Birdie's Nest (11 page)

Mr. Samuelson waved it under his nose. “Mmm, smells delicious too. Bet Maybelle fixed this lunch, men. You know you’re in for a fine meal as well as Miss Braxton’s engaging company.”

“I bid two bits, John.” A scruffy cowboy with a wad of tobacco in his mouth pushed through the crowd.

Birdie’s blush turned to an expression of horror. She quickly hid it with a smile she was sure resembled a grimace.

“One dollar,” yelled a portly man in a suit. At least he appeared clean and wasn’t chewing tobacco.

“Five dollars,” announced someone in the back. Birdie peered over the heads of the crowd to see Dr. Franks pushing his way forward.

Mr. Samuels beamed, thrust out his chest, and rocked back on his heels. “Now that’s the spirit, gentlemen.”

“I’ll make it six dollars.” Detective Ethan lifted his hat and grinned at Birdie. Today he wore a three-piece suit rather than his uniform. He resembled many of the other men enjoying the festivities. She grinned back. Now this was more like it. She’d enjoy lunch with the detective.

“Seven dollars.” Birdie’s gaze jerked to the new bidder—
Tad
. Her heart jumped into her throat. Why, she didn’t know. She dined with him every day, but there was something about sharing a meal on a quilt that hinted at intimacy.

“Woo-wee, we’ve got us a competition going here. Looks like it’s your turn Doc.”

“I’ll leave the bidding to these young bucks, John,” said Dr. Franks.

“All right, you gonna up the bid, Ethan?”

“Eight dollars.”

“Ten,” yelled Tad. The crowd hooted and hollered.

“Fifteen,” called the detective. The crowd erupted into shouts and clapping. Birdie could merely gape. Fifteen dollars was a lot of money in 1890. That was half of her monthly salary. Could Ethan afford it? It wasn’t her place to question. It was for charity after all.

“All right, Lockhart, what’s it going to be? You going to let this man eat Maybelle’s fried chicken and enjoy this pretty lady’s company?”

All eyes turned on Tad. He studied Birdie and then Ethan. He made a big show of removing his hat and scratching his head as if pondering the subject. “Well, I guess I’ll concede if she’ll promise me a dance tonight.”

Now everyone was looking at Birdie. The big ape. He knew she’d been dreading this event and here he was making her a spectacle. She narrowed her eyes at him and nodded. She’d dance with him but stomp on every one of his toes while at it.

“Congratulations, Detective Ethan. Step up here and collect the lady and her lunch box. Let’s have a big hand for this generous donation.”

As the crowd clapped, Birdie grabbed the box and stepped down off the stage. After Ethan paid, they collected a quilt from the Lockhart’s carriage and found a shady spot on the grassy bank.

Birdie set out the fine meal and while eating, they talked.

“How’re you settling in, Birdie?”

“Better than I expected. I’m keeping the ranch books for Tad and tutoring Bethany in ma—arithmetic,” she corrected herself, having learned most people didn’t use the shortened form of mathematics unless in a university situation. “It’s something to do, but it doesn’t keep me busy enough. I need something else.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Not a one.” She took a sip of the sweet tea from one of the Mason jars Maybelle had added to their lunch. If Birdie kept drinking the stuff and eating like she’d done today, she’d be as wide as a barn.

“Something will come to you. I’m sure of it.”

“I surely hope so. It’s bad enough I can’t get back home, I’ve got to be able to use some of my skills to be happy.”

“What about marriage and a family? Wouldn’t that be enough to keep you content?”

She signed. “Possibly. If love came along. But, in my time women have marriage, family, and a career.” Of course, her generation had more conveniences and work around the home didn’t take near as much time. She wasn’t saying it was better because in truth, she didn’t think it was. The old customs were better in many ways. Yes, technology had a lot to offer in educating children, but nothing could replace good old hands on love and teaching.

Ethan looked toward a group of boys carrying baseball equipment to a cleared off flat area across the road from the riverbank. “Looks like the baseball game is about to begin. I’m serving as umpire today.”

“Really? A baseball game! I love the sport.” She tossed empty containers into the basket and stood. Ethan shook out the quilt and folded it neatly. They stored it and the basket in the back of the carriage and started toward the rowdy boys.

* * *

Tad had deposited his mother at the hotel so she could rest before the dance tonight. He located Bethany with some of her friends sitting on a blanket under a shade tree, chatting. A few boys hung around them, but several matrons not far off appeared to be keeping an eye on the young people. Thank goodness. He didn’t want to be babysitting a bunch of giggling girls this afternoon. Where had Birdie gotten off to? He knew Detective Ethan would watch out for her, but she lived in his home and was his responsibility.

Shouts from the baseball game drew his attention. Whistles, hoots, and boos reverberated off the river. How odd. He’d never heard so much commotion before. He strolled in that direction to see what all the hullabaloo was about. As he drew nearer, a woman’s voice rose above the men’s. “You’ll be eating dust here in a minute, gentleman.”

He pushed through the crowd in time to see Birdie bent slightly at the waist holding a bat above her right shoulder. As she rotated the stick, her hips swayed from side to side. Every man and boy over fourteen followed each swing of her rear with their eyes, grins on their mugs. Tad wanted to punch them in the face. Fool woman! What was she thinking? He elbowed the grinning man next to him and shot him a death threat. The man sobered and hit the man next to him and nodded toward Tad.

Tad’s ranch hand, Hank, was pitcher. He didn’t appear happy about pitching to a woman. “I’ll toss it real soft for you, Miss Braxton.”

“What for?” She kicked the sawdust bag and then resumed her position. “Throw it just like you have for all the others. I don’t need special treatment.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” Ethan stood behind the catcher, who’d positioned himself far enough away to not get hit in the head. Evidently he didn’t trust Birdie’s abilities. Tad didn’t either and feared she’d be embarrassed. He wanted to interfere but considered remaining silent the lesser of two evils.

Hank wound up and pitched. Birdie swung and missed.

“Strike one,” yelled Ethan.

Snickers rippled through the crowd. He heard one woman mutter, “Shut up, John. It’s bad enough she’s acting like a man. You have no business enjoying her poor behavior.”

“Yeah,” added another woman. “Ain’t decent the way she’s acting.” The mumbling in the crowd rose.

He saw Birdie’s shoulder’s tense and before he knew what he was doing yelled, “Come on, Birdie! You can do better than that.”

She turned, found him in the crowd, and shot him a smile. It hit him right in the heart, taking his breath. Their eyes locked, and he couldn’t look away. He was a goner for sure. As if struck by lightning, he knew without a doubt this was the woman for him. She would be his. It might take some convincing, especially since she didn’t particularly want to get married and with Birdie, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d bide his time, make her fall in love with him. He was patient and in no hurry to be tied down, but he sure as heck didn't want anyone to step in and claim her. Now that that issue was cleared up in his mind, he winked. Her grin widened. She mouthed, “Thanks.”

He nodded, and she turned back to Hank. “Good one, Hank.” She took a few practice swings and took position again. Hank threw again. This time Birdie stepped into the swing and hit the ball with a loud crack. It flew. She dropped the bat, lifted her skirts, and ran. The boys on her team yelled.

“Run, Birdie!”

“Keep going.”

“It’s a homer.”

She rounded third and headed for home. Hank ran toward the home plate bent on catching the ball as it was thrown from outfield. Tad held his breath as it looked like Hank would succeed, but as he caught it and turned to touch her, she hit the dirt on her rear end, skirts rucked up around her knees exposing her bloomers, and slid feet first into the home plate.

Her team went crazy—jumping, hooting, and hollering. She stood and dusted off the seat of her dress. Grins stretched the faces of the men. The women sniffed with turned up noses and dragged their husbands away. The single men eyed Birdie with keen interest. Blood rushed to Tad’s head, and pounded.
Damn scallywags
. He grabbed a collar in each hand and pulled boys back. “Here now, get out of my way.”
He shoved through the team members celebrating around her. They inched away, faces alarmed at the anger Tad couldn’t hide. Fearing he’d deck ’em for letting her play, a few skedaddled.

What was wrong with him? He’d not minded her playing ball. It was the sliding in and exposing her bloomers that had him in a dither. If they’d been at home and she’d done the same thing, he’d not have been near as agitated. It was the public display.

James grabbed his arm to hold him back. “Ease up, Tad. She wanted to play and she’s not hurt.”

Tad elbowed James in the side. James uttered “Whoof” and released his hold.

“What about her reputation, man?”

Birdie stood before him, dirt-splotched face rosy with happiness, fists propped on her hips. “What about it?” She shrugged. “How could playing baseball hurt my reputation?”

Teeth clenched, he ground out. “You slid into home plate on your derriere and exposed your bloomers to all and sundry. Ladies do not participate in such rowdy pursuits.”

She snorted sounding much like his mother when she announced her disgust. “Well, if I’d been able to wear my dungarees, that wouldn’t have been a problem.” She shrugged and with a smug grin on her face, and added, “Anyway, women in my time are not fragile flowers to sit back and allow the men to have all the fun. Women participate in all type of sports. They even enter the boxing ring.”

It was almost comical to watch James’s expression change from humor at Tad’s dilemma to shock. If the situation had been different, if it had been any other woman, Tad could have laughed. But it was Birdie. She was staying in his home and under his care, her reputation was his responsibility. After all the stories Birdie had shared about the future, Tad was stunned, but not as bad as James. Not that he believed everything the woman told him. It just was too outrageous to believe. No, he could not see women in a boxing ring. Yes, some women got into fights, even well bred young ladies, but not for sport. He’d seen two women who’d lost control of their tempers and gone at each other screeching and pulling hair like two cats thrown into a potato sack. It’d been so funny he couldn’t even remember what the tussle had been about. His father had cuffed him on the ear for laughing and ordered him to help him pull them apart. Dangerous business, in his opinion. He’d gone home with a couple of scratches.

He sure as heck didn’t want James hearing more of this conversation. His friend would think Birdie daft, and Tad didn’t want that. He put a hand at Birdie’s waist and led her away from James’s hearing. He didn’t have to worry about the others as they remained out of earshot, but watched while pretending disinterest. The few women left in the crowd wore smug expressions, clearly believing Birdie was to be duly chastised. No doubt the single ones were elated by Birdie’s misbehavior as it would prevent her from being courted by any eligible males they’d set their caps on. Fool women.

He sighed. “Birdie, I know things are different here, but the women of this community will ostracize you if you don’t adapt and follow their code of conduct. You wouldn’t want that, now, would you? If you’re stuck here, you’ll want to marry and have a family.” A niggling of regret prodded him at the idea of her marrying and bearing the children of one of the gaping men here today. Not a one of them was worthy of her spirit. Anyway, he had dibs on her. Not that she knew it or would receive the news well if he laid a claim.

Her blue eyes rounded, and her stubborn chin softened somewhat. Then rebellion flashed, turning her eyes a darker shade. “Why do women of this generation have to be so repressed? What if I don’t want to change, to be a useless sweet thing who simpers and curtseys at the whims of a man and society?”

Useless? Simpers and curtseys? Is that the way she saw women in this time? “Harrumph! Have you ever seen my mother simper and curtsey?” Not that he hadn’t seen many a female flash one of those sly, coy smiles he hated so.

“Well, no.”

“Look, I don’t mean to make you mad, but what these folks think is important to my mother.” Heck, for some reason, it was important to him also. To be honest, he enjoyed her spunk and didn’t really see anything wrong with women participating in sports such as baseball, but women had no business wearing dungarees in mixed company. Why, men would be eying their backsides and other parts. No, sir. That’s where he’d have to draw the line.

“I understand your desire to take part in more exciting and strenuous activities, but I cannot allow you to do so in public. I have your reputation and that of my family to consider. You’re a single woman staying under my roof.”

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him through slits. “Did I hear you correctly?
You
can’t allow
me
… to…” She waved a hand toward the baseball diamond. “Participate in public sporting activities.”

“That’s correct. I’m glad you understand.”

She poked him in the chest. “Now you listen to me, Tad Lockhart. You’re not my boss, you’re not my father, and you’re sure as heck not my husband.” She snorted. “And if you were, none of those relationships would make a difference.”

“We’ll see about that.” He took her arm and started for the carriage. She dug in her heels and wouldn’t budge. Men’s laughter drew his attention. Tarnation. They were making a scene and folks were enjoying their argument. Through gritted teeth, he growled, "Stop this. You’re making a bigger scene. Now come on before I throw you over my shoulder and tote you away like a sack of potatoes.”