Beginner's Luck by Len Levinson Read Free Book Online Page B

toward the door, the ends of her black silk shawl trailing behind her. I hope this isn't another mistake, she thought, but somebody's got to help a young person in distress. She approached the carriage, and her driver, Jed Wilson, opened the door.
    â€œMy plans have changed,” she said. “Tell Mister Petigru that I'm not feeling well.”
    Jed nodded sullenly, then hoisted himself atop the cab. Vanessa returned to her parlor, where the youngman stood with his hands behind his back, staring at her painting. He blushed, and his fluttering eyelashes devastated her. “Don't you have shoes?”
    He shook his head, embarrassed by insufficient footwear and ripped raiment.
    â€œYou're a mess,” she said. “Come with me.” She led him to the kitchen, where the floor was littered with corn muffin crumbs, broken glass, and more chicken bones. “I've got some wood out back. Do you know how to light a fire?”
    He was out the door before she could ask another question. She sat near the window, and said to herself: I hope this isn't going to be another mistake.
    Meanwhile, in the backyard, Duane wondered if he should make a run for it. He was afraid she'd call the deputy, and he didn't want to end up in jail. Firewood was stacked neatly in a shed, and he loaded up his arms. He recalled her finely chiseled profile, rosebud lips, and long legs. How can I spend the night under the same roof with that woman, and not go berserk? he questioned.
    He returned to the kitchen, where she sat on the rocking chair in the corner, smoking a cigarette nervously. He dropped to his knee beside the stove, stuffed in paper and kindling, added firewood, and lit a match.
    Crackling sounds could be heard. Duane set the drafts expertly, then worked the pump at the sink, filling pails with water. She watched beneath heavy-lidded eyes, and saw muscles straining against his clothes. He's an undernourished Adonis, she considered. “When'd you get out of the monastery?”
    â€œAbout two weeks ago. Got tired of the life.”

    â€œWhy'd you go to a monastery in the first place?”
    â€œMy folks were killed by Commanches when I was a baby, and that's where I ended up.”
    I can't believe that some voracious woman hasn't grabbed him by now, she mused. He carried the pails to the stove and arranged them over the flames, as perspiration glistened on his tanned features.
    â€œWashtub's in the closet,” she said.
    He opened the door, pulled out the big tin tub, and set it on the floor near the stove. “You don't talk like the people around here,” he told her. “Where are you from?”
    â€œSouth Carolina,” she replied, “but that was long ago—before the rebellion.”
    Duane knew about the rebellion, although there'd been no fighting near the monastery in the clouds.
    â€œWhy'd you pick my house to rob” she asked, “out of all the others in this neighborhood?”
    â€œI saw you sing earlier, and followed you home. I didn't intend to rob you, but then I got hungry, and figured you could afford it.” He forced himself to look at her face, and not hide his eyes in an obscure corner of the kitchen. “I thought you looked like the Madonna of La Salette.”
    â€œA lot of people in this town consider me a fallen woman, if you know what that is.”
    â€œI saw you at the Round-Up, and a feller told me that you're the girlfriend of the richest man in town.”
    â€œWhat else did he say about me?” she asked crossly.
    â€œWe were too busy listening to you. You have a beautiful voice, and perfect pitch.”
    â€œYou can't put on those dirty clothes after you take a bath. I'll get you a sheet to wrap yourself in.”

    She left the kitchen in a swirl of perfume, and he felt dismayed. She belongs to the richest man in town, and could never care for somebody like me.
    The black carriage stopped in front of the Carrington Arms, and Jed Wilson