Be My Texas Valentine (32 page)

JoEmma decided to just take a moment’s rest to catch her wind before tackling the silly talk shared at such tea parties. “Tell them I have to wash my hands, then I’ll be there.”

“At least take off your apron,” Angie suggested, “and pinch your cheeks. You’re looking too pale. We don’t want them thinking that I don’t watch out for you.” She turned swiftly on her slippers and headed back to their guests.

Oohs and ahhs over the decorated bowl echoed from the doorway, telling JoEmma that the others appreciated her efforts whether or not they would understand her delay and lack of tea gown.

A series of chirps from behind her reminded JoEmma that someone else was getting a little perturbed with her delay. She swung her wheelchair around and watched as her pet lovebird rattled the latch that held the door to its cage.

“Says-a-me. Says-a-me. Open up,” chirped the bird.

JoEmma laughed, amused by the humor she had taught her pet. Life got too serious at times and she had to find some way to laugh at her own circumstances, so she took great pleasure in teaching Gabby funny things to say. Their housekeeper had warned her that one of these days Gabby was going to say something embarrassing to the wrong person, but JoEmma knew stern-faced Hannah enjoyed the lovebird just as much as she did. She often found the woman trying to teach Gabby new words, too.

“Says-a-me. Says-a-me. Open up.” Gabby echoed the magical command that JoEmma had rephrased from Ali Baba and his old Arabian tale.

“All right, Funny Feathers,” she conceded. It seemed everybody was in a hurry today. “But just for a little while, and you have to be on your best behavior. We’ve got guests.”

She opened the cage and Gabby flew out, immediately landing on JoEmma’s left shoulder—her favorite place to roost.

“Smch-smch-smch,” Gabby chirped, leaning her peach-colored cheek against her owner’s.

“I love you, too, little girl, but I’ve got no time for kisses right now.” JoEmma rolled over to the sideboy, which held a decorative pitcher and water bowl. “Got to get my hands washed and get in there before Angie calls in the cavalry.”

“Fancy Angie. Fancy Angie. Phew!”

JoEmma laughed and dried her hands on her apron before taking it off and draping it over a chair as she rolled out of the room with Gabby firmly stationed on her shoulder. “You’re right,” she whispered at the words she’d taught the bird to say when it heard her sister’s name. “She’s lots of work and a great big phew most of the time.”

The hallway announced JoEmma’s approach as the chair rolled across the floor, its rugless boards echoing the creak of wheels. She hated that she could never slip quietly into a room, but Angelina wouldn’t have let her today even if she could.

“There you are.” Angie waved her over to the spot where she’d made space for the wheelchair to complete the circle of settee and high-backed chairs filled with women. “We were just talking about which one of us Noah Powell will ask to the dance. I thought you might want in on that discussion.”

All eyes turned toward JoEmma.

“Why should that interest me?” she asked evasively, telling herself to look them in the eye, act like Angie was talking nonsense, and for goodness’ sake, not blush.

“No-ah-Pow. No-ah-Pow. Smch-smch-smch.” Gabby made little kissing noises, heating JoEmma’s cheeks to seven levels of hell. When in blue blazes had Funny Feathers learned all that? She was going to have to have a talk with Hannah about what she could and could not teach the bird.

Angelina stared daggers at Gabby, even though the pet had just confirmed JoEmma’s interest in Noah. “Why is that sorry excuse for a hat decoration out of its cage?”

“She’s not hurting anyone and she’ll stay on my shoulder.” JoEmma’s voice lowered to warn Angelina not to push the argument. Gabby was a sore subject between the sisters, one that JoEmma refused to bend on. “Let’s get on with the tea party.”

“She’s a cute little thing anyway, Angie,” one of the ladies complimented. “I’d like to have one myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Angelina’s eyes glinted at JoEmma before turning to her friend and softening. “They’re far too much trouble and demand a lot of attention, Carrie. You’d make Bovice jealous spending so much time away from him. Why, that man simply droops when you look anywhere but at him.”

A round of feminine giggles and shared tales of other beaux’ demands upon their attentiveness made JoEmma wonder if maybe she had been born without a level of sap in her marrow. Her friends oozed syrupy sweetness and flitted from beau to beau like colorful butterflies gathering nectar. She, on the other hand, felt as if she’d been born with a pinch of sourdough and a measure of salt in her veins, and was as congenial as a stinkbug. She realized she was always too hard on herself, but she simply wasn’t an oohey-gooey gal like Angie and she didn’t know how to act like one.

“Well, I say we make a little bet about whose name is going to be drawn with Noah’s.” Angelina held up the decorated bowl.

“You probably had her write
your
name on all of them.” Though she was challenging Angelina, Carrie Sanders focused her taunt toward JoEmma.

JoEmma frowned at the pouty-lipped woman she’d known since second grade. Carrie had always been envious of Angelina’s beauty. “She told me to make one for all of you.” Much as it irritated her to do so, Jo Emma defended Angie as well. “And don’t be calling my sister a cheat.”

Carrie visibly wilted as Angelina returned the honor. “You can be assured that my sister kept it completely fair.”

Surprise filled JoEmma at her sister’s returned defense of her, easing some of her anger about the verbal attack on Gabby.

Carrie’s cheeks reddened. “But I thought you said ...”

Challenge darkened Angelina’s eyes to a deeper shade of green. “What I said was that Belle has asked me to choose the names out of the jar. That would make it very convenient for me to pull whichever name I want to match with his when it comes up, if I were so compelled. And I’m very compelled to pull out my own.”

A muffled round of applause echoed over the room as the women clapped their gloved hands. It was no secret that the most beautiful woman in town wanted the most eligible bachelor for a husband. Trouble was, Noah had shown no particular favor to any unattached female since his return to Longhorn City several years ago. Accustomed to having any beau she wanted, Angelina couldn’t quite accept the fact that Dr. Powell just wasn’t interested. She had set her bonnet to catch him and was determined that her friends would help her achieve that goal any way they could.

“I’ll tell.” JoEmma didn’t realize she had said the words till the applause died and the room filled with silence. It was then that she decided she sounded like she was seven years old again, arguing with them on the schoolyard.

“You told me you wouldn’t even be going,” Angie countered, scooting her slim hips to the edge of her high-backed chair. “What should it matter to you anyway since you plan on staying home?”

All eyes focused on JoEmma again. She hadn’t told them yet that she wouldn’t attend. They’d sure enough think she was being unsociable now. All of her softening toward Angie about defending her began to harden with purpose to protect Noah from being manipulated.

“I’ll go just to keep things fair,” she warned them stubbornly. Let them think what they would. She wouldn’t allow Noah to be used that way. If he wanted to take someone to a dance, that was one thing. And if someone’s name was chosen randomly out of the bowl, that was another. But to rig the names seemed unfair. Why did none of the other ladies have a problem with this?

“You all have the right to be matched up with him,” JoEmma argued the point. “Angie’s being unfair to each of you and most of all to Dr. Powell.”

“An-gie. An-gie. Phew! Pow!”

“Quiet, little one,” JoEmma whispered, wishing someone else would speak up for Noah other than Gabby.

“I say we all challenge each other,” Belle Whitaker announced. All faces turned to the most respected and wealthiest woman in their midst. She sat at one end of the settee, her golden tea gown, lace fan, and pearl drop earrings adding to the regal presence of moneyed authority. “Whichever of you can convince Noah to escort you to the dance will be the name that Angelina pulls out to match with his heart. Just as we’ve agreed to match any of you who are escorted by other beaux.”

JoEmma began to understand why there was no objection from the others. Angie would be playing matchmaker to several couples.

“I bet he asks me. In fact, I plan to make sure he does.” Angelina leaned over and tapped the fan she held on Belle’s glove, signaling a call for any takers on the bet.

“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” Carrie challenged.

“Sure enough that if I don’t, I’ll come to the dance dressed in ...” Angelina’s head spun around to look JoEmma up and down. “Overalls.”

Everyone knew Angelina Brown prided herself in being the best-dressed beauty at any gathering. She would never allow herself to be seen in anything less than the height of fashion. Her and JoEmma’s trust fund often suffered the brunt of Angie’s overspending on clothes, much to the dismay of JoEmma’s more conservative nature. Overspending that urged JoEmma to take up odd jobs here and there to cover expenses above the monthly allotment. The money their parents’ deaths had left was just enough to ensure their incomes lasted until both married.

JoEmma did not see that as anytime soon in her own future, if ever. She wouldn’t burden Noah with a wife who required more from him than he had time to share. And since he was the man she had set her own mind to marrying when she was ten years old, she’d resolved herself to be a spinster after the scarlet fever had taken her good health. To see him married to another woman would one day be the hardest thing she’d ever had to endure. But if it was to her own sister, to share her future with his but not as his wife, that would be unbearable.

At the moment she had to decide whether she was defending Noah from the women’s matchmaking bets or her heart from being broken. The truth would taste sour if she spoke it aloud.

“I’ll take you up on that bet.” Belle tapped her fan on Angelina’s glove. A round of fan tapping took place among all the women except one. No one would back out from the bet. Their word had been given.

“Here, Sister, you can borrow my glove and fan.” Angelina began to strip off one glove.

“No thank you.” JoEmma waved away the offer, then abruptly hid her hands in her lap, remembering that her bare palms showed the calluses caused from rolling the wheelchair. “I won’t be any part of such a bet. You need to make the drawings fair.”

If it was fair, she would brace herself for whatever the outcome might be.

“Well, I can see it’s time for the sisters to discuss this between themselves.” Belle Whitaker stood and thanked her hostesses for their hospitality, signaling an end to the party plans. The other women gathered their parasols and bade their good-byes, preparing to leave.

When Belle grabbed the door handle to open it, JoEmma forgot Noah and remembered that Gabby was still perched on her shoulder. “No, wait!” she shouted.

Her warning came too late.

The door opened.

Gabby took flight.

JoEmma couldn’t move fast enough to stop her.

Rainbow-colored feathers soared into the huge blue Texas sky beyond.

Belle offered a quick apology and one of the other ladies said, “A real shame. It was such a pretty little thing.”

JoEmma rolled past the kaleidoscope of skirts, rushing down the wooden ramp built to accommodate her own coming and going.

“Be careful, Jo!” Angelina shouted from behind her. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

Not sure whether her concern was sincere or just a show for the others, JoEmma dared to stop at the end of the ramp and spun around to see if her sister followed, if she really cared that she might get hurt, if she would actually offer to help.

A mistake.

Angelina just stood there, surrounded by the women, who were trying to reassure her that all would be well. One gloved hand pressed against her lips in dismay.

All for show.
JoEmma squelched the hope that had made her look and turned back around to roll the wheelchair down the boarded walk that led to the line of buggies hitched in front of the Brown home. Anger drove her now. Not anger at Angie’s lack of true concern but at herself for wanting her sister to care enough.

“Wait, Jo! We can always get you another bird!” Angelina shouted behind her.

“Too late,” JoEmma whispered as she maneuvered her way to the street beyond. Angie had taken time to think of something to say that would impress the others with her concern. She had
thought
instead of simply
reacted
with love. JoEmma had wanted her sister to care for her as deeply as she cared for Angie. It simply wasn’t on Angie’s list of priorities.

Lord, give me enough strength to catch Gabby.
JoEmma ignored the rocks and dirt flying up from beneath her wheels, making the calluses sting.

As she caught sight of multicolored feathers flitting from rooftop to branch, she added through gritted teeth, “And please help us both survive my sister.”

Chapter 3

A refreshing breeze rustled the curtains in Noah’s bedroom, waking him from the deep sleep of exhaustion that had overtaken him when he’d returned from delivering the Boatright twins. He yawned and stretched, waking to the sound of happy chirping from the parlor. The sound hinted that his pet’s health was on the mend, and that made the morning seem all the brighter.

Last night Noah had come in so late and in such need of rest himself that he had done little but strip off his worn clothing, take a quick bath, and crawl under the bedcovers. The smell of brewing coffee reminded him that it must be cleaning day for Mrs. Lassiter. No matter what room she happened to be working in, a cup full of coffee was never far behind her.

Coffee. Mrs. Lassiter. You’re naked.
Reality cleared away the last remnants of sleep, making him reach for the covers to pull around him. But there were none. They lay in a tangle at the foot of his bed. “Mrs. Lassiter? Are you still here?”