“All right,” he said. He walked to the starting line, shaking his head with uncertainty.
“Yer a real fun teacher, Miss Fynne,” Hagen Webster said. He chuckled as he studied her from head to toe. “We ain’t never had a teacher like you before.”
“Why, thank you, Hagen,” Violet said. She let her smile broaden and leaned toward him. “How would you like to make a little wager with me?” she asked.
“You mean like a bet on who wins?” he asked. She could see the confidence, the pure vanity in his eyes.
“Exactly,” she said.
“Name it!” he exclaimed.
Violet studied him for a moment. He was a cocky, conceited little cuss. She’d never liked him much.
“If you win, you don’t have to take your turn cleaning the outhouse at the school for the rest of the year. I’ll do it whenever your day comes around,” she said. Hagen’s smile broadened, and his eyes lit up like stars in a night sky. “But if I win,” she continued, “then you quit treating girls like they’re just something for you play with. You consider their feelings and tender hearts. You only kiss a girl when you truly, truly care for her. What do you say?”
Hagen’s smile vanished. He looked like a child caught stealing candy from Mr. Deavers’s store.
“Well?” she prodded.
“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, Miss Fynne,” he mumbled.
“Of course you do, Hagen,” she said. “I’m talking about all the girls you’ve coaxed into sparking with you out by the old Chisolm place. Do we have an agreement?”
He frowned—nodded—but frowned.
“Good,” Violet said.
“Hey there, Miss Fynne,” Jimmy Ritter said, taking his place on the other side of Violet.
Violet smiled. “Hello, Jimmy.”
“Mind if I give a go at tryin’ to outrun ya?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she giggled.
“Stoney says I won’t. He says nobody will. But I ain’t opposed to second place,” Jimmy chuckled.
Violet smiled at the boy and made certain her skirt was tucked tight into its waistband at her stomach as Mr. Deavers raised his pistol and said, “Ready…set…”
A gunshot pierced the air, and Violet was off. She’d worn her old boots, the ones that were so worn they were nearly flat-soled. She’d also worn her muslin petticoat and lightest skirt. She heard the crowd hollering and cheering—could hear the other runners behind her—close behind her. She was out front, but barely.
All at once she saw him—Stoney—there on the other side of the finish ribbon. She saw him put his hands to his mouth—heard his voice, distinct among all the others—heard him shouting, “Come on, Viola! Come on!” Her heart began to pound furiously, and she didn’t know whether it pounded for the exertion of running or from the sight of Stoney Wrenn waiting for her at the finish.
Out of the corner of her left eye, she saw Hagen Webster. He was fast and matching her stride. Jimmy Ritter was to her right, also matching her stride. She couldn’t lose the race! She wouldn’t! With every ounce of determination and strength left in her, she forced herself to run faster. Her feet felt sure, and she was amazed at how little her clothing restricted her. She thought of what a sight she must look to the spectators—the prim little schoolteacher in her lacy shirtwaist and skirt, matching strides with the young men and children in the race.
She saw Stoney smile and begin to laugh. She kept staring at him, as if he were the prize for the winner of the race. He took off his hat, whipping it around over his head as she drew nearer. She could still hear Hagen and Jimmy—hear their mad pace. Yet she could no longer see either of them from the corners of her eyes.
“Come on, darlin’! You whip that little cuss!” she heard Stoney holler.
Her lungs were burning with exertion, and her legs were beginning to feel weak, but she didn’t slow her pace. She saw Stoney still standing on the other side of the finish ribbon. She smiled, knowing that if he didn’t move and she managed to cross the finish line first, she’d run smack into him. This realization only spurred her on, and Violet pushed herself—ran harder than she could ever remember running.
“You got ’em! You got ’em!” Stoney shouted.
In the next moment, Violet felt the finish ribbon across her chest. Her momentum made it impossible for her to stop short, and she plowed into Stoney Wrenn, knocking him to the ground and tumbling down with him. He didn’t pause—simply got to his feet and helped her to hers.
Instantly Violet was surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers. Everyone in Rattler Rock seemed delighted she had beaten the boys, not upset or disgusted—everyone except Mr. Asbury and his daughter Layla, who stood to one side with expressions of pure annoyance.
“Miss Fynne! Miss Fynne!” Susan Gribbs giggled. “You were so fast! I never seen nothin’ like that!”
“Thank you, Susan,” Violet panted.
“I never seen a woman run like that, Miss Fynne,” Jimmy Ritter said, offering his hand. “Not in all my life!”
“Thank you, Jimmy,” Violet said.
“Violet Fynne,” Mr. Deavers chuckled as he approached, shaking his head with disbelief. “I hereby declare you the winner of the Rattler Rock Founders’ Day Picnic footrace!”
Everyone applauded and cheered as Mr. Deavers handed Violet a blue ribbon.
“Thank you,” Violet said, watching as Mr. Deavers handed a red second-place ribbon to Jimmy Ritter and a white third-place ribbon to Hagen Webster. Something in her secretly delighted in the knowledge that Jimmy had beaten Hagen too.
“You cost me a bit of money,” Tony Asbury said, walking up to stand next to Violet.
Violet looked to him and forced a smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Asbury,” she began. “But you wouldn’t want someone teaching the children of Rattler Rock who wasn’t going to teach them a lesson or two about the pitfalls of gambling, now would you?”
His face softened; he even grinned. Nodding, he handed Stoney Wrenn a handful of paper money. “I guess it ain’t only the children who learned that lesson today, is it, Miss Fynne?” Mr. Asbury said. He touched the brim of his hat and turned to walk away. Layla, however, remained.
“I can’t begin to tell you how improper that was, Miss Fynne,” Layla said.
Violet felt her eyes narrow. Layla Asbury was going to accuse Violet of impropriety when the girl had offered herself to a man just the day before? “Well, I think we all have our moments…don’t we, Miss Asbury?” Violet asked.
Layla’s cheeks pinked, her indignation rising.
“Can I see the ribbon, Miss Fynne?” Phelps Pierson asked. “Just let me hold it for a minute…will ya?”
“Of course,” Violet giggled, handing the ribbon to Phelps. She smiled when she looked up to see Maya holding Jimmy’s red ribbon.
“I’m only second place,” she heard Jimmy say.
Maya glanced to Jimmy and whispered, “Not to me.”
Violet smiled and looked to Stoney as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Hey, Rattler Rock!” Sam Capshaw hollered. Everyone looked to where Sam stood next to his mother near the long table laden with food. “Let’s eat!”
As everyone began to move toward the food tables, Stoney caught hold of Violet’s arm, staying her. “I knew you could whip that little son of a…gun,” he said when she turned to face him.
“Well, I’m glad you were so certain,” Violet sighed. “I still can’t believe you talked me into it.” She looked down to the blue ribbon Phelps had handed back to her before running off.
She pulled the hem of her skirt from her waistband and wiggled a little to help it fall back in place.
Stoney smiled; he couldn’t help but smile. He figured he’d smiled more in the past two weeks than he had in ten years. He watched Violet smooth the loose strands of hair back from her face—watched her tug at her sleeves to straighten them. He thought of her temper, the way Layla Asbury had fanned Violet’s normally dormant indignation. He knew it h
ad helped her to win—the fact he’d bet money on her, the fact Layla had chewed on her a little.
He’d spent most of the night scolding himself for kissing her the way he had the day before. He’d lost his reason out there under that old cottonwood. If Violet Fynne needed anything to prove Stoney was the womanizer everyone thought he was, he figured she had it in her pocket now. Still, he hoped she understood he didn’t kiss every girl the way he’d kissed her—hoped she somehow understood he didn’t kiss every girl anyhow.
Truth was he was barrelful of confusion, desire, and fear. Oh, he couldn’t let on, of course—couldn’t let Violet know she could lead him like a lovesick puppy. After all, she’d been away for ten years—been a kid when she left. Kids didn’t know what love was, and she’d only been back for two weeks. Fact was, Stoney was wondering if he actually was becoming the womanizer folks named him to be. Still, he thought being a womanizer meant a fellow had a herd of women he wanted to hold, kiss, and keep—not just one.
“Well?” Stoney asked.
“Well, what?” Violet asked in return. Everyone was over near the food tables now—everyone but her and Stoney.
“I made ya a promise,” he began, “and I figure now’s as good a time as any to make good on it.”
“You’re really going to let me go inside?” Violet asked in an excited whisper.
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“Right now?”
Stoney glanced to where everyone in town was gathered at the food tables.
“I figure, with everybody else so busy eatin’ and enjoyin’ themselves, won’t nobody be around to see me playin’ favorites and lettin’ you in Bud’s old place,” he said.
“Then let’s go!” Violet exclaimed, taking Stoney’s hand. “We can go the back way—cut through the north pasture. It’s faster than going all the way around. Remember?”
Stoney chuckled. “Of course.”
Violet couldn’t believe she was finally going to step foot in the old haunted house—in the old Chisolm place. Ever since she’d first seen the light of the lovers’ moon, she’d wanted to see inside. Ever since Buddy Chisolm himself told her the story of the rich man from New York City, she’d dreamt of crossing the threshold—of breathing the air of the past inside.
“I guess you really wanted to see in that old house,” Stoney said as they walked. He shook his head and chuckled. “You shoulda seen the look on that Webster boy’s face. I feared for a minute he might drop dead of the shock.”
Violet giggled. “I wish I could’ve seen him too…though I’m wicked for feeling that way.”
“No, yer not,” Stoney said. “He had it comin’.”
“You’re very chivalrous, you know, Stoney Wrenn,” Violet said. “Wanting to see Hagen Webster humbled because he’s a little womanizer.”
“I ain’t so chivalrous as you think, Viola,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked. The grass was high and tickled her arms as she walked beside Stoney.
“’Cause I shoulda run the race myself—whipped up on the little rat myself—instead of sendin’ you to do it.”
“You sent me because you knew it wouldn’t look so competitive then. You knew if you would have raced him, it would have just seemed like you were just wanting another blue ribbon. Hagen wouldn’t have gotten the message the way he did when I raced him.”
He smiled at her, and she knew she was right in her assumption of his reasoning.
“And besides,” she began, “you might not have been able to beat him.”
“What?” Stoney said, stopping dead in his tracks. “Are you sayin’ I couldn’t have beat that little bas…son of a gun?”
Violet shrugged. She’d always enjoyed teasing him to get his dander up. It was another thing between them that hadn’t changed in ten years. “What do you think?” she teased.
“I think I could whip you right now,” he said. He looked across the pasture. “I think I can beat you to the crick. From here to the crick. Winner gets yer pretty new blue ribbon.”
“All right,” Violet said. Giggling, she exclaimed, “Go!”
“What?” she heard him ask as she took out running across the pasture. She laughed, somehow liberated by the sense of the breeze in her hair as she ran, the dirt beneath her feet, the scent of summer. She knew full well that Stoney Wrenn couldn’t beat her—not with the pure mass he’d added to his form and stature over the past decade. Certainly she knew she wasn’t as fast without having her skirt hitched up, but she was still small and quick compared with Stoney.
She could see the old creek moving closer. Violet leapt over a small pile of rocks and giggled as the tall grass tickled her legs. There it was, just ahead—the creek, hers and Stoney’s, the one they’d played in, fished in. For an instant, she thought perhaps she’d leapt the pile of rocks and landed in the past, for little looked or felt different.
Violet gasped as she felt his hand at her back—felt him fist the fabric of her shirtwaist in one strong hand and pull. Her feet flew out from under her as his arm encircled her waist from behind.
“Gotcha!” he said a moment before Violet found herself whirling through the air. Though Stoney softened her fall by placing his body between hers and the ground, the force of their landing still drove the air from her lungs. Violet gasped for breath as Stoney pushed her body from his and lay on his back panting for his own breath.
“I…I can’t believe…I can’t believe you caught me,” Violet panted when she could breathe once more. “You’re as big as an ox! You can’t be faster than me.”
Stoney smiled, coughed, and chuckled. Sitting up, he said, “But I’ve got longer legs now. What you still got in speed, I make up in stride.”
Violet giggled and placed a hand over her bosom as she gazed up at the billowy clouds overhead. “I’m not as young as I used to be, that’s for sure. And besides…I already ran one race today.” She panted, “I feel like I’ll never catch my breath.”
Violet Fynne made a profound mistake then: she glanced over to Stoney Wrenn. Her heart leapt at the expression on his handsome face! He’d lost his hat in their race. Resting one elbow on one knee, he raked strong fingers through his tousled hair. He smiled at her, and for just a moment—for just a breath—Violet could see the boy she once knew. As his opaline eyes shone with delight, she could see the boy yet lingering in him.
“I thought you were gonna get away from me there for a minute,” he said, still smiling at her.
“I almost did,” she said, still staring at him. He was so attractive—alluringly so!
He chuckled again. “This is the first time I ever beat you, ain’t it?” he asked. “When we were kids, I only won when ya let me…didn’t I?”
“Maybe,” Violet giggled.
“Why did ya let me win sometimes?” he asked. A slight frown puckered his brow, though his smile remained. “Just to make me feel better, I suppose.”
Violet shrugged. “Maybe.” She smiled at him and added, “Or maybe I just liked for you to catch me.”
His frown softened, as did his smile. His fascinating eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Violet knew he wasn’t certain whether to believe her. She sat up, placing her hands behind her and leaning back.
“I know that look,” she giggled. “You’re not sure if I’m teasing or not.”
“I think yer teasin’,” he mumbled.
Violet leaned toward him and whispered, “Well, I’m not.”
Her heart fluttered when he reached out and caught her face in one hand. Her mouth watered as his gaze lingered on her lips. His grip tightened; his thumb traveled slowly over her lower lip. He was considering kissing her—she knew he was—and her heart began to hammer brutally within her bosom at the thought.
“Go ahead,” she whispered, gazing into the alluring quality of his eyes. “I want you to.”
He winced, as if something had suddenly caused him pain. Yet Violet sighed—closed her eyes as he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. His hand
slid from her cheek to the back of her neck as he kissed her again. Another kiss—this time his lips were parted, coaxing her to meet him in a moist and warmer exchange.
It happened then—the same thing that had happened the day before under the cottonwood tree. Passion erupted like dynamite going off! All at once her mouth burned, flooded with moisture as Stoney forged a kiss of such heated bliss as to render her arms and legs entirely numb. Driven and insistent, moist and savory, Stoney Wrenn’s mouth owned hers—bewitched her entire being. As before, his kiss demanded response—set a fire to blazing within her! Violet trembled as the flavor of his mouth bathed her in pleasure. She marveled at how naturally she met his instruction—at how it seemed she had been made to kiss him, as if their mouths were meant to fit together, to blend in flawless union.
She was dizzied by his kiss—breathless—and she reached out, placing a hand to his chest to steady herself. Instantly he gasped, breaking the seal of their mouths and pulling back from her. His hand left her neck, and he ran trembling fingers through his hair.
“I lost my damn hat,” he grumbled. He nearly leapt to his feet, inhaled deeply, and, without looking back to Violet, offered her his hand as assistance.
Violet accepted his help, but he dropped her hand as soon as she was standing. She wanted to throw herself against him, feel his arms around her, beg his forgiveness in abandoning him so many years before. She wanted to soothe his worries, smooth the frown from his brow, taste the flavor of his mouth every minute. She wanted to gaze into his eyes forever—weave her fingers through his soft, brown hair—lay warm in his bed at night—awake in his arms each morning. She wanted to love him!
The Light of the Lovers' Moon Page 17