The Green Lace Corset, стр. 47
Trapped in a tepee of fear, she tried to run, but her feet were frozen in place. More strong-bodied men stepped out from between the trees and lumbered toward her. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
A firm hand grasped her shoulder. “Sal. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
She opened her eyes and clutched Cliff tightly. “There were Injuns. They seemed so real.”
“None here. You’re safe.” He gently ran his hand over her hair.
Within his arms, she felt protected, but then, suddenly realizing where she was, she shoved him away. How did he know about her nightmare? Why was he inside the cabin? He went outside and closed the door. Fear gripped her soul. She’d need to come up with a firm plan to get away from this dangerous place and this dangerous man.
32
In the morning, a strong breeze blew and Sally Sue had a brilliant idea. If Annie Oakley had learned to shoot like an expert at fifteen, Sally Sue could do it too. In Kansas City, she’d seen the cowgirl in a traveling show. At five feet tall, they happened to be the same height. When Annie rode on the horse’s back, she seemed much taller than that.
To gain Cliff’s trust, Sally Sue needed to make him think she was a helpless female, content to stay.
When he came in for breakfast, she said, “Cliff, thank you for these beautiful floors. It’s ever so much easier to keep the cabin clean.” She stirred oatmeal in the cauldron, filled bowls, and sat at the table with him.
“I did it for me as much as you. I should be done this afternoon.”
“Were you serious about adding another room?”
“Sure am.” He picked up his spoon, and dug it into his oatmeal.
“That’ll be nice. As Sheriff Mack said, you sure are handy.”
“Thanks.”
“I know Mama said it’s not ladylike, but I want to learn how to shoot a gun.”
He harrumphed.
“Cliff, please, teach me. Sometimes I’m scared being alone out here.” She stuck out her lower lip. “If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?”
He flinched, then exploded into a giant belly laugh. “Oh, Sally Sue, you slay me. Of course I can trust you. You wouldn’t ever hurt a flea. If you killed me, what would you do out here all alone in this wilderness?”
Plenty! She feigned a laugh. “You’re right, Cliff. I’m so weak, I need a man to take care of me.” She considered batting her lashes at him, but that would be overkill; plus, she’d tried that tactic before and it had backfired on her.
Overkill. Ha. Backfired. Ha. She held back a giggle.
Her mama used to say a man didn’t have much horse sense. If Cliff did, he’d know Sally Sue couldn’t be trusted, because she’d shoot him dead as soon as she’d learned how to release a bullet. She’d shoot to kill, not to injure, because then he’d go after her like a wounded bear and that would be the end of her.
He raised his voice. “I said, let me think about it. Besides, it’s too windy anyway.”
She gave him her biggest smile. “How about just showing me how to hold it?”
He sighed. “I guess that wouldn’t hurt anything.” He picked up the rifle leaning on the fireplace. “This one’s pretty big for a little gal like you, but it’ll do.”
She stood next to him.
“Put it in your arm like this, as if you’re cradling a baby.” He rocked the gun back and forth and demonstrated. “One finger goes here, on the stock; the other rests there, on the trigger.”
Seemed easy enough.
He handed the gun to her. “Now you try.”
“Like this?” It was heavier than she’d thought it would be. She closed one eye, swung around, and aimed at his chest.
He jumped and ducked to the side and bellowed, “Never point a gun unless you’re planning to use it.” He gently pushed the point away.
Nervous, she giggled.
“It’s no laughing matter. You mighta killed me.”
“Maybe.” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Except it’s not even loaded.” He took the gun and laid it against the fireplace.
“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be out finishing the rest of the planks.” He walked out the door, shaking his head. “I’m not ever gonna teach you to shoot. No telling what you’ll do.”
Now she sighed. That plan wasn’t going to work. Just in case, though, she practiced holding the gun for a while, then leaned it back against the hearth.
That night, before she crawled into bed, she prayed, God, how will I ever get away from Cliff?
The following morning just before sunrise, the winds had died and the sound of crooning frogs woke her. She threw her nightgown back on, tossed her shawl over it, and laced up her boots. Lantern in hand, she stepped outside, inhaling the crisp air. A quarter moon and smattering of stars still hung in the sky.
She followed the frog song down to the thawed pond. In the lamplight, the muddy banks teemed with shimmery sea-green reptiles. Their mesmerizing cadence reverberated along the shore. Were they talking to each other or to her?
She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and listened.
Do it! Do it! Do it!
Her eyes popped open.
Do it! Do it! Do it!
What were they telling her to do? Run away? She’d tried that before, and it hadn’t worked.
Do it!
Were they encouraging her to kill Cliff? The thought had crossed her mind, but she’d never seriously considered it. Could she kill him? It was the worst sin of all. Because of her dire situation, would God forgive her? Would she ever be able to forgive herself? She didn’t know the first thing about doing it. If she tried to smother him in his sleep, he’d probably wake up