Free Chasing Charity by Marcia Gruver Page B

too much wealth.
    A moan from deep within Charity’s stomach reminded her she hadn’t had breakfast, though the hour was well past noon. Her immediate fortune lay in selling her wedding gown. She would go see Amy Jane and then find some food ... as soon as she warmed up a bit.
    She lay back and snuggled deeper into the feather mattress. Drawing the soft blue blanket against her face, she breathed in the fresh, new smell. Clouds darkened the sky outside the window, casting the small room into shadows, while overhead the light patter of rain on the roof pounded out a muted lullaby.

CHAPTER 8
    Two minutes of high wind and scattered hail and the tempest was spent. Thunder and lightning in a pitch-black sky had been the worst of it. One of those storms that make empty threats.
    By the time Buddy drew near the stable, he had made up his mind. A light drizzle still fell, but what of it? He was already wet, and Charity’s mama would be worried sick if he didn’t set her mind at ease.
    The horse had the smell of the stall in his nostrils and showed reluctance when Buddy made him turn.
    “Giddap, you lazy beast. You ain’t worth your weight in sour oats. Cut dirt, or I’ll trade you for a gasoline engine.”
    The horse laid back his ears but plodded past the livery door. In no hurry to part with his feed bag, he shivered with irritation while Buddy shivered from the cold. A damp chill had penetrated his bones, and he ached all over. Scraping his knuckles and picking up a splinter on the jagged wood, he groped beneath the seat and found a spare saddle blanket. The stale covering would cause him to smell like the stockyard but might save him from the grippe.
    The trail to the Danes’ house felt farther than it actually was, even after the horse accepted his plight and picked up the pace. With tremendous relief, Buddy finally pulled up to the house and climbed down. The rain had stopped completely. He shrugged off the blanket and headed up the walk.
    The door opened before he reached it, and Charity’s mama blew out of it raving. “Where’s my girl? Was it you hauled her away from here?”
    He held up his hands. “Your daughter’s fine, Mrs. Bloom.” The feral gleam in her eyes brought to mind the liveryman’s estimation. She looked like Crazy Bertha.
    “I said where is she? Why’d you take her, and what’ve you done to her?”
    Flustered, Buddy glanced at Mrs. Dane, who had come to stand behind her friend. The big woman took one look at his face and came to his aid.
    “Bert, let the boy get a word in. It appears he has something to say. Let’s hear him.”
    “Talk fast, stranger. Magda, fetch me your shotgun for if’n I don’t like what he has to say.”
    The cold left Buddy, driven away by fear of the tiny, wild-eyed woman. “Ma’am, on my honor, Charity’s safe. I got her in out of the rain, and I’m sure she’s warm and dry by now. Don’t worry, I left her in good hands.”
    “Where at?”
    “In town. I put her up at the Lone Star Hotel.”
    A shrill scream exploded from Mrs. Bloom’s tight lips, and she charged him, head down, like a bull. He caught hold of her forehead before she could ram him and held her off. She swatted at him with both hands, connecting only with the air.
    “Bertha!” Mrs. Dane caught her around the waist and hauled her back. “Let the boy explain.”
    Bertha thrashed against her friend’s grip. “You heard him. He’s done took her to the hotel and tarnished her.”
    Buddy rocked back on his heels. He’d never heard such talk from a lady before, and her words stunned him. Then he got mad. Being accused of the same thing twice in one day was quite enough.
    “No, ma’am, I did no such thing.” He had to shout over her screams. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your daughter. Last I saw, she was standing in the hotel lobby where I left her, soaking wet and exhausted—a condition she came to be in through no fault of mine.”
    Mrs. Bloom ceased her struggling and stared