Someone Like You (13 page)

Her eyes sparkled with humor. “Lord, no. Probably won’t be the last time I overindulge either. You know, there comes a point in everyone’s life when the only thing that will help is a drink. When you get older, those times seem to come closer together. Take me, for instance. I used to wonder why I liked to have a drink in the evening.”

“I take it you don’t wonder anymore?”

“Nope. No point in wondering when you know the answer.”

“What’s the answer?”

“A drink makes anybody seem more interesting. Can you imagine what it would be like to spend every single evening for the rest of your life with Dally?”

“I noticed she’s in one of her good humors this morning. Our conversation was tart enough to have been soaked in brine.”

“Dally should be gagged.”

Reed laughed.

“Sure is nice to hear a man’s laughter. Makes me remember my husband. He’s been dead twenty years. I hear you start remembering all those who have gone before you when you start getting old.”

“I wouldn’t say you were getting old.”

“Listen, when I was young the Dead Sea was alive.”

“My mother always said age was a matter of mind. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

Buckwheat came into the room and curled himself on Violette’s lap. Violette stroked him a time or two as she considered Reed. “You a drinking man?”

“I have been known to imbibe on occasion.”

“But not on a regular basis?”

“No.”

“Good. I need you sober in case I fall asleep again. Dally said Susannah was frightened.”

“Yes, she was quite frightened. She thought you were dying. She is very devoted to you, you know.”

She stopped petting Buckwheat and looked off. “Yes, I know. That bothers me. I’m not going to live forever. I worry sometimes…about what will happen to her when I’m gone.”

“I have a feeling you will live a long time. You appear to be in excellent health.”

“My health is fine. It’s my age that’s bad.”

He smiled. “By the time you’re ready to cash in your chips, Susannah will probably have a husband and a dozen children.”

“I’m not so certain. You see, Susannah has never had a beau—has not even come close to having a beau.”

He couldn’t have hidden his surprise if he’d wanted to. “Not ever?”

“No, not even once.”

“But I thought Tate…”

“Tate has wanted Susannah for years, but Susannah never cared for him. She made that plain enough. She refused to allow him to court her. He came by once, a long time ago. Susannah had warned him not to come out here, but Tate does pretty much as he pleases, you know.”

“What happened when he came here?”

“He knocked on the door. Susannah poked her head out of her bedroom window and told him to leave. He refused and she dumped a washbasin full of water on him.”

“I can understand her disinterest in Tate, but what about other men?”

“It was the same. She was simply not interested. Never.”

Reed was puzzled. “I know she doesn’t care for men, but I figured that was because she’d had an unhappy experience with one sometime in her past—but never? She is too lovely a woman to end up a spinster.”

“My sentiments exactly. I don’t want you to think it was because there were no other men interested in her. There have been plenty, but Susannah never gave them the time of day. And it isn’t because she had a tragic love affair either.”

“I knew there was something strange…”

“Not strange at all, considering that…well, perhaps we should let that dog lie for a spell.”

His curiosity was stirred. “What were you going to say? Considering what?”

“Nothing.”

Judging from the firmly clenched jaw, he didn’t think she would be volunteering any more tidbits during this conversation. His only leverage was to tell her about the things Susannah had said the other day, but something held him back. He would let it ride for now. Before long, he was going to ask the questions he had been wanting to ask. And when he did, he wanted some answers.

Right now he had his own ghosts to deal with. He stood up and patted Buckwheat on the head. “I guess I’d better be getting back to work. I didn’t intend to stay so long. I just wanted to see how you were feeling.”

“I hear you took pretty good care of me last night.”

“All I did was carry you to your room. Susannah did the rest.”

“That’s not the story I heard. I’m told you have quite a way with doctoring.”

“A man does what he has to do,” he said. “I’ve always been a great improviser.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll see you at suppertime.”

“Count on it,” she said. “I never miss a meal.”

Reed went to the henhouse and began nailing up the new chicken wire and mashed his thumb three times. He didn’t curse, even though he knew the reason he smashed his thumb in the first place was because Susannah and not chicken wire was on his mind. Yes, she was puzzling. Yes, he was frustrated. And the thing that frustrated him the most was that he was allowing his thoughts to linger on her longer than they should, that he was involving himself in something he knew he ought to stay out of.

You cannot save the world, Reed, no matter how badly you want to.
His mother’s voice came to him as sharp and clear as if she were standing beside him. He remembered the way she looked when he saw her last, wearing dark blue velvet with Venetian point lace, her Etruscan gold bracelet on her arm. He imagined his lovely mother walking next to him here, through the clucking hens and chicken droppings. And he laughed.

Good Lord, how far away Boston was…how very, very far.

That night, when he lay in bed, he relived the pain he had tried to put behind him. Yet the more he tried, the more the past came back to haunt him. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of Boston.

Reed was leading Rosebud outside the barn when Susannah suddenly appeared in the doorway wearing a bright, saffron-colored dress of simple cotton that seemed to capture all the sunlight on this dewy morning. He was blinded by the sight.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. You’re looking as fresh as a buttercup,” he said.

“It’s because of my yellow dress.”

“No. It’s not the dress. It’s you.”

She smiled hesitantly, as if uncertain of herself, but her confidence returned as she walked toward him with steps as careful and measured as a bride’s.

“You look troubled? Is something amiss?”

“It’s Daffy. I can’t find her anywhere. I was hoping you had seen her.”

“Not this morning. But don’t worry. I’m sure she will turn up.”

“I’m not so sure. There were a lot of goose feathers near the pigsty. I hope she didn’t fall prey to a coyote during the night.”

“Perhaps she’s down at the creek.”

“I don’t think so. She never goes down there.”

“There’s always a first time. Don’t forget that geese are waterfowl. I think it would be quite natural for her to migrate toward water on such a fine spring morning.”

She looked thoughtful, then her expression turned to one of relief. “She has been spending a lot of time in the watering trough of late. Perhaps you’re right. I’ll walk down that way. If you should see her…”

“I’ll let you know.”

She did not say anything, nor did she make any move to leave. When Rosebud began rubbing her head impatiently against Reed’s arm, it broke the spell of silence between them.

“I’ll head on down to the creek and let you get on with your plowing.”

He watched her leave, and once she was out of sight, he led Rosebud toward the door.

They had almost stepped through the doorway when much to Reed’s surprise, he saw Tate Trahern entering the yard. Tate rode up to Susannah and dismounted.

Reed waited just inside the barn.

She must have heard him coming up behind her, for she turned toward him and held her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Tate Trahern,” she said slowly, as if allowing the surprise of seeing him to settle. “What are you doing out here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

“This will only take a minute.”

“I really don’t have time. Our goose is missing. I’ve got to find her.”

“I’ll buy you a dozen damn geese. I want a few words with you.”

Even from where he stood, Reed could hear her weary sigh. “What about?”

“About this drifter your aunt hired.”

“Reed?”

“What is he to you?”

“The same that he is to my aunts—a farmhand. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Are you seeing him?”

“I see him every day. He works here.”

“You know what I mean. Is he courting you?”

“Don’t be silly.”

Tate stepped closer.

Susannah took a couple of steps back, until she was against the wall of the equipment shed.

“If it’s a man you’re looking for—”

“If I wanted a man, Tate Trahern, I wouldn’t look in your direction. Now, go away and leave me be.” She made a move to leave, but Tate leaned forward and placed his palm against the wood planking, blocking her way.

Reed tied Rosebud and started outside when Susannah suddenly ducked under Tate’s arm and rushed to the door of the shed. She picked up a rake that was leaning against it. Tate had almost reached her when she whirled around and thrust the rake toward him.

Tate jumped back just as she said, “If you want that pretty face of yours all scratched up, keep on coming.”

“You wouldn’t hit me with that,” he said, and took another step. “Not that it matters. I like a woman with a little fight in her.”

He lunged and Susannah brought the rake down. It caught the brim of his hat. When she drew the rake back, his hat came with it, held by three tines.

“Good God almighty! You could have killed me.”

“Get on your horse and leave.” She thrust the rake toward him. Tate leaped backward, tripped, and fell. Susannah shoved the rake at him one more time. “And take your hat with you.”

Tate scrambled to his feet and grabbed his hat. “You’re crazy.”

“I’ve also got a good aim. Next time I won’t miss.”

Tate didn’t say a word as he went to his horse and mounted.

Once he had ridden out of the yard, Reed walked quickly over to Susannah. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. I can take care of myself.”

He laughed. “Yes, I saw. You’re pretty good with the working end of a rake. I thought for a moment you were going to plant that thing in his head.”

“Don’t worry, Yank. I never intended to hit him. I just wanted to let him think I would. Tate is really a coward, like all bullies. And he can only bully people who are afraid of him.”

“Which you aren’t, apparently.”

She shook her head. “I’ll go down to the creek to see if I can find Daffy.” She leaned the rake against the shed and walked away.

Reed stared at Susannah’s retreating back. She was brave in so many ways, timid in so many others. She baffled him frequently and intrigued him always these days. She was all closed up. A tightly wrapped box…that he wanted desperately to open…like a Christmas present.

His stomach knotted. Who was he to even think about disrupting the fragile peace Susannah had wrenched out for herself? She’d stayed put and gone on. He’d run away from the troubles in his past as soon as he’d been able. She’d called Tate Trahern a coward. If she knew how he’d dealt with the problems in his life, she’d have every right to call him a coward…and worse.

Chapter Thirteen

Susannah opened the door. Reed was there with Daffy in his arms.

“Daffy!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Reed, where did you find her?”

“Honking hoarsely in the feed bin. She must have wandered in when I wasn’t looking.”

Susannah took her from him. “Oh, poor Daffy. Were you in there all this time—all yesterday and this morning while we were in church?”

Daffy honked her delight and nibbled at Susannah’s face.

Violette joined them on the porch. “I locked her in the privy once.”

Susannah laughed. “I remember that,” she said, then put Daffy down. “I imagine she’s hungry.”

Dahlia walked up in time to say, “She shouldn’t be hungry. She was in the feed bin.”

“Yes, but Daffy is a grazer. I doubt she ate much grain.”

“No matter,” Dahlia said. “A missed meal or two won’t hurt her. She’s fat as a brood sow.”

Daffy didn’t seem to mind the name-calling, for she waddled off with her bill to the ground in search of food.

“Come on in the house,” Violette said, taking Reed by the arm. “We’ve got Sunday dinner ready.”

“I thought I’d eat a couple of those biscuits and the ham I took home with me last night.”

“Save those for later. We’d be mighty honored to have you join us for a nice, hot Sunday meal.” She leaned toward him and whispered, “We’ve got pork chops, collard greens, a mountain of potatoes…and rice pudding.”

“The biscuits can wait,” Reed said, and followed them into the house where he ate too much and enjoyed every bite.

Once everyone had finished, Reed was invited to join them in the parlor.

“Aunt Vi thinks Sunday afternoon is the best time to read,” Susannah said, leading the way.

Reed nodded. “I agree, but I don’t have anything to read.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ve got plenty of books for you to choose from,” Dahlia said.

Susannah began pulling out books, trying to find a title that interested him. Before long, her aunts joined her. By the time he decided on
The Farmer’s Almanac
, there must have been at least a dozen books scattered about.

Susannah settled herself into a chair across from Reed. Occasionally she would look up from her book, only to find him reading intently, his eyes moving over the page at a very rapid rate. She was thinking he must have had a lot of schooling to read that fast, when she began to notice how long his legs looked, thrust out over the carpet as they were, crossed at the ankles.

Much to her surprise, she found it a nice, pleasant feeling to have a man in the house, stretched out comfortably with his attention on a book. Having spent almost all of her life in a household of women, she found his presence both welcome and perplexing. She was thinking about that when Aunt Vi stood up and went to the window.

“It’s hot as a baker’s oven in here,” she said. “I think I’ll open a few— Oh, my Lord! It’s Reverend Pettigrew coming up the road.”

Susannah leaped to her feet. “Hurry! We’ve got to hide these books!”

The three women sprang into action. “Here, Aunt Vi! Stuff
The Wayward Wanton
under the sofa cushion; toss
The Sultan’s Captive
in the piano bench. Aunt Dally, get that copy of
The Dastardly Deed
and shove it behind the clock on the mantle. Oh, dear, where can I put this copy of Ovid?”

“Here, give it to me,” Violette said. “I’ll cram it into this copper urn.”

“Hurry!” Dahlia said. “He’s almost through the gate.”

Susannah grabbed the Bible and put it on the skirted table next to Reed, who seemed mightily amused. “There,” she said, “I think we’re ready.”

Susannah was just about to sit down again with a copy of
Twelve Steps to Piety
when Violette suddenly said, “Susannah! Get that copy of
The Ravishing Prince
lying on the table and put it somewhere! Quickly! I hear him on the porch.”

Susannah grabbed the book and looked frantically around the room. Not a moment too soon, she dashed toward the family Bible and thrust the thin and tiny copy of
The Ravishing Prince
inside.

A second later Dahlia led the Reverend Pettigrew into the parlor. “Good afternoon, ladies…Mr. Garrett,” he said. “I was on my way back from the Donnally place and thought I’d stop by. I was hoping Susannah might have some of that cold buttermilk she gave me last time I was here.”

Reed stood and shook hands with the Reverend Pettigrew as Susannah hurried into the kitchen.

She came out a few minutes later with a tray of glasses filled with buttermilk, which she passed around.

“I must say I didn’t expect to find all of you inside on such a fine day.”

“We were reading,” Dahlia said.

“Oh?” Reverend Pettigrew looked around the room and Susannah groaned. She knew he was looking for the books.

“We were reading the Bible… That is, Mr. Garrett was reading to us.”

Reed, she noticed, raised his brows at her, but thankfully said nothing.

“Why, that’s a mighty nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I think I’ll suggest that to the rest of the congregation next Sunday.” He looked in Reed’s direction and said, “What book were you reading from?”

“
The Song of Solomon
,” Reed said smoothly.

Susannah wanted to choke him. Of course he was aware that the
Song of Solomon
contained some very descriptive passages on the female anatomy.

“
The Song of Solomon
, you say,” Reverend Pettigrew repeated thoughtfully. About that time his wandering gaze landed on the family Bible sitting on the table next to Reed. “That’s a mighty fine-looking Bible you’ve got there,” he said, rising to his feet.

He had no more than started toward it when Susannah leaped up and dashed toward the Bible. “Here! Let me get it for you!” she said.

Susannah picked up the large Bible. Her fingers slipped between the pages to retrieve the slim volume of
The Ravishing Prince
. As she turned toward the reverend, she dropped the small book into Reed’s lap, vowing to put tacks in his biscuits if he didn’t hide it.

Reverend Pettigrew looked through the Bible as he sipped his buttermilk. When he finished, he stood and thanked Susannah. “Your buttermilk was as good as I remembered.”

“You needn’t hurry off, Reverend,” Susannah said.

“I’ve got two more stops to make, so I’d best be on my way.”

When Reed got to his feet and stepped forward, Susannah’s horrified gaze fell on the copy of
The Ravishing Prince
lying in his chair. He’d been sitting on it. Violette must have seen it about the same time, for she moved quickly to the chair and sat down.

“I do hope you will forgive me if I don’t walk you to the door, Reverend,” Violette said. “I suddenly feel a bit lightheaded.”

“It must be the heat,” Susannah said.

“You stay right there,” the reverend said as he and Reed walked toward the door. After farewells, the two men went outside.

Susannah watched them from the window, wondering what Reed would say to them when he returned. When the men finished talking, Reed waited until the reverend drove off, then walked toward the barn. Susannah watched him go, unable to understand the sudden stab of disappointment that gripped her.

Later that night she could not sleep for thinking about him. Were these the kinds of thoughts her mother had? Did she think about men until her curiosity got the best of her? What was it like to dress provocatively, to feel the hot glances, the roving hands? She had often wondered about how it would feel.

Susannah rolled over and punched her pillow, but sleep would not come. With an exasperated sigh, she threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. Across the room, she saw the old humpback trunk that had belonged to her mother. She went to it and threw back the lid. After rummaging through the contents, she found what she was looking for—the low-cut, scarlet satin dress with the black feather trim. She dug a little further until she found the black silk stockings and the black satin shoes. She turned toward the mirror and looked at herself in her green cotton nightgown.

A moment later the nightgown lay on the floor at Susannah’s feet. In its place was the scarlet satin dress. Susannah glanced down at an ocean of bosom. She had more cleavage than the tufted cushions in the judge’s fancy carriage. She turned to one side and allowed the long slit in the skirt to part, revealing a length of leg covered in the black silk. She looked at her reflection, then lifted her hair to the top of her head. She imagined herself in a smoke-filled room swimming in the scent of cheap perfume. She saw herself as she had seen her mother when she watched from behind the stair rails, slowly descending the steps in a graceful and fluid manner until every man in the room turned to watch. But she imagined Reed Garrett watching instead. Susannah felt beautiful, desirable, aching to know what it would feel like to let Reed see her like this.

“No!” she said, and whirled away from the image of herself in the mirror. She began jerking the black feathers from around her neck, then ripping at the satin. When she stood over the pile of tattered satin, feathers, and silk, she began to cry. Susannah had destroyed the only bit of her mother’s clothing she had left. She stared down at the pile, not trying to stop the tears.

Now she knew how it felt to wear those clothes. She knew, and she was terrified she might want to know more.

A few days later Susannah glanced out the kitchen window and saw Reed leading Rosebud out for the smithy to shoe. Ordinarily she would have gone to talk to Jess Oliver. She had known him since she was a child, for he was one of the first people she met when she came to live with her aunts in Bluebonnet. She could still remember clearly the day he stopped by to shoe her new pony. He would be wondering why she stayed in the house, why she did not come out with a cup of coffee and the offer of a slice of fresh-baked pie.

Until now it had not been so difficult to keep men in their proper perspective, to allow them to be in her life but to play only a minor role. That had all changed with the appearance of Reed Garrett. For all her life she had lived with the knowledge that her aversion to men came from the fear that she might turn out like her mother, from the abhorrence of the sordid things she had seen and heard the first nine years of her fife.

She had a new fear. What if the contrary was true? What if her fear came not from despising the things her mother and the other whores did with men, but from knowing that she wanted to do the same things? If she were honest, she would have to admit she had thought about such things with Reed, more than once.

Now she understood why the shadowy images of naked bodies, the sounds and smells of lovemaking haunted her dreams at night. The only difference she could find between her mother and herself was that while her mother made love indiscriminately with any man, Susannah could see herself doing those things with only one. And that made Reed someone she had to avoid at all costs. If she ever gave in to her desire, to her will, she would be lost.

She chastised herself for thinking about things like this when she had a bushel basket full of tomatoes that needed to be cooked and ladled into jars, and forced herself to turn away from the window.

“Oh,” she said, when she saw Violette standing in the doorway looking at her. “You startled me. How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to wonder if you were going to be content to watch, or if you were going to do what you wanted to and go on out there.”

“Out where?”

“Out where Jess is working. Jess and Reed.”

“That isn’t what I want.”

“Hogwash! This is your Aunt Vi you are talking to. My body may be old and wrinkled, but my mind is as sharp as it ever was. I’m not so old that I don’t know what it feels like to want a man.”

“I don’t want him.” She went to the sink and took some tomatoes out of the basket and began washing them, as if she could wash this conversation away with the dirt.

“He’s a nice man.”

“You don’t know anything about him.”

“I’m a good judge of character.”

“Yes, you are, and if I remember right, it was your good judgment that persuaded you to buy that worthless divining rod from the peddler last year.”

“It wasn’t worthless. It’s made a right nice support to prop the window open.”

Susannah put down the tomato she was holding and faced Violette, drying her hands as she did. “All right. What is going on here? Are you trying to whet my interest in this hired hand?”

“Since when did you start referring to him as a hired hand? He’s not just an ordinary drifter, and you know that as well as I do. He’s educated. He has an air of refinement about him that makes me think he comes from the kind of family we’ve only read about in books.”

“If that’s true, then he is running from something…more than likely the law.”

“If there’s anything in his past, it’s pain, not something criminal.”