Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 24

                   

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Crikey! Sorry it's been takin' ages to get an update out! I've missed my country babies!

TWITTER: @styles_orama

(This song below is sexy AF. Find it online and listen to it. Old-ass, sexy country. Just the opening piano notes make my vagina ache.)

******

My baby makes me proud, Lord don't she make me proud
She never makes a scene by hanging all over me in a crowd
'Cause people like to talk, Lord, how they love to talk
But when they turn out the lights,
I know she'll be leaving with me

And when we get behind closed doors
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad that I'm a man
Oh no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.

--Charlie Rich

******

HARRY:

Frankie huffs in frustration. "What's wrong with you?" I ask her.

She exhales and pouts, cute as a button. "I know I wanted to come here and you were nice enough to bring me. But I didn't know Reverend Payne was gonna be here messin' everythin' up."

I love it when she rambles. She keeps goin' and the whole while I'm thinkin' about how I can unhitch one of Niall's horses from the wagon and leave it for him, so I can take Frankie home early. He can pick it up on his way back to the mountain.

As she starts windin' down, I hear her say, "I just wanna go home and be with you, Harry." There's a blush on her cheeks and a warmth in my veins.

"Well, darlin'. Why didn't you just say so?"

******

FRANKIE:

My mind is worryin' somethin' fierce on the wagon-ride home, and I'm pretty sure Harry senses it. He pulls me close to him on the seat and reaches out to me with little touches here and there. He treats me with such kindness, more than anyone I've ever known, 'cept for Mrs. Tomlinson. Why did Reverend Payne have to come here? If Harry ever finds out the truth, I know he'll look at me different – with a pitiful look in his eyes – and I'll be downright ashamed. Not to mention heartbroken, cause he won't want nothin' to do with me then.

The wagon jostles us this way and that on the way home, and Harry reminds me of when he first picked me up from the train station. Now he admits that he rode over sticks and rocks on purpose, just hopin' my knee would brush up against his. Now he grazes his knee openly against mine, and I let him, the strength of his thigh makes me feel all jumbly down in my secret garden. I know I shouldn't like it, but I do.

"Now who'd ya say judged the food contests?" Harry asks as soon as he pulls the wagon to a stop in front of the cabin, turnin' to look me in the eye.

"I didn't say, but it was Mr. Corden, Doc Jarvis, and Reverend Payne." I answer matter-of-factly, watchin' Harry's face as he mulls it over.

"Hmm. Well, I know Corden and Jarvis are respectable enough not to let their judgment be tainted by a pretty little girl, but that Payne –"

"Who you callin' little, Harry?" I cut him off and hop outta the wagon before he can stop me. I then proceed to stomp off straight into the cabin without so much as a look back. He calls my name, but I let the door go, and the hardware rattles closed behind me.

After I put the kettle on, I wash up real quick and hightail it up to the loft before Harry can make it inside. I don't know why I think I can hide from him in a cabin that doesn't have any doors on any of the rooms, but that don't stop me from tryin'. While I'm brushin' out my hair, I realize tryin' to hide from my problems ain't gonna make 'em go away, and that Harry isn't one of them. I take a few deep breaths to situate myself before I go check the kettle, knowin' I have a little time to myself while Harry gets Niall's horse fed and watered.

The front door creaks open, followed by the clunkishness of Harry's boots against the hardwoods. "I took care of Niall's horse and left some blankets out in the barn in case he don't wanna ride back to the mountain tonight. If he stays, then we'll be havin' an extra mouth to feed at breakfast. A big one." Harry laughs to himself as he cleans up at the washstand. Despite my bare feet, somehow he senses my presence in the room and sneaks a peek at me over the top of his wash towel, no doubt wonderin' if I'm still ornery.

"I'm sorry 'bout earlier, Harry," I offer with an embarrassed shrug and lift the tin cups of tea I hold as a peace offerin'. "Wanna have tea on the swing – we haven't sat on it yet?"

The crinkles by the corners of his eyes let me know he's smilin', even though his face is still half covered up. "I'd like that, Frankie." He nods, hangs his towel on the hook, and toes off his boots, leaving them in the middle of the floor. As an afterthought, he kicks at 'em with socked feet so they fly outta the way and back into his bedroom somewhere. I wanna gripe about his laziness, but he's so darn adorable the best I can do is shake my head at him. The fact that I'm smilin' to myself about Harry's mess is not lost to me, and I reckon' I'm in pretty deep.

Harry grins, lights a lantern, pulls the front door, and uses his foot to hold it open. I meet his gaze as I pass by, and the reflection of the lamplight in his green eyes gives me pause. A heartbeat passes. Two.

Harry's voice, deep in timbre, speaks, "Frankie?"

My mouth opens and closes in failed speech attempts and I realize I'm no longer headed outside, but standin' there stuck to the floor like a burr on a horse's ass.

Harry takes a step toward me and sets the lantern on the table. With his foot no longer holding it open, the front door clicks to a close behind him. He takes the cups of hot tea from my hands and wordlessly sets them on the table.

His hands slide around my waist, "Let's swing tomorrow, Frankie." Harry whispers. He pulls me flush against him and bends to brush my forehead with his lips. One of his hands finds its way to my hair, grabs hold, and angles my face up to his. A hot tear slips out against my will, and Harry presses his warm lips to its trail. "I know somethin's botherin' you about the Reverend and all. I don't know what it is, but everybody has a past, Frankie. Myself included." His thumbs brush away other tears that follow, "When you're ready, you'll tell me."

Instead of comfortin' me, his patience makes me start wailin' even worse. Harry pulls me to his chest and I wipe my nose in his shirt, which smells so damn much like him. He chuckles at this, but shit I do the wash anyway so I can wipe on it if I damn well get a hankerin' to.

"Quit snottin' up my shirt and look here, Frankie." He commands, and I ignore him outright.

His hands on either side of my head force me to meet his sharp green eyes. "Did ya kill anybody?"

My tearful and adamant "no" comes out a snorty, blubbery mess.

"Of course ya didn't, Frankie. I know ya didn't." He shakes my head the slightest bit to make sure I'm listenin'. "That's what I'm sayin'. Unless you're wanted in ten states for murder, there's nothin' you could possibly do that's worth this much cryin', sweetheart. Not one single, damn, solitary fuckin' thing."

I sniffle and nod, and sniffle and nod, tryin' to turn off the spigot, but my face just keeps on waterin'.

"You're a goddamn beautiful mess, do you know that?" Harry gives half a grin, takes a step back, and pulls his shirt off over head. "You've gone and snotted up my favorite damn shirt." He chastises me in a whisper, bringing his shirt up to my face to dry my eyes. Finally he holds it over my nose, "Blow for me, darlin'," he instructs. I do so, and Harry wipes my nose, carin' for me like a small child.

He stands there, alternatin' between comfortin' me, wipin' my face, and droppin' little kisses here and there until he's satisfied with my emotional state. "Why don't you wash your face and head up to bed. I'll freshen your tea and be up in two shakes to tuck ya in, okay?"

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight as I can. "Thank you for takin' care of me, Harry."

His arms squeeze me even tighter in return, his hands so big they cover my entire back. "Anytime, Frankie." He hugs me even tighter yet, and lets one of his hands slide down to pat my bottom. "Anytime," he whispers in my ear.