Countess in Cowboy Boots

by Jodi O'Donnell

  “Did you not do one solitary thing of import?” He was feeling a bit freer in his phraseology than before, seeing as how she was pursuing the subject. “I mean, your entire life wasn’t about consumption, conspicuous or otherwise. Was it?”

  “No. I did some charity work which I found very fulfilling, even if I wasn’t allowed...able to become involved to the degree I’d have liked to have been. You know, actually working with the people who needed me.”

  She took a long swig of tea and set the jar back in the cooler, a bit of business, it struck him, to keep him from spotting the vulnerability she’d done her best to hide from him.

  “Do tell!” Will raised his eyebrows. “And what more could you have done for the common folk lookin’ to find a minute’s worth of happiness in their miserable lives than just be America’s Cinderella?”

  It was touch and go for a second as he wondered if he’d gone too far, or read the moment wrong.

  Then he saw the spark come to her eye. “I did learn manners when I was a countess,” she said, ever so dignified, “so I know how to cordially invite you to bite me.”

  Will laughed. He couldn’t help himself, and that’s why, when she playfully flicked her wrist at him as if to dismiss a servant, he just as playfully caught her hand in his.

  And the last of the detachment disappeared from her eyes.

  It was the first time he’d seen her face completely open. Under the brim of her Western hat, her eyes were incredibly clear, their irises the green of a cottonwood at daybreak, pale but vibrant.

  Even with that piece of hay still stuck to her cheek, she was a strikingly beautiful woman. She always had been: beautiful and classy in a way that had nothing to do with upbringing or noble titles.

  Will realized he was staring at Lacey. The laughter had died from her eyes as she gazed up at him, her hand still in his. It was small, the bones delicate, the fingers long and slender. Of its own accord, his thumb stroked over her palm. Soft, too. He couldn’t resist doing it again, holding himself very still as he did so and watching for her reaction to his advance as he would a little wild animal.

  Another spark came to her eye, although this one was different. A flare, really, like the sudden shooting up of a flame from banked embers. But he also saw something akin to the fear he’d seen in her eyes that day by the barn, which near to discouraged him. Yet she didn’t pull away.

  A gust of cooling breeze brought with it the intermittent low of cattle and the smell of sweetgrass. He was going to end up kissing her in a second, and he had no idea how that’d go over with either of them.

  Instead, Will reached up and brushed that pesky piece of hay from her cheek. When still she didn’t shy away, he dared to ask the question he’d been dying to ever since she returned to Abysmal. “Why did you come back, Lacey?”

  “Because I belong here,” she answered forthrightly enough.

  “But you’d made your choice,” Will said with a lack of diplomacy he didn’t care might tick her off. He wanted to know. Or maybe he had to know. “And it was to be that man’s wife. It sure doesn’t sound like he stinted you anything you wanted or needed.”

  “But you know that old saw about money not being able to buy everything?” she said. “It’s true. Money and status and the security they bring aren’t enough to sustain any relationship. Not even love is enough. You’ve got to have trust in there, on both sides. There’s got to be the security of being able to trust in order to feel you can be vulnerable and not have that seen as a weakness to be used against you.”

  Her words resonated in him in a way that had nothing to do with her marriage and everything to do with his own. And pain him as it did, Will knew he had to be truthful.

  “Then it sounds to me like you did what you needed to do by leavin’ the marriage, Lacey,” he said. “If you weren’t getting what you needed. I’d say it’s to your credit that you weren’t willin’ to settle for less than you deserved.”

  Clear and green and intelligent, those eyes. He didn’t think he’d seen another pair like them in all his life.

  “On the contrary, Will,” she said, so softly he had to strain to hear her, “I still feel as if I’m at constant risk of giving my trust—and love—too easily.”

  Now that he had no clue what she meant, and he was about to ask her if perhaps the situation between her and Laslo was unfinished when something caught her attention over his shoulder. He heard the sound of an engine and knew Yancy was on his way up the track.

  “Guess I better get the rest of that chute together,” Lacey said.

  He realized he still held her hand and let it go. She stepped back, both literally and figuratively before stooping to retrieve her gloves and pull them on, looking for all the world as if she were a queen preparing to meet her public. He almost would have done anything to bring back the fire to her eyes.

  But before he could act at all, she was walking away, her slim shoulders squared and determined. And he had one thought: he was going to have to be careful and keep his little brother far, far away from her, because this was one woman whom it would be hard to meet the needs of—and hard to resist trying. And not just for Lee.

  Yes, Will thought, it wasn’t like him, but he’d very much made a serious tactical error.

  * * *

  LACEY STROLLED DOWN THE LONG, wide lane away from her parents’ home. Although evening had fallen an hour ago, it was still scorching hot outside, the wind as dry as ever.

  She’d had to get out of the house, though. Supper had been as silent an affair as always, at least from her mother’s side of the table. Her father could be counted on to keep up a steady run of chatter, but it was difficult to make the mood seem relaxed when it was obvious it wasn’t. Most of the time, Lacey could handle it, but tonight the tenseness radiating from her mother had simply gotten to her.

  No, she thought, she needed to be honest: it wasn’t Rachel who was getting to her. It was Will Proffitt.

  She couldn’t continue to work on the Double R much longer, not and keep from exhausting herself from the effort of maintaining her defenses against him. But he slipped past them so easily with his way of surprising her with his understanding.

  Oh, she still didn’t believe he could know entirely how she felt. Yet strangely, that didn’t seem to matter so much as his wanting to understand.

  What had happened to him that he might? Her father had alluded to some event a few Sundays ago, and Will himself had touched on it that first day she’d encountered him—touched on it, and immediately steered away.

  What demons did he hold in check? She could barely conceive of Iron Will Proffitt having any, much less that he wouldn’t have wrestled them into complete submission.

  A rustle came from one of the nearby holly bushes, then a soft, “Ow!”

  Lacey went ramrod straight, dread in every heartbeat. He wouldn’t have actually come here, would he?

  “Who’s there?” she called with more bravado than she felt. “I’ll have you know this is private property! I don’t care who you are, the sheriff’ll lock you up as soon as I give the order!”

  “No! I’ll come out. My daddy would kill me if I got ’rested!”

  A slight form rose from the bushes and stepped into the beam coming from a nearby streetlight.

  Lacey stared in amazement at the teenaged girl standing before her. She was dressed in the mode of every other teenaged girl in the Panhandle, meaning she wore a T-shirt, faded Wranglers, and scuffed roper boots. She had a Western hat on her head—and a duffel bag in her hand.

  She’s running away, Lacey thought with a flash of cognition. Or at least, that had been her prior intent. Right now, however, her gaze was locked like a magnet onto Lacey, without much sign of letting go.

  Lacey knew that look—one of fascination, reverence and hope. She’d encountered it a dozen t
imes in the past few weeks from girls aged five on up. Girls who’d never seen a real live Cinderella before—not only that, but a Cinderella who’d once been like them, from little bitty Abysmal, Texas. It made the fairy tale that much more real to them.

  Yes, Lacey thought, she had been one of these girls once, with shining dreams and hopes. Such dreams seemed to get dreamed a whole lot more often in towns like this.

  Her expectant look dimmed at Lacey’s pensive gaze.

  “You don’t know me, do you?” she said flatly. She ducked her head, fingering her hair back behind one shoulder. “O’course, I was just a kid when you left Abysmal. I know you, though. I can’t believe I’m actually standin’ here with America’s Cinderella!”

  For once, Lacey didn’t chafe at the nickname. It had been purely accidental that she had wandered out this way this evening. So what had the teenager hoped to find by coming to her house?

  And then there was that duffel bag.

  Lacey’s curiosity—and concern—were piqued. She couldn’t help but respond.

  Kindly, she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you...?”

  “Jenna. Jenna Barlow. And it’s okay, Lacey.” Confusion crossed her features. “It’s all right if I call you Lacey, isn’t it? Or Countess Lacey? I don’t want to be improper or the like.”

  “Lacey’s fine,” Lacey answered, trying not to wince. She started back up the lane again, indicating Jenna could join her. “I was just taking a walk. Ever had one of those times when you just had to get out of the house or go crazy?”

  “Have I ever!” Jenna said with feeling. Except Lacey could tell from the way the girl now stared at the mansion that she couldn’t imagine not wanting to live in such luxury—and was looking for Lacey’s secret on how to get there herself.

  “How old are you, Jenna?” she asked abruptly.

  “I’m seventeen. But I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks.”

  Eighteen! The age seemed eons ago. “And then?”

  The girl shot her a curious look. “That’s kinda why I came here tonight, sorta to get up the courage. I don’t want to stay here, that’s for sure.”

  So she’d been right. “Why not?” Lacey asked gently.

  “What would I do?” she said. “My cousin—Carla Hayes?—she lit out from here six months ago herself. She’s in Houston now, and she says there’re lots of opportunities for girls like us there. In fact, she’s got a boyfriend who works at one of the oil companies, and since he moved in and started helpin’ payin’ the rent, she’s been able to put a down payment on a brand-new car.”

  She said the last as if it were too fantastic to be true.

  “What about college, Jenna?” Lacey asked rather urgently. “Have you thought about college?”

  She slowed in her tracks as if coming up against a roadblock. “No. Daddy says I’ve gotta do somethin’. He says now that I’m grown it’s time I earned my keep, ’specially if I want to keep livin’ in his house. But I’d rather get away like you did and meet someone who could give me everything.”

  Lacey tried a quivering smile. “Look, Jenna. It’s not that easy. If Prince Charming was real, would I be back here in Abysmal, plain old Lacey McCoy again?”

  The girl pursed her mouth, then admitted, “I guess not. But what have I got to lose by tryin’? What’s to stay here for? I could leave tonight and never look back. Carla said even if I didn’t find a job and a place to live right away, her boyfriend said it was okay if I lived with them till I did.”

  Lacey swallowed back another protest. She was getting the sick feeling that there was nothing she could say which would detour Jenna from this road she was on.

  “Look, Jenna,” Lacey said, reaching out for her arm, drawing strength from the contact, “don’t leave Abysmal without talking to me again, all right?”

  Her features grew obstinate. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know what I might come up with for you to do here, but would you please give me some time to take a look around town and see?”

  Jenna’s face lit up. “You’d do that for me?”

  It was then Lacey realized something about the girl: she wasn’t used to having someone take a special interest in her and care about what she wanted.

  “Of course, I would—and more,” she answered warmly.

  Lacey glanced up and saw they’d reached the front door of her parents’ home. Both she and Jenna stood there for a moment, gazing up at it, the girl in rapt admiration, Lacey with mild revulsion.

  Its brick facade was stark and flat, its crenelated windows set at precise intervals both upstairs and down, making it look like a dormitory. Her father wasn’t so very far off the mark when he said it would make a better boardinghouse than a private home. Or one of those straitlaced, pinched-nosed English boarding schools where only the most sacred of subjects were studied, Latin and the like. Nothing useful, of course. Nothing that would send a young person out into the world with the kind of skills she could use to make her own way...

  Lacey stared at the cold, imposing fortress of a house as realization buffeted her like a blast of the hot, dry West Texas wind.

  “So what if,” she murmured as if in a trance, “what if we made it into a school? No...no, not a school—I’d need a teaching degree. But maybe a...a resource center. For girls.”

  “What?” Jenna asked.

  Lacey beamed at her, and the way the girl gazed back at her made her think she indeed looked like a candidate for Bedlam.

  “Jenna, what if there was a place here in town where girls in the surrounding area, girls as young as ten or eleven all the way up to your age, could come to broaden their horizons—explore different career options—and life choices.”

  Choices that would provide them with the kinds of dreams that bore real fruit by helping them to realize their potential as proud, independent, self-confident and capable young women. And any man who came along would have to play catch-up to meet them on equal ground.

  Lacey’s mind whirled, thoughts whipping about so fast she could scarce grasp them on the way by: her father could teach the girls home and auto repair; he’d adore it. Lee had mentioned to her recently he’d become somewhat of a whiz at navigating the Internet and its own world of possibilities. She herself would relish researching all sorts of topics for discussion on life choices. As for Mother—Lacey’s euphoria dipped. Her mother would be a hard sell, to put it mildly. And the home was still her parents’—not hers. Not only that, but starting a resource center would mean an outflow of money, not an inflow, especially since Lacey knew right now she wouldn’t charge any of the girls for coming.

  Which didn’t do much to solve the problem of how to make ends meet.

  And yet...even if it needed some of the kinks worked out, the idea was a good one, a worthy one. One Lacey could get behind with all her heart and make her own. Be her own self, and show that to not only these girls but to everyone else. And wasn’t that what she needed, more than anything else on earth?

  She didn’t know how it would all come about, but she needed to trust that the way to proceed would present itself along the way. But she must take that first step.

  “A resource center for girls?” Jenna asked, bringing Lacey back to front and center.

  “Yes! But I’d need help. Your help, Jenna, especially as someone the younger girls looked up to and would follow. And I’d pay you as an employee, too.”

  Jenna’s face was a study in suspicion, pride, doubt—and hope. Hope was definitely there, though.

  “Sure,” she said with a nonchalant shrug that didn’t fool Lacey a bit. “I guess I could help.”

  Lacey couldn’t stop herself; she caught Jenna in a spontaneous hug of her own uncontainable hope. She felt like Scarlett O’Hara must have at the moment when she laid her cheek against those green velvet drapes and realized i
t was within her power to save her home.

  The difference was, Lacey hoped to save something much more valuable, much more precious: the future for girls like Jenna.

  And maybe in the process, she would seize her own as well.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LEE AND HANK WERE HAVING a fine time of it.

  Coming into the living room, pitcher of lemonade in hand, Lacey found Lee apprising her father of the differences between a mouse and a touch pad, while Hank instructed the younger man on how to ground the outlets for the computers which would go in the room. She couldn’t help but see it as a sign of the cooperative spirit—and support—which would make her undertaking a success.

  She still had a lot of work in front of her. In the past week, she had mostly used her father and Lee to help rearrange furniture into more of a classroom setting, and was just now getting to modifying the rooms for their specific uses. Jenna had been a boon, too, with her boundless energy.

  Lacey had also contacted an antique dealer in Dallas who’d been more than willing to come and take a look at the pieces which would be sold, the money to be applied toward the computers and other equipment. She’d visited the library in Amarillo to check out books on starting a nonprofit organization, and had sent in her application to obtain status as one. She’d also gone to the Abysmal State Bank and gotten an application for start-up financing, with the house as collateral, to use until she’d had a chance to raise money through grants and donations, and to the city hall for a permit to run a business in a residential area. She hoped to hear back any day now on both.

  For then her resource center would be official. At the thought, Lacey found herself terrified and exhilarated at once. She was making a real dream come true.

  Of course, Mother had balked at first. But she’d had to admit in the end there wasn’t much to be gained by preserving this mausoleum as it was, even if the resource center didn’t succeed.

  But it would, Lacey vowed. It had to.

  “Who could use a glass of lemonade?” she asked.