Читать книгу Cassie's Cowboy - Diane Pershing, Diane Pershing - Страница 12

Frowning, Charlie watched Cassie drive away. Automobiles sure were wondrous things. Some of the newer characters in his world bragged about the inventions in “real” life, and he had to admit a car was convenient—though of course it couldn’t beat Felicity.

So, go to a bank and deal with a mortgage, that was what he was supposed to do for Cassie, was it? Get her a thirty-day extension. Which meant she was short on money.

It was a classic scenario, the little widow woman with child, the wolf, or mortgage holder, at the door, waiting to pounce. It could almost be one of Cassie’s stories. Starring him.

What would she have him do, if this were one of her stories? A scene flashed through his mind involving heading into the bank and pointing his six guns at whoever handled mortgages there….

No, he knew instinctively. They didn’t do things like that nowadays, he didn’t think, not without serious consequences. And besides, like Felicity, his bullets hadn’t made the trip through time and space, either.

Still, he had to take action, and better now than later. First, though, he removed his spurs. They jangled too much and slowed him down. No horse to ride, no spurs necessary.

He took both the spurs and the guns in their holster to the garage and left them there. Then, deep in thought, Charlie began to walk in the direction of the few tall buildings he could see in the distance. He figured those buildings would be the center of town. The business district, that was what it was called. The business district. He rolled the words over on his tongue. Formal sounding words, those.

He walked on paved sidewalks—another first for him—and passed small, modest houses similar to Cassie’s. The lawns were so green, so even. And the houses were so close together, he marveled. You could look into each other’s windows and see all kinds of private acts, he figured. Back home you could get shot for doing that. But not, he assumed, here. Maybe neighbors didn’t look at neighbors? No, more than likely they did, but just pretended not to see.

Where did the folks here have room to grow their vegetables? he wondered. And how could you breathe with your neighbor so close?

First Yatesboro Savings, Cassie had said. He kept an eye out for the sign as he stopped at a cross street named Main. Funny, there was a Main Street back home. Did every town have a main street? It warmed him, this small connection. Maybe things weren’t that different here, after all.

Small machines—cars—like Cassie’s but with different shapes and colors, passed him by. No horses, though. He didn’t see one, which made him kind of sad. Were there horses anymore in Cassie’s world?

He was crossing Main to get to the other side, when he heard a loud screech and a man’s voice yelling, “Hey, cowboy! Can’t you see it’s red?” The car was right close to him and the driver looked pretty mad.

Red? Charlie gazed around him, then up at the sky, and sure enough there was a box hanging in the middle of the street. It had three circles on it, and one of them was red. He watched as that color went out and the one at the bottom it turned green. Other folks joined him now crossing the road.

“Sorry,” he called out to the irate driver. Another new rule to learn. Red meant you stopped and green meant you could go. And yellow must mean to pay attention, he told himself. This new way of thinking was slowly seeping in and part of it must come from Cassie’s belief that he knew about modern life.

He began to notice the other folks now, probably because in this part of town there were a lot more of them. His gaze landed on a couple of women in real short skirts, their legs bare as a newborn, their hips swaying back and forth as they went. A right pleasant sight, Charlie thought with a smile. Did they work for the town madame he wondered, or were they what back home they’d call “independents”? He turned his gaze to the other side of the street; there were a lot of women dressed like those two, but a lot who weren’t. Some wore pants, just like men, although they didn’t look like men. No, sir.

Now he passed a row of stores, some of them with familiar words on the windows, like Druggist and Bar, others with funny names like Computer Closet and Beanie Babies’ Barn. He didn’t know what computers or Beanie Babies were, but he figured it went along with modern times, and if he needed to know about it, he would.

Up ahead a couple streets, it looked like the buildings just stopped. In the distance he could see a highway, fields, mountains rising tall into the sky. They looked a lot like his mountains, and Charlie experienced a sudden wave of yearning to be back home, back in his simple existence.

He shook himself out of that one, right quick. He had a job to do, a woman to help. A woman he liked very much, as a matter of fact, and who didn’t exist back home. Not in any real sense, anyway.

Pausing, he looked around him. Yes, he decided, for a modern town, it was a pretty little place, no doubt about it.

And wouldn’t you know it, he had stopped right in front of the sign he’d been looking for: First Yatesboro Savings. He removed his hat and scratched his head. Here it was, the job he was supposed to do. Get that mortgage extended, give Cassie a little time to earn more wages.

Or maybe he could do that for her. He would do more than buy her time, he’d come up with enough money to ease her burden. How, he didn’t know, but it would come to him. Squaring his shoulders, Cowboy Charlie headed into the bank.

Cassie had several responsibilities at the dress shop. She helped customers, was backup for the cashier, straightened racks of clothing. But because she had an eye for color and fabric, her biggest responsibility was the window display. At the moment that was where she was, in the shop window, draping a paisley shawl over one of the mannequin’s shoulders, when she happened to glance out on the street.

Charlie stood in front of the bank, studying it and scratching his head as he did. Good Lord, she thought with a smile, he’s actually going to do it. Or try to, anyway.

What would happen? she wondered. Would he get anywhere? As she rearranged the vase of silk geraniums she’d set on the small table near the mannequin’s hand, humming a little tune to herself all the while, she let her mind drift for a few moments.

She was surprised by the way Charlie’s determination to help warmed her insides. It was a nice feeling, she realized, to have someone—wherever he came from—in her corner, taking her part. It had been such a long time. Most days she woke up with a hollow, lonely feeling, and something about Charlie’s presence this morning, if she were honest with herself, had diminished that feeling, made her feel less alone.

And now, her champion—she chuckled as the word came into her head, but there it was—her knight in shining armor and a Stetson, was across the street, doing battle in her name. Fanciful image, she knew it, but that was the mental picture that formed when she thought about Charlie.

She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t get anywhere with the bank. Charlie might be big and strong, but he hadn’t yet met the loan officer in charge. When he did, he would find out what he was up against.

Cassie’s hand stopped in midair. The loan manager, Ronald Moffit, was not exactly a warm, welcoming type; how would he react to Charlie? Suddenly she had a bad feeling about having issued her challenge. What if Charlie got thrown out? In fact, what if he made the whole situation worse? Uh-oh, she thought, coming down from daydreaming with a thump.

“Lorna,” she called out, hopping down from the display window and into the shop, “I’m taking my break.” Quickly, before anyone noticed that she’d only been on the job for a half hour, she pulled open the front door and, dodging traffic, made her way across the street.

“You’re here on behalf of whom?”

Charlie shifted his weight as he stood before the desk he’d been directed to, the one belonging to the loan officer. He didn’t care for the man or his attitude. First of all, he was not more than mid-thirties, but was dried-up looking, like he’d died a while back and no one had bothered to tell him. He spoke through his nose in a way that grated on Charlie’s nerves. His skin was pasty white, and what he had hairwise was thinning.

Judging a man by his appearance wasn’t a fair thing to do, and Charlie knew it. He kept it as pleasant sounding as he could when he asked, “Okay if I sit?”

“Why don’t you tell me your business first.”

He felt his jaw tighten. Moffit was the sneering type, just like those college fellas Charlie ran into back on the range. The kind who came out west for adventure and who figured as Charlie hadn’t gone past grammar school and dealt with horses all day, they had to talk real slow and careful to him, just in case he was a little lacking in the brain department. Charlie didn’t like being looked down on. It was most definitely one of those little character traits that set his temper on the boil.

Rein it in, he told himself. He was here to help Cassie. He would contain himself, if it was the last thing he did.

“I’m here on behalf of Miz Cassie Nevins,” he said friendly-like.

“Oh yes, Mrs. Nevins.” The man gave a superior sniff. “We own her home.”

“That right? I thought you owned the mortgage.”

With a condescending little smile, Moffit waved a hand. “Semantics. And is that the matter you’ve come to discuss?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”

Moffit glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment in a couple of minutes.”

He didn’t invite Charlie to sit, which he knew was an insult. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, careful to keep his hands relaxed at his side. They kept wanting to curl up into fists, and that might not look real neighborly.

He stared at the loan officer. In the jacket pocket of his three-piece suit a yellow handkerchief stuck out, its edges folded neatly. Yellow, Charlie figured, like the butt-ugly coward he was.

“I figured,” Charlie said easily, “between the two of us, we could figure out the best way to help her keep that little house.”

Moffit eyed him up and down, then sniffed again. “Do you have some sort of documentation, some letter, that allows you to speak for her? I can’t believe you’re her lawyer, although I suppose with Mrs. Nevins, anything is possible.”

“What exactly to do you mean by that remark?” Charlie’s fists curled automatically. The man was making some kind of disparaging comment about Cassie, and that was not something he’d stand still for.

“Charlie! There you are!” Charlie was taken by surprise as Cassie came up behind him and grabbed one of his clenched fists. Good thing, too. One fist had been about to find its way to the pointy, smug chin that belonged to Mr. Yellow Handkerchief.

“Good day, Mrs. Nevins,” the loan officer said.

“Hello, Mr. Moffit.” Cassie was being cheerful at the same time she was tugging at Charlie’s hand, like she was trying to signal him in some way. “I see you’ve met Charlie,” she went on brightly.

“He said he was here representing you.”

“Well—” Her chuckle sounded as false to Charlie as a set of store bought teeth. “Um, yes, I suppose he is…in a way. He’s my…good friend. An old acquaintance, you might say. And when he found out that money was a little tight and I was going to have trouble with this month’s payment, he just thought he’d come here and see if there was anything we could do about it.” She chuckled again. “Old friends, like I said.”

My, Charlie thought, she did run on and on when she was nervous, and this Moffit fella made her downright fidgety.

Moffit frowned at her, then at Charlie, then back at her. He steepled his pale fingers on the desktop. “I’m afraid you’ve been late too often.”

“Twice. And only three days each time.”

“Nevertheless I can’t see that we’ll be able to make any accommodation. After all, you signed a contract for a line of credit—”

“No, my late husband did that, as I’ve explained, without my knowing it.”

That smug smile again, a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yes, well it’s the same thing, isn’t it. Believe me, we’d rather not take back the house, it’s not worth a lot to us, but rules are rules.”

Charlie had about had enough of this man’s bullying. “When’s this money due?”

“Last month’s was due six days ago, but is officially overdue on Friday. That’s three days from now. If we don’t have that payment plus the current one, plus a late penalty payment by—” he consulted a desk calendar “—next Tuesday, that’s after the Fourth of July holiday, well, I’m afraid we’ll be discussing foreclosure proceedings.”

Charlie began to speak, but Cassie tugged at his hand again. “I understand,” she said.

That old familiar sense of shame washed over Cassie. Oh, how she hated being in debt, hated owing anyone for anything. Her life with Teddy had been all about keeping one step ahead of creditors, and she was sick to death of it.