Yours Again (River City Series) (17 page)

“You
will be fine.” He said, trying hard to convince her. “I want to alert Blake to
be on the lookout for anyone fitting his description as soon as we get there.
We’ll stock enough supplies to last for a bit, then go back to the ranch and
barricade the place. Okay?”

She
did her best to smile, but he knew she was worried. He reached over and took
her hand in his, giving her a little squeeze. They finished the rest of the
ride in silence, but every sense Taos had was now on high alert.

As
the wagon pulled to a stop in front of the mercantile Tommy hopped out, chattering
a steady steam. Taos helped Samantha down.

Taos
spoke quietly. “Get anything you think we might need.”

She
nodded, casting a wary glance up and down the street.

“Stay
inside, I’ll meet you here in a few minutes.”

Samantha
grabbed Tommy’s hand and disappeared into the mercantile.

Chapter 18

Samantha
stopped short as the conversations in the mercantile came to a halt and all
eyes turned toward her. She twisted and scanned the air behind her. No one. Clearing
her throat, she walked up to the counter, Tommy at her heels.

“Good
morning Mrs. Hardin.” She flashed a warm smile and held out her shopping list. The
whispers were barely audible, yet they were there. The sounds floated toward
her, but she couldn’t determine what all the fuss was about.

The
older woman glanced around the store. Samantha could feel the stares of the
patrons boring a hole in her back.

“Good
Morning, Samantha.” She read the scrap of paper then set about filling the
order.

A
group of men stood at the end of the counter, deep in discussion. One smiled
and nodded her way. She smiled and nodded back then turned her attention to a
catalogue lying on the counter. The pages were full of things she had seen
every day in Boston, but they seemed out of place and far removed from River
City. Small snippets of the men’s conversation reached her ears.

“Smitty
said Fletcher held a gun on one ol’ boy, til he put his campfire out,” the man
with the long handlebar mustache said.

“Don’t
blame him, myself,” a barrel chested older man added. “If that grass caught
fire I’d be done for.” Several nodded in agreement.

“It’s
bad enough there ain’t enough water, but a fire would take all the forage too,”
Handlebar added.

“The
stock that didn’t die in the fire would starve, then?” Mr. Hardin asked.

“Yup.”
Barrel Chest nodded. “A sane man would’ve done sold out and just be laying in
the weeds ’til things turned ’round.”

“Whoever
said cattlemen was sane?” Handlebar laughed and they all joined in.

Mr.
Hardin walked down to Samantha.

She
looked up at him and smiled.

“You
feeling alright, Miss Sammy?” His voice was barely a whisper, but the
conversation of the men stopped as if waiting on an answer.

“Just
fine. And you?”

He
didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

Samantha
frowned. She thought she looked all right when she left this morning. Maybe worry
about John or the stress of dealing with Taos showed on her face. She leaned
toward him and whispered, “Don’t I look all right?”

“Oh,
no, ma’am, you just look fine.” he smiled and some of the men chuckled, “We
were just worried about you, you know.” He straightened the glass jars of
licorice. “Wanted to know how you was gettin’ along, that’s all.”

The
whispering started again and Samantha twisted around. Two young women that had
obviously been staring at her quickly turned away. The men were staring too.

A
sense of foreboding gripped Samantha. Could these people tell what she had been
doing last night? She must look different somehow or be giving off some sign
that she was no longer what they might call a “respectable young lady.” Her
face burned red.

Mrs.
Hardin stepped out from the back room with a stern look on her face. “Henry, can
I speak with you a moment?” Mr. Hardin followed his wife out of sight. Samantha
could hear their voices, but couldn't distinguish any words until Mr. Hardin
raised his voice.

“She
said she was fine, Sarah. You need to stay out of it.”

“And
I said that I will not have this talk going on any longer, and that’s that.”

Mrs.
Hardin appeared once again from the back room. She cleared her throat and said
rather loudly, “I have two of these canisters in the back, but they’re
different colors.” She stared pointedly at Samantha. “You’ll need to show me
which one you prefer.”

There
was nothing on the list but the usual supply of staple goods for the kitchen. Samantha
raised her brows. Mrs. Hardin jerked her head toward the back and Samantha came
around the counter to follow her.

“Henry,
keep an eye on Tommy, will you? Maybe a lemon drop or two.”

He
nodded and bent to occupy the boy.

The
older woman motioned Samantha into the tiny office at the very back of the
store and closed the door. The room was stuffy and oppressive; the only air came
from a very small window that seemed more decorative than functional. Papers
peeked out of the drawers and from under the cover of a small roll-top desk. There
was one chair and a small stool. Samantha perched on the edge of the stool.

The
older woman was a little short of breath and took a moment to compose herself
as Samantha sat in confused silence. “I’m sorry dear, but I had to talk to you.
The town’s all abuzz.”

“What
about?”

“You!”

“What
about me?”

Mrs.
Hardin took a deep breath and reached over to pat Samantha’s hand. “Now, dear,
I know I’m not your mother or even family, but I knew your mother and the kind
of woman she was.” She looked at Samantha like she should know what was going
on.

“What
does my mother have to do with this?” The wary sensation that grew in the pit
of Samantha’s stomach gnawed at her insides, intent on burning a hole through
her body.

Mrs.
Hardin heaved her more than ample chest. “Well I guess I’ll have to explain.” She
twisted her fingers together.

“Please
do.” Samantha rolled the fabric of her dress between her fingers absently as
she watched the woman turn in one circle after another with no room to pace.

“A
young, unattached woman just can’t live under the same roof as an unattached
man for an extended period of time unless they”—she fluttered her hands in the
air—“you know, become attached.”

Dread
hit Samantha head on, like unexpectedly walking through a spider web that
stubbornly clings to your face. Moisture coated the palms of her hands and
shivers chased gooseflesh down her back. “Is that what everyone is whispering
about?’

“Some
people, Mertie Mae in particular, have been assuming the worst.” She flung her
hands up like the sky was falling. Maybe it was.

Samantha
sat in stunned silence.

“Especially
after that story went around that you had been to Miss Sadie’s.”

Oh
no. Not that
.

“It
is just a rumor, isn’t it dear?”

“Not
exactly.”

Mrs.
Hardin’s eyes widened.

“It’s
a long story, but nothing happened there. You must believe me.”

“Oh,
I do child. But other people aren’t so open minded when it comes to these
things.”

“I
have to go.” Samantha said, her voice a mere whisper. She wanted to run as fast
and far as she could.

Mrs.
Hardin placed a hand on her arm. “There’s more.”

More?
She didn’t think she could take any more.

“You
know about Sharisse?”

Samantha
nodded.

“Then
you know that she talked a lot before she left. About how Taos had beaten her.”

“That’s
not true.” She tried to control her temper.

“Now
dear, I know that rumor isn’t true, I just thought you should know.” Mrs.
Hardin stared at her hands. “That’s why people are looking at you like they are.
They expected to see you covered with bruises.”

“That
is ridiculous!” She crossed her arms, furious at the speculation of strangers.
“This whole thing is ridiculous! Do these people have nothing better to do than
talk and gossip?”

“No,
they don’t. You need to realize that and so does Taos. He isn’t helping matters,
what with threatening to shoot Sonny Harper and all.”

“He
what
?”

“Sonny
went out to call on you and Taos told him if he stepped foot on the ranch again
he would shoot him dead.”

“I
can’t believe Taos would say that.” Well, actually she could.

“Well
he scared the life out of Sonny, who was in here the next morning telling how
he’d seen women’s clothes scattered all across the ground and no sign of you.”

Samantha
breathed deep. This was getting worse by the second.

“We
were worried sick.”

Samantha
jumped up. “I have to go.” She had to find Taos. He could set these
gossipmongers straight.

She
stepped through the door, but the sound of Tommy’s voice stopped her in her
tracks. The boy sat on the counter, enjoying a small pile of lemon drops with a
group of women and men crowded in front of him.

“Naw,
she sleeps in her own room most of the time.”

“And
the other times?” Mertie Mae was leading the pack, her spectacles sliding far
down her hawkish nose. The vultures pressed closer, not wanting to miss one
juicy detail.

“She
sleeps with my dad, but he squishes her a lot.”

The
breath left Samantha’s lungs as the women in the crowd gasped and whispered. She
didn’t miss a few of the men covering grins and exchanging winks. If a bridge
could be burned any faster, she didn’t know how. There was no way to explain,
nothing she could say that would appease them. Nothing that was true, anyway.

Mertie
Mae crossed her arms and smiled triumphantly at Mrs. Hardin.

“Well,
well, well. There’s the little strumpet now.” Mertie Mae strode across the
floor toward them, her two mulish daughters in her shadow. The crowd
collectively held its breath. She stopped with the toes of her boots almost
touching Samantha’s. “So, will there be a wedding or will you continue to
endanger the moral fabric of our community?”

Samantha
wanted to laugh and cry, but mostly she just wanted to breathe. The air burned
her throat and her eyes ached with tears of shame. If only the earth would open
up and swallow her in one gulp. As the possibility of rescue dimmed, Samantha’s
mind lurched into motion.

Run.

The
crowd waited in hushed silence as a plan materialized. She needed to distract
them and get away. Taos would know what to do. A simple plan, but the
implementation part might be a bit of a challenge as they stood between her and
the door.

Samantha
looked into the faces of people who had befriended her in the short time she
had been here. They conveyed every emotion from sympathy to disgust. Every one
of them stood awaiting some kind of response from her.

Mrs.
Hardin scooted up behind her. “You go out there and hold your head up. Don’t
let that old battle axe get to you. You just stand your ground and meet her
head on. Like a modern day Joan of Arc.”

The
woman had a point. Attack was her best bet. Actually it was her only bet.
Joan
of Arc
. If one woman could face a whole army, then she could certainly
stand up to one horse-faced woman. Hopefully this wouldn’t end with her being
burned at the stake, though her insides were certainly on fire. Samantha threw
back her shoulders and squarely faced Mertie Mae.

“Moral
fabric? Is that what women like you use to force men to marry?”

Snickers
floated from the crowd and the ring leader turned and stared at them, ending
any humor. She glared at Samantha. “It’s what keeps our communities from being
polluted by women like you. Some cheap hussy out to steal our own good men from
us.”

Samantha's
brow shot up. “And just who do you think I’m stealing him from?” She glanced at
the woman’s incredibly plain daughters, daring her to name them as even remote
possibilities.

“From
the
local
women. The
local, God-fearing
women.” She stared
pointedly at Samantha.

Definitely
a tambourine banger
. Mavis was right about this type of woman. They wore
morality like a shield as long as it suited their purpose. The heat rose up
Samantha’s cheeks and she clenched her fists at her sides. She resisted the
urge to pop her hand across the large hairy mole that squatted on the enemy’s
cheek.

“I
have no need to steal anything from anyone.” Her voice pitched higher.

“Aheem!!!”

The
crowd turned with one motion toward the sound. Mavis stood by the door, a regal
rose in a field of dandelions. She floated gracefully toward Mertie Mae with
the barest rustle of silk to mark her movement. “Mertie Mae Morrison, are you
giving this young woman a hard time?” The crowd watched in stunned silence as
the two women sized one another up.

“We
don’t need your kind either, Mavis Simpson.” The woman’s bitterness leaked out
like sour milk on a hot day.

Mavis’s
smile was that of a queen, welcome serenity among absolute madness. “I know
that nearly half of the population of this town would disagree with you.”
Whispers chased through the crowd. “Including your husband.”

Guffaws
and giggles followed as Mertie Mae’s face turned a splotchy red.

“Well,
I never” She pointed her nose in the air with righteous indignation.

Mavis
chuckled. “So I hear.” She winked at Samantha as the crowd roared. Mertie Mae
stormed out of the store, followed by her daughters who ran into, then out of,
the door.