Carol Ritten Smith (16 page)

“Nope, I’m not leaving until your foot is tended to properly.” He took a vacant chair, slipped off his boots, set them on the mat by the door. He took off his coat, helped her with hers and hung them both side by side on hooks above the mat. “Davy, I want you to take a pail and fill it with snow.”

Eager to help, Davy grabbed a bucket and headed outside while Tom unwound the scarf and began working with the tight laces of her boot. “Where do you keep your scissors?”

“Whatever for?”

“To cut off your boot.”

“You’ll do no such thing! These are the only boots I own and I can’t afford another pair. Just undo the laces and pull it off.”

Tom sat back on his haunches and studied her, as if questioning her rationale.

“Beth, let me cut it off.”

She shook her head.

“It’ll hurt like hell if I don’t cut the sides open. Dammit, I’ll buy you a new pair.”

“There is no need to swear, Tom. Now, these are a perfectly good pair of boots and I don’t want to ruin one. If you don’t want to pull the boot off, then I will.”

Tom sighed in exasperation. “Fine! Lord Almighty, but you are one stubborn woman.” When she opened her mouth to protest his language again, he raised his hands in surrender. “Right, no more swearing.” He unlaced the boot fully and pulled it as wide apart as he could, being careful to not twist her ankle any more than necessary. His jaw tensed as he firmly grasped Beth’s calf and gave the boot a slow, steady pull.

Beth sucked in her breath and bit her lip as the burning pain shot through her ankle. Tom immediately stopped, but she gritted her teeth and ordered, “Pull it off! Now! Before Davy gets back.”

“I’d rather yard out my own tooth, you know.”

“Just do it!”

Grimacing, he started pulling again. When the boot was finally free, he tossed it into the corner.

Beth discretely wiped a tear away. “Thank you. I’m not sure I could have done it myself.”

Tom propped his back against the table leg, drew a knee up and draped his arms across it. “Yeah, well you’re not welcome. I should have said to hell with your precious boot and cut it off.”

“If it makes you feel any better, halfway through I almost changed my mind.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he demanded grimly.

“Maybe because I’ve got too much spunk?”

Tom glanced up to see her smiling. “I knew I’d regret telling you that.”

Davy burst through the door with the pail heaped high with snow. “Is this what you want, Tom?”

“Perfect. Bring it here and I’ll need that wash basin too,” he said pointing. “And a towel.” He dumped half the snow into the basin. “Okay, let’s take a look at your ankle.”

Beth lifted the hem of her skirt and presented her once dainty ankle, which was now twice its normal size.

“Better take off your stocking,” Tom instructed.

“I beg your pardon?” Shocked, she dropped the hem and sat up ramrod straight.

“I said take off your stocking so I can check your ankle.”

“I will not!”

Tom heaved a tired sigh. “Beth, be reasonable. I’ve seen a naked ankle before.”

“I’m sure that is true, but it wasn’t mine. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Listen.” His patience was rapidly depleting, “I don’t give a flyin’ fig about what’s proper and what’s not. I did what you wanted and saved your precious boot. Now it’s your turn to do what I want. Take the damn stocking off … or I’ll do it for you!”

Beth thumped her hands on the arm of the chair. “How dare you. Why I’ve never — ”

“I’ll tell you how I dare!” Tom interrupted, all patience spent. He lunged toward her as if to reach up under her skirt and unfasten the garters himself.

Incensed by his behavior, Beth slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare! I’ll do it. Turn your back. You too, Davy.”

She needn’t have bothered telling Davy. He had spun around the minute Tom attempted to reach up under his sister’s skirt.

Too angry to be embarrassed, Beth unfastened the garters, rolled down the cotton stocking and carefully slipped it off her foot, but when she took one look at her swollen ankle, her anger was replaced with dismay. “Oh my,” she muttered.

Tom glanced over his shoulder and followed her gaze to her foot. He turned to have a closer look. Her swollen foot was an ugly yellow-purple. “This is a serious sprain, Beth. You really should have Doc Fisher take a look at it.”

Davy turned to inspect. “Wow, it looks like a turnip.” He would have touched it, but Tom stopped him. Wrapping her foot gently in a towel, he lowered it into the basin of snow and gently packed the remaining snow around her ankle.

Davy watched the entire process with great interest. “How come you’re making Beth put her foot in the snow?”

“It will help decrease the swelling.”

“Oh.” Davy ingested that information. “Would it have helped if you put snow on your leg?”

“My leg?” Tom repeated, intent on his job and not catching Davy’s meaning.

“Yeah, you hurt your leg tonight. Don’t you remember?”

For the first time ever, Beth saw Tom color and having caught him so unexpectedly vulnerable, she felt prompted to lean forward, and brazenly taunt, “Yes, Tom, remember your
leg
?”

She felt so smug, so pleased with herself. Certainly it was shameless goading, and totally out of character for her, but after all the embarrassing things he had said to her, she felt justified.

Tom thoughtfully nodded as if mentally chalking up a point for her. Then he looked at her brother and smiled. “Well, Davy, when you get older you’ll realize sometimes it feels good to have your leg swell.”

“Huh?” Davy uttered, perplexed.

Beth could feel heat rising from her neck up face while Tom peered at her innocently. She had a mind to empty the basin of snow over his self-righteous head, and then crown him with it.

Fortunately, Davy missed the gist of the entire conversation, and was busy poking little holes in the snow with his finger. Suddenly, he stopped and jumped to his feet, racing to open the door. “Listen! I can hear the bells. It’s midnight!” He stood outside, gazing up to the heavens, waiting for the magic to begin.

Tom crept up behind him, grabbed the boy by the waist, tossed him high into the air, caught him and gave him a tight squeeze and a quick kiss before releasing him. “Happy New Year, Bud.”

“You too, Tom,” the boy replied, and then ran excitedly to his sister, stopping short before he bumped her foot. “It’s the New Year!”

Beth pulled him onto her lap and hugged him close, but Davy, always embarrassed by such affection, soon wiggled loose like a slippery fish held too tight.

He raced back to Tom and grabbed his hand. “Come on. You have to give Beth her New Year’s kiss.”

“You’re right. I do!” Tom grinned licentiously and Beth truly knew what it felt like to be an animal with its foot caught in a trap. Her heart pounded wildly, and her throat tightened as Tom allowed Davy to lead him near. He towered above her and she tremulously looked up the long length of him until her eyes met his. She felt dizzy with anticipation. Tom lowered himself to squat beside her. His smile softened. He encased her trembling hands in his.

“Beth,” he whispered, his voice so strangely hoarse it sent lovely shivers dancing up her spine. “This is a New Year. My clean sheet of paper, no past, no regrets, only the future to do with as I choose.” With the slightest of smiles, he whispered, “I choose this.” He leaned forward and gently brushed her lips with his, testing her response.

His kiss was as light as a butterfly’s wing upon her lips, and she waited breathlessly for its return. It did, alighting again, this time staying, becoming more ardent, yet never commanding, never threatening. Beth felt weak, liquid. Her lips parted slightly and Tom’s breath joined hers in a sweet sigh. And the butterfly she felt upon her lips now fluttered in her heart. She felt his lips slowly pull away from hers.

“You see, there is magic,” Tom whispered before leaning back on his haunches, and Beth thought,
yes, magic.
She was unaware a third face had been leaning in just as closely to witness their kiss.

“Yee-uck!” Davy exclaimed, drawing back and breaking the spell. “Boy, am I glad I don’t have a girlfriend!”

Involuntarily, Beth’s hands flew to her cheeks. “I am not Tom’s girlfriend! I am merely his friend,” she said.
When had he changed from a threat to a friend?
She couldn’t decide whether his rise in status excited her or frightened her.

“But you’re a girl,” Davy interrupted her puzzled thoughts, “and you’re Tom’s friend so how come you’re not his girlfriend?”

She knew Davy wasn’t trying to be difficult. He honestly didn’t understand the word’s nuance.

Tom was no help. “Yeah, Beth,” he taunted, feigning confusion. “How come?”

“Well,” she began, casting Tom a scathing glare, “there’s a big difference between a girl friend and a
girlfriend.
Take Penelope Pickard. She’s a girl and she’s your friend, isn’t she?”

Davy nodded. “But she’s not my girlfriend, right?”

“That’s right!” she answered, pleased her brother was so astute.

Her pleasure was short lived.

“ ’Cause I don’t want to kiss her, but Tom, he wanted to kiss you, so that makes you his girlfriend, right?”

“No! Not right.” She took a deep breath. “First of all, Tom didn’t want to kiss me.”

“Oh, but I did,” Tom verified.

“But only because it was New Year’s.”

“No, not just because of that.” He pulled out a chair from the table, sat with arms crossed, and leaned back until the two front chair legs lifted inches from the floor. He was obviously set to enjoy himself.

Had he been closer, Beth would have employed her one good foot to kick the chair right out from under him. To calm herself she smoothed down the folds in her skirt. There had to be some analogy to make this clear, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one. Finally in exasperation, she said, “I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. I am not Tom’s girlfriend. Now, go get ready for bed. It’s late.”

Davy appeared to be about as perplexed as a dog with two tails. Tom rocked forward, setting his chair back on all fours. He grabbed Davy and pulled him to stand between his knees. “Bud, I know it’s hard to understand, but grown-ups kiss on special occasions, just because they want to wish each other good wishes. Now, if they kiss when it’s not Christmas or New Year’s or some other special occasion — ”

“Like birthdays?”

Tom nodded. “Like birthdays. When they kiss for no special reason other than they just want to kiss, well, then they’re likely boyfriend and girlfriend.” He gave the boy a gentle swat on the rump. “Now, off to bed.”

When the bedroom door closed, Beth turned on him, more than a little exasperated. “You could have volunteered that explanation earlier.”

Tom shrugged. “It was more fun watching you squirm.”

Beth reached down into the basin and threw snow at him.

Tom laughed, brushing the bits of snow off his chest before they melted. He got to his feet, stepping back before she threw more. “Do you have another towel? Your ankle should be bound before I leave.”

“There’s another in the cupboard.”

While Tom tended her foot, Beth mused. If Tom waiting on her hand and foot was what the New Year was going to bring, Beth had to admit that she rather liked it. And she also had to admit that she rather liked Tom. But never to the point of being his girlfriend. Just his girl friend.

It was only three days into the New Year and Tom already had regrets. First, he regretted ever having kissed Beth. Second, he regretted not having done a more thorough job when he had the chance. Tom was no beginner when it came to kissing, so it didn’t make sense that such an innocent, chaste kiss should haunt him. Yet even the mere memory of it sent his blood sluicing through his veins. One thing for sure, if the opportunity ever presented itself again, he would make damn sure he kissed Beth longer and deeper … before someone else beat him to it.

He stood another log on end on the chopping block and split it with one downward stroke of the ax. Cutting firewood usually soothed Tom. Today he figured he could cut enough wood for two winters and still be confused. What was it about that kiss?

He wondered if it had affected Beth in the same way. She seemed to enjoy the kiss, but she had certainly become flustered when Davy suggested they were more than just friends. Why, she reacted as if the concept was totally out of the question. Obviously the age difference bothered her more than it did him. So, he was sixteen years older than her. So what?

So what?
Tom’s conscience spoke harshly to him.
I’ll tell you what. By the time you knew how to ride horses and cuss, all Beth knew how to do was eat, sleep and spit up. She probably was learning to eat solids when you first kissed a girl. And playing with her little friends the first time you …

Disheartened, Tom stopped his thoughts. Beth was right. Nineteen was too young for thirty-five. Thirty-five! Why, in horse years he
was
ready for the glue factory! Except he didn’t feel old. And for darn sure, his body wasn’t acting old. Every time he thought about kissing Beth good and proper, he got rigid.

In frustration, Tom swung the ax down hard. It missed the piece of wood altogether and glanced off the chopping block.
Pay attention, or you’ll be minus a foot.
But concentration eluded him, so he set the ax inside the woodshed and stacked the wood.

As he worked, it came to him what he really needed was a night upstairs in Tannerville’s Regal Hotel to eliminate his physical problem, at least temporarily. He looked at his watch. It was too late today, but maybe tomorrow, Saturday. Leave early in the afternoon and ride out to Tannerville, spend a pleasurable night rolling about in a cozy bed with a willing woman, one with huge smothering breasts and peroxide-bleached hair and make-up as thick as plaster. One wearing enough perfume to make his eyes water. One who would make him question if he’d be able to walk the next morning. Maybe then he could get the schoolteacher and the kiss they shared right out of his head.