by Jackie Weger
Annabelle brightened. “I will. I’ll fry bacon. That smell brings Erlene quick as a flea.”
“I can’t put in no garden on an empty stomach,” said Elmo.
Phoebe looked at Gage over the heads of her family. She wondered what he thought of them all, what thoughts he had of her. She wondered most of all what his answer would’ve been had Maydean not burst in on them. He walked beside her to where their trucks were parked. Phoebe was careful that their arms didn’t brush or touch. “I’m sorry about the trouble with Erlene,” she said.
“It’s not your fault. Or anybody’s that I can see. I’ll check back about every twenty minutes.”
“Erlene’s the reason I can’t leave Ma and Pa to their own devices,” she stated, feeling that her words were assuring her of lifelong separation from him. She couldn’t fault him for that. Erlene was a responsibility no man would be willing to take on. And Erlene would need a lookout until the day she died.
Phoebe saw the frown on Gage’s brow deepen, saw the pained look he gave her. Words couldn’t have said more.
Woeful, she turned away and climbed into her truck. He was never going to forgive her. She’d just have to live with it.
— • —
Hours later heartsick and weary Phoebe plopped down on the porch stoop. “Mayhap now we’ll have to call the police.” Ma hovered. Pa sat in a straight-backed chair he’d hauled to the front porch. Dorie and Willie-Boy were riding their bikes in circles in front of the junkyard. Watching them made Phoebe dizzy.
“The police might have already picked her up,” said Gage. “We should’ve called them earlier.”
Phoebe gave Gage a thankful look. He was being polite, helpful, not taking the anger he held against herself out on her folks.
“The police might send her away!” cried Annabelle.
Phoebe got up and consoled her mother. “No they wouldn’t, I don’t think. But sometimes Erlene can’t recall she’s a Hawley. Why, she might be sittin’ in the station this very minute havin’ herself a high old time. I’ll go call. And Ma, why don’t you fix some lunch?”
“Won’t do no good. Bacon didn’t call Erlene in, won’t nothin’ now.”
“I worry better on a full stomach,” said Elmo.
Dorie and Willie-Boy came racing up to the porch. “Erlene’s comin’!”
Erlene came skipping through the gate, holding the hand of—Phoebe thought her eyes were deceiving her. It was Stout’s hand that Erlene was swinging with gay abandon.
“This is my new friend,” Erlene said, including everyone in one of her wonderful smiles. “Her name’s Marianna.” She looked at Stout. “That’s right, ain’t it?”
Stout’s red face blossomed a deeper shade. “That’s right, honey.”
“I never thought to ask at the crab house,” said Phoebe.
“She did just fine,” said Stout.
“Fine at what?” chorused Phoebe and Annabelle.
“I learned a new game, didn’t I, Marianna. Anybody can play. You get in line, then you have to sit down and the one who fills up the pots first gets money. Look.” Erlene held out a handful of bills. “Oh! I lost my quarter. I had a quarter. I have to find my quarter.”
Phoebe took hold of Erlene. “I’ll send Willie-Boy and Dorie to find it. You just stay here and tell us—”
“Hank put her to work,” said Stout. “I picked up right away that she was…was…she was so eager, I just let her pick. Lord, can she pick. She told Hank she was Erlene Hawley. Hank said he’d put a Hawley to work any day of the week. He says she can work all she wants.” Stout appeared suddenly embarrassed. “I’ll look after her. It ain’t no trouble to me.” Her face kept blooming. “I got to get back. My husband’ll be by to pick me up any minute.”
Erlene started to cry. “Stay and play with me.”
“In the morning,” Stout said, retrieving her hand, then apropos of nothing she said, “I had me a daughter onct. Lost her to rheumatic fever when she was six.” She patted Erlene on the shoulder. “You be ready at seven o’clock, I’ll come get you.”
Confused, Erlene pleaded. “I don’t know seven o’clock.”
“I’ll have her ready,” said Phoebe. “And, Stout—I mean, Marianna—thank you.” They all watched for a moment as the heavyset woman shuffled off. Phoebe sighed. “I see what happened. Erlene saw the pickers waitin’ to go to work out in front of the crab house. Her curiosity did the rest.” Phoebe handed Erlene’s money to Annabelle. “We’ll add this to what I already got, Ma. It’ll rent us a nice place.”
“Imagine! Erlene earnin’ money.” Annabelle glowed. “Maybe Erlene ain’t as loose-minded as we first suspected.”
“Maybe not. Maydean, you help Erlene get a bath. I got to get us packed up.” Phoebe shot a glance at Gage, but his expression was unreadable. Probably glad he was escaping the Hawleys, she thought. Marry one and you married them all. She could see now, that was asking too much of any man. Her heart wrenched, but she smiled at him anyway.
He didn’t smile back.
Chapter Ten
Phoebe held up the eyelet-trimmed dress and inspected its lines against her body. She’d pack it last, she decided. That’d make it seem as if she were holding onto her dream—and Gage—a little longer. Her throat was closed up so tightly, she couldn’t even cry.
“That’s a pretty dress.”
Phoebe spun around. Gage closed the door and leaned against it. Phoebe caressed him with her eyes, soaking up his image to take with her. “Guess it don’t matter if you see it now. Bad luck was trailin’ me afore I ever bought it.”
“We have a conversation to finish.”
“We don’t. I already know what your answer was gonna be. I don’t fault you for it. But I take back what I said. I’ll speak to you on the street. I appreciate you helpin’ look for Erlene. I guess you can tell she’s loose-minded.”
“No more than me.”
Phoebe’s head came up. “I never noted any signs—”
Gage laughed softly. “Well, I’d say I’m more along the lines of a horse’s ass. I wanted to punish you, make you suffer—”
“You sure did that. I’ve been about as miserable as a tadpole in a dry hole.”
“You did con me,” he continued. “But the things about you that I like…love—your loyalty, your family spirit—that’s something no one’s ever given to me until you offered it. I like what your love means. You’re important to your family. They need you. You’re important to me. Dorie, too.” He exhaled slowly. “I need you, Phoebe. I don’t want to live without you.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure she was hearing what she was hearing. She was scared to move, scared to breathe. Her heart began to pound. She wanted it to stop so the noise wouldn’t distract her.
Her knees were acting up. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”
“I’m furious.”
Phoebe’s “oh” was scarcely a thread of sound.
“But not so furious and stupid that I want to give up what we had—have. That is, if—”
It was her backbone, not the limp rags that were her legs that got her across the room and into his arms. “Gage!”
“Oh, hell. Don’t start crying.”
“I thought I’d lost you forever.” Her hands began to roam, touching, feeling, assuring herself that he was real, solid, that she wasn’t wishing so hard she was dreaming his presence.
His hands gripped her shoulders, held her away from him. “No more sly secrets?”
“Nary a one. Ever. Don’t hold me away from you. Let me touch you.” She reached for him.
“Not there, dammit! There’s too many ears in this house.”
“One feel?”
“No. Sit over there in the chair. I want to talk to you about your family. While I was driving around looking for Erlene, I had an idea.”
“Your tallywhacker’s up. I can see it.”
“I’ve lost ten pounds to worry and sex since we met. Do you want a brideg
room who can’t keep his pants up during the wedding?”
“Pa’ll loan you his suspenders.”
Gage’s throat constricted. “You’re heartless.” He was wavering.
Phoebe reached around him and locked the door. “I just want to show you how much I love you. How much I’ll always love you. I don’t know any other way to show you. And, anyway,” she whispered, “I’ve been so scared. I’ve never loved anyone as hard as I love you.”
Gage pushed her down on the bed and held her still with his body. “I know. I knew it without you having to say it.”
“Just give me one teensy-weensy kiss. I won’t ask for nothin’ more. Then you can tell me your idea.”
— • —
Phoebe picked up Gage’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t call me Phoebe or darlin’. Call me Mrs. Morgan. I got to get used to it.”
“You have an entire lifetime to get used to it.”
He sighed and began to loosen his tie. “I’m glad everyone’s gone. I thought they’d never leave.”
Phoebe laughed. “It was the food. Ma sure can cook. There’d been extra guests at the wedding. On Erlene’s account Marianna Stout and her husband had been invited. Phoebe then felt obliged to ask Essie and her husband and Gage had asked Truman Martin to be his best man. The best man’s wife was Belle Martin who tried to over-kiss the groom. But Phoebe had shot her dagger-looks, besides using her elbow to good advantage.
Phoebe went to the screened door and peered out. Gage’s idea had been a mobile home, used but nice, complete with appliances and a built-in air conditioner. Ma was ecstatic.
Gage had hired a crew to clear off a lot and set the trailer up a hundred yards away—hollering distance, but not so close as to mar their own privacy. Not that the distance kept Maydean, Willie-Boy, and Dorie from running in and out. But now when Ma came over to the Morgans’, she knocked on the door.
Ma was going to work at the crab house with Erlene. And Pa, good at sitting in one spot for hours on end, occupied the cash shack, which freed Gage to concentrate on the welding shop.
Phoebe hugged herself. She didn’t think there was a happier woman on the face of the earth.
“While you’re standing there, put the latch on that door,” said Gage.
Phoebe did his bidding and turned to face him. The length and breadth of him in his wedding suit took her breath away. “You look so handsome.”
“You look good enough to eat. Come over here.”
Phoebe sat on the sofa, snuggling into his arms. “We ought to take off our good clothes.”
He nibbled on her ear. “That’s the best suggestion you’ve made in a week.”
She adjusted herself so that she could unbutton his shirt and run her fingertips through the hair on his chest. “It’s wonderful being married… Wonderful…”
Gage said, “I’m out of my mind with wanting you. I’ve never been so turned on by anyone in my life. Watching you haul in crabs, hanging out clothes… Damn! I kept thinking I’d go out in the boat with you or drag you behind the chicken coop.”
“I stayed outta your bed because I didn’t want you lookin’ peaked when we got married.”
Gage raised his head. “Do I look peaked to you?”
Phoebe gave him a slow smile. “Parts of you do.”
“Which part is that?”
“It’s covered up, but I can feel it just beggin’ to get out.”
“Let’s go in our bedroom and turn it loose.”
“I’m never gonna turn it loose.”
Gage sagged a little. He’d have to start taking vitamins. One every single day for the rest of his life.
“Are you happy?” Phoebe asked. He was already naked, lying propped on pillows.
“I’m unhappy. Happy will be when you get in this bed with me.”
Phoebe took her clothes off slowly. Naked, liking the response she was drawing from Gage, she paraded across the room and pulled down the shade. “I told Ma when she saw the shade go up, she could send Dorie home.”
“The way I’m feeling that might be a week from now.”
She stood at the foot of the bed, eyeing him from head to foot. She crawled up his legs and settled herself upright on the part she liked best. Gage closed his eyes and made a soft guttural sound of pleasure.
“Is it all right if I just sit here a minute?”
His eyes flew open, focused an instant on her face, then on her pert shapely breasts. “No, it’s not all right.” His insides were beginning to hum, his hips arched.
“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling right this second.”
“Incredible pain,” he whispered. “Move a little bit this way. Yes, that’s better. Now a little that way.”
A gnawing urgency began working its way up Phoebe’s spine. “But, that’s doing it!”
“Uh-huh.” His lips curled into a lazy grin. “My, but you catch on quick.” He put his hands on her waist and pulled her down, glorying in the feel of her flesh against his own. Hawley pride and two vitamins a day, he thought. He could get through life on that.
THE END
About the Author
I was born in Mobile, Alabama and went to convent schools until I was eleven. Dad was called up during the Korean Conflict, and I’ve been on the move ever since.
I love destination travel and immersing myself in different cultures. As many of you may already know, I began writing romance novels for Harlequin in the 1980s while living in a small farming community in Texas.
My world has returned full circle, because after fifteen years of drifting thither and yon, I have again put down roots in another small Texas community. After my children were grown and my husband left, I went to Central America where I lived, first on an island off the coast of Panama, and later in the mountains in a dry Pacific Rainforest—except it is seldom truly dry. I lived as many of the natives did in a small village carved out of the jungle. During the day I sheltered beneath a thatched roofed bohio, cooked with wood on a native stove, bathed in the River Camito, dispatched snakes with a machete, and harvested mandarinas, oranges, bananas, and coffee. At dusk I went into my recama, a miniscule sleeping room, where I read by lantern or candle light, and slept under a net while overhead tiny fruit bats were teaching their young to fly and geckos scampered over walls. Since for most of those two years I was the only Gringo in the village, I learned to read, write, and speak Spanish. I sometimes volunteered at a Sister of Mercy Mission where the focus was on Kuna Indians. But, my goodness, the travel bug was still gnawing away at me, so there were trips into San Jose and Golfito, Costa Rica, a trek into the Darien Gap in Southern Panama, and a sail on the Pacific to the Perlas Islands. This was very inexpensive living and travel. After I’d saved enough money to give myself another start, I returned stateside, went to college, earned a degree in History, and was fortunate to be able to study abroad one semester at Queen’s College, London University, which was a treasure of new experiences. Truth to tell, I never considered sitting still long enough to write another book. Another truth: Divorce agreed with me. I was not looking for romance inside or out outside of a book. Nope. Been there. Done that.
And then . . .
I went to a Shanghai Cowboy music festival in a small town square and met an interesting man. You know all those chills and tingles we romance writers give to our characters? It really does happen in real life, and to two ordinary people. Yep. I’ve discovered romance is ageless. That discovery got me to thinking about writing again. What I’m hoping is that my experiences of the past fifteen years give me more insight so I can create characters you will enjoy. Be sure and let me know.
http://www.jackieweger.com
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
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Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Author Bio