chocolate cake. "Sounds like a good idea to me. But,
dearie, your mind will be the last thing that plays out.
Kate always said you had the memory of an elephant."
"And with Dulcie's cooking, I'm well on the way to
having an elephant's fanny, too. Pardon me, gentlemen," Bessie laughed aloud, enjoying making both men
blush.
Rivulets of sweat trickled down between Clara's
breasts, but there wasn't a thing she could do about it.
She dabbed at the beads forming on her upper lip and
even went so far as to wipe her neck, unladylike, when
Tucker wasn't looking her way. But that stream inching
its way down and settling at the top of her corset felt
like a small spider crawling inside her undergarments.
Tucker and Tilly had insisted she come out to the
country and spend a day, so there she was, sitting in the
heat, trying to keep some sort of breeze going with a
paper fan. She planned on having lunch with Tucker,
and then the afternoon and supper with Tilly. If the
afternoon was any hotter than the morning she was
going to shuck out of her clothes and spend the whole time stretched out on a bed at Tilly's place in nothing
but her brassiere and bloomers.
Holding ice-cold lemonade in her right hand, she
kept a steady rhythm going with a cardboard fan in her
left one. A very faint breeze kicked up enough to blow
the fern fronds in baskets hanging between the porch
posts. Not enough to bring any relief to a woman
dressed in a long-sleeved dress and too many blasted
undergarments. Clara would definitely march all the
way from southern Oklahoma to the White House for
women's rights if the day would come real soon when
she could stop wearing corsets and throw away half of
the proper underwear. She might even be willing to
leave them on the White House lawn if it would do a bit
of good.
"If we don't get rain soon, there's going to be a slim
cotton crop," Tucker said.
Clara fanned faster. "I expect we could all live one
year on what's in the bank"
"Yes, we could, but I enjoy bringing in a good crop"
"Hello," a faintly familiar voice yelled from the edge
of the porch.
Clara stopped fanning and fumed. "What is he doing
here?"
"I invited him for lunch. He's right across the fence
line, not a quarter of a mile down there, and I've been
enjoying his company at your supper table. Thought I'd
return the favor," Tucker said.
"I will draw and quarter you and feed your remains
to Tilly's hogs," Clara smarted off.
"Oh, grow up," Tucker hissed at her then yelled
toward the end of the porch. "On around here, Briar.
We're having something cold to drink. Can't say as it's
cooling us down much but lunch isn't ready yet, so you
might as well sit a spell. Sweet tea or lemonade?"
Briar sat down in the porch swing. "Lemonade is
fine."
The rusty chains creaked and groaned with his
weight. "Hot, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," Clara tilted her head up and kept fanning.
The silence was not comfortable. It was obvious that
Clara would rather be dancing a slow waltz wrapped up
in Lucifer's arms than sitting on the porch with Briar
Nelson. Seconds lasted hours and the two minutes Tucker
was gone was just short of eternity. Clara looked at the
cloudless blue sky, the green cotton plants growing right
up to the yard fence, the red roses blooming profusely on
either side of the porch steps. Anything but Briar.
"They tell me it might rain tomorrow," he said, finally breaking the silence.
"And who is they and how would they know?" she
asked icily.
"They are the men I work with and they know
because they've been in touch with another drilling site
out in western Oklahoma. There's a storm out there and
it's blowing this way," he said, his tone as cold as hers.
Tucker backed out of the back screen door, carrying
a tall glass filled with ice and a crystal pitcher full of
lemonade. "Thought you might need a refill, Clara. I
checked the pork roast while I was in there. It's coming
right along. Should
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