Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  TEXAS LONESOME

  By Alice Duncan

  Texas Lonesome

  Copyright © 1996 by Alice Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration 1996 by Doreen Minuto

  All rights reserved.

  Published 1996 by Harper Paperbacks

  A division of HarperCollins Publishers

  Smashwords Edition September 3, 2009

  Visit aliceduncan.net

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  San Francisco, California, 1895

  “Dear Aunt Emily: I am in deep distress and know not what to do. I have a passionate Artistic Temperament and am in love with an actor. The object of my love is not just any actor, Aunt Emily, but plays Hamlet on the Stage. My mother says all Theatrical People are trash. She refuses to let me attend the Theatre with my friend Jill and says I must marry a banker. All I can do is weep. Oh, please, please, help me! I am Desperate! Signed, In Love With Hamlet.”

  Emily von Plotz glared at the letter clutched in her fingers and muttered, “Affected, sniveling dolt.”

  Before she could put pencil to paper and answer the correspondent with her own appropriately modified opinions, however, she found herself rudely jerked up from her park bench. Both letter and pencil went flying, and Emily had to grab hard at the leashes straining against her arm. Uncle Ludwig would never forgive her if she lost his dogs.

  Will Tate stared at the melee erupting in front of him. He squinted to be sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Shaking his head, he decided they hadn’t. Two of the most ridiculous-looking animals he’d ever seen in his entire life were trying to murder his dog.

  The ferocious duet were glossy, reddish-brown, and about as close to the ground as a mammal could get without slithering on its belly like a snake. They were doing their level best to put an end to poor Fred, who tried without much success to lift all four paws off the ground at the same time in an effort to elude them. The effect was comical, and Will wondered with some amusement if the minute warriors planned to chew their way up to a vital organ from Fred’s enormous feet.

  The little hellions were being barely kept in check by a slender woman who tugged with all her might at the leashes nominally tethering them. Will figured she must have come to Golden Gate Park on this perfect San Francisco summer morning in order to exercise the dogs. She had obviously been unprepared for their militant streak.

  “It’s a good thing Fred has a sense of humor,” he murmured as he urged Cyclone, his big bay gelding, closer to the action.

  He could hear the woman trying to control her wayward pets as he neared.

  “Gustav! Helga! Stop it right now. That dog could eat the both of you with one bite!”

  That was true, and Will acknowledged the woman’s honesty with a smile. Fred was an enormous, though amiable beast. The latter quality, while generally considered favorable, had apparently gone unappreciated by his present company.

  Will reined in Cyclone a few feet from the altercation and whistled for Fred. Then he slipped off the horse’s back and waited for his obedient dog to come to him.

  Fred took one last peek at the two frenzied hounds, and plodded meekly to Will, his tail wagging a happy greeting.

  “Good Boy, Fred. Sit down now, old fellow.” Will gripped him by the collar, then glanced at the woman.

  The poor thing was young—Will guessed her age to be somewhere near twenty—and she was a charmer. She had lots of honey-brown hair, a rosebud mouth, and eyes as blue as the sky above them. He almost whistled in appreciation of her perfect Gibson-girl figure. She was something and a half; no mistake. Will grinned in approval and pushed his hat back on his head.

  “‘Pears to me those two critters lack a certain sense of proportion, ma’am,” he said in a friendly drawl owing as much to his understanding of city women as it did to his southwestern roots. That lazy, sun-kissed accent got them every time.

  The woman blushed rosily and Will thought she looked pretty as a picture in her blue skirt and short jacket with its puffy sleeves, strapped around by those two crazy animals’ leashes, and with her cheeks as pink as a Texas sunset. Her straw hat had been knocked a little cockeyed in her struggle with the dogs, and it now sat at a jaunty angle on her upswept hair. Will’s smile broadened and he doffed his hat politely.

  “Oh,” she cried in obvious embarrassment. “They’re such absurd dogs. My aunt’s brother Ludwig brought them to her from Germany.”

  Her voice sounded at once proper and pretty. It caused something in Will to vibrate in appreciation. He plopped his hat back onto his head and gave her a slow nod, as though it all made sense to him now. “German, are they?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “These two are actually from Vienna, in Austria, I think.”

  “That explains their dispositions then, I reckon.”

  In spite of her embarrassment, the woman allowed a smile to peek out of her flushed face. To Will’s further delight, a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth.

  “I suppose it does,” she said. “I’m really sorry these idiots attacked your dog, mister.”

  “That’s all right, ma’am,” said Will. “Old Fred here’s a friendly cuss. And he’s got a right lively sense of humor, so I expect he’ll just go back home and tell his pals about it and they’ll all have a good laugh.”

  The woman gave him a full-bore smile. Then she stuck out a small hand, and said, “Well, I do appreciate your being so understanding, sir. My name is Emily von Plotz.”

  Her smile was like sunshine on a rainy day. Will doffed his Stetson once more.

  “Will Tate, Miss von Plotz. And it’s a real pleasure to meet you.” After shaking her hand and resettling his hat, Will hooked his thumbs into his back pockets and surveyed Emily von Plotz with a connoisseur’s eye. In order to keep her talking for a while, he said, “These critters always so happy to meet strangers, ma’am?”

  Emily smiled at Will’s deep drawl, gazed up into his suntanned face, and couldn’t suppress a small giggle. It surprised her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had uttered a spontaneous giggle. Her life had been rather trying of late.

  “They’re really awfully sweet dogs once you get to know them,” she said. “But Uncle Ludwig says they’re bred to be hunters. I guess they take their job in life seriously.”

  “Well, that’s more than a lot of human folks can say, I reckon.” Will eyed the two little dogs with a dubious frown. “Hunters, are they?”

  Emily watched him, intrigued. Mercy sakes, the man was handsome and so—so manly. She felt warm all of a sudden and wished she could fan herself.

  “Oh, yes,” she told him. “They’ve been bred to hunt small game, like rabbits and such. My uncle says they’ll even go after badgers.” She gave a firm nod to emphasize her words. “Uncle Ludwig says they’ve got a lot of heart.”

  Will seemed impressed. “Badgers are pretty rugged customers. No wonder you two think you’re tough.” Will squatted onto his haunches and held out a hand to the pair.

  The dog Emily had called “Gustav” immediately rolled himself onto his back. He looked ridiculous with his four tiny legs flapping in the air from both ends of his sausage-shaped body, but Will decided it would be prudent not to point out the fact to Emily.

  “Well, now, I guess y
ou’re a friendly cuss underneath all that bluster, aren’t you, Gustav, ol’ boy?” Will scritched Gustav’s chest with deft fingers.

  The dog named Helga backed up and began to yap hysterically. She bared her teeth and raised her hackles in a perfect fever of upset.

  Will chuckled.

  Emily sighed.

  “Gustav, you’re a complete embarrassment,” she told the male severely. “Helga, stop it right now.” She looked at Will sheepishly. “At least she tries to earn her keep.”

  “She’s a scrapper, all right,” acknowledged Will, peering up into Emily’s eyes.

  He got lost in her gaze for a moment until Helga intruded again. Edging ever so slowly nearer to Will’s lanky thigh, she started to sniff tentatively. Then, after one or two preliminary snuffles, her long snout began a noisy, businesslike inspection of his leg.

  Both Will and Emily let sighs of relief escape them.

  “Well, now, are you going to try to make up to me after all that hullabaloo?” he asked the dog.

  Helga snapped at Will when he ventured to stroke her head with a hand at least as long and brown as her nose. He withdrew his hand to the safety of Gustav’s belly in a hurry.

  “Helga! Stop that,” commanded Emily.

  The dog ignored her. Instead, she sniffed Will’s hand as it paid attention to an itchy spot on Gustav’s deep chest.

  “I think she likes you,” Emily said. Her voice held little conviction.

  Will grinned at her. Emily couldn’t help but notice he had a wonderful grin. His lovely hazel eyes crinkled up at the corners, and the creases on his tanned face deepened.

  A tingle of excitement surged through her and she found herself wishing she knew Will Tate. As she was forever telling her correspondents, however, Emily knew it was not a lady’s place to initiate social intimacies with a gentleman. She didn’t quite know what to do instead, so she just swallowed hard and smiled back at him.

  “What kind of dogs are these, Miss von Plotz? I’ve never seen their like before. Of course, I’m from Texas. We get mostly working breeds there.”

  At his mention of Texas, Emily felt a sudden thrill and then tried to tamp it down. Oh, don’t be silly, Emily von Plotz, she chided herself. He couldn’t be. That would be simply too much luck.

  Then she remembered Will had asked her a question but couldn’t recall what it was. She cleared her throat in embarrassment and felt her cheeks get warm.

  “I—I’m sorry, Mr. Tate. What did you just ask me?”

  Will chuckled. She was absolutely adorable. He wanted to scoop her up and make off with her, but he figured polite society would disapprove. “I asked you what kind of dogs these two are, Miss von Plotz.” He also decided Emily deserved a better last name than von Plotz, which sounded kind of ridiculous to him.

  “They’re dachshunds, Mr. Tate.” Then Emily hurried on before Will could speak again. “Did you say you were from Texas?”

  Will gave up on Gustav’s tummy and stood once more. He realized Emily only came up to his chin, and he liked that a lot. He liked the way she peered up at him with those big blue eyes of hers, too.

  “Yep,” he said. “Got me a real nice place near San Antone.” He didn’t lay his accent on this thick as a rule but he figured, since Emily seemed to like it, he’d oblige her.

  Emily did like it, although for a reason completely beyond Will’s ken.

  She couldn’t help but notice what a big man he was, though. And very appealing. He had just the tall, lanky, lean look about him that Emily so admired. And he had the prettiest, sun-streaked brown hair underneath his big Texas hat.

  “Are you—are you here in San Francisco on business, Mr. Tate?” she asked with what she hoped sounded merely like polite interest. What she wanted to do was grab him by the collar and shake him until he told her what she wanted to know.

  “Nope. I’m playin’. I’m here on a holiday. And San Francisco sure is different from Texas, Miss von Plotz, I can tell you that.”

  He seemed like such a sweet man. Emily tried to rein in her excitement. After all, the chances of him being the one she needed were very, very remote. Still, she’d never know for certain unless she asked.

  “Mr. Tate,” she began, and stopped, unsure exactly how to proceed. Then she decided just to blurt it out and be done with it.

  “Mr. Tate, are you ‘Texas Lonesome,’ by any chance?”

  Then she flushed a deep, hot crimson.

  “Texas lonesome?” Will’s brow crinkled. That was strange way to put it, he thought.

  He watched her curiously, taking note of her fervent expression. She sure seemed to want him to be “Texas lonesome,” whatever that meant. Then he grinned. Will Tate was nothing, if not obliging. “Well, Miss von Plotz, I guess you might just say I am.”

  Emily’s heart did a double somersault and began hammering like a woodpecker after a grub. “Oh, Mr. Tate,” she cried. She put a small hand on his sleeve and looked up at him earnestly. “I’m ‘Aunt Emily!’”

  Will’s nimble brain assimilated that astonishing piece of information in only a very few seconds. When it did, his mouth dropped open.

  “You? You’re Aunt Emily?”

  The huge grin following his exclamation nearly caused Emily’s palpitating heart to turn a hand spring. She could only nod. Lord above, the man was handsome. She’d had no idea; would never have suspected, in fact.

  Will couldn’t believe it for a second. Why, he and his pal Thomas Crandall had spent this very morning in stitches over Aunt Emily’s advice-to-the-lovelorn-and-other-fools-who-can’t-take-care-of-themselves column in the San Francisco Call. Will found it hard to believe people actually wrote the hogwash he’d seen printed in the newspaper. Thomas had almost spit his coffee all over his breakfast eggs when Will read some of the letters to him.

  “Why, ma’am,” he told her honestly, “I just purely can’t believe it. I pictured Aunt Emily as a middle-aged spinster lady. And hog-fat, to boot.”

  Emily wasn’t entirely sure she appreciated his disclosure. But still, if this man was “Texas Lonesome,” it wouldn’t do for her to get huffy at him. Too many intriguing thoughts were beginning to spin about in her mind for her to risk antagonizing him.

  She smiled up at him, sweet as honey on a buttermilk biscuit. “No, Mr. Tate, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s not. She’s me.”

  Will shook his head slowly. “Oh, don’t be sorry, Miss von Plotz. I’m surely not disappointed.”

  Emily’s smile faded and was replaced by an expression of earnest good will. “And, Mr. Tate, if you truly desire assistance in your endeavor, I can help you. I’m just certain I can. In truth, nothing would give me more pleasure than to help ‘Texas Lonesome’ in this time of need.”

  By now, Will had come to the conclusion that this “Texas Lonesome” character must be one of Aunt Emily’s lovelorn correspondents. And, while it was true Will had adopted a scruple or two since he’d grown up and made his way in the world, it was also true he was quite taken with this little lady. He guessed he wouldn’t mind playing fast and loose with honesty for a while. At least for long enough to get to know Miss Emily von Plotz better, especially since she seemed so eager to help him out of whatever fix he was in.

  He decided it might behoove him to play the bumpkin better, so he tugged his hat from his head and clutched it in front of him to show off his two big, calloused, country hands. “Why, ma’am, I’d just purely appreciate it if you would help me,” he said in his best Texas drawl.

  Emily’s eyes fairly shone. Her expression of relief and happiness almost overwhelmed him. He’d never seen anything quite like little Miss Emily von Plotz in all his born days, in spite of her silly name.

  “Oh, Mr. Tate, I’d just love to help you.” Emily meant that in all sincerity.

  “Well, ma’am, I’d be honored if you would.”

  He hoped she’d offer a suggestion as to how she planned to go about it pretty soon, since he had no idea what this “Texas Lonesome”
fellow had written to her. It was always possible she might ask a question about his false persona he wouldn’t be able to answer, and then where would he be? Alone in Golden Gate Park without her, he reckoned. The thought held little appeal.

  Emily thought fast. Will Tate seemed to be an honest and upright fellow. Still, she didn’t know him at all, and she certainly didn’t want to put herself into any compromising situations—yet. That might come later, after she determined for sure he was truly honorable. All at once, she thought of brilliant solution to her dilemma.

  “Mr. Tate,” she said briskly, “I believe we can begin your lessons as soon as tomorrow morning if you’d like to meet me in the park again.”

  Just in case he might wonder at—or, worse, object to—a young lady wandering at will and unaccompanied in a public park, she added, “I live nearby, Mr. Tate, and Golden Gate Park is such a well-traveled place. Nobody could possibly object to our meeting here.”

  It sounded a little weak to her, so she smiled what she hoped was an alluring smile when she added, “I promise to leave Gustav and Helga at home.”

  Will was lured. In truth, it never entered his head to think it odd that Emily should be out and about all by herself with no chaperone to watch over her. “Why, that sounds just fine to me, ma’am. I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Good. Will nine o’clock be a good time for you?”

  Although he had planned to spend a rip-roaring evening in a house of ill repute, gambling and sporting, and not return home until the wee hours of the morning, Will promptly agreed.

  “That will be just perfect, ma’am.”

  Emily was pleased. “Well, then, Mr. Tate, until tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow, Miss Von Plotz.”

  They shook hands on it. Then Emily had to awaken Gustav before she could walk home. Her mind was racing, and she dashed out of Golden Gate Park and practically skipped the few blocks to her aunt’s mansion on Hayes Street.