Читать книгу A Nuisance - Lass Small, Lass Small - Страница 5

Stefan Szyszko was a TEXAN, born and bred. From his parents to his great-great-grandparents, the Szyszkos had fit their lives into the town of Blink, near Fredricksburg, TEXAS. When the town was established, it was so small that if you blinked, you missed seeing the town.

Times, population growth and new migrations had changed that, but the name stuck.

While Stefan Szyszko’s last name was spelled in that remarkable way, its pronunciation was only subtly different from Cisco which is a very comfortable name in the state of TEXAS. The gently shaded difference could be discerned, and Stefan’s ear caught which way he was being addressed.

Stefan Syzszko got a lot of mail addressed to Steve Cisco.

The Szyszkos were Polish. Not just in ancestral roots but in attitude. They were humorous. Their eyes twinkled, their mouths quirked and their laughs were deep and sincere. They were stubborn and independent. They backed what they believed with their talk or fists or their lives.

That probably explains why, in World War II, Germany killed fifteen thousand captive Polish officers, at one time, in one place, deliberately. The Germans knew they couldn’t keep the Poles captive. The Polish officers would do their damnedest to escape and fight them again.

All that explained Stefan Szyszko. He was a cheerful, gregarious, stubborn man. He was tall. He stood exactly six feet. He had black hair, which ducktailed. His eyes were blue. He was built like a woman’s dream of a man.

He had a rift scar through his right eyebrow. He’d gotten it in a fight over an eleven-year-old girl back when he was about twelve. And in his left earlobe, Stefan wore the plain, wide gold wedding band of his great-grandmother. It balanced the eyebrow scar for the look of a benign pirate.

Nobody had ever seen Stefan really angry. He visited and laughed and gestured and listened. He had one problem. For a TEXAN it was pretty bad. He was allergic to horses.

Pepper Hodges was Stefan’s erstwhile good friend who, since puberty, had become his competitor. After Pepper learned of Stefan’s allergy, he’d just about always smelled of horses. Then, some of the females had mentioned Pepper always smelled like a horse barn.

Since Pepper was very interested in being close to females, he bathed and changed clothes before any gathering. While it had helped Stefan, it hadn’t been for him that Pepper had changed.

So what does a TEXAN do when he’s allergic to horses? Stefan had an automobile franchise. Among the Chrysler products, he sold Jeeps. This especially touched his grandfather’s heart because he’d used one in Europe in World War II. So nostalgically, he bought a Jeep from his grandson, but he had expected a very large discount.

Bending to kinsmen was one of the debit sides of living in a community that held generations of relatives. Everybody felt they should have a discount on purchases, and they felt free to tell Stefan how to live.

“When are you going to marry?” Stefan’s mother asked periodically.

“When I find her,” he gave the same, old reply.

“That’s not soon enough.”

With tested patience, he told his mother, “I’m only thirty.”

“Find a good Polish girl and get us some grandchildren.”

“I’m to look for a baby maker?”

His mother shrugged. “You can find one. A good, sturdy girl with nice, wide hips.”

“If I go around measuring hips, I could have trouble with the daddies.”

“No. You’re such a good catch, the papas would help you measure and cheat with the tape.”

Stefan looked patient. He mentioned, “It’s possible that hips aren’t the most vital part of a marriageable woman.”

His mother gave him a side-eyed look and scolded in her humorous nudging, “You want more?”

“Well, her face would have to pass —at least basics.”

She waved the idea aside, as if discouraging a nasty fly. “Picky, picky.”

Not quite a swear word, he said to his mother, “Dam’d right.”

His dad came into the room, and Stefan’s mother turned to Stefan’s father to complain, “He’s looking for a beauty.”

Mr. Szyszko raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at his wife as he replied, “Well, I got one, so why shouldn’t he?”

And his wife grinned, tilted up her chin and looked smugly at her son as her head indicated the father. She told the son, “He’s smooth. Take lessons.”

* * *

Stefan figured thirty was too young to get serious. There were too many women to choose from, and all were so delightful that the choosing was an engrossing chore. Well, there were a couple of burrs he’d met, but all the rest were pure delight.

As he drove his new Jeep in the direction of his car lot, his mind came to one of the burrs. She was the most irritating woman God had ever concocted. She worked for the local TV station and was serious about it. She’d be an old maid, a reject. She was already one of his discards.

Ah, but she was something to look at. Her name was Carrie Pierce, and she didn’t have the hip measure to please his mother. Carrie was slender. More like a long-legged reed. She had no bosom to speak of, and her hips were narrow. There was no way a man could get a hold on her.

Her hair was strawberry blond. She wore it long, and it was soft and wavy and got tangled up in everything. The wind teased it around so’s a man’s eyes watched, and his hands would curl for the wanting to get tangled up with her, hair and all.

But the brain under that lure was Carrie’s. It was sharp and snotty.

She’d look at a man with those dark brown eyes of hers, and her eyelashes would call attention to themselves in a total lack of modesty. Her brown eyes were like microwave radar, and she would say things like, “What was your car doing at Maggie’s the other night?” Just like it was her business to know!

Being a gentleman, he’d respond courteously, “It’s none of your business.”

And she’d sass “I’ll bet,” for whatever that meant.

She wasn’t even Polish, for crying out loud. Her, with her long, flyaway hair and those narrow hips.

* * *

When Stefan’s Jeep arrived at the dealership, he looked on the neat, perfectly parked lot with great pride. There were all the little flags lining the elevated wires to call attention to the car lot. The place was spotless. The cars shone in the good TEXAS sunshine. Actually, it was clouding over and about ready to allow the dry TEXAS soil a taste of heavenly moisture.

Stefan drove into his slot and eased himself from his Jeep with great alacrity, easily done with a Jeep. He loved that blunt car. He patted it as he would a good horse, and went into the glass-walled building.

Manny greeted him with, “Kirt Overmann came by for those two Jeeps he ordered.”

Stefan asked ominously and with dread, “Did you go over the Jeeps with him like I told you?”

“He was in a hurry.”

“Damn it, Manny, I told you he’d pull that on you! You were supposed to stall him off and get him to check out each one!”

Earnestly, Manny explained, or complained, “I just couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Scowling, Stefan asked, “Which of the two did he pull?”

“The green one.”

Stefan moved his lips around as if rinsing his mouth with a minimum of water, and he guessed, “He’ll call just before supper and say the green one doesn’t work.”

“Leave now.”

“I can’t. Mac is coming in to make me look at that discard Jeep of his. You know what a pain that’ll be?”

Manny comforted his boss. “It isn’t even one of ours.”

“Try telling him that.”

“Show him our file! It isn’t there.”

Stefan looked at the damned cheerful flags. “He says we snuck the warranty out and burned it.”

“You got peculiar friends.”

“They’re enemies.” Stefan sighed. Then he mentioned, “You do recall that Kirt has three marriageable daughters he’s trying to palm off on unsuspecting men?”

And Manny’s nodding agreement was empathetic.

The phone rang, and Stefan said quickly, “Don’t answer it!”

But Manny had already picked it up, and he squinched his face in helpless distress. He had no choice, “Cisco’s.”

“Steve there?”

Manny’s courage only went so far, he said, “Yeah.” And he handed the phone to Stefan.

Giving Manny a narrowed-eyed look, Stefan punched the speaker button so Manny could hear both sides. Then he said to the phone, “Stefan here.”

And Kirt replied heartily, “Well, hello, Steve, got the Jeeps, but the green one don’t want to work. How about coming out and fixing it.” A demand.

Stefan looked at his watch. “I can make it about nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”

And Kirt asked, “What’s pushing you tonight? Everybody ‘round owes me, I’ll use one of the IOU’s to pry you free tonight.”

“It’s a woman.”

There was a pause, and then Kirt asked in a rather deadly way, “Who?”

And right out of his mouth, Stefan lied very stupidly, “Carrie.”

Relief rushed through Kirt’s, “Carrie? Great! She’s here now. You can pick her up...here. Plan on supper.” And he hung up.

Stefan slowly, gently recradled the phone. He looked up at Manny’s compassionate face and asked, “How many times is it, now, that I’m going to strangle you?”

“Last count? I think I’m down to thirteen.”

“Thirteen isn’t a lucky count.”

“Well, it’ll go down lower if you go on out to Kirt’s tonight for supper. You got Carrie to protect you from Kirt’s daughters, you can get the green Jeep put back together, eat and sneak away whole.”

“You go.”

“You know good and well tonight’s my night off. You’re the boss, and you get to fill in for me.” He smiled. “You want me to rescue Carrie? I’d be glad to save her and have her grateful.”

“Don’t.”

Manny then was curious. “What did you have on for tonight that I can help you with?”

And Stefan gave that woman’s excuse that covered everything, “I gotta wash my hair.”

Manny laughed until he got the hiccups.

Stefan watched stony faced and unamused.

Hiccuping, Manny stood grinning, but with some empathy, he said, “When there was something I had to do that I didn’t want to do, my mother always told me, ‘It’ll grow hair on your chest.’ I did more terrible, demanded things than I can count, and look —” he unbuttoned two buttons “ —no hair. She lied.”

With infinite worldly wisdom, Stefan explained, “It was a figure of speech. She meant the discipline would make a man of you. You need more discipline to reach that goal. Go to Kirt’s tonight.”

Manny shook a sorrowful head as he said, “God, I’m sure sorry, but I have to go to a funeral.”

Stefan narrowed his eyes, his brain going over the obituary columns of the area newspapers in the past week. “Who?”

Gesturing with grandiosity, Manny said, “You, if you interfere with my plans tonight.” And he left.

* * *

To go to the Overmanns’, Stefan didn’t shower. He didn’t wear his regular clothing. He stripped naked and pulled on some smelly, sweat-and-grease-stained coveralls. He wiped his face and hands with a grease rag. He went in the utility Jeep to Kirt’s house on land outside Blink.

He was completely confident that he was safe from being invited into the Overmann house. But dirty, in those grease-stained coveralls and wearing that golden earring, he looked like a potentially dangerous pirate.

The Overmann girls all came out and laughed and flirted while Stefan soberly switched and rearranged wires and connections which had been...switched and rearranged. He didn’t make any comment at all about the mess. He just...fixed it back.

Amid the friendly dogs, there was that passel of charming young women, the expansive daddy and the singleton guest named Carrie Pierce. She watched him with almost closed eyes and said nothing at all. She irritated the very hell out of him.

She had on red nail polish. It was daytime. It was too early for her to’ve gotten dressed for a date. She wore pink polish in the daytime and wore red at night. How come it was daytime and she had on red nail polish?

She had a date that night? Who was he? It wasn’t any of Stefan’s business. She was a discard. She could go out with any yahoo she wanted to tussle. It was none of his business.

Kirt’s wife hollered from the porch, “Get your hands washed, it’s about time to eat!”

And Kirt said, “Peel off them coveralls and come on inside. You can finish that up later.”

But Stefan had anticipated that very demand and managed a reasonable hesitancy as he looked at the grinning daughters. Helen, Alice and Trisha. Under his breath, Stefan said just for the daddy, “I don’t have on nothing else?” That was the TEXAS questioning statement. “This is almost done and — “

In a carrying voice, Kirt exclaimed to the whole community and surrounding area, “You mean to tell me you’re nekkid?”

And a genuine blush took over Stefan’s face.

The girls giggled, putting their hands to their faces and exchanging laughing glances, but Carrie just watched.

Kirt then said, “No problem. I’ve got some things you can borrow.”

Still working on the mixed-up connections, Stefan next tried a verbal rejection, “I had a late lunch.”

“Then you can sit with us for dessert.”

Stefan’s eyes went reluctantly to see how Carrie was taking all this, and he met her unsympathetic regard. How like her to be aloof when a man was in trouble. No heart. No compassion. No sliver of concern in that icy heart of hers.

He was lucky her strawberry hair hadn’t ensnared him. She’d let a man go to the guillotine and never bat those heavily lashed eyelids. She was a mean woman, and he’d made a lucky escape when he’d shunned her.

Then to indicate an unarguable defense, Stefan looked at his cast-off, greasy shoes and shook his head once. “I got to stay outside. Thanks, anyway.”

And one of Kirt’s pushy daughters said, “We’ll all come outside. We’ll sit on the porch.” And she went to the house to tell her mother.

So her mother hollered for the other girls to come in to help move the meal outside.

Stefan warned them, “It’s gonna rain.”

And the daughters laughed. “The porch is big enough. You can sit in the rain and get cleaned off.”

Snippy. He sorted the daughters out and that one was Helen. He grinned and glanced aside to find Carrie’s eyes weighing him.

Why would she do that?

He told that slender, nothing woman with all that blond-red hair, “You’d better get inside. Rain’ll melt you.”

And wouldn’t you know, she had a reply, right away. She said, “I’m not made of sugar.”

He was back inside the Jeep’s engine, but he did hear her. He mumbled, “I can’t argue that.”

She asked, “What?”

“I said, ‘None of the tires is flat.’” But he pulled his head out of the engine to look at her to see if she believed him, and she laughed.

Those damned brown eyes of hers had all sorts of sparkles in them before those lashes dropped down and hid it all. Asinine woman.

It was Kirt who told Carrie, “Hadn’t you better get on home before the storm hits?”

“I was invited to dinner before Stefan got here. If there isn’t enough to include us both, he can leave.”

Stefan relaxed. “Yeah.”

“Or he can follow me home, to be sure I get there in this wild and woolly storm that’s going to spray us with a few sprinkles.”

Kirt narrowed his eyes and considered her.

Stefan said, “With the storm coming, you probably ought to get on home. I’ll follow you and come back tomorrow and finish this up.”

Kirt broke in. “No. You stay. We promised you dessert. You can’t wiggle out of that. We’re having Mildred’s pe-can pie.”

Stefan groused, “No! Good thing I’ve already eaten. Her pie is so good I’ll have to have two pieces.”

The father put in, “The girls all can make that pie. They’re good cooks.”

Stefan thought what a touter Kirt was. He’d get those girls married off —but not to Stefan. He went back to working on rescuing the tangled connections.

Kirt said, “Give it up for now. It’s about to rain.”

“I don’t have much more to do. I’ll get it done. Go ahead. I’ll be quick. Carrie, you hold the flashlight.”

Kirt said, “No. I will.”

Stefan countered, “You need to clean up a little before you go inside Mildred’s pristine house. You know that for a fact.”

And Kirt knew it. “We’ll fix you a place. Come along, Carrie.”

But Stefan told Kirt, “She’s gotta hold the flashlight.”

There was nothing Kirt could do about that. He had to go inside. His daughters were all inside the house, helping their mother. Carrie was the only one left outside to hold the light for Stefan. Damn!

Kirt gave Carrie’s slender body a look and was reassured. It was just her hair. Nothing else on her could lure a man, and he knew that Stefan was immune to her. So he turned away. “Don’t be long.” And Kirt left.

As soon as he was out of earshot, that nasty Carrie giggled.

Stefan chided, “Shame on you.”

“Hush. Don’t say another word, or I’ll leave you here and go on home.”

Stefan groused, “That’s just exactly what you’d think of doing. You’re a witch!”

“You’ve said something like that before.”

“I never!”

She was emphatic, “When I wouldn’t stay the night with you.”

“Shame on you, saying that kind of thing about a nice young man like me.”

“You’re past thirty.” She pointed that out like he hadn’t known such a fact. “You’re supposed to be a responsible man.”

“I’m getting this damned motor rewired. That’s really taking responsibility the hard way.”

She was flippant. “So’s behaving yourself.”

“You weren’t interested.”

She didn’t say anything.

He lifted his head up and looked at her across the engine. “You’re a damned tease.”

She didn’t respond.

“You’re lucky I didn’t wring your neck.”

She was silent.

The rain started gently.

He said, “Go on inside. I can finish this in just a minute.”

The flashlight held steady.

He told her, “You’re going to get wet.”

And her husky, wicked voice replied, “I’ve already told you that I won’t melt.”

“You won’t. You’re hard-hearted and mean. There isn’t anything on this earth that would make you pliant.”

And her laugh was low and soft.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Stefan wiped his hands on his greasy coveralls. He went to the Jeep and slid onto the newspaper Kirt had insisted on putting across the driver’s seat. The Jeep started like it’d never had a problem, and Stefan gave a huge sigh of endurance.

He turned off the ignition, got out of the Jeep and looked at Carrie. He said, “You can turn off the flashlight. We’re through. You’re good help. Thank you.”

She didn’t reply. She just turned off the light and went over to put it in the glove compartment.

The initial rain was gentle. TEXAS rain was just about always like that, so as the ground wouldn’t be too shocked with the coming wetness. Stefan lifted his face to it.

In the dusk’s light rain, Stefan stood in his messed-up coveralls, with that earring and the rifted eyebrow. He looked more like a pirate than ever. Carrie licked her lips.

From the house, Kirt hollered, “Hustle up, you all, we’re just about finished!”

“Coming.” Stefan said the word so they could hear him on the porch, but he was looking at Carrie.

She smiled faintly. She was very alert and her eyes went over him in quick moves.

Stefan closed the Jeep up and wiped his hands on the already greasy rag in his hip pocket. He gestured and said, “Ladies first.”

She lifted her eyebrows slightly and mentioned, “Lady? The last time I heard you refer to me, you called me a cold – – – – –.”

He slid his narrowed eyes over her and replied, “I was being polite.”

She tilted her head and regarded him. “Polite? Then...or now.”

But Kirt hollered, “Hustle up!”

* * *

Sitting under the roof of the overhang by the porch, Stefan ate two quarters of one pie. It was delicious, and Mildred insisted he take the rest of it home. She smiled and told him, “Helen did this one.”

Helen laughed with such humor that Stefan knew the mother lied.

Although the host insisted he’d follow Carrie home to be sure she was safe —in that isolated, pure, staid area —he couldn’t argue when Stefan explained Carrie was going in his direction and her house came first.

So the marriageable daughters and their papa all went out to supervise the separate ones in getting into their cars and leaving the Overmann place.

Kirt was at Stefan’s Jeep, talking, as Stefan waited for the sisters to finish their farewells to Carrie. They’d been talking since last night, apparently, but they still had things to say...and things to laugh about.

Finally, finally Carrie eased her car along, and the sisters walked along to finish one more hysterical comment. Carrie eased her way with the sisters bending over and touching one another in their hilarity.

As he followed Carrie, Stefan wondered, What was so funny?

With dispatch, the cold witch drove perfectly down the road, staying on her side of it, not nudging the speed limit, driving perfectly. Women were such an irritation.

Deliberately sagged down in his seat, Stefan lagged along. Keeping her in sight, he was looking around just wishing some yahoo would harass her. And he could go to her rescue and sort things out.

Now...why on this earth would he want something like that to happen?

He moved his mouth around as he mentally chewed on such a stupid wish. He supposed it was because she was so damned confident that, at almost twenty-three, she felt she was more mature than him.

They entered the town of Blink from one side and drove through residential streets. From some distance, he saw her turn between the cement posts at the entrance of the Pierce driveway and park her car by the back door. She got out and immediately went into the house.

He leisurely swung his car between those same cement posts and into her drive...as the back house light went out.

She hadn’t waited to thank him for his escort.

Her parents were out of town. Her brother was in grad school. Carrie was alone in the house.

He pulled his car up in back of hers and got out with great, enduring patience. He went up on her screened back porch’s steps and pounded his fist, rattling the wooden frame of the screen door.

He heard the upstairs shower turn on.

Now, she had to’ve heard his Jeep. She had to’ve heard the Jeep door slam. She had to’ve heard his feet clunk on the back wood steps. And she had to’ve heard his knock on the loose, although hooked screen door. He knew it was hooked because it had not opened to his tug.

So he sat in the mist, on the steps, and waited. When the upstairs shower finally turned off, some time later, he swung his fist around and really rattled that door.

After a time, he repeated the rattle.

She came to the kitchen door that led onto the screened porch. She was dressed in a bathrobe that buttoned under her chin, and said, “Some problem with your Jeep?”

Still sitting on her back steps, he replied, “You got inside before I knew nobody had accosted you. How’d I know the sound of the shower wasn’t a cover-up of a ravishing?”

In a dead voice with no emphasis at all, she replied, “Glory be.”

“You’re not only cold, you’re mouthy.”

“Yeah.”

He said grudgingly, “Thank you for the protection you gave me tonight at the Overmanns’.” The words were wooden, but along with an eye-rolling sigh, his mother would’ve been proud of him.

But that nasty, mostly blond redhead said with greatly exaggerated candor, “What was threatening you out at the Overmanns’? On the way here? How did I help you? You’re allergic to water...the rain? Why don’t you get back in your Jeep and get out of the rain?”

He gave her a slow turning of his head and a withering look that should have shriveled her. It did not. Then he rose and stretched his tired muscles. He breathed the misting air before he took his own sweet time going back to the Jeep and leaving her standing there, in her doorway, watching after him.

But as he was slowly backing down her driveway, he heard her phone ringing.

Some poor dolt was trying for her. Stupid guy. It never entered Stefan’s mind that the caller might be female. He only thought of some guy talking in her ear in a low and intimate way and...trying.

Sourly, he drove on to his car lot. He went around, being sure it was all secure...followed by the patient security guard, Tad.

Tad said, “Mac was here. He thinks you’re avoiding him. That you won’t face your responsibilities.”

“Do you know how long he’s had that Jeep? He got it at a post World War II government auction.”

“He says it was here.”

“I wasn’t alive then. This was grazing land at that time. I don’t sell used Jeeps. Nobody gives them up.”

“He’s allowing you that privilege.”

“Tad. This has not been a good day. Kirt bought two Jeeps and got away with them before Manny or I could go over them with him. Do you realize how many times I’m gonna have to go out yonder to his place...just before supper?”

Tad smiled.

“Tad...would you go th —”

“I’m tagged. Eula wouldn’t allow me to set foot on Kirt’s property. She’s a hellcat.” His voice was benign and a bit smug.

Stefan gave him a slow and deadly look. “I hate a bragging man.”

“You need a permanent woman. She’ll be nice to you. She’ll guard you from other women. You can tell her now isn’t the best time to get it legal.”

“You’re smarter’n me.” Stefan looked glumly out over the darkening night fall over the TEXAS land. The rain was a benediction. How could he be so glum? At his age and circumstance, he should be carefree and jubilant. He ought to be able to peel off those coveralls and go out and romp in the gentle rain, glorying in being alive and free.

Everywhere he looked, there were traps.