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“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. After 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 lighten 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.

  Chapter Six

  “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 rea
lly 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.”

  “Oh,” Marie managed. She dropped her gaze for a moment, and Cricket could feel the fear and trepidation washing over her friend. It was a brazen thing to do: to tell a man you cared for him and beg him to abandon his parents and siblings, especially when Marie wasn’t even certain Hudson cared for her. But Cricket was sure—ninety percent sure anyway.

  “Come on, Marie. You can do this!” Cricket heard Ann whisper.

  Cricket silently prayed that Marie’s courage would not fail her.

  “Oh, God…don’t let her fear win over,” the preacher’s daughter prayed aloud, however.

  “Is that what you came out here to ask me about?” Hudson inquired. “You come all the way out here this late to ask me about when the family is movin’?”

  “Yes,” Marie fibbed. She recovered quickly, however, and stammered, “Well, n-no. Actually…the truth of it is…”

  “Look up at him,” Cricket whispered. “Come on, Marie. Just look up at him.” Cricket thought her own heart was going to burst with frustration—either break or beat itself to death with the brutal hammering of agony for Marie’s sake.

  But then Marie did look up at Hudson, and Cricket could see the determination returning to her pretty face.

  “Actually, I came to ask you not to leave,” Marie confessed, gazing up into Hudson’s beloved face. “I-I came to ask you to stay in Pike’s Creek…not to go with your family to San Antonio.”

  Hudson’s strong brow puckered. “Why? Why would I stay in Pike’s Creek when my whole family is movin’ on?”

  Cricket feared she might lose the contents of her stomach to heaving caused by apprehension. He’d asked so forthrightly! Just come right out and asked. Cricket wondered whether she would have the courage to answer Hudson with just as much frankness as Marie had to do in that next moment. Would she? Could she do what she had encouraged Marie to do? And was Hudson as dim-witted and unobservant as he sounded? Or was he simply trying to draw a confession out of Marie?

  “She’s not gonna be able to tell him!” Ann whispered to Cricket. “I don’t think she can find it in her to simply—”

  “Because I want you to,” Marie answered Hudson suddenly.

  Cricket felt her eyebrows spring into arches as her mouth dropped open in delighted and relieved astonishment. In fact, she knew her expression was not so different from Hudson’s—for the smile that spread across his face was as wide as the Mississippi.

  “You want me to stay here?” Hudson asked.

  “Yes. I-I want you to stay here in Pike’s Creek, Hudson,” Marie managed. “I don’t want you to go. I want you stay here…because I…I-I…” She seemed breathless for a moment—took a step back from Hudson.

  Cricket held her breath again, whispering to herself, “Do it now, Marie. Now. Don’t wait!” She knew that if Marie waited much longer to finish casting her lure—if she waited until Hudson questioned her again—the moment would be lost. She needed to kiss him that moment—that very moment! The anticipation, the desperation for Marie’s sake aching in her, was torture.

  “She’s gonna miss her chance!” Vilma whined to Cricket. Cricket saw the tears in Vilma’s eyes and knew Vilma and Ann (who was literally on her knees, hands clasped, head bowed, and whispering prayer) were in nearly as much agony as Cricket was.

  Hudson breathed a chuckle. “Well, that’s awful sweet, Marie,” he said. “But my family needs me to—”

  He was interrupted—his sentence hanging unfinished in midair as Marie reached out, taking hold of the lapels of the dark gray vest he wore.

  “But I need you more,” Marie said, her voice quivering with emotion. “I love you more, Hudson.”

  Cricket heard Vilma and Ann gasp as Marie then lifted herself on the tips of her toes and kissed Hudson Oliver square on the mouth.

  Cricket watched—waited for the lingering kiss to end—waited to see what Hudson Oliver would do. But what he did was nearly as unexpected to Cricket as what Heathro Thibodaux had done. Cricket had hoped Hudson wouldn’t spurn or humiliate Marie—hoped he’d be willing to discuss the matter with her. But what actually happened was astonishing.

  When Marie ended the kiss, stepped back, and cast her gaze to the ground, Hudson Oliver simply took hold of her shoulders, turned her so that her back was against the house under his bedroom window, and said, “Well, why didn’t you say so before, darlin’?” the moment before he kissed her.

  And what a kiss it was! Cricket knew her eyes were bugging out like a mouse caught in a dead man’s fist. She knew because when she glanced to Vilma and Ann, their eyes were just as bugged out—their mouths hanging just as agape.

  “Well…I didn’t quite expect this as his response,” Vilma whispered as she watched Hudson gather Marie into his arms—watched Marie’s arms slide around Hudson’s neck as she returned his impassioned kiss.

  “I dreamed of it though,” Ann giggled. “Oh, l
ook at them! I swear he’s settin’ her stockin’s on fire!”

  Cricket smiled as she watched Hudson making sudden and passionate love to Marie—right there under his own bedroom window. “I knew he loved her,” she whispered. “I knew it!”

  The sight of Hudson and Marie lost in one another’s wildly impassioned affections healed Cricket’s heart a bit from the sting of what had happened with Mr. Thibodaux. Marie would be happy—happy with Hudson Oliver. They’d be married soon, she was sure of it. And one day, little dark-haired angels would be playing at their feet. Maybe Marie’s babies would call her Auntie Cricket. Maybe they’d play with the children Cricket hoped to have one day.

  “I feel better,” Cricket sighed.

  Vilma looked to her, frowning. “Better? How could you feel any better than you already did? The goin’s-on between you and that tall drink of water Heathro Thibodaux didn’t look much different than what’s happenin’ right now between Marie and Hudson.”

  “It was apples and onions, Vilma Stanley,” came Cricket’s response. “I mean, look at them.” She gestured to where Hudson now had Marie pushed back against the outer wall of his house again, driving such a kiss to her that Cricket wondered how on earth the girl could breathe.

  “That’s love, Vilma,” she stated. “That’s deep, everlasting, true, true love.” She exhaled a sigh of contentment for Marie’s sake. “Heathro Thibodaux doesn’t know me from a fried turkey gizzard. But Hudson knows Marie. His eyes know her, his heart knows her, and his very soul knows her.”

  “Looks like his lips know her pretty well now too,” Ann giggled.

  Vilma returned her attention to Marie and Hudson, sighing as she watched them embracing, kissing—resplendent in the joy of what was obviously mutual adoration. “How perfectly wonderful would it be to have a man love you like that, girls?” Vilma asked.

  “I imagine it would be as perfectly wonderful as it looks,” Cricket sighed, unable to keep her thoughts from drifting back to the moments with Heathro Thibodaux—unable to keep from wishing the scene between her and the ex-Texas Ranger had been a mirror’s reflection of what was now happening between Hudson and Marie.