by Peggy Webb
It was nine-thirty by the time Andrew arrived at the house on Allen Street. He climbed out of his brother's snazzy car and hurried up the walk.
Aunt Bertha came to the door.
“Good morning. I'm—”
“I know who you are.” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him through the door. “Come on in.”
Andrew followed her into a small sitting room.
She was pale and frazzled-looking, with dark circles under her eyes and white pasty skin. She sank heavily into a wing chair and waved him to another.
“Sit down. I suppose you've come about Margaret Leigh.”
Andrew was surprised. He'd thought Aunt Bertha didn't approve of him, and there she was, acting as if he were a hero returning from war.
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
“She's safe, for now. She left for the library about an hour ago.”
“I'm glad.”
“Was she with you last night?”
“Yes.” He saw no reason to lie. He was after the truth himself.
“Did anything happen?”
“If you mean did I sleep with her, the answer is no.”
“Thank God.” Aunt Bertha bowed her head, and tears trickled down her face.
Andrew leaned forward in his chair. “Will you tell me what's going on? Margaret Leigh has been unusually upset these last two days. It's almost as if she'd become another person.”
Aunt Bertha lifted her face, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. Andrew pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She sniffled and wiped her face and blew her nose then she took a deep sigh and settled back into her chair. “Monday night, at the family dinner, she overheard a cousin talking, telling things she had no business knowing.”
“What things?”
“You're going to think I'm awful.”
Andrew felt her distress. He left his chair and knelt beside her.
“Miss Adams, I'm not here to judge you... or anyone else, for that matter. I'm here to help Margaret Leigh.”
Aunt Bertha studied him before she spoke.
“You like her, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love her?”
Andrew didn't know what to say. Love didn't fit into his lifestyle. It was not something he even thought about. He considered the question carefully. Did he love Margaret Leigh?
“I care for her—very much.”
“That's good enough.” Aunt Bertha took a deep breath and set about telling Andrew McGill the family secret.
He listened, keeping his astonishment and his opinions to himself. When she was finished, he put his arms around her and comforted her, patting her shoulder and making soothing sounds. Finally she heaved a big sigh and leaned back in her chair.
“Can you help my daughter, Andrew?”
“I can try. I'll be at the library this afternoon when she gets off work, and I'll do my best to help her.”
“Thank you.” Aunt Bertha patted his face. “I take back everything I ever thought about men who wear leather jackets.”
Secure in the knowledge that Margaret Leigh was safe, Andrew returned his brother's Corvette, stayed for a brief visit with Rick and his family and then took his old Ford truck back to Boguefala Bottom.
He spent the rest of the day concentrating on his birddog training. By the time he left for the library he was feeling pretty good about Mississippi Rex's staunchness and style, but he was a bit disappointed in his roading abilities. He had lots of work to get Rex ready for the February trials.
He arrived at the library thirty minutes before it closed, but Margaret Leigh had already gone. He was suspicious when he didn't see her car in the parking lot. After he went inside and failed to find her, he was furious. He shouldn't have trusted her. Not for a minute. Not after she left his cabin at four-thirty in the morning wearing nothing but his shirt.
He leaned over the checkout counter, putting on his best smile.
“Do you have any idea where Margaret Leigh went?”
The girl was young and unsure of herself. She chewed on her lower lip.
“Well, I don't know if I should say. I don't want to gossip.”
“I'd consider it a personal favor. I promised her Aunt Bertha I'd pick her up today.” He shrugged his shoulders. “As you can see, I got here too late.”
“Well, she asked to leave early. And I guess I'm not supposed to know this, but I overheard her on the telephone at lunch break talking to somebody named Harry Cox... about going to the carnival, I think.” She chewed her lips some more.
“Thanks. You're a sweetheart.”
o0o
Margaret Leigh was standing with Harry Cox in the middle of the midway among all the colored neon and the sawdust, eating a corn dog on a stick and holding the teddy bear she'd won, when she saw Andrew McGill. He was wearing tight jeans and his leather jacket and looking as fierce as Hannibal must have when he crossed the Alps.
She grabbed Harry's lapels, smearing mustard on his shirt.
“Let's go see the sideshow.”
“I thought you didn't like freaks.”
“I've changed my mind.” She tugged. “Come on. Hurry.”
Harry Cox wiped the mustard off and did as he was told. Margaret Leigh fidgeted and peered over her shoulder while he bought the tickets, then she practically dragged him to two chairs in a darkened corner of the tent. No sooner had she sat down than she sensed Andrew behind her. She didn't even have to turn around to know he was there. She felt him. It was like being thrust into the eye of a tornado.
“Fancy seeing you here, pretty one.” She could feel his breath fan her cheek as he leaned close.
She stared ahead, ignoring him.
He leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “I see you've put on some clothes.”
She turned her head, then wished she hadn't. She was nose to nose with him, so close she could look into his hot blue eyes, so close she could almost taste his lips.
“Go away,” she whispered.
“Never.” He nodded toward Harry, who was sitting on the other side of Margaret Leigh, leaning forward to get a better view of the two-headed calf. “Is he your next candidate?”
“Shh. He'll hear.”
“You mean he doesn't know. Tell him for me that he's in for quite a treat.”
Andrew leaned back in his chair and pretended to watch the show. Instead he was studying Margaret Leigh. She hadn't changed. She was still holding in her pain, denying the truth, even to herself. But most of all, she was still stubbornly determined to go through with her scheme of self-destruction and revenge.
“Over my dead body.”
He didn't realize he'd spoken his thoughts aloud until a man just coming in for the show stopped midway to the chair beside him and said, “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”
Chapter Eight
Andrew hounded their steps. When Margaret Leigh and Harry left the sideshow, he was two steps behind them. When they stopped to toss pennies into a bottle, he stopped with them. Margaret Leigh tried to lose him in the fun house, but he refused to be lost.
It was obvious to Andrew that Harry Cox didn't know what was going on. Margaret Leigh was flirting shamelessly with him, rubbing her hand along the back of his neck and pressing herself against him in the crowd. The poor man had a dazed look on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe his unexpected fortune.
Andrew bided his time. He wasn't at the carnival to kidnap Margaret Leigh again: he simply wanted to ensure that she stayed out of trouble. Guardian angel wasn't a role he was accustomed to playing, but it had its advantages. There was a certain solitude in being alone in a crowd. The noise served as an incubator for his thoughts, and he didn't have to share them with anyone. Also it was a great way to observe human nature.
He felt as if he were in the back of a theater, watching men cavort and posture upon a stage.
And nobody wa
s playacting more than Margaret Leigh. She was playing the flirt and doing it exceedingly well. Andrew would never have thought he was seeing the same shy woman who had come to his cabin the previous Saturday. Saturday seemed a thousand years in the past.
Harry Cox excused himself and headed to the men's room. Andrew eased behind Margaret Leigh and took her arm.
“I need to talk to you.”
She spun around, her face reflecting the colored lights from the carousel. Behind her came the sounds of music and children's laughter.
“Leave me alone, Andrew. You and I have nothing to talk about.”
He touched her face with great tenderness and looked deep into her eyes. “I know why you're running, Margaret Leigh.”
She wet her lips with her tongue before speaking. “You know?”
“Yes. Today I visited Bertha Adams.”
“You had no right!”
“I care about you. That gives me the right.”
“A lot of people used to say they cared about me. It was all lies.”
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go.
“Don't do this, Margaret Leigh.”
“Do what?”
“Don't you think I know a game of seduction when I see one? What you are about to do won't solve anything. Let me take you home.”
“Home to Mother? Home to listen to more of her lies? No, thank you.”
“Everybody gets scared about something sometime. Running away won't help. And throwing away everything that has always been precious to you certainly won't help. You'll only regret it later.”
“What is this? Amateur psychology?”
“Friendship.”
“I don't need you to be my conscience or my guide. Go home, Andrew. Go back to your bird dogs.”
She stalked toward the men's facilities, anger and determination in every step she took. Andrew knew of only one way to save her. He strode past her into the men's bathroom.
Harry Cox was standing in front of the stained sink, looking into the cracked mirror and smoothing his hair over his bald spot. Andrew stationed himself behind Harry.
“I'm Andrew McGill, and Margaret Leigh Jones is my girlfriend.”
Harry's hands stopped in midair. He moved his mouth once or twice, but no sound came out.
“We had a quarrel, and she tried to get back at me by bringing you to the carnival.”
“I didn't know.” Harry swallowed hard and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
“No harm done. We've patched things up now. I'll take care of her for the rest of the evening.”
Harry made one courageous stand. “How do I know you're telling the truth? Maybe you're some stranger who is just trying to cut in?”
“She lives on Allen Street with her Aunt Bertha. Her little dog, Christine, wears pink hair ribbons and doesn't like loud noises. Margaret Leigh doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, and when she goes dancing, she wears a blue taffeta dress. She's inordinately proud of her family, especially Governor Ben Adams, and she's working very hard to make something of herself at the library.” He leaned closer to Harry, for the first time in his life using his size to intimidate a main. “Does that about cover it?”
“I guess it does.”
“Good. Then this is what we’ll do.”
He outlined his plan to Harry Cox. Then he went outside to join Margaret Leigh. She was sitting on a redwood bench near the men's room, waiting. Andrew propped his foot on the bench.
“Harry's not coming out.”
“I don't believe you.”
“I told him I was taking over. He’ll stay in there until we leave.”
“How dare you.” She drew back and swung at him.
He caught her wrist and pulled her close. His jaw tightened as he looked down at her. “I'm not going to let you go through with this.”
“With what?” She tried to look the very picture of innocence.
“With getting poor old Harry Cox in your bed.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He didn't have to. I read body language.”
She glanced from his face to the men's room then she sank back onto the bench. “He'll come out. I'm waiting.”
“All right.” Andrew sat down beside her. “We'll both wait.”
They sat side by side, as stiff and cold as two statues in a park. The only difference was that the birds didn't come to perch on their heads.
Standing on his tiptoes and looking out the bathroom window, Harry Cox almost wished the birds would come. After nearly an hour the two of them were still sitting out there. How much longer would they endure? He studied their faces. Andrew looked as implacable as a mountain, and Margaret Leigh looked as if she could face down a pride of lions.
“He's not coming out, Margaret Leigh,” Andrew said.
“That doesn't mean I'm going home with you.” She stood up. “This is a carnival. There's bound to be a man around here who is willing to escort me.” She set off toward the midway.
Andrew caught her arm and fell into step beside her. “I always did enjoy a country fair. What are we going to do next, my love? Not that sitting on the redwood bench for an hour wasn't fun, but it was a little tame for my tastes. What's your pleasure? The carousel? The Ferris wheel?”
“You've never been able to provide my pleasure.” She smiled archly at him.
His jaw tightened as he marched her to the Ferris wheel. Keeping a grip on her arm, he bought two tickets and got in line with her. The line was long and slow moving. During the time they were waiting for their ride, Margaret Leigh began an outrageous flirtation with the muscle-bound roustabout running the wheel.
Andrew was astonished at his capacity for anger. Only his knowledge of why she was acting this way kept him quiet.
The wheel started turning, and they began their climb into the air. Margaret Leigh sat as far away from him as possible on the seat.
“Are you cold over there?”
“No. I have my love to keep me warm.” She leaned over and blew a kiss at the roustabout as the wheel revolved past him.
“Dammit, Margaret Leigh. Don't you know that what you are doing is dangerous?”
“A dangerous life is far preferable to a dull one.”
“You're not going to stop until you get what you want, are you?”
“No.”
Andrew unbuckled the seat belt and flung it aside. Then in one swift move, he closed the space between them and pulled her against his chest. Tipping her face up with one hand, he studied her. She was telling the truth. Determination was written in every line of her face. He lowered his mouth to hers.
She struggled against him, twisting her face aside. “What do you think you're doing?”
“I will be your first, Margaret Leigh.”
“Never.” She glared at him. “Anyhow, you won't be my first.”
“You're a virgin.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I'm not.” She tried to twist away from him again, but he caught her face between his hands. “And I'm not going to sit back and let some clumsy fool get his hands on you.”
“I wouldn't go to your bed if you were the last man on earth.”
“I’ll make you change your mind.”
He set out to do just that. While the Ferris wheel slowly spun around and the carnival music echoed through the night and the neon lights colored their faces with red and blue and yellow, Andrew McGill courted Margaret Leigh Jones.
He kissed her until her lips ached, caressed her until her body was limp. He was showing her that she couldn't refuse his offer. As he took the sweet nectar of her lips, he kept telling himself that.
And she remained staunch, even as her legs turned to butter and her heart became a marshmallow. She could no longer deny what was happening to her. She could no longer keep herself from melting and clinging and blending with Andrew as if they were one. But she told herself she'd put a stop to it when she got good and ready. She'd let Andrew take her all the way to his cabin
or wherever he had decided to go. She'd let him undress her and even put her to bed. She'd wait until he was as hot and eager as Tess had said a man could get. And then she'd have her revenge. She'd get up and walk away.
She'd show Andrew. She'd show them all. She didn't need anybody, anybody at all except a faceless stranger to help her make it through one more night. The roustabout on the Ferris wheel had seemed willing. She'd come back to the carnival, if not later, then the next night or the next. After all, the carnival would be there a week. She'd have a week of wild, mindless passion and hot, raw sex. Then the next week...
She didn't know how she'd get through the next week, but she'd think of something. Maybe she'd take a cruise somewhere exotic, or maybe she'd pack a bag and get on a bus out of town, or maybe she'd get an offer from the roustabout. Maybe she'd become a carnival follower, a kept woman who didn't have a thing to worry about except keeping the sawdust out of her shoes and a clean sheet on her bed.
She barely knew when the Ferris wheel drew to a stop. Wrapped tightly in Andrew's embrace, she left the carnival. In a fog she got into his truck and allowed herself to be cuddled up against him as he headed out of Tupelo.
Neither of them spoke. They were too busy thinking ahead.
He was making a noble sacrifice. He was going to let Margaret Leigh use him in order to save her from destruction at the hands of a bumbling fool. He was going to be her teacher, her mentor. He would gently initiate her to the ways of love. And when it was over, when she no longer had any reason to wonder what love was like or whether it could block out all her pain, he would be willing to let her stay with him until she could come to terms with Aunt Bertha's betrayal. He'd help her make it through the tough times. And after she had gone home, healed, he'd go back to his birddog training and his peaceful Saturday mornings sleeping in the sunshine.
He parked his truck under the trees. Her face was pale in the moonlight.
“We're here, Margaret Leigh. My cabin.”
“I guess you bring all your women here.”