Cranford,” Heath began, “I’m truly sorry. I don’t like hearin’ that. All this time I thought Magnolia…that bein’ back home safe and sound with you and Mr. Cranford…I thought that’s all she wanted.”

  “Did you now, Mr. Thibodaux?” Ada asked, knowingly arching one eyebrow.

  “I mean, I didn’t intend to end up in there with them outlaws hauntin’ her dreams every night,” Heath restated.

  Ada couldn’t withhold her smile any longer. “Mr. Thibodaux,” she began, “you and I both know that you were hauntin’ Cricket’s dreams long before those dirty outlaws took her, now don’t we?”

  “W-we do?” Heath stammered. The man truly looked stunned! Truly appeared to be ignorant of that fact Cricket was in love with him!

  “Of course we do,” Ada answered. “Now, why don’t you do somethin’ so that Cricket can start gettin’ a good night’s sleep again, hmmm?”

  With a triumphant smile, Ada turned and left Heathro Thibodaux standing in the general store looking like someone had just scooped his good sense out with a spoon.

  As she walked back to the house, Ada sighed. At last! At last she’d been able to figure it all out. Of course, she didn’t know exactly what had happened between Cricket and Mr. Thibodaux during the days they were in the hands of the outlaws—but she knew something had. She’d known it from the moment Cricket returned but just hadn’t quite figured what to do about it. Until she saw Heathro Thibodaux saunter into the general store twenty minutes ago.

  Ada hurried home, racing up the porch steps and into the house. “Zeke! Zeke?” she called. She giggled when he appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

  “What’s all this, darlin’?” Zeke asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine!” Ada breathed, pressing her body against her husband’s as she ran her fingers through his hair.

  Zeke chuckled and smiled at her—smiled the smile that told Ada she was about to be swept away on the blissful waves of passion. “Why…yes, you are, darlin’,” Zeke mumbled. “Yes, you are.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Girls,” Vilma began in her most determined, preacher’s daughter’s voice, “we have all agreed that we cannot let our fears allow us to miss the Cornfield Chase tonight.”

  Ann and Cricket glanced to one another, exchanging nods of encouragement.

  “Therefore, let us gather our reserves and get over to Marie’s daddy’s cornfield…and try not to look as unsettled as we feel,” Vilma added.

  Cricket moaned with anxiety, however.

  “Magnolia Cranford!” Vilma scolded. “You cannot let fear—”

  “It’s not that, Vilma,” Cricket interrupted.

  “Then for Pete’s sake, what is it then?”

  But Cricket didn’t want to hurt Vilma’s feelings. “It’s just that…well, I-I—”

  “Cricket doesn’t want to be caught by your brother, Vilma,” Marie blurted. “She’s not afraid of the Cornfield Chase because of…of what happened to us. She’s afraid of bein’ caught by Wyatt.”

  Cricket winced, preparing herself for the fire-and-brimstone reprimand she knew would be coming from Vilma at any moment.

  Wyatt Stanley had been nearly relentless in his pursuit of Cricket for the past couple of weeks since Heathro Thibodaux rescued the girls. He’d nearly driven her mad with wanting to court her, trying to hold her hand, or touching her in any manner possible. And now the annual Cornfield Chase was upon them, and Cricket couldn’t face the possibility of being caught by Wyatt. Certainly she’d dreamed of being caught by Heathro Thibodaux, but everyone in town knew Heathro Thibodaux was about as likely to involve himself in the Cornfield Chase as he was to wear a bridesmaid’s dress to Marie’s wedding!

  Cricket opened her eyes, relaxing her grimace when, instead of spewing out a lecture, Vilma began to laugh. Ann looked to Marie with an inquisitive expression, and Marie returned a similar expression to Ann.

  “What on earth is so funny, Vilma?” Marie asked.

  “Cricket’s been worried all week that she would offend you by tellin’ you that Wyatt is the last man on the face of the earth she would ever want to kiss!” Ann expounded.

  Vilma laughed awhile longer and then drew a deep breath and said, “Magnolia Cranford! Did you really think I wouldn�
��t understand?” she asked. “Why…my brother Wyatt is an idiot! I can’t truly believe any girl would actually want to kiss him—especially one that’s been kissed by Heathro Thibodaux the way we’ve seen him kiss you.” Vilma giggled, sighed, and shook her head. “In fact, I’ll help you avoid Wyatt myself. I happen to know he’s gonna be hidin’ in the west side of the Mr. King’s cornfield. You just stay to the right, and you’ll be fine.”

  Cricket smiled and sighed with relief. “You really aren’t mad at me, Vilma?”

  Vilma shook her head, rolled her eyes, and said, “Of course not.” Suddenly there were tears in Vilma’s eyes, and she unexpectedly reached out, taking Cricket’s hands in her own. “Cricket, I know I’m difficult. I’m so torn all the time between who I really am and who my daddy demands that I be. But you…you’re you no matter what. Abducted by outlaws, kissed in such a manner by Heathro Thibodaux that I thought he was gonna whisk you away to his bed right then and there…”

  Cricket blushed—heard Ann gulp and Marie giggle.

  “And yet,” Vilma continued, “we come home, dirty and starvin’ and hurt and battered…and you’re still you. You’re still worried about whether or not Shanny Lou and Marianne have baby dolls to play with.” Vilma paused, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Everything that happened…and nothin’ about you changed, Cricket. But I changed…and I needed to.”

  Rising to her feet, Vilma motioned for the other girls to join her. Ann took one of Vilma’s hands as Marie took the other. Then Cricket stepped in with them, joining hands with Marie and Ann to complete their circle of surviving friendship there beneath the old oak tree where not so long ago they’d plotted to welcome Heathro Thibodaux to Pike’s Creek.

  “Let’s go, girls,” Vilma said. “Let’s go to the Cornfield Chase, toss our cares to evening summer breezes, and agree to kiss whomever captures us with no regrets. All right?”

  Everyone nodded—even Cricket—though, in truth, her plan was to not get caught at all!

  Every year, Clifford King held the Pike’s Creek Cornfield Chase out in his cornfield. It was one of the most anticipated events of the year for the adolescents and young adults of the town. Every unmarried boy or man above the age of sixteen would hide in the cornfield on either side of a triangular wedge Mr. King would leave open each year when planting. Every unmarried girl or woman over the age of fourteen would then gather together in the wedge, choose a cornrow, and begin walking it. For the luckiest girls, it would be the boy or man they were most sweet on that would capture them in their cornrow and steal a kiss. Once someone had been kissed, the boy doing the kissing would loudly shout, “My ears are itchin’!” and everyone would scatter in the cornfield, selecting another row and hoping to be caught.

  In years past, the Cornfield Chase was just about Cricket’s favorite evening of the year—just above Thanksgiving Day but below Christmas Eve. In years past, Cricket had had kisses stolen by nearly every handsome young man in the county—including Hudson Oliver the year she was sixteen. But she found herself wishing she were like Marie—engaged and in charge of the refreshment tables waiting in Clifford King’s barn—engaged to Heathro Thibodaux.

  Oh, she could almost imagine it—Heath smiling at her as she arranged cookies and pie slices on dessert plates. But Cricket shook her head to try and dispel her romantic thoughts. It had only been the desperation of the situation that had found her in Heath’s arms in the barn that day. It was what she had told herself every hour of every day since her return. She knew it was something she must accept—though she also knew she would never fully accept it.

  “Let’s go!” Marie giggled, dropping Cricket’s hand but keeping hold of Vilma’s, pulling the girls along as if playing snap the whip. “It’ll be fun, Cricket!” she called.

  “Maybe Heathro Thibodaux will even be hiding in the cornfield somewhere,” Ann offered with encouragement.

  “Maybe,” Cricket said, forcing a smile. It would be fun—surely it would. It had always been fun before. Why should this year be any different? As long as Wyatt Stanley didn’t get ahold of her, all would be well—or at least so Cricket told herself.

  ❦

  Mr. King began banging on the bottom of his wife’s best stewpot with a large wooden spoon. It was the signal—the start of the Cornfield Chase.

  While Vilma fairly bolted into a cornrow she’d selected, Ann and Cricket waited. “Just stay to the right, remember?” Ann reminded Cricket.

  Cricket nodded, smiled at Ann, and offered, “Maybe Mr. Keel is out there hidin’ in the cornfield somewhere right next to Heathro Thibodaux.”

  Ann smiled nervously, giggled, and said, “Maybe,” a moment before she dashed into a cornrow.

  Suddenly fearing that Wyatt Stanley might easily spy her if she stayed out in the open much longer, Cricket hurried into a cornrow on the outer boundary of the cornfield.

  She exhaled a sigh of relief as she quietly walked the cornrow in the direction of the barn. Cricket figured no one would choose the outrows—they never did—and she could just meander along until she reached the end of the field. Then she could slip into the barn, pretend she’d been caught once or twice, and then spend her time visiting with Marie and Hudson.

  “Hey there, blossom bottom.”

  Cricket startled, her mouth dropping open in astonishment as she saw Heath step from the neighboring cornrow into the path she’d been walking. Instantly she was rendered breathless—merely at the sight of him standing there before her. He smiled, and the moonlight glinted on his gold tooth, the stars seeming to have taken up residence in his smoldering blue eyes. All her feelings—her so carefully guarded love for him, her desire to be in his arms, the fear and anxiety she’d been battling since they escaped the outlaws—all of it mingled to make her insides feel like milky cornmeal mush.

  “Hello,” she managed to respond.

  Heath moved toward her, and she instinctively took a step back. His presence was overpowering! She’d somehow forgotten just how overpowering.

  “So,” he began, “how’re you doin’? You holdin’ up all right, darlin’?”

  “I’m f-fine,” Cricket stammered. “And you? Are y-you well?”

  Heath nodded, taking a step toward her again. “I’m fine too.”

  “Oh, good,” Cricket said, forcing a smile. She couldn’t keep her hands from wringing, no matter how hard she tried. Every inch of her body was trembling. Every essence in her wanted to be in his arms—to smell the wood smoke on his shirt and the lingering scent of leather mingled with it.

  “I saw your stepmama in the general store yesterday,” Heath said.

  “Oh?” Cricket asked, attempting to appear calm.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” he confirmed. “She told me you haven’t been sleepin’ too well, sugar. Is that true?”

  Cricket shrugged—was rendered paralyzed as well as speechless for a moment as her attention rested on his mouth. She moistened her lips, wishing she could relive the moments in the barn two weeks before.

  “Um…um…I suppose we’re all a little wound up yet, aren’t we?” she managed.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.” He stepped closer to her—so close she could’ve reached out and taken hold of his arm. She could’ve drawn herself against him. “But somethin’ about it has been eatin’ at me ever since.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Ada says you wake up in the night callin’ my name, honey,” he revealed. “Is that true, Miss Blossom Bottom?” He reached out, taking hold of her arms and slowly pulling her closer to him. “Do you wake up at night because you’re havin’ nightmares about me, Magnolia? Or because you want me to be there with you?”

  Cricket shook her head. “I could never have nightmare about you,” she breathed. “I-I just start to wake up, and I feel so frightened and alone and I-I…”

  “What can I do for you, darlin’?” Heath asked. His voice was low and alluring—as if he meant to bewitch her somehow.

  “Nothin’,” she breathed. “I’
m fine. I mean…I’ll be fine. I’m sure you’re tossin’ and turnin’ here and there too, right?”

  “Those men that took you…those men are all dead, Magnolia,” he told her. “You know that, don’t you? They can’t hurt you now. They can’t even endeavor to scare you now.”

  “I know that,” she said. And she did.

  “Then what’s keepin’ you sleepless at night, honey? What’s got me interferin’ in your dreams?”

  Cricket shook her head. “You don’t interfere with them,” she confessed. “You’re just…you’re just there. You’re in them.”

  Heath grinned. “Am I,” he stated more than asked. “And what am I doin’ in your dreams, Magnolia?”

  “You make me strong,” Cricket breathed as his hands gently encircled her neck. A tear escaped her eye, traveling over her temple as she felt him place his thumbs just under her chin in exactly the manner he’d done every time he’d meant to chafe her face with his whiskers when they’d been traveling with the outlaws, waiting for the posse that never came. “B-but…but…” she stammered.

  “But what, darlin’?” Heath asked as he bent, caressing one side of her face with the whiskers on his chin.

  “But when I start to wake up…you’re not there…and I suddenly realize that I’m tired of bein’ strong,” she confessed. “I just want to be the weak one for once. I don’t want to be the fighter, the leader. I can’t be strong anymore…not without you there…and I wake up screamin’ for you.”

  Again he brushed her cheek with his whiskers and then turned to her other cheek, brushing it in the same fashion. He smelled so masculine and strong—so familiar and comforting—like wood smoke and leather—cedar bark and fresh prairie sage.

  “I’m just tired of…of…” she stammered breathlessly.

  “You’re tired of bein’ the one everybody else looks to in order to judge whether or not you girls weathered that storm and came out with your wits still about you?” he finished for her.

  “I-I never truly feel safe anymore,” she managed in a whisper. “I never feel safe unless I can see you…and know you’re near,” she confessed.