Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 32

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Did ya'll see? We got a WATTY. Squeeeeeeeee! A big thank-you to everyone who reads, votes, comments, supports, etc., for helping PRAIRIE to get noticed. I still struggle to believe it! xoxoxo

A special shout out to my lovey jane_lausten for doing the edit for the chapter collage above!

TWITTER: @styles_orama

******

Well hello T-R-O-U-B-L-E
Tell me what in the world
You doin' A-L-O-N-E
Yeah say hey good L, double O, K-I-N-G
Well I smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E

--Travis Tritt

******

HARRY:

It's when I'm settin' the table for supper and notice Duke stretched out by the fire that I start to fret. Why isn't Duke upstairs in bed with Frankie?

I almost bust my ass tryin' to get up the steps two at a time, callin' out for Frankie. When I reach the top, there's a folded piece of paper with my name handwritten on it lying in the middle of her neatly folded bedding.

She's gone.

*****

FRANKIE:

Everythin' spun outta control so fast. One moment Harry's proposin', and the next I'm trudgin' down the roadside in the rain, with only some of my belongings.

Knowin' I couldn't carry everythin' without borrowin' a horse and wagon from Harry, I only packed necessities. I don't need him or any man to take care of me. Besides, I can always send for the rest later. Dammit.

It must be gettin' near suppertime cause the sun's goin' down behind the mountain. It'll be dark soon, and then what? I could end up devoured by coyotes before all this is over. Maybe I should just go back, if'n he'd take me. But do I really want to after some of the things he said? Did he mean things the way they came out?

Where in tarnation do I think I'm goin' anyway? Will Reverend Payne help me? He's supposed to help people in need. I don't trust him a lick, but he is a reverend, right? Even if he gave me a ride back home to Hunter's Glen, what then? Where would I live with Mrs. Tomlinson gone? I couldn't go back there, could I? Just the thought of it made me feel faint. No. I will not.

And then there's Harry. Harry. Thinkin' of his handsome face and strong hands makes not only my knees weak, but my heart ache so bad I stop walkin' and sit down on my suitcase in the rain, bawlin' a big ol' mess a'tears. There's no point in pullin' out my hanky to dry 'em, cause I'm just gettin' rained on anyway and about to become a fresh coyote supper!

All my snivelin' reminds me of the time I cried all over Harry's favorite shirt and he took it off and let me blow my nose in it. The memory sets off a fresh round of caterwaulin' that renders me so useless I don't even notice a wagon has pulled up until the driver jumps down and approaches me.

"Miss? Are you alright, Miss?"

The raindrops beatin' me down come to a welcome end. With an upward glance, I give the stranger a once-over. He's standin' close enough so that his umbrella covers us both, and there's a white handkerchief in his outstretched hand with the initials Z.M. embroidered on it. His exotic good looks tell me he ain't from these parts, which makes me nervous, but the warmth of his hazel eyes (one with a freckle on one of the irises) offers some comfort.

"Please, take the handkerchief, Miss." He offers, and I accept, wipin' away my tears and blowin' my nose.

"Thank you, sir." I am still snifflin', but the tears seem to have slowed.

"Name's Malik," he introduces himself, tipping his bowler. "Zayn Malik." He gives a shy smile.

"I'm Francis Tomlinson. Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Malik." I am not sure if I detect a glimmer of recognition in his eyes when I give my name, or if it's just a trick of light caused by the rain and my tears.

"Where would a young lady like you be walking to during such a storm?"

"Cider Creek. It shouldn't be much further." Standin' to my weary feet, I pick up my bag, which seems to be growin' heavier by the minute. "I best be on my way. Thank you again, sir." I nod.

"Please – please call me Zayn. And I insist you let me give you a lift to Cider Creek as I'm going there anyway." Zayn signals toward his wagon, which I hadn't previously noticed.

Oh no. Malik's Medicines, Flavoring Extracts & Spices is emblazoned on the side with big, white letters. Now, I wasn't with Mrs. Tomlinson for many years, but I was there long enough for her to fill me up with a good amount of common sense. One of those things bein' you don't trust a medicine man. They lie, swindle, sell false dreams and elixirs, and then head off to the next town to do the same thing once again. I know their shows are often full of trickery, includin' partners who help them by pretendin' to be just a regular person in the crowd. I refuse to fall for his shenanigans.

It's obvious that Mr. Malik senses my discomfort when he chuckles and says, "I promise not to try and sell you anything, Miss. I just don't want it on my conscience should you end up as supper for the coyotes out here."

Look at him! Tryin' to scare me into a ride! Well, if he thinks that's gonna work, he better damn well –

Before I can finish my thought, the sky opens up and commences to rainin' cats and dogs worse than it ever was before! And if that isn't enough, there's also a thundercrack and a visible lightnin' strike that hits a nearby dead elm tree, fryin' it up all crispy like. Now that dead tree is just standin' there sizzlin' in the rain like the time I accidentally cooked the bacon too long. Blackened.

Before I know it, Zayn has me up in the bench seat of his wagon and is tuckin' away my drenched suitcase in the back. While he's doin' that, I'm sayin' a Hail Mary and makin' the sign of the cross to pray for safety on this journey. After he pulls himself up in the covered seat next to me, he stows his umbrella away somewhere behind us. He rustles 'round a bit more, and pulls out a horse blanket from the back to spread across my lap.

"I know it's not much," he offers. "But it'll keep you warm for the rest of the trip, so tuck in," he signals. "It won't be long now."

He gives the reins a flick, and off we go.