Cinderfella

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The bullets whizzed past, too close for comfort, and Ash leaned over Pumpkin’s neck to make a smaller target of himself. Getting himself shot wasn’t exactly part of a perfect evening, either. He’d counted four gunshots, each and every one of them zinging by, much too close for comfort. Surely he was almost out of range. Haley had fired once there at the gazebo, so there was just one bullet left in that gun. Just one.

  It was the final bullet that got him, grazing him low on his right and bootless leg and burning like hell. He faltered in the saddle, just a little, but Pumpkin didn’t fail him. They flew away from Salley Creek and Stuart Haley and his posse.

  Ash was well away from town before he was sure no one was following. Only then did he slow Pumpkin and look down at his leg. There to the side, just beneath his knee, was a furrow in the pants Nathan had taken from his trunk of costumes. His wounded leg continued to burn like the dickens but there wasn’t much blood, so he figured it couldn’t be too bad. All in all, it was a small price to pay.

  The moon lit his way, as he meandered slowly toward home. It was a night to remember, this was. He’d danced with Charmaine half the evening, and it had been wonderful and somehow fitting, as if no one else in that room had the right to twirl her across the floor. She’d fit in his arms just right, moved with him without fault. Perfectly.

  She still had sand, he realized with a smile in the dark. Charmaine said just what was on her mind no matter how outrageous. Decadent waltzing, ruinous novels, excessive excitement. Most of it was bluster, he’d realized from the start. She was repeating something she’d heard and thought she should agree with, but it wasn’t genuine. All that talk about women’s rights sure did get her fired up, though, and she was a picture when she was fired up.

  And after all that he’d kissed her, and by God she’d kissed him back. A kiss that had fired up his blood and set it racing, that had awakened desires he’d purposely buried deep. In that instant, with that first kiss, Charmaine Haley had staked claim to his heart and his body, and she didn’t even know it.

  His warm memories turned cold with the sudden comprehension that none of it was real. He’d been someone else tonight, hiding behind that mask and pretending he could have whatever he wanted. Even Charmaine.

  Mooning over what he couldn’t have served no purpose. He didn’t have time for courting, and even if he did it would be a waste of time in his present situation. Besides, she would never have kissed him if she’d known who he was.

  Ash reached into his pocket and withdrew the white mask Charmaine had worn most of the night. He’d slipped it there after removing it from her face so he could kiss her, not consciously intending to steal it, but glad now that he had. Moonlight shone on pearls, made the white satin so bright it glowed with an unearthly radiance in the night.

  He’d told her that he’d never forget this night, and it was the truth. Maybe she wasn’t for him, but by God it had been perfect, for a while. Just for tonight, he reasoned. Just for tonight.

  “I don’t know who he is!” Charmaine shouted at her father again. “He was just a stranger passing through town. You’ll never find him!”

  He tossed a single boot onto the floor at her feet. “I don’t believe it for a minute, young lady!”

  They were standing in the middle of what had been the dance floor all night. It was cleared now, but for Charmaine, her father, and her very silent mother. After a wonderful evening her father had cleared the house of guests like a mad, raging bull. Even those who were supposed to spend the night were seeking refuge at the boarding house.

  “It’s the truth!”

  “Then I’m glad I shot the sonofabitch!”

  Charmaine felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. Her knees wobbled, the room tilted and swam. “You did what?” she whispered.

  “Now Stuart,” her mother began calmly. “You don’t know that you hit anything.”

  “Six shots and I damn well didn’t miss every time,” he seethed. “Sonofabitch flinched on that last shot. I got him all right.”

  Charmaine made a silent vow that she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give her father the satisfaction. “There was no reason. . . . ” her voice trembled, so she closed her mouth and refused to say anything more.

  “What have they done to you in Boston that you’d give yourself to some . . . some strange man who wanders in off the streets?”

  “Give myself?” Charmaine whispered. “I didn’t. . . . ”

  Her father apparently didn’t hear her. “What decent man from hereabouts will have you now? Maybe back East they’ll stand for such behavior, but not in Kansas!”

  It came to her suddenly, an epiphany that stilled her heart and her trembling knees. What decent man from hereabouts will have you now?

  “I’ve tried to tell you I’m a modern woman,” she said softly. “And you refuse to believe me. I do as I please. If I choose to dally with a strange man in the gazebo, I’ll do so.”

  Her father turned an alarming shade of red.

  “I’m sorry you stumbled upon my liaison, Daddy. I never meant to hurt you.” He wasn’t hurt, he was furious. She’d never seen him so angry. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it now, but return to Boston as soon as possible and relieve you of the embarrassment of having me under your roof.”

  It was the perfect solution, and it had fallen into her lap. How fortuitous.

  “Oh, no,” he said much too calmly, and the color in his face returned almost to normal. “You’re not going back to Boston.”

  “But you said it yourself, Daddy,” she said, trying to match his calm. “No decent man from Salley Creek will have me after this unfortunate scandal. You yelled so loudly half of Kansas surely knows what happened here tonight. I am forever . . . sullied.”

  He smiled. He actually smiled. With a long step he came toward her, and Charmaine braced herself for whatever was to come. Her father had never hit her before, had never so much as spanked any one of his girls . . . but he’d never been in a rage like this before, either.

  Before he reached her, he bent down and retrieved the boot her stranger had left behind. “He’ll marry you,” he said, studying the boot carefully. He turned it over, as if searching for some clue. “Damn big feet, this one’s got. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  “He was just passing through town —”

  Her father cut her off with an obscenity.

  “Stuart!”

  Charmaine watched her father’s face soften as he turned to acknowledge his wife’s admonishment. “Sorry, Maureen, but a man can only take so much. My daughter will not . . . ” he struggled visibly for a word he could use in present company, “dally with a man and then act as if it means nothing!”

  Returning his attention to Charmaine, he shouted again. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know!” Her shout matched his, decibel for decibel. “He wouldn’t tell me!”

  Her father seemed to give in, to very slowly fall apart before her eyes. His anger faded, the flash in his eyes dulled, and he appeared suddenly smaller. “By God, I believe you. I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t have to listen to my own daughter talk about marriage as if it were a disease, and then turn around and . . . and. . . . ”

  “Dally,” Maureen said softly.

  “Dally with a man whose name she doesn’t know.” He shook his head slowly. “What’s this world coming to?”

  Charmaine wished she did know the stranger’s name. Not that she would give it to her father, if she did. She wanted it for herself, for her memories. Stranger seemed awfully cold for a remembrance.

  “If you don’t find him,” she said with a cold calm, “and you won’t find him, I assure you, I’ll return to Boston next week.”

  “Like hell you will.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  She hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but it was clear her father had taken it as one. He crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet far apart, and then he smiled. “We’ll
see, young lady,” he said softly. “We’ll see.”

  Nathan was waiting up, sitting by the fire with one of Oswald’s books in his lap. He was not asleep, but his eyes drooped and he yawned as he turned to the opening door. After a moment’s perusal, his eyes widened and he shot from the chair.

  “What on earth happened to you?”

  Ash limped into the house and slammed the door behind him. There was an odd satisfaction in that simple act.

  What could he say? This was the most memorable night of his life. He’d danced, he’d kissed, he’d lost his heart — “I was shot.”

  Nathan assisted Ash to the chair by the fire, even though Ash insisted he didn’t need any help. It was just a scratch, after all. Hurt like hell, but he’d live.

  His godfather had to see for himself, of course, and wouldn’t rest until the furrow in Ash’s calf was cleaned and bandaged. He swore and mumbled as he did the job. When that was done Nathan retook his seat, and Ash leaned back and stared into the fire.

  “I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Nathan finally said, and there was such disappointment in his voice. You’d think he was the one who’d been shot.

  “It went as well as could be expected,” Ash said, sparing a glance for his godfather.

  “She found you out, didn’t she?” Nathan snapped. “I never would have thought it possible, you’re so transformed, so completely different.”

  “She didn’t find me out,” Ash assured him. He began to smile. No, she’d had no idea he was the one. He could look into the fire and see her lips awaiting his expectantly, her smile, her laughing face as she sat atop him in the grass. He’d wanted her then, more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone.

  “I see the night wasn’t a complete failure,” Nathan said with a smile of his own.

  “Not a complete failure,” Ash conceded.

  It was late, and Ash knew he should climb the stairs and get to bed. Maybe he’d sleep for a few hours tonight, for a change.

  “So you’ll see her again?” Nathan pressed. “You’ll call on her properly, and —”

  “No,” Ash said quickly and finally. “Tonight was fun, but this is where it ends.” Ah, but what a night to remember.

  The fire crackled, and for a while that was the only sound in the room. This house was a peaceful place, without Verna and her boys in it.

  “I’ve had the most fabulous idea,” Nathan said blandly. His even tone warned Ash that something was up. “Leave this place and come on the road with me. A bath, a shave, and a haircut, and you’re altered beyond belief. You’ve Lila’s blood in your veins, so there must be acting talent in you somewhere. Your good looks, Lila’s genes, my training, and I’m back in business.”

  “I’m no actor.”

  “You fooled Miss Haley,” Nathan cooed.

  Yes, he’d fooled Charmaine all right, but there hadn’t been any acting involved. He’d let down his guard for a few hours, but nothing had changed. “I’m a farmer, Nathan. I was born in this house and I’ll most likely die here. I’m sure that sounds dull to a man who’s traveled across the country time and again, but it’s who I am. It’s what I want.”

  He was a part of this place, it was a part of him. Otherwise, he would have left after his father’s death, leaving Verna and Elmo and Oswald to make their own way. He was and would forever be a farmer.

  And Charmaine Haley would make a terrible farmer’s wife.

  Ruth was humming as she straightened the gown and turned back the bed. How could she? How could she be so curiously happy? Ruth, who rarely smiled and never laughed, was grinning like a silly goose and humming a tune that had been played earlier during the evening.

  How could she be so inappropriately happy when Charmaine’s world was falling apart?

  “I’m glad to see someone had a good time tonight,” Charmaine snapped.

  “Oh yes, miss.” Ruth was apparently oblivious to the sarcasm. “Everything was just beautiful, and the food was delicious, and the guests seemed to have a good time.” Ruth cut a sly glance in Charmaine’s direction. “And I met a very nice man.”

  “You did?” Charmaine forgot her own predicament, for a moment.

  Ruth nodded, her head moving up and down in quick short snaps. “Yes ma’am, in the kitchen. He was looking for more of my apple pie, and he needed a seltzer for his stomach. I fetched a fresh pie from the oven and saw to his stomach, and we talked for quite some time.”

  “What did you talk about?” Charmaine asked, remembering her own conversation with the stranger.

  “Oh, recipes and headache powders and cures for stomach ailments, that sort of thing.”

  It sounded dreadfully dull to Charmaine, but Ruth seemed satisfied.

  When Ruth left her to make her own way to bed, Charmaine went to the window. Finally, she could breathe. She was going to burn that darn corset, and it would take an army to get her into one again.

  She was weary, but how could she sleep? How could she ever sleep again? A dance, a kiss, a whispered I’ll never forget . . . and her world was turned upside down.

  Howard had warned her that one day she would meet a man who appealed to her baser emotions, to her lower self. He’d tried to prepare her . . . but mere words couldn’t describe the way she’d felt when the stranger had kissed her. How did one fight something like that? How did one guard against a feeling that overpowered everything else, every thought, every conviction. . . .

  And her father had shot him! She tried not to think of it, tried to convince herself that he’d missed all six times and the stranger had made a clean getaway.

  But when she closed her eyes she saw him, wounded and bleeding, wasting away without her, calling her name . . . . She was distressed by the certain conviction that her stranger needed her.

  Such excitement was surely not good for her constitution, but she found she wasn’t anxious to put the stranger from her mind. The dancing and the conversation, that thrilling smile, the kissing in the gazebo. It was all so decadent . . . but it didn’t feel decadent. It felt good, and pure, and right, and she wanted nothing more than to look out the window and see him standing there beneath the maple tree, staring up, waiting for her to lift the pane and invite him in.

  Her eyes flew open and she sighed in dismay. Goodness, what was happening to her? She tried to reason out her unusual behavior. She’d been in emotional turmoil since arriving in Salley Creek. Her father was his usual demanding self, her mother was not herself at all, and everything had changed. And after an evening that was much too exciting, her father had taken a gun after the only man who’d ever made her question her beliefs.

  It was late, she was tired, and everything she believed in had been tested tonight.

  Her father would never find the stranger. The man who had robbed her of her senses as if she were a brainless child had to be, as he’d claimed, passing through Salley Creek never to return. And no one else would ever make her fall to such depths. No one. From now on, she’d be on her guard against tall, handsome strangers who were experts at dancing and kissing.

  It was just as well that her father was doomed to failure.

  And still she stepped to the window, lifted it slowly and quietly, and leaned forward to search the shadows of the maple tree that grew up to and beyond her window. She strained, listening intently for a sound that shouldn’t be there, a rustling of leaves or a seductive whisper. Nothing.

  She slammed the window shut.

  Nine

  He’d faced every man in town on this deceptively beautiful morning after the masked ball, with the boot that scoundrel had left behind in his hand and a silent and unnaturally pale Charmaine at his side. It was a frustrating quest. The men he confronted were either too short, or too fat, or they had incredibly small feet. With every failure, his anger grew. Stuart Haley would not be made a fool of! His daughter would not dally with a man unless she was by-God prepared to marry him!

  It didn’t take long at all to eliminate the men in town. Not that he�
�d expected to find the man he searched for sitting on his doorstep wearing only one boot. It wouldn’t be easy, but this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

  They were approaching the Coleman farm. From there, he would set his sights just beyond Salley Creek, to the ranches in the next county. The owner of this boot was probably some good-for-nothing cowboy enjoying a night on the town . . . with his daughter!

  Of course, when all was said and done it would be right nice to have a cowman as a son-in-law.

  “Daddy, you’re wasting your time,” Charmaine said with a forlorn sigh as they pulled up in front of the Coleman house. “I swear to you it wasn’t Oswald or Elmo March, and Ash wasn’t even there.”

  He snorted as he left the buggy and lifted his arms to assist Charmaine to the ground. He wanted to believe her, he truly did, but she’d changed so much . . . too much. His little girl would never lie to him, but this woman, well, he just wasn’t sure.

  “Then this won’t take long, will it?” he snapped as he mounted the steps.

  Truth was, he thought he remembered seeing those March boys while Charmaine was dancing with the low-life stranger who would marry her come hell or high water, but through his anger he couldn’t be certain. Besides, maybe they knew who the sonofabitch was. Somebody had to know!

  Verna Coleman opened the door before he reached it, a false smile on her face.

  “Why, Mr. Haley, what a pleasant surprise,” she said as she held the door opened wide. “And Charmaine,” she said brightly. “Do come in.”

  He didn’t like Verna Coleman, any more than he’d liked John in his day. She was friendly and always had been, and she ran with an acceptable bunch of churchgoing ladies in town . . . but her cheerful greetings made his skin crawl. No need to waste any time.

  “I’m looking for the man who belongs to this boot.”