Mary Alice’s father was a gentle rabbit of a man who never raised his voice. But Houston knew, from living with Mr. Gates, what an angered man could say and do. She didn’t know Mr. Taggert, but she thought she saw anger in those dark eyes.
“Mary Alice,” Houston said, “how do you feel today? You look a little pale.”
Mary Alice looked up in surprise, as if she’d just seen Houston. “Why, Blair-Houston, I feel fine. Nothing’s wrong with me.”
Houston examined a bottle of liver activator. “I was just hoping you wouldn’t faint—again,” she said pointedly, her eyes boring into Mary Alice’s. Mary Alice had fainted in front of Taggert twice when he’d first come to town.
“Why you—! How dare—!” Mary Alice sputtered.
“Come along, dear,” her mother said, pushing her daughter toward the door. “We know who our friends are.”
Houston felt quite annoyed with herself after Mary Alice and her mother had left. She’d have to apologize later. Impatiently, she tugged at her kid gloves, preparing to leave the store, when she again glanced toward Mr. Taggert and saw, in the mirror, that he was watching her.
He turned to face her. “You’re Houston Chandler, ain’t you?”
“I am,” she said coolly. She had no intention of having a conversation with a man she didn’t know. What in the world had made her take this stranger’s side against someone she’d known all her life?
“How come that woman called you Blair? Ain’t that your sister?”
From a few feet away, Davey Wilson gave a little snort. There were only the four clerks in the store now besides Houston and Kane, and each one was nailed to his place.
“My sister and I are identical twins and, since no one can tell us apart, the townspeople call us Blair-Houston. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir.” She turned to leave.
“You don’t look like your sister. I seen her and you’re prettier.”
For a moment, Houston
paused to gape at him. No one had ever been able to tell them apart. When her momentary shock was over, she again turned to leave.
But as her hand touched the doorknob, Taggert bounded across the room and grabbed her arm.
All her life, Houston had lived in a town filled with coal miners, cowboys and inhabitants of a part of town she wasn’t supposed to know existed. Many women carried a good strong parasol which they found useful for cracking over men’s heads. But Houston could give looks that could freeze a man.
She gave one to Mr. Taggert now.
He withdrew his hand from her arm but he stayed close to her, the size of him making her feel small.
“I wanted to ask you a question,” he said, his voice low. “If you don’t mind, that is,” he added, with laughter in his voice.
She gave him a curt nod, but she wasn’t going to encourage his speaking to her.
“I was wonderin’ about somethin’. If you, bein’ a lady an’ all, was gonna make curtains for my house, you know, the white one on the hill, which one of these here materials would you pick?”
She didn’t bother to look at the shelves of bolts of fabric to which he was pointing. “Sir,” she said with some haughtiness in her voice, “if I had your house, I’d order the fabric specially woven in Lyons, France. Now, good day.” As quickly as possible, she left the store to emerge under the striped awnings which covered the southern side of the street, her heels clicking on the wide board-walk. The town was busy today and she nodded and spoke to several people.
As she turned the corner of Third and Lead, she opened her parasol against the brilliant mountain sun and started toward Farrell’s Hardware Store. She could see Lee’s buggy parked in front.
Just past Freyer’s Drugs, she began to relax and to muse on her encounter with the elusive Mr. Taggert.
She could hardly wait to tell her friends about the meeting, and how he’d asked if she knew which house was his. Perhaps she should have volunteered to measure his windows and order his curtains. That way she’d get to see the inside of his house.
She was smiling to herself when a hand suddenly caught her upper arm and roughly pulled her into the shadowy alleyway behind the Chandler Opera House. Before she could scream, a hand clamped down on her mouth, and she was pushed against the stone wall. With frightened eyes, she looked up at Kane Taggert.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you. I just wanted to talk to you, and I could see you wasn’t gonna say nothin’ in front of them others. You ain’t gonna scream?”
Houston shook her head, and he dropped his hand but he stayed close to her. She wanted to be calm, but she was breathing quite hard.
“You’re prettier up close.” He didn’t move but glanced down over her snug green wool suit. “And you look like a lady.”