WILD OATS

Summary:

Award-winning author Pamela Morsi warmed readers' hearts with Runabout, Marrying Stone, and Something Shady. Now she presents an unforgettable novel—witty, wonderful, romantic, and full of the down-to-earth charm that has become her trademark...

The last thing Cora Briggs expected was to see a fine young man like Jedwin Sparrow at her doorstep. After all, she'd been shunned by the citizens of Dead Dog, Oklahoma, for so long that she'dgiven up hope of having any respectable gentleman callers.

But the last thing Jed expected was romance. He was looking for a sophisticated woman to help him sow his wild oats. Instead, Cora made him a proposition of her own-one that would cause a fury in the town—and cause her to question her own heart...

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / September 1993

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1993 by Pamela Morsi.

ISBN: 0-515-11185-6

A JOVE BOOK®

When the former local football star and hometown war hero ran off to marry the bootlegger's daughter, a divorced woman, everybody in town knew that it would never last.

Happy 45th Wedding Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Chapter One

A full hundred yards beyond the nearest house, the long, shiny black rig pulled discreetly into the anonymity of the trees. Isinglass shades were drawn down over the three open windows of the wagon, and black crepe bow curtains, hung with heavy fringed tassels, trembled lightly in the evening breeze. It was almost full dark, but it was still possible to read the words emblazoned in delicately arched gold letters above the windows: sparrow mortuary. Beneath the name, in smaller, more elite script was the declaration "Modern Embalming," followed by the motto "Preservation and Sterilization."

The driver set the hand brake and glanced around nervously as he stepped to the ground, wrapping the lines around the pull. Uncertainly, he ran a young, strong hand through his blond hair and smoothed the sides that had grown a little too long and waved casually at the base of his neck. Retrieving his hat from the driver's bench, he placed it upon his head straightly, without even the slightest jaunt or angle.

Self-consciously he checked the cleanliness of his fingernails, the straightness of his tie, and the buttons on the front of his trousers. Warily he looked around him. Finding no prying eyes, he swallowed his nervousness and took a deep breath. Then he headed toward the house.

It wasn't a house, really. It was a cottage. A lovers' cottage, a newlyweds' cottage, a miniature of a larger, grander house across town. That grander house, however, gleamed with care and hospitality. This cottage sat faded with neglect and isolation on the edge of town. As he approached the back entrance, he noticed that a number of the once crisp four-foot pickets that surrounded the yard were bent or broken. Clearly attempts had been made to repair the damage, but from the looks of things the carpenter didn't know a hammer from a broadsword.

The young man mentally calculated the size and number of new pickets needed to do the repair. The cost would be minimal, he decided, and might be very appreciated.

With another guilty glance around the neighborhood, he stepped through the back gate, which creaked loudly as he passed through.

“That, too," he whispered aloud to himself. He'd grease the hinge on his next visit. That is, if there was a second visit.

Stepping up to the back door, he glanced through the screen to the tiny kitchen. It was clean and neat and there was a pleasant fresh smell of cooked greens. Beyond the kitchen there was a lamp lit in the parlor.

She was home.

A momentary flash of anxiety swept through him, but determinedly he raised his fist and knocked boldly at the door.

A long moment passed before he saw her puzzled face peek around the door frame. Clearly surprised, she hurried toward him.

She was tall, taller than he'd remembered, and full-bodied. He swallowed nervously at that observation. Her bosom was quite ample and her hips generously curved. The apron tied at her small waist enhanced those curves. The young man did not require such enhancement to find the woman attractive. Merely the
idea
of Cora Briggs set his blood racing.

With difficulty he forced his gaze to rise to her face. Behind a thin veil of dark brown lashes were a very ordinary pair of pale brown eyes that were curiously scrutinizing him.

"May I help you, sir?"

It was the first time he'd ever heard her speak. Her tone was proper, almost haughty, and her accent was well bred, educated, citified. It was the most exciting and exotic voice he'd ever heard. She was everything he wanted.
Make her say yes!
he prayed and then quickly reminded himself that his particular errand was not one a gentleman had a right to pray about.

Manners!
he cautioned himself quickly. Haywood always said to "treat the whores like ladies and the ladies like whores." Jedwin couldn't agree with the latter, but he felt the former was certainly not unseemly advice.

Jerkily, he pulled his hat from his head.

"Evening, Mrs. Briggs," he blurted out too quickly. "I'm James Edwin Sparrow, Jr., ma'am. The undertaker." He paused momentarily to give her a chance to remember him.

She did. "Of course, you're young Jedwin," she said, relaxing slightly.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled with gratitude. "We're related by marriage."

Jedwin watched her mouth thin into one prim line.

"I am no longer married, Mr. Sparrow."

A red flush stained Jedwin's cheek and he wanted desperately to kick himself.
Don't talk about marriage,
he admonished himself.
Don't mention family! Try not to be an idiot!

"May I come in, Mrs. Briggs?" he asked. Gazing longingly into the parlor, he cast a nervous glance behind him. The cottage was on the edge of town and the nearest neighbor a good fifty yards away. Still, he'd rather not be spied standing on her back doorstep.”I have something I wish to discuss with you, ma'am."

Without hesitation, Cora Briggs turned the wooden latch on the screen door and led the young gentleman into her parlor.

She seated herself in a small sewing rocker and gestured to Jedwin to take a place on the divan.

The interior of the cottage was completely unlike the grand house on the other side of town. The Briggs mansion was graced with wide, high-ceilinged rooms and airy passageways. The cottage had only the parlor and the kitchen on the ground floor. A small foyer at the front door contained only a hatrack and a stairway. Up the stairs was, of course—Jedwin hesitated nervously with the thought—up the stairs was paradise.

Sitting on the edge of the worn piece of upholstered furniture, Jedwin fiddled nervously with his hat, carefully straightening the already straight brim and smoothing the already smooth band.

The warm yellow glow of the coal-oil lamp heightened and brightened the features of the woman across the room. Being alone with her was a fantasy Jedwin had savored for weeks. Now, he could hardly bear to look at her.

"So, Mr. Sparrow," Cora Briggs said finally. "If you've come to tell me that Maimie Briggs has finally gone on to her reward, believe me, I am uninterested."

Jedwin sat up immediately.
Of course she doesn't know why I'm here!
She sees the undertaker, of course she's going to assume someone's died.

"As of Sunday last, ma'am," he said reassuringly, "Miss Maimie enjoys perfect health."

"How pleasant for her," the young Mrs. Briggs replied with some amusement. Then a strange, sad, almost frightened look came across her face. "Is it Luther?"

Luther who?
Jedwin almost asked, before he caught himself.

“No, ma'am," he assured her quickly. “No one has died. At least not since old Mr. Cravens from down by Frogeye Creek last Wednesday."

She nodded at him, apparently relieved.

The silence between them lengthened. She was obviously waiting for him to speak. But still he hesitated.

"Why are you here, Mr. Sparrow?" she asked finally.

Jedwin almost wondered the same thing.

If someone had told him a month ago that he'd be sitting, hat in hand, in the parlor of the infamous Cora Briggs, he'd not have believed it. He raised his eyes to face her question, but the sight of her stole his memory.

She sat primly in the rocker, her hands genteelly folded in her lap. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. The neatly tucked pleats of her bodice could not disguise the generous curves of her bosom. But the voluminous skirting of steel gray poplin completely obscured any suggestion of the nature of her lower body. Jedwin caught sight of one scuffed brown leather toe peeking out beneath her skirt. The sight entranced him, mesmerized him. In his mind he felt the supple smoothness of sleek brown leather, then moved on to the thin warmth of cotton stockings whose length would be topped by lacy garters leading enticingly to wicked ladies' underdrawers.

Jedwin's mouth was as dry as cotton as he stared at the decently covered woman before him and imagined . . . imagined . . . sin.

"Your purpose, Mr. Sparrow?"

Jedwin choked on his own desire, quickly covering it with a nervous cough as the town's most notorious woman sat so primly across from him in the sewing rocker.

His speech had been planned, rehearsed, revised, committed to memory, discarded, reworded, and relearned. He opened his mouth and waited for it to pour out. It didn't.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"I'm James Edwin Sparrow, Jr.," he began.

"Yes, I know," she said.

Jedwin cleared his throat again.

"I'm the sole owner of Sparrow Mortuary, one of the most prosperous and growing businesses in Dead Dog."

Mrs. Briggs nodded. "Says something about the town, doesn't it?"

Jedwin missed her amused expression as he concentrated on watching his index finger methodically prick the grosgrain on his hatband. "It seems obvious to even the most casual observer, such as myself, that in the eight years since your divorce from Luther Briggs, your situation here has become increasingly untenable."

Mrs. Briggs's eyebrow furrowed in concern. "If some civic group has asked you to suggest I leave town, Mr. Sparrow," she said with a quiet firmness, "I will have to tell you that you are not the first to make such a request. I, however, have no intention of leaving."

Jedwin looked up at her. "Oh no, ma'am," he said hastily, discarding his speech. "I don't want you to leave at all!"

Mrs. Briggs tilted her head with a puzzled expression. Her richly colored lips were slightly parted and Jedwin could see her straight white teeth, so bright that the contrast made her lips appear unusually flush. Her face was a long, almost bookish oval and there was nothing about her that would have been described as tawdry or common. In fact she had more the look of a schoolmarm than a scarlet woman. But appearances could be deceiving, Jedwin knew, and the sordid truth about Cora Briggs was legend in Dead Dog.

Jedwin took a deep breath and began.

"The recent panic and depressed farm prices have hurt all of us, Mrs. Briggs," he said. "One can't help but notice that your house is in need of some repair and the paint is peeling so badly that whitewash can no longer suffice."

Jedwin watched her blush with embarrassment. Being poor was not immoral or uncommon, but it was humiliating and especially so when pointed out by a visitor.

Jedwin attempted to soften the criticism. "I, of course, can have no knowledge of your arrangement with Luther Briggs."

He paused, giving her opportunity to speak if she wished. She did not.

"It appears, however, that he has not been overly generous and that you could benefit from some financial assistance."

"Financial assistance?"

"I am willing to provide you with a modest stipend for your discretionary use."

Cora Briggs was sitting stiffly in her chair staring at young Jedwin Sparrow as if he'd suddenly grown two heads.

"Why would you be willing to provide this 'modest stipend,' Mr. Sparrow?"

Jedwin's hands were damp, but he resisted wiping them on his trousers. This was what he'd come to say and say it he would. He was not Mama's good little boy anymore, he was a man. Men said what they liked and asked for what they wanted. Jedwin liked Cora Briggs and, oh, how he wanted her.

Determinedly he raised his chin. He would speak plainly and openly and she could accept or reject as she pleased.

"I would like you—" he began.

Her very ordinary brown eyes were narrowed on him.

"I would like you—to become my—if we could—perhaps we—I was thinking that—"

Jedwin froze up, unable to get the words out of his mouth.

“Mr. Sparrow." Her words were soft and cool as she looked him straight in the eye. "Are you offering me an indecent proposal?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am."