Untethered (12 page)

Cricket’s three friends squealed with delight, giggled, and threw their arms around her in warm embrace.

“How marvelous, Cricket,” Ann giggled. “You did it! You kissed him! No matter what happens now…you’ll always know what it feels like to kiss Mr. Thibodaux.”

“Yep,” Cricket said as more tears filled her eyes. She felt unhappy, confused, spurned. And yet at the same time, a strange thrill would well up in her each time she relived the moments with Heathro in her thoughts.

“But why did you fall?” Vilma asked. “It’s not like you to be so clumsy.”

Leave it to Vilma to point out the worst part of the event.

“Don’t you know anything about kissin’, Vilma Stanley?” Ann asked. She rolled her pretty blue eyes and explained, “When a man kisses you the right way, it makes you dizzy and turns your knees to raspberry jam.” Ann looked to Cricket. “Isn’t that right, Cricket?”

“Yes…that’s exactly what happened,” Cricket fibbed, smiling and nodding with rigid affirmation. “I-I was so overwhelmed by the bliss of it all…that my knees wouldn’t hold me up any longer. Mr. Thibodaux did try to catch me, but I was already too far gone.”

The girls all giggled and sighed, and Cricket was relieved that they believed her. And after all, it was mostly the truth.

But the evening wasn’t about Cricket; it was about Mrs. Maloney, Mr. Keel, and Mr. Thibodaux—and it was about Marie and Hudson Oliver. Cricket knew the faster she turned her attention to ensuring that Marie captured
Hudson
for her own, the more quickly her own poor experience with the ex-Texas Ranger would begin to fade.

“All right then,” she sighed. Turning to Marie, Cricket began to unfasten her black corset. “I’m as wet as a rat in a barrel of whiskey. You’re changing clothes before you meet up with
Hudson
anyway…so might I please strip off these soakin’ things and borrow yours?”

“Of course!” Marie exclaimed. “But I’m so nervous, Cricket. What if—”

“None of that, Marie King,” Cricket interrupted, however. “If I can face Heathro Thibodaux like I just did…then you can confess your heart to Hudson Oliver.”

Marie nodded and began to unbutton her own black corset in preparation for changing her clothing.

“Did he recognize you, do you think, Cricket?” Vilma asked as she carefully removed Marie’s best dress from the flour sack Marie had stored it in.

Cricket shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think he had any idea who I was.” That part was the truth. Although she knew Heathro Thibodaux probably suspected just who made up the band of Pike’s Creek do-gooders, she was certain he’d had no idea which one had actually kissed him. Afte
r all, in truth Heathro Thibodaux didn’t know Cricket from a fly on a pile of horse manure.

❦

Heathro slammed the door behind him. The house was hot. He’d forgotten to leave some windows open while he’d been gone, and the heat of the house did nothing to l
ighten his flustered and frustrated demeanor.

As he stormed around the house, unlatching every window and throwing the framed panes open wide, he grumbled to himself.

“Silly girls,” he growled. “And she just waltzed right up to me in black underwear, kissin’ me square on the mouth like I was her baby brother.” Heathro stripped off his shirt, tossed it on the table, and plopped down on a kitchen chair. As he tugged his boots off, he continued to vent aloud to himself. “Why, I mighta just tossed her over my shoulder, drug her off to the nearest barn, and gone about any business with her I had a mind to.” He paused, sighed, dropped his boots to the floor, and continued, “Not that I woulda ever really done the likes, of course…but it’s the principle of the thing. I mean, who does this girl think she is? Walkin’ up to strangers and bein’ so intimate. I mighta been crawlin’ with disease or somethin’.
I might be
a
lunger, for
all
she knows!
”

He turned in the chair, rested his arms on the table, and hung his head—weary from a day of hard work and from scolding the charming girl who had offered him about the sweetest moment he’d ever known.

Still, he knew he couldn’t let his hardened guard down, and so he mumbled, “Where were the damsels in distress anyhow? Ain’t it the man who’s supposed do the flirtin’ and scandalous kiss-stealin’? What happened to the days where the
man
hunted out the girl and wooed and won her, I ask you?”

The truth was Heathro felt sick to his stomach—ailing for the way he’d treated the poor little filly who was just trying to do the neighborly thing and welcome him to town. She’d tasted as sweet as honey—sweeter even—and he knew it could’ve done his soul good to kiss her back all tender and beguiling like a good man would’ve.

But he couldn’t let his guard down even for a moment, so he ranted, “Seems like all the girls around here are either half-neked in the swimmin’ hole or runnin’ up to strange men and kissin’ ’em all the damn time! What kind of a town is this? Don’t these people teach their daughters what men can do? What bad men are capable of?”

Heathro closed his eyes as the vision of eight bloodied, broken bodies flashed in his mind—dead young women strewn over murderous rocks when they should’ve been growing up to be lying in the arms of the men they would’ve loved and married. He stomach felt worse—threatened to heave for a moment—so he turned his thoughts back to the girls of Pike’s Creek, the little do-gooding so-and-sos.

Truth was, the world needed more women like them—more women like the sweet, blossom-bottomed, sugar-mouthed honey that had kissed him.

“Heathro Thibodaux, you dirty son of a…” he began.

He inhaled a deep breath, exhaling slowly to calm himself. It wasn’t his fault after all. Someone had to teach those girls a lesson—even if it did mean he’d had to contribute to the loss of one girl’s innocence. He thought of how horrified the girl must’ve been when he forced such an assaulting response to her kindnesses. He hoped it hadn’t been her first kiss, God help him. But what else could he have done? She couldn’t go around kissing just any man she chose to.

And then he really began to feel nauseated as he wondered how many other men the girl had kissed the way she’d kissed him. Had be been the first and only male newcomer to Pike’s Creek that the girl had offered a part of herself to?

As his stomach churned, threatening to empty itself, Heath grumbled, “It’s just the damn heat. It’s hotter than hell in this house!”

Fairly leaping up from his chair, he stomped to the kitchen door, nearly knocking it off its hinges when he pushed it open, and stepped out into the night. Angrily he sat down hard on the top porch step and inhaled a breath of cool, refreshing air. It did help settle the sickness in his stomach a mite—helped his anger lessen a bit.

Heathro looked up to the sky—watched the stars twinkling and the moon beaming as brightly as a shiny silver coin. He wondered if he’d been the last victim of the Pike’s Creek do-gooders that night. He paid close attention to everything around him, and in doing so, he surmised that the girls typically performed four acts of kindness each time they went about their mischief. He wondered who else had been chosen besides him. He wondered if any other men had been chosen—and the thought that there might well have been another man who received what he had perturbed him all the more.

Still, he determined to calm himself. He’d listen up to everyone in town the next day, keep a watchful eye, and discover who else had been chosen and what they’d received.

Meanwhile, the memory of the girl’s kiss washed over him, softening him up at last. He swore he could still taste her mouth in his—and it was like sugar. He shook his head, knowing the poor little thing must’ve been horrified at the way he’d kissed her—practically devoured her.

“That’s right, Heathro Thibodaux,” he sighed to himself. “You’re as mean and offensive as they come.”

He leaned back against the porch, closed his eyes, and just tried to breathe normally. But he couldn’t quit thinking about the poor little blossom-bottomed do-gooder. And he couldn’t keep his mouth from wanting to taste hers again.

“You can do it, Marie,” Vilma whispered. “If Cricket can walk right up to Heathro Thibodaux and kiss him, who she hardly knows from Adam, then you can surely go over there and knock on
Hudson
’s window to summon him out.”

“I know, I know,” Marie said. She turned to face Ann and asked, “Do I look all right? Is my hair too mussed or anything?”

“You look perfect, Marie!” Ann assured her friend.

“Cricket?” Marie asked, turning to Cricket.

Cricket smiled. Certainly the hurt in her over the experience with Heathro Thibodaux stung as painfully as it had half an hour earlier, but she still smiled—for Marie looked radiant.

“You look lovely, Marie,” Cricket said. “
Hudson
won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”

“Yes, Marie,” Vilma agreed when Marie turned to Vilma for reassurance. “You look ever so beautiful.”

“All right then,” Marie sighed, trying to be brave. “Wish me luck, girls. I’m off.”

Cricket’s heart was beating with such brutal anxiety that she was certain the inside of her chest was bruising.
Hudson
wouldn’t spurn Marie—she was certain of it. Yet there is always that measure of doubt to cause apprehension.

“There she goes,” Ann whispered. Since Marie was the one doing the doings, Ann took over as narrator. “She’s almost to his bedroom window.”

Cricket tried to breathe easily, but it was difficult. She felt Vilma take her hand and glanced over to see the worry on her face as well.

“I just keep tellin’ myself that things went just fine between you and Mr. Thibodaux…so they oughta fly like fireworks on the Fourth between Marie and Hudson,” she said. “Right?”

“Right,” Cricket assured her—though the comparison to what she hoped would transpire between Marie and
Hudson
was apples and onions compared with what had really happened between her and Heathro Thibodaux.

“She’s at the window!” Ann whispered. “She’s pausin’. I think she’s scared.”

Marie glanced back to where Cricket, Ann, and Vilma stood peeking out from around the corner of the
Hudsons
’ barn. She did look frightened—pale as a ghost and close to panic.

“Go on!” Cricket whispered, gesturing to Marie that she should knock on the window. She nodded with encouragement and breathed a sigh of relief when Marie’s expression changed to that of determination.

“Here she goes,” Ann said. “She’s raisin’ her fist. She knocked!”

No one drew a breath. They simply stared at Marie standing outside of Hudson Oliver’s bedroom window and waited.

Marie glanced back to Cricket, and Cricket gestured that she should knock a second time. Marie did knock a second time, and almost before she’d finished, the window opened wide.

Hudson Oliver himself leaned out the window and asked, “Who’s there?”

“It’s m-me, Hudson,” Marie stammered. “Marie King.”

“Marie King?”
Hudson
repeated.

“Yes. I-I was wonderin’ if you might be willin’ to come out and have a word with me for a moment,” Marie said.

“Sure,”
Hudson
agreed. “I’ll be right out.”

“B-but,” Marie added as
Hudson
started to turn. He paused and looked at her. “But don’t tell anyone why you’re comin’ outside, all right?”

“All right,”
Hudson
said, smiling. “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

Cricket exhaled the breath she’d been holding—heard Ann and Vilma do the same. She looked at them to see smiles spreading across their faces.

“Well, that was easy,” Ann said.

“So far, at least,” Vilma added.

“Yeah. It wasn’t bad at all,” Cricket happily chirped.

“So far, at least,” Vilma reminded.

“Always the ray of hope there, Vilma,” Ann grumbled.

“Shhh,” Cricket hushed. “Here comes
Hudson
.”

They watched as Hudson Oliver—tall, dark, and handsome as a dream—sauntered out the kitchen door and around to his bedroom window.

He smiled when he stopped to stand directly in front of Marie. “Hey there, Marie. What’re you doin’ out here in the middle of the night?”

“I…I’ve come to talk to you about somethin’,” she answered.

“Me?” he asked, pointing to himself with one thumb. “About what?”

“Well…I-I heard that your family is plannin’ on leavin’ Pike’s Creek,” Marie stammered as she gazed up into
Hudson
’s face like a lovesick puppy.
Hudson
was quite a bit taller than Marie, and Cricket knew Marie must feel intimidated by the way
Hudson
was staring down at her. After all, Cricket wasn’t even the one speaking to him, and
she
felt intimidated just watching.

“Yep,”
Hudson
affirmed with a nod. “The family is movin’ to
San Antonio
. My daddy’s mother passed on last month and left him everything she owned…includin’ her house and the family business.” He shrugged. “So we’re headin’ out there in a week or so.”