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Bootheel Bride

By Helen Gray

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Chapter 1

Missouri Bootheel, February, 1929

“I thought you said we had enough gas to get there.” Jessie Stevens huddled under a blanket, shivering until she could hardly speak, as the 1920 Model T began to sputter, rolling and rattling southward along the highway.
She gazed out at the barren flatlands where remnants of the last big snowfall littered fields that, come summer, would be alive with cotton, soybeans, and melons. More impoverished and lawless than the rest of the state, this extreme southeast section of flat land towns and farms known as the bootheel was the home of their birth.
A portable box in the floor of the car was meant for heat, but what little coal they had at the beginning of the trip was long gone. Jessie tried to ignore the eeriness of the late February afternoon and forget about the cold that crept into the old car, to just be thankful they had a car. Jason had only managed to buy it after mass production in 1924 had allowed car prices to drop drastically, and older, used cars sold for next to nothing.
“We do. The problem is more serious than being out of gas.” Her brother gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles whitened as he steered the faltering car left at the junction. He barely made it to the side of the road as the motor completely died.
Jason turned to face Jessie, dark hair tumbling over his forehead, his brows drawn together above brown eyes. “This is as far as Lady Putt Putt goes. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way and come back for her when I can figure out how to get her fixed.”
Jessie raised her chin to meet his weary gaze. “Then we should get moving. It’s another four miles to the farm, and it’s already four o’clock.” She glanced over her shoulder at the pile of their belongings in the back seat. Jason would have to maneuver around all that to get out through the center door. “How much can we carry?”
“One suitcase each,” he decided in weary resignation. “I’ll tuck as much stuff down out of sight as I can and pray it’s still here when we get back.”
Minutes later they were trudging along the side of the road, suitcases jostling against their legs. They wore buttoned up coats over their threadbare clothing, but their shoes were sturdy ones that had been Jason’s Christmas gift to them from his last paycheck. Worn woolen scarves enveloped their heads and necks.
After years of prosperity in the cities, banks were getting in trouble and businesses laying off people from their jobs. The department store where Jason worked as a security guard had held on until two months ago before closing its doors and leaving all their employees, including him, jobless. One day while searching the newspaper for job ads, Jason had been shocked to see an article with their names in the headline. It had brought them back here.
“I wonder what kind of shape the farm is in,” Jessie wondered for the hundredth time. They needed a roof over their heads and security. She wanted so badly to take care of Jason, who had looked after her for so long. Now that he had no job, she wanted to help him more.
Jason snorted. “The old man beat up on Mom and us, but he took care of that place.”
They hiked on in silence. By the time they turned into the lane that led to the farm, they were both bedraggled, frozen, and near exhaustion. The first thing they spied was the roof of the old barn. As they advanced toward it, a frigid gust of wind nearly tore the scarf from Jessie’s head. She grasped the knot under her chin and kept walking, the suitcase battering her knee.
At the edge of the yard, they stopped to stare at the house where they had lived from the time they were born until Jason was twelve and Jessie eleven, nine years ago. The two-story structure looked abandoned and sad. It would take a lot of work, but Jessie determined she would restore it to its former state—and raise a big garden for food. As she mentally ticked off the tasks ahead of her, she spied an old truck parked at the south side of the house. When Jason dropped his suitcase and made a beeline for it, she followed.
“It looks like it’s seen plenty of miles,” he said when they reached it. “But if we can get it started, we can use it to go back and tow Lady Putt Putt down here.”
Jason opened the door and got behind the wheel. He tried to start the motor, but it sputtered and didn’t catch.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The harsh voice behind them made Jessie spin around. She swallowed a screech of fright at the sight of a man with a rifle cradled in his right arm. Tall and broad shouldered, his long legs were covered in denim, his face shadowed by the brim of a hat. He stood with his feet planted in a wide stance that spoke serious business. A closer look brought startled recognition.
Jason hopped to the ground beside her. “We’re trying to start this truck.”
“So you can steal it?”
“Can’t steal what’s ours.” Jason’s voice was amazingly calm for having just been branded a thief. Jessie mustered her self-control and locked gazes with the mighty cotton farmer she now knew had to be the grown-up version of Gabe Kirby.
“We’re Jason and Jessie Stevens, and we have every right to be here.”
Mr. Cotton Farmer took two steps toward them and stopped. “Can you prove it?”
Jessie raised her chin. “What business is it of yours?”
He pushed his hat back with a finger. His mouth formed a grim line, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “I’ve been looking after the place and tending Mr. Stevens’ livestock. No looters are going to come in here and make off with his things.”
S he stared at the handsome man, and remembered how, as a kid, she had admired his exceptional tendency to look after others.
“Did you ever find Sparky?” She spoke quietly, remembering how much Gabe had loved that big tan dog and how upset he had been when it disappeared.
His gaze sharpened on her, and his body slowly relaxed. Then he marched up to her and tugged the scarf from her hair.
*
Gabe stared at the blond colored locks glistening in what little light remained. Darker eyebrows drew together over the darkest brown eyes he had ever noticed in a woman. His breath caught.
“So the little buttercup has grown up,” he said at last, convinced beyond a doubt that this truly was Jessie. “Yes, the rascal showed up after being gone for two weeks. We have no idea where he had been, probably out seeing the ladies. Where in the world have you been?”
She stepped away, tugging the scarf back into place, her manner nothing like the quiet little girl he remembered. Who would have thought she would grow up into such a pretty thing? The set of her shoulders and the glint in her eyes looked like a woman who had survived hard times, and who meant to go on surviving.
Their dad had been a hard man, maybe much harder than Gabe had realized back when Jason and Jessie were kids. He had often wondered where they went, if they were all right. They had disappeared right after their mother’s funeral, so he had always assumed—hoped—they had gone to live with relatives who would give them a better life.
“Did you come in response to the article I had our family lawyer place in newspapers around the state?”
She nodded. “Jason found it in a Jefferson City paper.”
So they had lived in Jefferson City. They were clearly exhausted from travel. He glanced at the truck. “Surely you didn’t walk all that way. Don’t you have a car?”
Jason grimaced. “Yes, but she died at the junction. I was hoping this thing would start so we could go get Lady Putt Putt.” He tapped the door of the truck.
“That poor old thing hasn’t been started in ages and has been sitting in the cold all winter. I doubt you could ever get it started. I’ll take you. My truck’s parked back there.” He jerked a thumb toward the lane behind him.
Jessie grabbed her and Jason’s suitcases. “As soon as I put these inside,” she said, marching toward the porch.
Gabe started to tell her to stay here while he and Jason went for the car, but her body language told him she was about frozen. She would be warmer in his truck than here. The house had been sitting empty since the death of old man Stevens three months ago, and Gabe was sure there was no wood inside for the stove.
“I think you can find some chains in the shed behind the house,” he said to Jason. “If you’ll round them up, I’ll go get my truck.”
Jason didn’t say anything, just turned and headed around the side of the house.
Gabe had parked alongside the road and come across the field to check on the milk cow Mr. Stevens had owned. Now he hiked back for his truck. When he drove up to the edge of the yard minutes later, Jason and Jessie were both ready to go.
Jessie stood back for Jason to get in the truck first, but he shook his head. “You’re smaller, so you sit in the middle.”
The look that flashed over her face told Gabe that she didn’t want to sit next to him. Her luminous eyes, fair skin, and the amount of hair visible peeking from the scarf, struck him anew. She was beautiful. He grinned and cleared his throat. “Come on, Buttercup. I won’t bite.”
*
Seeing no other option, Jessie squeezed into the space between Gabe and Jason, not about to be left behind. Her belongings were in that car with Jason’s. She edged as close to her brother as she could, doing her best to avoid touching Gabe Kirby.
As a teenage boy, he had been good looking. But those good looks didn’t compare to the handsome man he had become. She managed to keep a tiny space between them, but she couldn’t prevent the odd flutter that caused a tickle in the pit of her stomach. Or fathom why.
Jessie wanted this trip over as fast as possible. She had to see what kind of condition the house was in, if it was livable. She had to figure out how they were going to survive.
Gabe gripped the wheel and backed the truck out into the lane. It lurched as it moved forward. Jessie sat rigid in the seat. To her relief, they rode in silence. When they approached the spot where they had abandoned the car, she peered ahead and leaned forward in the seat. “Hurry,” she urged, pointing at two guys walking away from Lady Putt Putt. “They’re stealing our things.”
Gabe stepped on the gas and roared up behind the two young men who had backed out of the car, each clutching a box and a satchel. As they started across the road, Gabe pulled to a screeching halt behind the car they were headed toward.
Jessie followed Jason as he opened the door and scrambled out. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she broke into a run. She caught up with one of the thieves and grabbed his arm. “What do you think you’re doing with our stuff?” she yelled, yanking him to a halt.
He jerked from her grasp and spun around, his eyes blazing. “Back off, Lady. We had car trouble, and we’re picking up our stuff.”
“You did not! That car,” she jabbed a finger toward it, “is my brother’s, and everything in it belongs to him and me. Give it here.” She grabbed for the box.
He jerked it away. “You’re crazy.”
Gabe’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “You’re stealing this woman’s belongings,” he snapped, his face grim. “Now give her the box and return whatever you’ve already put in your car. Do it now,” he ordered when the young man made no move to obey.
When the boy still did nothing, Gabe yanked the box from him and handed it to Jessie.
Slack jawed, the young man wilted and handed her the satchel. As he did, Jason marched the second thief back to join them. He yanked on the kid’s collar. “Put it down.”
Gabe looked from one to the other of the would-be thieves, who by now looked scared. “Don’t either of you come back to work at the Kirby farm this year, or ever again.” Anger punctuated the last phrase.
While Jessie stood watch over their possessions, Jason and Gabe marched both young men back to their car and checked inside it. Jason removed another pair of satchels.
“Now get out of here,” Gabe ordered. “And don’t let me run into you again. I’ll be telling the sheriff about this,” he added as the two made haste to skedaddle out of there.
Still fuming, Jessie grabbed a satchel and headed to Lady Putt Putt alongside Gabe, Jason’s footsteps echoing behind them. When they got to the car, a hand came around her and opened the door. “I’m sorry about all this.” Gabe’s words were soft with regret.
While Jason loaded their belongings back into the Model T, Gabe maneuvered his truck around behind the car and took the chains from the back of it. He and Jason worked quickly and soon had the two vehicles hooked together. When Jason got inside Lady Putt Putt, Jessie climbed into the passenger seat.
Jason looked across the seat at her. “You should ride with Gabe. It’s warmer …and safer. I may have trouble controlling Lady.”
“He’s right. Come with me.”
Gabe’s voice made Jessie turn. He flashed a boyish grin at her. Without waiting for her agreement, which she saw no way of avoiding with both of them telling her what she should do, he cupped her elbow in his large hand and guided her to the passenger door of his truck. When he helped her into the vehicle, tingles came through their gloves and made her breath catch. She didn’t release it until he closed the door, went around the truck and got behind the wheel.
Suddenly the inside of that truck seemed to shrink in size. A gust of cold wind snaked inside as he closed the door. Jessie shivered, and welcomed the fact that he thought the wind was the only thing causing it.
“Let’s see if we can get you warmer.” Gabe reached for the blanket that lay between them. When he draped it over her shoulders, Jessie drew the woodsy scent of him into her lungs.
This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be attracted to Gabe Kirby. She didn’t like men. They frightened her. They hurt women and abandoned them.
Except Jason. Her brother had always taken care of her.
“I take it you know those two,” she said, needing to make conversation.
His mouth tightened as he eased the truck forward slowly and stopped when the chain tightened with a jerk behind them. “I know them. They picked cotton for me last fall.”
“You sound like they didn’t do such a great job.”
“They didn’t.” He glanced over his shoulder to check for traffic, and then pulled Jason and Lady Putt Putt slowly onto the road. Gradually he gave the truck more gas, towing the weight of the crippled car. When they were in steady motion he eased into a more comfortable position and kept his eyes aimed straight ahead. “Not only were those two not good workers, but other hands complained about personal items disappearing. I suspected these two were the thieves, but had no way of proving it. I plan to warn the sheriff to keep an eye on them.”
Silence settled as Gabe concentrated on his driving. When they rounded a curve, Jessie looked back to see Lady Putt Putt careen toward the ditch. She breathed easier when Jason fought for control and steered her back into line. Gabe slowed the truck.
“How is your mother doing?” she asked.
Gabe glanced over at her, and then looked back at the road. A look of tension crossed his face. He cleared his throat. “Mother’s not well.”
Jessie studied his profile, a painful knot forming in her stomach. “What’s wrong with her?”
He leaned forward, peering ahead as if searching for words in the air. “She has a malignant tumor in her lungs.”
Jessie stifled a gasp. “Has she had any radium treatments?”
He nodded. “Yes, but they didn’t find it soon enough.”
Jessie remembered Mrs. Kirby as a very industrious woman, one who would have been too busy to see a doctor when she first noticed anything painful or unusual. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wishing she had the power to say or do something that would give comfort, or heal her. “I have pleasant memories of her. She was always kind to Jason and me.”
Gabe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he turned into the farm lane. “I can’t bear to think of her in pain, or of losing her.” His voice sounded gruff, as if speaking the words took all the control he had. He blinked hard and drove to a halt in front of the house.
Jessie remained silent as he got out of the truck and went back to help Jason disconnect the chains from the vehicles. Then she opened the passenger door and jumped to the ground.
Leaving the men to deal with the car, Jessie walked across the yard and stopped to stare up at the house. She spied a broken upstairs window. The front screen door tilted from a broken hinge. It was undoubtedly cold inside, but they needed shelter and a place to sleep. She would see if she could build a fire.
When she got to the door and tried to open it, Jessie found it locked. Although frustrating, she found it reassuring that the place had been secured after Atwood’s death. She had stopped calling him Dad after the first time she caught him beating her mother.
She turned around and retraced her steps. At the bottom of the porch steps, she veered to her left and headed around the side of the house. To her surprise, she found the back door standing ajar and the area around the lock splintered. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
And gasped.

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