Read Online Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online
Authors: Shirl Henke
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arrived in time to see Weevils attempting to chase an orange blur around the big table in the center of the room. The cat was dragging something, cutting deftly between chairs and table legs, thus far eluding the meat cleaver wielded by the frenzied cook.
When she opened the hall door the cat saw his opportunity to escape with his prize, a long stringer of bullhead catfish. As the cat barreled past her legs, she stamped her foot and held the stringer fast to the floor. Unfortunately, with the momentum of the twenty-pound tomcat and the slipperiness of the catfish, Charlee was unable to keep her balance. She fell in a billow of red gingham, landing on cat and catfish.
“Whoa, you thievin' rascal!” Charlee grabbed the ratty orange fireball expertly by the scruff of his neck, extricating him from the folds of her skirts. She plopped him inelegantly in her lap and began to examine his chewed-up, fish-smeared body. “Phewee, 'n Mama used to say I stank!”
Voice cracking in terror, the cook screeched, “Lookee thar, gal! Thet cat's th' meanest, orneriest bastard ever ta set foot on Bluebonnet, not even barrin' polecats 'n Comanche!” Weevils eyed the tom from a good six feet and gave no indication of coming closer. “He'll take yer laig off clean to th' bone afore yew kin spit!”
The cat fixed his basilisk glare on the obese prophet of doom and then dismissed him with a disdainful flick of his beaver-thick tail. Never one to waste time where he was not appreciated, he snuggled up against Charlee’s neck and released a volley of loud, rasping purrs.
“Why, you are an old lover boy! A little the worse for wear though,” she said as she scratched the shredded remains of his left ear. The side of his right eye had been ripped and the resulting scar left a puckering along the seam, giving his face a quizzical expression. The thick, bright orange fur was mottled with burrs, and generous hunks of it had been bitten and clawed away. Charlee laughed and scratched him beneath the chin while he butted his head playfully against her.
“Wal, hellfire 'n damnation! He likes you! Thet tom ain't niver liked nobody afore, ever since he wandered in more'n three, four weeks ago. Onliest one who could git near him's Lee, 'n he only lets th' boy put milk down fer him. Niver shoulda encouraged th' sneak thief.”
“So, you're a stray, too, just like me, cat. Maybe that's why we hit it off. That 'n the fact I always had me a cat back in Missouri. Sure would admire to have one again, specially a scrappy fellow like you. You need a name. Let me see, what shall we call you?”
“Hellfire! Yew gonna keep him, like a pet? He ain't even tame 'nough fer a circus, much less ‘round a house.” Weevils’ indignation caused him to forget himself and move a few steps closer to the cat, which bristled up in Charlee's lap like a lightning-struck porcupine and gave a wicked hiss. “Hellfire! I didn't mean nothin'!” Weevils jumped back, causing the floor to give a reverberating groan under his considerable weight.
“That's it!” Charlee snapped her fingers and then proceeded to soothe the cat, who settled down on her lap with a contented murph. “With all that fiery orange fur, and the way you're always flying around and bristling up, I'll call you Hellfire! Fits your disposition, too, so I hear tell.” Laughing, Charlee picked up the large orange bundle and planted a kiss squarely on the battle-scarred face.
“What in hellfire's going on?” Slade stood in the kitchen door, his fierce gaze on the fish-smeared girl and her new friend.
Charlee burst into giggles. Weevils tried to suppress the rumbles of laughter that burbled up from his mammoth belly, but quickly abandoned any pretense and joined her in a hearty roar.
Jim's eyes took in the pile of glossy fish, tails still swishing
When she opened the hall door the cat saw his opportunity to escape with his prize, a long stringer of bullhead catfish. As the cat barreled past her legs, she stamped her foot and held the stringer fast to the floor. Unfortunately, with the momentum of the twenty-pound tomcat and the slipperiness of the catfish, Charlee was unable to keep her balance. She fell in a billow of red gingham, landing on cat and catfish.
“Whoa, you thievin' rascal!” Charlee grabbed the ratty orange fireball expertly by the scruff of his neck, extricating him from the folds of her skirts. She plopped him inelegantly in her lap and began to examine his chewed-up, fish-smeared body. “Phewee, 'n Mama used to say I stank!”
Voice cracking in terror, the cook screeched, “Lookee thar, gal! Thet cat's th' meanest, orneriest bastard ever ta set foot on Bluebonnet, not even barrin' polecats 'n Comanche!” Weevils eyed the tom from a good six feet and gave no indication of coming closer. “He'll take yer laig off clean to th' bone afore yew kin spit!”
The cat fixed his basilisk glare on the obese prophet of doom and then dismissed him with a disdainful flick of his beaver-thick tail. Never one to waste time where he was not appreciated, he snuggled up against Charlee’s neck and released a volley of loud, rasping purrs.
“Why, you are an old lover boy! A little the worse for wear though,” she said as she scratched the shredded remains of his left ear. The side of his right eye had been ripped and the resulting scar left a puckering along the seam, giving his face a quizzical expression. The thick, bright orange fur was mottled with burrs, and generous hunks of it had been bitten and clawed away. Charlee laughed and scratched him beneath the chin while he butted his head playfully against her.
“Wal, hellfire 'n damnation! He likes you! Thet tom ain't niver liked nobody afore, ever since he wandered in more'n three, four weeks ago. Onliest one who could git near him's Lee, 'n he only lets th' boy put milk down fer him. Niver shoulda encouraged th' sneak thief.”
“So, you're a stray, too, just like me, cat. Maybe that's why we hit it off. That 'n the fact I always had me a cat back in Missouri. Sure would admire to have one again, specially a scrappy fellow like you. You need a name. Let me see, what shall we call you?”
“Hellfire! Yew gonna keep him, like a pet? He ain't even tame 'nough fer a circus, much less ‘round a house.” Weevils’ indignation caused him to forget himself and move a few steps closer to the cat, which bristled up in Charlee's lap like a lightning-struck porcupine and gave a wicked hiss. “Hellfire! I didn't mean nothin'!” Weevils jumped back, causing the floor to give a reverberating groan under his considerable weight.
“That's it!” Charlee snapped her fingers and then proceeded to soothe the cat, who settled down on her lap with a contented murph. “With all that fiery orange fur, and the way you're always flying around and bristling up, I'll call you Hellfire! Fits your disposition, too, so I hear tell.” Laughing, Charlee picked up the large orange bundle and planted a kiss squarely on the battle-scarred face.
“What in hellfire's going on?” Slade stood in the kitchen door, his fierce gaze on the fish-smeared girl and her new friend.
Charlee burst into giggles. Weevils tried to suppress the rumbles of laughter that burbled up from his mammoth belly, but quickly abandoned any pretense and joined her in a hearty roar.
Jim's eyes took in the pile of glossy fish, tails still swishing
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