Ace's Wild. Sarah McCartyЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Everything.”
Petunia had never seen such hopelessness in a face of any age. Dipping her handkerchief into the bucket of cool water she’d drawn earlier, she pressed it to his eye. He winced and blinked at her with the other. His hazel eyes didn’t have the artifice of Buster’s, but they had the appeal of sincerity.
“I’m sorry, Terrance.”
He nodded and swallowed hard. “I might be leaving.”
Petunia was probably the only one who understood how devastating that revelation was to a boy more suited to scholar than farmer.
“But we haven’t even finished the story of Ulysses.”
It was a stupid thing to say.
He looked at her with a bit of hope. “Maybe you can tell it to me real fast.”
“Maybe.” She dipped the cloth again and applied it to his lip. Again the wince. “Or maybe we can just do something about the situation.”
Terrance shook his head. “Nothing to be done. Dad lost the mortgage money to that gambler, Ace.”
And had come home to take out his frustration on his son. “I see.”
“Everybody knows what’s Ace Parker’s stays Ace Parker’s.”
“Do you think he cheated?”
He looked horrified. “Ace? No.”
She did not understand how the boy could idolize the man who’d just taken everything from him.
His gaze slid from hers. “My pa might have, though. He was pretty beat up when he came in.”
Gambling room justice. Petunia shook her head. Only a man could understand it. It was nothing to put a family out on the street. But let a man cheat at cards, and all damnation broke loose.
“I see,” she said again. “Well, Terrance, I’m glad you came to school today.”
“I wanted to hear Ulysses.”
She’d begun reading them Ulysses Tales, a little bit at a time, changing the language so the kids could comprehend the greater message, making it fun and entertaining.
“I’m glad you came, even though it was hard, and you must be hurting.”
“I’ve had worse.”
Yes, he had but if she had her way, there wouldn’t be any more. Terrance was a prime example of why the type of boarding school she wanted to establish needed building. “And maybe after school today we can see if something can be done about your problem.”
He shook his head and stepped back. “Pa is who he is.”
Yes, he was. “But you love him.”
A boy should love his father. But more important, a man should be worthy of that love.
Ducking his head, Terrance shrugged his shoulders. “I used to. He didn’t used to always be this mad. Just since Ma’s been gone.”
She’d never been able to find out if Terrance’s mother had left or passed on.
“Sometimes life can be hard, but tomorrow can be much better.”
He didn’t even look at her on that one. She guessed she couldn’t blame him. For a child his age, life had to seem pretty darn impossible. Wringing out the handkerchief, she came to a decision.
“I’ll tell you what, Terrance. I can’t make any promises, but after school today, I’ll go talk to Mr. Parker.”
Hope sprang into Terrance’s eyes. She felt a pang at feeding it to him. To him, the schoolteacher was all powerful. And at the end of the day, she was going to have to be. Or learn to live with the guilt.
“You will? Thank you.”
She shook her head at him. “It’s not going to be that easy. As you said, Ace Parker isn’t one for letting things go.”
“But neither are you.”
He had a point there.
“You’re right, and I’m going to do my best to see if we can come up with some compromise that will fix your problem. All right?”
He nodded.
“Now do you want to go inside and practice your letters with everybody else, or do you want to be excused for the day?”
He grabbed up his books and headed to the door. She guessed that was an answer. She followed more slowly. For an eight-year-old boy, Terrance had a serious dedication to learning that if she had her way, would not be snuffed out. Not by his father, not by life and certainly not by a gambler with a possessive streak. Ace didn’t need the strip of land Terrance’s father pretended to farm. But Terrance did. Which meant just one thing. Ace was going to have to give it up.
* * *
PETUNIA STOOD OUTSIDE the saloon and straightened the dark blue jacket of her most favorite suit, wishing the day wasn’t so unseasonably hot. Wishing she could just look the other way like so many people did. Wishing there was a way to keep her promise to Terrance without actually having to speak to Ace. Wishing she’d been able to run into him somewhere in town today rather than having to track him down in his lair. She stared at the saloon doors and bit her lip.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
The only other time she’d been in a saloon had been in the company of several suffragettes, and even that protest had been timed to occur during the hours of nonoperation. And it’d ended with her spending twenty minutes in jail before her father had fetched her out.
Truth be told, she’d been rather disappointed with the “grand adventure.” Outside of one picture featuring a scantily clad woman, the saloon had been bland and smelly and not at all the gaudily exciting place she’d expected to see. This building was probably the same. Bland and smelly and sparsely populated with the same people she saw on the street every day. So why was she standing here hesitating?
A movement down the street caught her attention. Terrance. He stood on the sidewalk watching her, hands clenched at his sides. His posture set to run. Clearly, he expected her to chicken out.
Well, he had another think coming. She was a Wayfield. The family motto, longer than most, spoke to noble attributes. But quitting wasn’t one of them. With a lift of her chin and small wave to Terrance, she stepped through the swinging doors.
Her initial thought as the gloom of the place surrounded her was this wasn’t so bad. On her first breath, she started to change her mind. The stench of stale sweat and sour beer hung thick in the still air. By the time her eyes adjusted in the dim light, she was ready to back right out. This was not her world. There was no optimism here. Just apathy reflected in the way a blonde woman dressed in a loosely tied wrapper sat at the long bar and picked at a plate of food. The thud of slamming wood made her jump.
“You lost, ma’am?”
She turned to the barkeep. She couldn’t remember his name, but she’d seen him around town. He had a rather distinctive appearance with that greased back black hair and large waxed mustache.
“No.”
“Maybe she’s looking for a job,” the woman at the bar said. “A person can’t hold body and soul together on what this town pays a schoolmarm.”
The woman was attractive in a blowsy sort of way, but not welcoming. Petunia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch.
“I’m not looking for a job.”
The woman met her gaze squarely, and took a bite of egg. “A bit of excitement, then?”
Petunia took another step into the room. A drunk she hadn’t noticed at the table to the left eyed her from hat to boot.
“I’d