Sudden Storms (5 page)

“No siree. She wants ya for supper. She swore me to secrecy and to not be invitin’ ya my own self. She just don’t know how to go about askin’, that’s all. Ya make her all jumpy and nervous,” Paxton stated.

“Oh, I’m sure that ain’t true at all,” Weston mumbled. “What ya doin’ to that stall?”

Paxton looked back at his project. “Snort kicked it down the other day when I was cleanin’ somethin’ out of his hoof. He’s an ornery ol’ boy.” Paxton looked back to his friend. “So are ya or aren’t ya ever gonna get around to bein’ my brother-in-law?”

Weston laughed. “We’ll see, Pax. What about you? You’re near as old as I am. Ain’t you plannin’ to settle down into family life?”

Paxton chuckled and shook his head. “Not me. No sir. I ain’t cut out for bein’ a good husband and daddy. I’ll leave that up to purty boys like you.”

“Seems to me ya thought ya were cut out for it once before,” Weston mumbled in a low, serious tone.

Paxton paused before answering. “Yeah? Well, I wasn’t thinkin’ straight back then.”

Weston looked back toward the house. “Seems to me that friend of Jolee’s is plum intoxicatin’ to look at. And she’s spunky to boot.”

“Oh, she’s spunky all right. A might too big for her own britches, if ya ask me. She got her dander up at me the other day, and we went around for awhile,” Paxton admitted with a chuckle.

“Did you end up on your seat in the crick again?” Weston asked.

“Nope,” Paxton answered. “But yesterday mornin’…I found the fly in my flannels was sewed shut. I discovered it at a right awkward time, mind you. Weren’t a convenient moment to have my fly sewed shut. Had to strip down to nothin’ just to take care of my business.”

Weston broke into roaring laughter. “You’re joshin’ me, boy! She sewed up your fly?”

Paxton nodded and laughed himself. “I was near to red-faced anger at first. But after a minute, well…I thought it was dang clever.”

“Well, I don’t doubt for a second ya didn’t deserve it. And don’t go feedin’ me them oats about not bein’ cut out for settlin’ down. I know ya better than you’d like me to, Paxton Gray.”

Paxton chuckled again. “Yeah, I suppose ya do at that.”



“Settle down, Jolee. You look beautiful! Just beautiful,” Rivers encouraged.

“What if the beef is too tough, Rivers? He’ll think I can’t boil water!” Jolee cried in a whisper.

“The beef will be just fine, Jo. Now, take a deep breath and calm down before he gets here to find you panting at him,” Rivers whispered with a giggle.

Jolee took a deep breath. “All right. I’m fine now. I’m fine,” she whispered.

There was a knock on the front door, and Jolee jumped. “I’m sick to my stomach, Rivers! I can’t answer it. I mean, if a man hates a woman’s cookin’…well, there just ain’t no other reason to like her then.”

Rivers took her friend’s hand and pulled her toward the parlor. “Just open the door and say hello,” she whispered.

But at the very moment Rivers pushed her friend forward to open the door, Weston Warner stepped through it and into the house. Rivers gasped and her hands flew to her mouth as she saw Jolee go stumbling straight into Weston’s arms.

“Ya all right?” Weston asked as he steadied Jolee.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you,” Jolee stammered, shooting a threatening stare at Rivers and smoothing her apron. “Come on in…supper’s almost ready. I’ll just call Pax in.”

“I’ll fetch him,” Rivers volunteered, dashing past them and out the front door. She quickly walked to the barn and called, “Paxton? Weston’s here, and Jolee’s ready to sit down to supper. You better look like being prompt. I’ve already messed up his welcome.”

Paxton turned and smiled. “She’s nervous, is she?” he asked.

“As a fresh spring bunny,” Rivers whispered, momentarily unnerved by the piercing blue directed at her. “And to make it worse, I gave her a little shove toward the door…you know, so she would actually let him in the house, and she went flying right into his arms!”

Paxton smiled. “Good. They both need a little shove here and there.”

He walked passed her and toward the house. Rivers paused. She felt depressed suddenly. Watching Paxton walk toward the house, she realized if things did work out between Weston and Jolee, which she had no doubt they would, she would have to leave. She would no longer be able to stay.



Supper was delicious, and Paxton made sure Weston and Jolee talked a great deal to each other. When they’d eaten, Rivers began to help clear the dishes.

“Let me do that,” Weston said with a wink at Rivers. “I’ll help ya get ’em all done up, Jo. It’s the least I can do after such a fine meal,” he offered.

“Oh, no. You don’t have to…” Jolee began.

“Why sure I do! I gotta show my appreciation, now don’t I?” Weston assured her.

“And I um…I…uh…” Paxton began. He looked at Rivers and continued, “Um…I gotta get to finishin’ that stall in the barn. I’ll be back in a while.”

“But I thought you…” Rivers began.

Paxton took hold of her arm quickly, “You’re right. I do need your help out there. Come on.” He began pulling her with him toward the back door.

Once outside, Rivers said, “Could you have been just a bit more obvious?”

“Most likely not,” he admitted, letting go of her. He stopped, inhaling a deep breath. Sighing, he looked around seeming unusually content. “It’s still light. Let’s go down to the pond and skip rocks or somethin’.”

Rivers raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Skip rocks?” she asked.

“Sure! We’ll make a game of it. My best is seven. What do you wanna bet?” he asked.

She followed him as he walked down the sloping north pasture toward the pond. “I don’t think I had better gamble with you. Seven is pretty impressive.”

“It ain’t a waste. It’s relaxin’. Keeps ya from gettin’ too all-fired uptight and worried,” Paxton explained, continuing on toward the pond.

Several minutes later, Rivers found herself at the pond in the sole company of Paxton Gray. And she was anxious. Never, since the moment he’d dropped her in the tub several weeks before, had Rivers been so secluded in his company.

As she watched him studying the ground around the edge of the pond, her heart began to beat a little quicker as he dipped one hand into the water, rubbing the back of his neck with the moisture. He stooped and picked up several rocks, looking at them carefully, and slipping one in particular into his pocket.

She still thought he was joking. Paxton Gray? The worst workhorse in three counties, skipping rocks in the pond? It just didn’t seem real.

Rivers bent down and picked up several rocks. She found a good, flat, smooth one. Splish, splish, splish, splish. Four skips.

“Not bad. Not bad at all,” Paxton said. “For a fly sewer.”

Rivers wrinkled her nose at him, and he chuckled. “Let’s make this more interestin’,” he said. “You win…and I do anything ya say. I win…you do what I say,” he bartered, chuckling.

“Not me! You’ll want me to shovel out the horse stalls for a month, or something the like,” Rivers confirmed, shaking her head.

“Now, hang on. Just hang on,” he muttered, thoughtful for a moment. “Okay then. Let’s say it has to be done right here, right now. Say somethin’ like…I’ll play your favorite tune on my harmonica. Or iron all your petticoats. Somethin’ like that.”

Finally, Paxton said, “All right. Last skip.” And he tossed his rock. It made seven ripples in the water, and he clapped. “Beat that,” he said, triumphantly crossing his muscular arms across his impressive chest.

Rivers defiantly looked at him, kissed the rock she held in her hand for luck, and threw it.

“Eight! I skipped an eight! I win!” she giggled.

“I guess you do at that,” Paxton admitted, as a sly grin spread across his fabulous face. “All right. I’m as good as my word. What will it be? Ironin’?”

“Harmonica,” Rivers reminded. She had always loved the harmonica. Her grandfather had played one. As a child, she sat for hours, listening to him play and never once tiring of it.

Rivers felt goose bumps rising on her arms and neck. He played beautifully! The harmonica sang into the warm evening air, and she watched completely mesmerized as Paxton’s mouth coaxed the harmonica into producing the perfectly played tune. She grimaced only once, but it was not for the sake of an ill-played note. For each note of the melody was as clear as new glass. It was the uncomfortable and sudden painful pang stabbing her heart as she watched him that caused a frown to wrinkle her forehead for a moment. What a perfect man he was, she thought. Oh, not literally. No one was perfect, after all. But he was to her. Even with his quick temper and pride, he was wonderful. Beautiful, hardworking, and funny. How could she ever leave the farm and not sorrowfully pine away after him for the rest of her life?

Rivers began looking for an appropriate rock and found one perfectly shaped for skipping. Smiling at him, she sent the rock flying across the water. “Eight, again!” she squealed with delight.

A mischievous smile spread across Paxton’s handsome face. He winked at Rivers and reached into his pocket, producing the rock he’d put there when they’d first started. She had forgotten about his putting the rock into his pocket and now wondered why he hadn’t used it before.

“Double or nothin’,” he reminded her.

Rivers smiled confidently at him. Eight skips was impossible to beat. But she watched in utter amazement as Paxton sent the rock skipping lightly across the water, her mouth dropping open as she turned to look at him, stunned.

Rivers followed, although tentative, anxious somehow. Rivers followed as Paxton ducked under the lower, drooping branches of the willow and stood beneath the tree. He took her by the shoulders, pushing her back against the large trunk.

“Double or nothin’,” he reminded in a low, mesmerizing mumble.

Rivers straightened and tried to look unruffled. The truth was her heart was beating so violently she feared she might actually drop dead at his feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, nothin’ too awful bad. Just plannin’ on stealin’ a kiss. Two actually. Double or nothin’, you remember,” Paxton answered, winking at her.

Rivers giggled nervously. “Oh! I see. You’re just teasin’ me,” she said. He was quite a tease. She had learned it was often hard to tell whether the man was serious or not.

Paxton shook his head. “Nope. I figure bein’ able to make a rock skip eleven times oughta earn me somethin’.” His smile faded then. “You ain’t too awful sure how to take me sometimes, are ya, Rivers?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, for it was the first time in the three weeks since she’d arrived that he’d used her name. It was an overpowering emotion—the thrill of hearing him utter it. Besides, she was aware Paxton knew he was right. She wasn’t at all sure how to handle him most of the time.