Waiting For Lily Bloom (3 page)

Was this truly happening? Her fingernails became talons, penetrating the sensitive flesh of her palms. Ohhh, if she could talk, she'd singe his ears! White-hot fire burned in her stomach as she stood, but he pressed her back onto the chair. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She slapped his hands away from her shoulders and glared up at him.

He hesitated, concern flickering in his probing gaze. Then his jaw stiffened as he placed his hands on his waist. “I'll ask one more time, and then we take a trip to the Sheriff. Who are you?”

Never
would she communicate with this oaf now. She could've written in the air with her index finger. She might've pointed to her mouth and shook her head. But she wouldn't waste a single action on this buffoon. How on earth could this person be friends with Uncle Ned and Aunt Charity, the sweetest people she'd ever known? She glowered at him, lifted her chin, and folded her arms.

 

****

 

James stared at the spitfire sitting in his chair. From the look on her face, she wasn't going to answer. But those blazing hazel eyes, burning cheeks, and folded arms spoke volumes.

A warm sensation poked his gut. The woman was livid, but she could hold her tongue. When he was that fired up, it was all he could do not to yell. He ignored the feeling and surveyed the room. Nothing appeared to be missing. He'd have to check the loft, but everything downstairs was in its place. Mrs. Driggers had come by. The burlap sack in his kitchen chair told him that. Thank the Lord she'd come and gone before this thief arrived.

His gaze returned to the trespasser. Where had she come from? She wore no ring. An unmarried woman traveling alone wasn't reputable. For that matter, an unmarried woman in an unmarried man's house wasn't reputable. He gulped.

She didn't look like a thief. In fact, she looked respectable. There was something foreign about her. Not in her features, but in her posture. She was refined. Not prissy, but…dignified. And she smelled pretty. Flowery. She didn't belong in these parts. Could she have exited the train and gotten lost? That made no sense. If so, she would've told him. Instead, she sat there like a mute. She had to be up to no good. Still…

Her eyes flashed, but her bottom lip quivered. She was mad, sure, but she was scared, too. And probably embarrassed.

He'd been unkind to her. He tugged at his collar as heat crept up his neck.

If Dad was alive, he'd put a knot on his head.
Never mistreat a lady, son. Only cowards do that. Besides, they get even.

He swallowed. “I, uh….sorry about that. If you'd just tell me—”

She glared at him, and then turned to face the window.

What could he do? The blasted woman left him no choice. “Do you know what happens to thieves?”

Her head snapped back. Hazel eyes widened as her mouth fell open. Then her chin trembled. Finally, her brows drew together and the eyes underneath hardened. Before he could stop her, the intruder hopped up, dove for the sack, and shoved it at his chest. He clutched the sack of clothes. As close as she was, the gold of her eyes were distinct flecks of green and brown. A spoonful of freckles dusted the bridge of her upturned nose. She spun on her heel and marched to the door.

What?
Why did she give him his clothes? “Wait a minute.” He tossed the clothes onto the chair, dashed after her, and gripped her arm.

She jerked away, hands clenched and lips pursed.

He raised his hands, palms out. “OK, OK.” Warm air fled from his lungs in a huff. “I take it you're not a thief.”

Her chin rose and her eyes sparked.

“You brought these clothes back?”

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms once more before she nodded.

He ground his teeth. Women. Who could understand them? “Then why didn't you just say so?”

Her back straightened and her arms fell to her sides. Nostrils flaring, she approached like a bull. She advanced until her forehead was level with his mouth. With a fleeting, heated glance at him, she walked to the table and wrote something in the dust with her index finger. Turning back to him, she lifted the same hand and motioned elegantly at the table. Finally, she smirked, folding her arms again.

He stepped forward and read words that caused his chest to tighten.

I CAN'T SPEAK.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, then expelled a ragged breath through his teeth. He'd accused her of stealing, and she'd brought his mending back. He turned to face her. “I'm sorry.”

She stared into his eyes, her own squinting, like she was trying to see inside of him. She shook her head and turned for the door, but not before a sheen of tears glimmered in her eyes. Surely she didn't think…

“I didn't mean I'm sorry you can't speak.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.

“I mean, of course I'm sorry about that, but…”

She placed her hand on the doorknob.

“I meant I'm sorry I accused you of stealing. I was wrong.” He touched her shoulder. Heat crawled up his neck again. “I—I'm sorry I grabbed you.”

She shrugged off his hand.

“And…thank you for bringing my clothes from Mrs. Driggers.”

She raised wary eyes to his and nodded curtly. Then she twisted the doorknob.

“Wait.” He raised the tip of his index finger, connected with the table, and wrote in the dust.

 

****

 

“Would you tell me your name?”

Was he mad? Did he think she would accept his apology? She'd never been so degraded. And still he stood there, mocking her with his ridiculous smile. She stiffened and turned the handle.

“Please?”

The warm, grainy pattern on the surface of the wooden door stretched its entire length, converging where her hand rested on the cold, black doorknob. She released it and turned to him.

The bully. What did it matter what he wrote? As if she cared.

“Would you like a cup of milk?”

Oh, now he displayed manners? After he'd accused her of stealing? The only thing she was guilty of was doing a good deed. Well…that and…snooping. At best, undignified. Her swallow brought no relief. The inside of her mouth became as parched as the desolate fields.

He uncovered a pot on the stove and ladled out a cupful of the creamy white liquid, which he set beside his handwritten message. “Please,” he repeated, “At least drink something before you go.”

Her thirst increased at his words. She shouldn't even accept a cup of water from him, much less a cup of milk.

Forgiveness didn't come easily. Especially when it concerned words. People were too careless with words. Words she wished she could speak. When people slandered, lied, criticized, or gossiped, didn't they know what a shame that was?

It was never good to second-guess one's self. What about this man made her do so? Was it weakness or mercy that caused her to step away from the door and walk to his table?

A cream-topped cup of milk awaited, its buttery goodness tempting her. She picked it up and sipped. At the refreshing taste, she drained it dry. Then she placed the empty cup back on the table, where five scrawled letters drew her gaze.

J-A-m-e-s.

Someone should've taught James better penmanship. He used a capital A when he should've used a lowercase.

“Would you like another?”

She shook her head. Her fingers fidgeted a moment, but a bellow from one of Bloom's—one of James's—cows reminded her she'd accomplished her task. It was time to go. With a final nod and what she hoped resembled a smile, she turned to go.

“Wait. You didn't tell me your name.”

What was the point? With any luck, they'd never meet again. She rubbed her forehead and then scribbled in the film covering the table.

He smiled. “And your last name?”

She frowned. DRIGGERS.

He snapped his fingers. “That's right. Ned's niece. How could I have forgotten?”

Forgotten what? Had Uncle Ned told James she was coming to Pauls Valley? It was more plausible that Aunt Charity would've mentioned it. Maybe she had. But Lily would never know. She hadn't been privy to the discussion, and she couldn't ask about it. She breathed deeply. Frustration and curiosity didn't mix.

She'd tried communicating with strangers before, but it had never worked. Any moment, polite, one-sided conversation would become strained, so she lifted the empty cup, nodded, and set it down again. Then she waved and backed toward the door.

“No. Thank
you
, Lily. I appreciate you bringing my mending back.”

She blinked.

 

****

 

Did her slack jaw and wide eyes mean he'd interpreted her motions correctly? He walked past her and grabbed the doorknob. “Would you like a ride back to Ned's?”

Her mouth closed, and she shook her head.

She stared at him a moment, lifted her chin, and turned for the door.

“Lily.”

Green-gold eyes peered at him through dark lashes. Hadn't those same eyes been more gold than green moments ago?

Disappointment and something else etched into her brow. Her flowery fragrance surrounded him and breathing went from being a necessity to a pleasure.

His throat constricted, making it difficult to speak. He reached for her hand, but she stepped back. He deserved as much and dropped his hands to his sides. “I'm so sorry. My actions were shameful.”

Her fiery eyes scorched him as her delicate hands rose to her hips.

“I see you agree.” He rubbed his chin. “Can you forgive me?”

She cocked her head, staring at him. Then she pursed her lips, shook her head, and with a twist of the doorknob, stepped out into the Oklahoma sunshine.

 

****

 

Lily clenched her hands at her sides. If only she could scream! Walking past the beautiful tree that sheltered Bloom's home, she kicked at a dried leaf rolling by, missing it, but causing a dusty puff to rise and cling to the hem of her dress. It figured.

The lingering, earthy odor smelled like that horrible James. She wiped her brow in the offensive heat, wishing she could wipe away the memory of the insensitive farmer. With a huff, she passed the corral as heavy breathing and weighted steps resounded in her ears. Frowning, she increased her pace. Surely the man wasn't chasing her?

A snort rang out, followed by a whinny. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. A horse approached, head bobbing and tail swishing. Her stomach shook at the hilarity of her thoughts. The man's attitude
did
resemble the noble beast's hinder parts.

The horse came up to the enclosed fence. Hesitant, she walked to him. His rippled chest pressed against the wooden planks. She stepped back and placed her hand on her throat. My, he was large. Obsidian eyes glared down at her.

Feed me
.

She looked around. There was nothing to give him. What did he eat, anyway? Apples?

Such a handsome horse. His cinnamon coat glistened in the sun.

She bit her lower lip and stepped forward. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she touched his nose. He nudged her palm. Emboldened, she stroked his velvety muzzle.

Filtered sunlight and fluttering wings drew her attention to the sky. A flock of birds passed, their squawks piercing her ears. All types of birds blanketed the sky. How odd. Their screeching reverberated in her chest. They kept pushing east, panicked. She shielded her eyes and watched their departure as the temperature fell. She shivered, rubbing her arms.

A horsefly buzzed beside her. She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. Ohhh, she disliked insects. She opened one eye, then the other, as a dragonfly perched on the top plank of the corral. A moth flitted by and bounced into the horse's large, brown eye before flickering to the ground.

The horse bobbed his head, pawed the ground, and turned from her, galloping to the east side of the corral.

Something furry zigzagged at her feet. At its frantic movement, she hopped onto the bottom plank of the corral. More fur balls leapt fretfully, and the corners of her lips upturned as one of the bouncing creatures stopped and twitched its nose at her before resuming his eastward trek.

Mercy, where did all the rabbits come from? Were they this plentiful in the Wild West? Suddenly she was Alice, transported to Dodgson's
Wonderland
. Something was very strange. Her ears popped, reinforcing the bizarre feeling.

“Lily.”

She looked to the front porch where James stood, his face leached of color. “Walk toward me as fast as you can.” His voice cracked.

A rabbit lunged past, and she watched its urgent flight.

“
Now
, Lily.”

What? The bully was at it again, this time issuing orders. She sighed and stepped off her rung on the fence. Mr. Bloom was about to learn she didn't obey tyrants. She released the top plank and would've turned to go, but something in his voice startled her.

“Don't look back, Lily. I'm begging you. Come to me.”

She glared at him.

His face crumpled, and he bounded off the porch and ran toward her.

The beast
was
chasing her! And he looked…crazed. No. Terrified. The only other time she'd seen such a look was when—

“
Lily!
”

Everything turned red. She was enveloped in a cloud. Fine dust stung her eyes and throat, choking her. She gasped, inhaled dirt, and coughed. Her mouth snapped shut, sand grinding between her teeth. She closed her eyes and hid her face behind the flimsy sleeve of her dress, protecting her nose and mouth. But it was no use.

Shaking. The earth was shaking. Wind gusted, shrieked and moaned, almost as loud as her racing heart. Would it burst right through her chest?
What's happened? Is this a tornado?

Wind-driven sheets of dust blasted into her flesh like piercing needles. She tasted dirt, smelled dirt, cried dirt.