Buck hesitated, then told her, “He says you ought to get married and learn your place.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Have you ever heard anything so infuriating?” Marriage!
“I knew you’d be mad.” He clasped his hands in a pleading gesture. “Please, Cici. I’m just the messenger.”
“Oh, bother.” Some days it just seemed as if the whole world was plotting against her. Cecilia stamped her boot and held her breath against the dust she’d just kicked up. “I’ll have to think of something. Meantime, Buck, you shouldn’t have been so nervous that you had to spend the entire morning with a whiskey bottle. If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up like poor old Dooley Hodges.”
Both of them shook their heads sadly. Dooley Hodges had been a crackerjack ranch hand before he’d had the misfortune to fall in love with a woman at Grady’s. When the girl had said she wouldn’t marry him, he’d decided to stand sentry at the bar, effectively cutting off her clientele. Unfortunately, the girl moved on and Dooley didn’t. He became a permanent fixture on his bar stool, until finally he just collapsed in an alcoholic funk. His people, from Fort Worth, had come for him, and Dooley was never heard from again.
“Poor Dooley,” Buck said, still shaking his head. “Bet he’s working in a store, or some such.” As if that was a fate worse than death.
“But of course, if his family hadn’t come for him, the temperance ladies probably would have run him out.”
Buck nodded. Some of the farmers’ wives deeply resented the presence of the bar—not to mention brothel—in Annsboro. Their husbands barely scratched out a living anyway, so it was a small wonder women begrudged cash money going to the consumption of women and alcohol, when some of them couldn’t afford to make decent winter clothes to send their children to school....
School!
A tantalizing vision of Eugene Pendergast being run out of town, with several large, outraged farm women on his heels, hurling rocks at his swiftly retreating back, flitted titillatingly through Cecilia’s imagination. Her lips curled up in a wide smile. Could she manage it? she thought, wondering whether Lysander Beasley had given Pendergast the same pompous morality lesson he’d given her.
It just might work, she thought, her heart racing. All she needed was an accomplice. “Buck, listen to me. I promise I’ll explain my extended stay to Daddy, in person, if you’ll just do me one tiny little favor.”
Buck regarded her through suspicious, bleary eyes. “Aw, Cici, why don’t you just come on home?”
“Because my home is right here,” she lectured sharply. “And if you liked me half as much as you’re so fond of saying you do, you’d understand that.”
“I do, but I don’t understand—”
“I’m a lady, Buck. What’s the point of being a lady if you’re stuck where nobody ever sees you?”
Buck rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, but your mother was a lady, and she lived out there.”
“And died there,” Cecilia snapped.
He winced at her piercing words and shrugged in obeisance. “Okay, okay. What am I supposed to do now?”
“I want you to get that new schoolteacher rip-roaring drunk.”
Buck let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “No, really,” he urged, then saw the earnest, withering look on her face. “You’re not jokin’ me?”
She paused a moment for effect. “I am not.”
And while Buck was inebriating her nemesis, she would get to work on her own line of sabotage. And she knew just where to start. For years, Lysander Beasley had stumped around the county trying to raise money for new school readers—because, of course, his daughter at six could read better than most adults. Finally, with generous contributions from Cecilia’s father and some others, he’d been able to purchase fifteen new Gibson readers. It would be too wonderful if anything happened to those precious books during Pendergast’s short tenure.
Buck was having trouble accepting her orders. “But I don’t even know the man. He might not be the kind to get liquored up.”
“Last night I saw him gulp down two glasses of Dolly’s potent blackberry wine like it was water. He drinks, all right.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Cecilia said in her firmest schoolmarm tone. “Buck McDeere, if you don’t do this for me I’m going straight home tomorrow to tell Daddy I saw you reeling out of Grady’s at half past eleven. Don’t forget who Dooley Hodges worked for. Daddy’s sensitive when it comes to workers and the bottle.”
“Aw, Cici, that’s...that’s—”
“Blackmail.” Cecilia smiled. “Same as you’ve done to me since we were kids.”
Buck shrugged helplessly and Cecilia knew she had him. Mentioning their long history never did any harm, since he considered that to be one of his best selling points as a suitor.
“All right,” he said. “I guess I’ll try.”
In her triumph, Cecilia beamed a smile at him and reached over to squeeze his arm. “Buck, I’m sorry for thinking you’re such a good-for-nothing.”
Buck grinned back happily. Although he was a bit nervous about his mission and suspicious about Cici’s motives, maybe she’d appreciate his efforts. He’d been trying to rush her for five years now and frankly, he was beginning to feel a little discouraged.
* * *
Pendergast took her hand and gazed deeply into her eyes. Cecilia remembered thinking that his dark eyes had a smoldering quality, and that was the word that came to her now. Lit by fire, they were, and desire for her alone.
They stood by the pond near her house, almost dry now since August. Still, the trees there provided shade, and a very promising privacy. With only a quick glance to confirm that they were alone, perfectly alone, he pulled her into his arms. Before Cecilia could react, his lips covered hers, warm and persuasive...
And then he started singing.
Cecilia bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. Pendergast had kissed her!
No, no, he hadn’t. Fuzzily, as she attempted to gain her bearings in the dark, her mind began to make sense of what had happened. She’d been dreaming—but surely, it had been more like a nightmare! Her labored breathing certainly indicated that something traumatic had occurred.
And yet, as she strained to remember the dream, her recollections were not at all unpleasant. First she’d been captivated by his coal dark eyes, which had drawn her closer to him without his even touching her. But how could that have happened?
Of course, the answer was that it hadn’t happened. But the scene was so vivid—his lips, his voice, singing...she could hear it even now. That truly was strange. She could make out the tune quite clearly. He was singing “Lorena”!
Cecilia pushed back her coverlet and hopped from the bed. Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck out the window to hear the mournful ballad. Someone was singing down the street, but it didn’t sound like Pendergast. It sounded more like...Buck!
A light breeze brought with it the ripe smell of the side yard, causing Cecilia to duck her head back inside. She groped through the darkened room for her robe, then remembered that it was one of the items she’d sent home. Letting out an exasperated breath as the singing neared the house, she left her room in her nightgown and bare feet to meet the roving minstrel.
The evening was