Wed To The Montana Cowboy. Carol Arens

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sniff. He licked his lips, then for the first time he looked into her eyes...arched one brow.

      Why, the little maggot!

      She shoved him away. That ought to have been the end of it but he said, “I thought you’d be grateful.”

      So, when he turned to walk back to his snickering friends she raised her skirt to her knee, lifted her boot and kicked him hard in the rump.

      Sadly for Aunt Eunice’s reputation, which her aunt valued above anything, Randall lost his balance and skidded belly-first across the floor.

      Everyone noticed.

      In the chaos that followed, Melinda grabbed her hand. Together, they fled out the front door, down the steps and into the night.

      * * *

      The moment of reckoning came at one minute past midnight, even though Aunt Eunice had arrived home an hour after the unfortunate event.

      Summoned, Rebecca stood before her aunt with her head bowed and her hands folded in front of her. She had taken this position many times over the years. The only difference between now and then was that when she was four years old, she had to look up into her aunt’s scowl...now she looked down at it.

      “Kindly explain why you would do such a thing...humiliate me and your poor cousins so horribly.”

      Melinda, clearly, had not been humiliated, but Bethune and Prudence were no doubt sobbing their mortification into their pillows at this moment.

      “I never meant to—”

      “It’s Becca who was humiliated, Mama.” All of a sudden, her defender stood beside her. “That horrible little man—”

      “Might have been willing to offer for her hand, given his own limitations.”

      “Any man would be lucky to have our Becca!”

      “Go to your room, Melinda,” her aunt declared drily.

      Melinda was far too old to be told to go to her room, just as Rebecca was far too old to be taking this scolding. But by George, no one wanted to send Eunice into a temper that might go on for days.

      So, Melinda went to her room while Rebecca slouched another two inches.

      Aunt Eunice had been distressed over Rebecca’s height since the day she had been dropped on her doorstep. At four years old she had towered over Bethune who was five and a half.

      “Do you want to be an old maid, Rebecca?” Aunt Eunice arched one eyebrow. “Or worse...have people wonder if you grew up to be like your mother...that I allowed you to?”

      It would be difficult to know whether she committed the great sin of growing up like her mother or not. The memories of her life before coming to live with Aunt Eunice were vague.

      She did recall the scent of rose water, and a fairy-like woman who laughed out loud but cried even louder. There was always a blur of men’s faces in her memory. Sometimes she thought her mother’s tears had to do with them.

      But just as often she wondered if it was her that had made Mama weep because she was not pretty enough to make Papa stay.

      It had been the dolls that made her think that. Mama carried a collection of blue-eyed princesses to whichever place they happened to be living. Papa had bought them for her, Mama liked to say, because they reminded him of her. Back then, they reminded Rebecca of angels. Later on when she thought of those pretty porcelain gifts, it hurt dreadfully.

      In all their travels, Mama had never left a doll behind. She’d left Rebecca behind without a backward glance.

      “I have accepted the fact that I will, in all likelihood, remain unmarried.” It stung that her aunt continued to fear that she would suddenly become promiscuous. “But I am nothing like my mother and have gone to great pains to show that I am not.”

      “As this evening would attest? Really, Rebecca, I’ve done my best with you but sometimes I fear that no matter how strict I am, you rebel... You are my sister all over again.”

      Whether that was true or not, she couldn’t say. Mama had become a distant memory, buried so deep that trying to recall her face was like painting with mist.

      “Aunt Eunice, the mother I remember is you.” A woman who hid rare, tender feelings behind a starchy demeanor. She could only recall one instance when her aunt had showed her unguarded affection. When she was six years old, Rebecca had been seriously ill with a fever and her aunt had sat up with her for two days and nights, wiping her brow and crooning lullabies. During the worst of it she had even called her Becca.

      “I regret that I shamed you, but Randall was behaving like a lewd goat. I merely defended myself.”

      “And as usual, you dragged my Melinda into the mess.”

      Anyone acquainted with her cousin for more than ten minutes knew that there was no dragging Melinda. She dove into life headlong, laughing while she did so.

      The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked off long silent seconds while her aunt stared up at her.

      “You need a husband,” she declared at last. “I hoped it would be Randall since you are of an age. But after tonight that is unlikely. But mark my words, Rebecca Louise, you will marry and marry soon.”

      Aunt Eunice sighed loudly, glanced at the clock then back up at her.

      “Mr. Fielding, the butcher, has asked for you. He believes that with your size, you will be helpful in the shop. Count your blessings, young lady, that the man wants a hefty girl.”

      Hefty? Why, she was no such thing. She was slender, and if not delicate, exactly, she was by no means strapping.

      “You may go to your room now.”

      There were many things that she would do to keep peace with her aunt. After all, she did owe her a great deal. A widow after only five years of marriage, she had managed to raise four girls all on her own. She truly did deserve respect for that.

      But showing her aunt respect stopped a good deal short of marrying the butcher.

      “Rebecca.” Her aunt’s voice caught her just as she made the turn from the parlor to the hall. “As horrified as I am at how you behaved tonight, I’m glad that you did not let that pitiful Randall make improper advances. Once you are under the butcher’s care, you’ll be safe from that sort of conduct.”

      “Yes, Aunt Eunice,” she said, but it was the last thing she meant.

      * * *

      A footpath crossed the backyard then sloped downhill toward the creek behind the house. Rebecca followed the trail of daffodils growing beside it, watching them nod their pretty yellow heads in the glow of the low-hung moon.

      It was dark in the wee hours, but that didn’t mean the flowers did not continue to flash their color. She decided to be like those bold little beauties...shine even during the dark hours.

      Sitting on a bench that she had placed beside the creek three years ago, she drew her violin from its case and began СКАЧАТЬ