Travis (15 page)

Violet looked at Travis. “Can’t you do something? People are noticing.”

“Now what do you expect me to do? Go tell them to stop waving?”

Now Harold waved back.

Violet snapped, “I don’t think they’re waving at you, Harold. I think they’re waving at Travis.”

“Now can I help that?” Travis made a motion of helplessness.

“Then stop looking at them,” Violet snapped.

“Now what’s wrong with you?” Travis asked.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t know much about women, but I know when one says ‘nothing’ in that tone of voice, there’s definitely something,” Travis said.

Kessie sighed. “Can we all just forget about the saloon girls and spread our picnic?”

“Good idea.” Violet sounded relieved.

 

 

Travis took a deep breath. A man had a right to look, didn’t he? It had been weeks since Travis had had a woman and a couple of those girls looked eager and pretty. He didn’t expect to have to answer to a slip of a girl who sometimes acted more like a wife than a child.

 

 

Violet stared up at the girls one last time. They made her uneasy because only weeks before, she had been an over-painted, scantily dressed saloon girl herself and she wanted to put that behind her, but this had reminded her of it all over again. Funny, one of those girls looked familiar, but it was quite a distance and she was probably imagining it. As heavily painted as they were, who could tell one from another? That was all she needed, to run into a girl who knew her from the old days.

“Are we ever gonna eat or are you gonna keep standing there lost in thought?” Travis teased her.

She started. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just trying to remember if I brought the lemonade.”

Travis grinned down at her. “If you didn’t, there’s a stand over there run by Miss Knowlen, the librarian, selling lemonade.”

“The library can use the money.” Violet nodded. “Go buy some and I’ll spread out our tablecloth while you’re gone.”

Growler sat next to Bonnie.

“Hungry,” the toddler complained.

“Here’s a piece of chicken to hold you until I get food laid out,” Violet said. “And don’t give it all to the dog.”

Travis sauntered down the row of booths with Harold and Houston with him. “We’ll find the lemonade, boys.”

They passed the kissing booth and Miss Brewster, the skinny schoolteacher, leaned out and called to him. “Hello, Mr. Prescott. How about a kiss for a dime? The school needs the money.”

Houston and Harold both nudged him. “Go ahead, Travis.”

About that time, the little Avery girl from school, with her black corkscrew curls, stuck her head up out of the booth. “Hey, Houston and Harold, come kiss me for a dime.”

They started backing away, but Travis caught them by the collars. “Now remember, boys, it’s for a good cause.”

Both boys turned beet red.

“I don’t want to kiss her,” Harold muttered.

“I’d rather kiss Growler,” Houston said.

“Oh, it won’t kill you. Here.” Travis dug in his pocket and handed them each a dime.

“No.” They both shook their heads.

“Well, would you rather kiss Miss Brewster?”

Both boys took deep breaths. “Can’t we just give her the money?” Houston asked.

“I reckon.” Travis grinned.

Miss Brewster beckoned to him. “Mr. Prescott, don’t be shy. The money’s for a good cause.”

Mrs. Van Mayes popped up suddenly beside her. “Sorry, Miss Brewster, but I think I can handle this.” She leaned forward, her eyes closed.

Travis felt himself flush, but he took his dime, put it in her dainty hand and reached over to give her a peck on the cheek. Instead, the lady grabbed him and planted a hot kiss full on his mouth. It felt so good, it was a long moment before he pulled back, breathless and surprised. He didn’t even speak, just stared at her while she gave him a bold wink.

Miss Brewster looked scandalized and for once, she was speechless. “Why, I never—”

“I’ll bet you haven’t,” said the bold blonde.

Travis couldn’t think of anything to say.

Next to him, he heard Houston and Harold. “Did you see that? Why, he even acted like he liked it.”

Travis backed away as Mrs. Van Mayes whispered, “Why don’t you come to dinner next week?”

“Uh, well, yes, I reckon we could.” He glanced down at the boys, who were staring up at him. “Uh, boys, I reckon we’d better go find that lemonade.” He turned and stumbled away, his mind still on the widow’s hot, wet mouth. She was eager, all right; the way she had kissed him told him that.

“Did you like that?” Harold asked as they walked down the row of booths.

“Well, sort of,” Travis admitted sheepishly. “You see, fellows, when you get my age, you kind of like a girl to kiss you.”

“Then why haven’t you kissed Violet?” Houston asked.

“That’s different,” Travis gulped, but in his mind, he suddenly saw himself kissing Violet.
You rotten bastard
, he scolded himself,
she’s just a kid. You need to take your lust to one of the saloon girls.
He promised himself he’d do that one night next week. He looked toward the saloon. The girls had gone back inside and he could hear laughter and “Camptown Races” banging away on the piano inside.

“What are they doing in there?” Harold asked as they passed the saloon.

“Oh, drinking, gambling, having fun,” Travis said.

Harold snorted. “What do you do with a girl to have fun?”

“Someday, when you’re older, I’ll tell you.” Travis grinned.

They bought five cups of pink lemonade and walked back down the length of Main Street. In the distance, Travis heard the southbound train coming. “Must be about four o’clock.”

They reached their table just as the train came through town. It must not have had any freight or passengers to let off or pick up because it didn’t stop.

“What took you so long?” Violet asked, waving her hand in front of her face and coughing over the black, sooty smoke drifting from the train as it went through town and on south.

“Oh, some stuff happened.” Travis shrugged. “We got the lemonade.”

“He bought a kiss,” Harold volunteered.

Violet smiled. “From Miss Brewster?”

“No, he—” Houston seemed to see Travis putting his finger to his lips and stopped.

Violet turned to Travis. “Who else was in the kissing booth?”

Travis shrugged. “Oh, just some old widow. The money’s for the school, you know.”

Violet looked up at him. “Just how old was she?”

“Oh, old.” Travis reached for a sandwich. “This looks like chicken salad. I really like chicken salad.” He stuffed a bite in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Harold agreed with a nod, “she’s old, maybe even twenty-five or so.”

Violet put her hands on her hips. “Who are we talking about here?”

“Uh, Mrs. Van Mayes,” Travis said and reached for a pickle.

“That pretty blonde with the big ranch outside town?”

“Now, young lady, that’s not really any of your business. Just think, if I got married, you’d have a mother and it would take a lot of responsibility off your shoulders.”

“I haven’t complained,” she said.

“Yes, and that’s noble of you.” Travis took a sip of lemonade. “But maybe the other children would like a mother.”

Violet turned and looked at the other children.

“No.” Kessie shook her head. “We all like things just the way they are.”

“Well, maybe I don’t!” Travis snapped. “Does it ever occur to you kids that I might get lonely?”

Harold looked up at him. “You got all of us, Mouse and Growler. Ain’t we enough?”

“That lady’s got a big ranch and a nice house,” Kessie said. “Maybe that’s why he might want to get married.”

“I don’t think so,” Violet snapped. “She’s awfully pretty. Was it a good kiss?” She stared up into Travis’s dark eyes.

“I don’t know, it was just a kiss, that’s all. Good God, you act like a wife instead of a kid.”

Houston said, “Maybe that’s because she’s had to act like a mother to all of us and run the house.”

Violet picked up a sandwich. “Maybe I should help out the school by working in the kissing booth.”

“No, you don’t,” Travis said. “You’re too young.”

The boys started to say something, and Travis figured it might be about the widow working the kissing booth, so he shook his head at them. “By the way, Charlotte invited us to dinner.”

Violet scowled.

Travis appeared puzzled.

He said, “Violet, you know I would never marry anyone you kids didn’t like.”

“Good, because I don’t like her.”

“You don’t know her.” He took a sip of lemonade.

“I know she’s chasing after you like a hound dog on a hot trail.”

He grinned. “The chase is always the best part of it.”

She decided not to say anything more; she could only make it worse. If only she could come clean with him about her real age and that she was falling in love with him. Would that make any difference to the big hombre, or was he stuck on Charlotte Van Mayes? She wished she knew.

Violet made her plans. She was going to dance with Travis tonight and maybe, maybe she might kiss him and confess about her lies. Did she dare? It might either be that or lose him to the beautiful widow.

 

 

It was a great afternoon, Travis thought. The food Violet had brought was delicious. “You know, kid, I could eat your cooking the rest of my life.”

“That can be arranged,” she said before she thought.

“What?”

She gulped. “I meant you could adopt all of us.”

Along about sundown, the northbound train came through, rattling windows and bellowing smoke, but not stopping.

As darkness grew, the small band assembled on the platform and began to tune their instruments. The crowd put away their picnic gear and gathered around the wooden dance floor.

Travis looked toward Violet. He would dance with her first, of course, and then he might dance with the pretty blond widow, who was smiling at him across the crowd.

The band began to play a slow waltz. Travis turned to Violet, but before he could speak, that oldest Jenkins, Leroy, was by her side. “Dance with me, Miss Violet?”

She hesitated, a little cautious. “Of course.”

And he whirled Violet out on the floor.

Travis watched, a little annoyed, but he wasn’t certain why. That oldest Jenkins was a man and everyone in town thought him a little odd. Violet looked nervous. That was all it took.

Travis strode out onto the dance floor and tapped Leroy on the shoulder. “I’m cutting in.”

“No,” said Leroy.

“Let go of her and get off this dance floor,” Travis ordered.

The man hesitated, then walked away, sulking as Travis took her in his arms.

She looked up at him, loving him as she had never thought she could love a man. “Thank you,” she whispered and laid her face against his chest as they waltzed.

Now it was Travis’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t think it looked right to be dancing this close to a young girl, but it felt so good to hold her tightly, he didn’t pull away. He put his face next to her head, and her brown hair smelled so clean and sweet he didn’t ever want to let her go. He could hold her like this forever, he thought.

Then he looked up and realized people were staring at them and he knew he must protect the young girl’s reputation. She was too innocent and naive to realize what dirty minds might think. He stopped dancing suddenly and led her to the sidelines.

“But the song isn’t over,” Violet protested, looking up at him.

He felt sweat breaking out all over his muscular body and his manhood pulsating. He was having thoughts he shouldn’t have about this kid. “I—I thought Harold or Houston might want to dance with you.”

He abandoned her on the edge of the dance floor and walked away.

Violet was both crushed and angry. She had never felt so much pleasure and so protected as she had in Travis’s strong arms. What had she done to annoy him? Then when she looked across the crowd, she saw Travis asking Mrs. Van Mayes to dance. Violet’s heart fell. She had no chance against that beauty.

She looked down to see all four children standing next to her and Growler by Bonnie’s side.

She leaned over to Houston. “It would be nice if you asked Kessie to dance.”

The boy made a face. “Must I?”

“It’s good manners,” she said, pushing him toward the red-haired little girl.

But Kessie shook her head. “I don’t think suffragettes waste their time dancing. After all, the man gets to lead. Now what kind of equality is that?”

“Never mind,” Violet sighed.

“Look.” Harold’s almond eyes widened. “Travis is dancing with that pretty lady in pink.”

“I hope he puts one of his big boots on her dainty foot,” Violet said under her breath.

Bonnie had Growler up on his back legs and was dancing him around the edge of the crowd as people smiled and laughed.

Violet didn’t think the song would ever end as she watched Travis dance with Charlotte Van Mayes, but finally it did.

Then the band began an old sweetheart schottische:
Put your little foot, put your little foot, put your little foot right there. . . .

The beauty in the pink dress was shaking her head and stepping back. Obviously, Violet thought, the Yankee girl didn’t know the dance.

Violet took a deep breath, crossed the dance floor and grabbed Travis’s hand. “I know this one. Dance with me.”

“All right, young lady.” He smiled as they stepped out on the wooden floor. The schottische was a Texas cowboy favorite and he enjoyed it. Violet danced well and when she brushed against him, it seemed to set his nerves afire. He reminded himself again that she was just a child and he needed to direct his thoughts elsewhere. The townspeople would string him up if they had any idea what he was thinking and he was horrified himself.