MM03 - Saturday Mornings (12 page)

“Good night, my sweet. Sleep tight.”

The slamming door was his only answer. He unbuckled his pants and thought about heading for the shower, then he remembered her purloined clothes. The shower would have to wait. He couldn't risk her searching while he was bathing.

He climbed into his bed, satisfied that he had secured Margaret Leigh for one more night. If he knew her, and he thought he did, she wouldn't dare set foot out of the house wearing nothing more than a man's shirt.

Across the hall, Margaret Leigh stalked toward his guest bed, crawled between the covers, and made her plans. Andrew McGill couldn't beat her. As soon as Hooter and James brought her car, she'd be on her way.

She turned on her side and prepared to sleep. She was a light sleeper. The sound of her old car would be her alarm. All she could do was pray that it wouldn't wake Andrew.

Lulled and warmed by the drink, she tucked herself into a ball and drifted into sleep, wrapped in Andrew's shirt.

o0o

Bertha heard Margaret Leigh's car. There was no mistaking that rattle. She turned her head and squinted one eye at the luminous dial of the bedside clock. Five a.m. She threw back the covers and crept across the floor. Lord, she was going to an early grave worrying over Margaret Leigh.

She heard the footsteps on the stairs and stood waiting until she was sure Margaret Leigh was in her room, then she followed her. She'd always condemned eavesdropping, but there were circumstances that demanded it, and this was one of them. Without shame, she pressed her ear against Margaret Leigh's door. She was dialing the phone.

“Tess, it's Margaret Leigh.... Yes, I know what time it is.... No. Nothing's wrong. I guess I'm catching a cold.” Margaret Leigh paused to blow her nose.

Bertha wasn't fooled. She stood outside the door, torn between going in to comfort her daughter and staying outside to find out what was going on. Sure of a rebuff, she stayed outside.

“Tess, I called you to get some advice about men.... I know you're an expert on the subject.... How do you find a nice man to take you to bed?... Stop cussing. I'm serious.... Well, Harry Cox is the only one I know, and there is a carnival in town.... All right.... Okay.... I don't know if I could do
that....
I'll try.... I'm fine, Tess. Stop worrying.... I love you too. Bye.”

Bertha hurried from her post and crept back down the stairs. Lord, what was happening to her Margaret Leigh?

o0o

The first thing Andrew did when he woke up was go across the hall to check on Margaret Leigh. He eased open her door and stuck his head around the corner. The bed was empty. At first he couldn't believe his eyes. He stood in the hall, dumbfounded that his plan had failed. He wasn't accustomed to failing.

He shoved open the door and strode to the bed. It didn't even look slept in. The spread was tucked neatly under the pillows. Don't panic, he told himself. Maybe she was in the kitchen making breakfast.

He hurried through his house. It was small, and it didn't take him long to discover that Margaret Leigh was nowhere on the premises. Where had she gone? Surely not back to Hooter's.

There was one way to find out. On his way to the phone he glanced at the clock. It was only seven. She couldn't have been gone long.

Hooter answered on the first ring.

“Hooter, this is Andrew.”

“How are you, boy? And how's that pretty little filly this morning?”

Relief flooded through Andrew. At least Margaret Leigh hadn't gone back to Hooter. He fished for information. “She's fine, just great. Say, thanks for bringing her car back.”

“Shucks, it wadn't any trouble. Me and James was up all night playing cards, anyhow.”

“I didn't even hear you when you came. It must have been early.”

“Shoot, it was. We left here right after James had beat my pants off. I swear he's cheating.”

“What time was that, Hooter?”

“Around four-thirty, I'd say.”

“Thanks, Hooter. If I can return the favor sometime, let me know.”

“Well, there's that old dog of mine. Possum. I've been wondering what a good trainer like you might do for him.”

“Bring him over. I’ll do it. Free of charge.”

Hooter wanted to talk about Possum's training program, but Andrew found a way to end the conversation, then he hurried outside to feed his dogs.

When he came back inside, he woke a sleepy Christine, fed her, and carried her outside for her toilet. By the time he'd taken his own shower and dressed it was almost eight o'clock. And he didn't even have a vehicle. His stallion was fine for the woods, but it wouldn't do to take him cross-country and onto the streets of Tupelo. There was only one thing to do. He called his brother.

“Rick, I need a favor.”

“Can you speak up, Andrew? The girls are yelling about their wet diapers and the boys are trying to get to the moon in their homemade rocket.”

“They're too young to build rockets.”

“I built it for them. Every boy ought to have a rocket.”

Andrew chuckled, then got to the heart of the matter. “I need to borrow your Corvette, and I need to borrow it fast.”

“You're never in a hurry. Woman trouble?”

“How'd you guess?”

“I lived through it once myself.” Rick stopped talking, and Andrew heard the sound of kissing. There was no telling how long Rick and Martha Ann would have gone on smooching if Andrew hadn't interrupted them.

“Hey, Rick! What about that favor?”

“All right. Here's what we’ll do.”

They made arrangements for Rick to come to Boguefala Bottom, followed by his friend and favorite mechanic, Alvin Vinny. Andrew would take the Corvette, and Rick would stay behind to help repair the old pickup. They would swap vehicles whenever it was convenient for Andrew. Martha Ann had her car. Rick was in no hurry to get his Corvette back.

It was nine-thirty by the time Andrew arrived at the house on Allen Street. He climbed out of his brother's snazzy car and hurried up the walk.

Aunt Bertha came to the door.

“Good morning. I'm—”

“I know who you are.” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him through the door. “Come on in.”

Andrew followed her into a small sitting room.

She was pale and frazzled-looking, with dark circles under her eyes and white pasty skin. She sank heavily into a wing chair and waved him to another.

“Sit down. I suppose you've come about Margaret Leigh.”

Andrew was surprised. He'd thought Aunt Bertha didn't approve of him, and there she was, acting as if he were a hero returning from war.

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“She's safe, for now. She left for the library about an hour ago.”

“I'm glad.”

“Was she with you last night?”

“Yes.” He saw no reason to lie. He was after the truth himself.

“Did anything happen?”

“If you mean did I sleep with her, the answer is no.”

“Thank God.” Aunt Bertha bowed her head, and tears trickled down her face.

Andrew leaned forward in his chair. “Will you tell me what's going on? Margaret Leigh has been unusually upset these last two days. It's almost as if she'd become another person.”

Aunt Bertha lifted her face, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. Andrew pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She sniffled and wiped her face and blew her nose then she took a deep sigh and settled back into her chair. “Monday night, at the family dinner, she overheard a cousin talking, telling things she had no business knowing.”

“What things?”

“You're going to think I'm awful.”

Andrew felt her distress. He left his chair and knelt beside her.

“Miss Adams, I'm not here to judge you... or anyone else, for that matter. I'm here to help Margaret Leigh.”

Aunt Bertha studied him before she spoke.

“You like her, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?”

Andrew didn't know what to say. Love didn't fit into his lifestyle. It was not something he even thought about. He considered the question carefully. Did he love Margaret Leigh?

“I care for her—very much.”

“That's good enough.” Aunt Bertha took a deep breath and set about telling Andrew McGill the family secret.

He listened, keeping his astonishment and his opinions to himself. When she was finished, he put his arms around her and comforted her, patting her shoulder and making soothing sounds. Finally she heaved a big sigh and leaned back in her chair.

“Can you help my daughter, Andrew?”

“I can try. I'll be at the library this afternoon when she gets off work, and I'll do my best to help her.”

“Thank you.” Aunt Bertha patted his face. “I take back everything I ever thought about men who wear leather jackets.”

Secure in the knowledge that Margaret Leigh was safe, Andrew returned his brother's Corvette, stayed for a brief visit with Rick and his family and then took his old Ford truck back to Boguefala Bottom.

He spent the rest of the day concentrating on his birddog training. By the time he left for the library he was feeling pretty good about Mississippi Rex's staunchness and style, but he was a bit disappointed in his roading abilities. He had lots of work to get Rex ready for the February trials.

He arrived at the library thirty minutes before it closed, but Margaret Leigh had already gone. He was suspicious when he didn't see her car in the parking lot. After he went inside and failed to find her, he was furious. He shouldn't have trusted her. Not for a minute. Not after she left his cabin at four-thirty in the morning wearing nothing but his shirt.

He leaned over the checkout counter, putting on his best smile.

“Do you have any idea where Margaret Leigh went?”

The girl was young and unsure of herself. She chewed on her lower lip.

“Well, I don't know if I should say. I don't want to gossip.”

“I'd consider it a personal favor. I promised her Aunt Bertha I'd pick her up today.” He shrugged his shoulders. “As you can see, I got here too late.”

“Well, she asked to leave early. And I guess I'm not supposed to know this, but I overheard her on the telephone at lunch break talking to somebody named Harry Cox... about going to the carnival, I think.” She chewed her lips some more.

“Thanks. You're a sweetheart.”

o0o

Margaret Leigh was standing with Harry Cox in the middle of the midway among all the colored neon and the sawdust, eating a corn dog on a stick and holding the teddy bear she'd won, when she saw Andrew McGill. He was wearing tight jeans and his leather jacket and looking as fierce as Hannibal must have when he crossed the Alps.

She grabbed Harry's lapels, smearing mustard on his shirt.

“Let's go see the sideshow.”

“I thought you didn't like freaks.”

“I've changed my mind.” She tugged. “Come on. Hurry.”

Harry Cox wiped the mustard off and did as he was told. Margaret Leigh fidgeted and peered over her shoulder while he bought the tickets, then she practically dragged him to two chairs in a darkened corner of the tent. No sooner had she sat down than she sensed Andrew behind her. She didn't even have to turn around to know he was there.
She felt
him. It was like being thrust into the eye of a tornado.

“Fancy seeing you here, pretty one.” She could feel his breath fan her cheek as he leaned close.

She stared ahead, ignoring him.

He leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “I see you've put on some clothes.”

She turned her head, then wished she hadn't. She was nose to nose with him, so close she could look into his hot blue eyes, so close she could almost taste his lips.

“Go away,” she whispered.

“Never.” He nodded toward Harry, who was sitting on the other side of Margaret Leigh, leaning forward to get a better view of the two-headed calf. “Is he your next candidate?”

“Shh. He'll hear.”

“You mean he doesn't know. Tell him for me that he's in for quite a treat.”

Andrew leaned back in his chair and pretended to watch the show. Instead he was studying Margaret Leigh. She hadn't changed. She was still holding in her pain, denying the truth, even to herself. But most of all, she was still stubbornly determined to go through with her scheme of self-destruction and revenge.

“Over my dead body.”

He didn't realize he'd spoken his thoughts aloud until a man just coming in for the show stopped midway to the chair beside him and said, “I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

Chapter Eight

Andrew hounded their steps. When Margaret Leigh and Harry left the sideshow, he was two steps behind them. When they stopped to toss pennies into a bottle, he stopped with them. Margaret Leigh tried to lose him in the fun house, but he refused to be lost.

It was obvious to Andrew that Harry Cox didn't know what was going on. Margaret Leigh was flirting shamelessly with him, rubbing her hand along the back of his neck and pressing herself against him in the crowd. The poor man had a dazed look on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe his unexpected fortune.

Andrew bided his time. He wasn't at the carnival to kidnap Margaret Leigh again: he simply wanted to ensure that she stayed out of trouble. Guardian angel wasn't a role he was accustomed to playing, but it had its advantages. There was a certain solitude in being alone in a crowd. The noise served as an incubator for his thoughts, and he didn't have to share them with anyone. Also it was a great way to observe human nature.

He felt as if he were in the back of a theater, watching men cavort and posture upon a stage.

And nobody was playacting more than Margaret Leigh. She was playing the flirt and doing it exceedingly well. Andrew would never have thought he was seeing the same shy woman who had come to his cabin the previous Saturday. Saturday seemed a thousand years in the past.

Harry Cox excused himself and headed to the men's room. Andrew eased behind Margaret Leigh and took her arm.

“I need to talk to you.”

She spun around, her face reflecting the colored lights from the carousel. Behind her came the sounds of music and children's laughter.