Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  “You—you didn’t inherit—I mean—Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Tate. Here I am, supposed to be teaching you proper manners, and I very nearly asked you a terribly impolite, personal question.”

  She could feel her cheeks get hot and could have kicked herself for her slip. All at once, though, she found herself monumentally curious about Will’s money. She had just sort of assumed he’d grown up in Texas and carried on with the family ranching business, although she wasn’t altogether sure how she’d come to the conclusion. Now, however, it seemed her assumptions were completely wrong.

  “Miss Emily, ma’am, you couldn’t ask me a question I’d think was impolite.” That was the truth. “And, no, I didn’t inherit anything, ‘cept the urge to wander a bit. No. I made my own money, fair and square, and I built me my house in San Antone just last year. Not all of the furniture’s even been delivered yet. My house agent wired me about the table. That’s why I figgered to buy me some linens.”

  Emily wished she could make up for her lapse into curiosity. It was, of course, certainly understandable that a young lady might express an interest in the financial circumstances of the young man she intended to marry. Generally, however, the young man in question was aware of his status as potential bridegroom before the probing began. Emily was annoyed at herself for her slip.

  Her tone was businesslike when she spoke again. “Well, Mr. Tate, with such a grand new home, I’m sure you will want to furnish it tastefully.”

  The awful thought that he was one of those new-rich cowboys who gloried in garish displays of wealth crossed her mind only to be discarded almost immediately. Even though Will Tate seemed on occasion to be shy and unlettered, he certainly didn’t appear to flash his wealth around. What’s more, he dressed with impeccable taste. Emily was very grateful for that. She would have married him in any case, but the thought of being wed to a loud, boorish, rambunctious man did not appeal to her. In fact, it went flat up against her highly polished sense of propriety, gleaned from her tastefully impoverished aunt and everything she read in the high-toned fashion journals she lapped up like a kitten laps cream.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Emily. I want it to be tasteful, all right.” Will nodded solemnly. What he actually wanted to do was laugh. She’d looked really scared there for a minute, as though she expected him to select crimson velvet and gold for his dining room table. The very thought made him shudder.

  “Well, Mr. Tate. Here is a lovely display of Irish linen. Irish and Belgian linens are supposed to be the best kinds,” she told him in a confidential aside.

  After a good deal of discussion, they decided Will’s new table would look splendid under a covering of embroidered white linen. And, just in case he were to hold two elaborate dinner parties in a row—a scenario Will proposed with an innocent, wide-eyed stare his Uncle Mel would have applauded—he asked Emily to choose a second cloth. He was pleased as punch when she selected a beautiful creamy French lace, tatted by nuns in some nameless convent in Rouen, over a plain linen cloth.

  Her wistful expression did not escape his notice. Nor did her shock when the haughty salesman told them the accumulated price of the items they had selected. He feared for a dreadful moment she might faint, but she just clutched spasmodically at her tiny handbag and tried to stifle her outrage. He could almost see her protest forming, and it both amused and pleased him.

  So his little Emily, even if she was trying to snag a rich husband, was not a spendthrift. The knowledge nestled in his heart and made him happy.

  She still looked a trifle peaked when they left the linen department, and her little fingers dug into his arm like claws “Thank you very much, Miss Emily. I’m right pleased with those tablecloths. I can’t wait to hold a real big shindig when I get home.”

  Since she was still reeling from the knowledge that she had just caused this dear man to spend almost a hundred and fifty of his hard-earned dollars, Emily found it difficult to speak at first. When she could at last form coherent words, they came out in sort of a croak.

  “I had no idea they would be so expensive, Mr. Tate.”

  Will smiled down at her with genuine pleasure and did risk a small pat of her tiny hand.

  “It don’t matter none, ma’am. I got lots of money.”

  How nice, Emily thought. How nice it would be to be able to spend a hundred and fifty dollars on table linens and not even blink.

  She didn’t dare answer him for fear she would croak again.

  “Now I need to get me some chinaware, ma’am. Do you know whereabouts in this store I could do that?”

  Emily took a deep breath. That was one thing she could do, she thought. She could at least save him money on china.

  “Yes, Mr. Tate. I believe I do know where you can get china for your new home.”

  “The price don’t matter, ma’am. I got lots of money.”

  Emily gave him a very small smile. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Tate. You’re truly a fortunate man. But I don’t think you really need to spend all of your money on china, now do you?”

  Will wanted to hug her. “No, ma’am, I don’t guess I got to do that.”

  “Then perhaps you would like to come with me to Chinatown. I know of a few places there where one can purchase wonderful crockery at a bargain.”

  “I’d like that just fine, ma’am.”

  And he did. They spent a delightful couple of hours in Chinatown. Will was impressed not only with Emily’s taste, but with her ability to bargain. He’d never known a woman with a better eye for quality or a better sense of when and how much to haggle.

  Emily herself was a little worried lest her shrewd tongue give Will too sharp a picture of her nature. But she couldn’t bear the thought that he might be taken advantage of by anyone but she. So she talked Mr. Woo down from his first outrageous suggestion to a mere fraction thereof. Then she made the merchant throw in a serving platter and a teapot for good measure. When she was through, she looked up at Will rather bashfully.

  “You probably think I’m an awful shrew, Mr. Tate,” came her mournful little whisper, as Mr. Woo shuffled to the back of his shop, still grumbling, to pack up Will’s purchases.

  “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

  The truth of the matter was that Will had seldom been so impressed. Emily had just made as careful a bargain as any he had seen, and he had seen the best. He honestly doubted if even his Uncle Mel could have done better. Of course, Mel didn’t do too many things honestly.

  Yet Emily had never once shed her dignity, raised her voice, or been anything less than ladylike. She hadn’t gone all prim and prissy, either, a feat Will appreciated almost more than her skill at haggling. It was a fine line Miss Emily had trod, and she had done it with skill and consummate grace. Will was, in fact, more than impressed. He was very nearly in awe.

  “It’s just,” Emily hastened to explain, “that I can’t bear to see you spend more of your hard-earned money than you need to. And the sad truth is that many San Francisco merchants will take advantage of a visitor to our city.”

  It sounded to Will as though she were ashamed to admit to the flaw in her city’s merchant population. He stifled his grin.

  “Well, ma’am, I suspect it’s like that all over the world. You have to watch out for yourself no matter where you are, or people will try to cheat you.”

  Will’s Uncle Mel had taught him that, although in Mel’s case he was working from the opposite direction. Mel had at the time been teaching Will the best ways to take advantage of his fellow man, not ways in which to protect himself. Will had known how to protect himself by the time he was four or five.

  “I guess that’s so.” Emily’s sigh was from the heart. “I wish it wasn’t, though.”

  A phenomenal rush of tenderness nearly overwhelmed Will at her wistful words. The image of Clarence Pickering hit his mind’s eye like a fist, and he had a sudden urge to murder the man who was causing his little Emily such distress.

  After their business with Mr. Woo had been accomplished,
Will walked Emily back to her aunt’s house. He didn’t want to let her leave his company yet, but Emily said she needed to write her column.

  “Well, ma’am, I surely do appreciate your help today.”

  As they stood on the walkway outside the Schindler residence, Emily discovered an amazing reluctance to leave Will’s side to go indoors. She had no idea how very plainly her vivid features captured her emotions.

  Will read her reluctance with a soaring heart. God damn, she cared about him. It wasn’t just because she thought he was “Texas Lonesome.” The knowledge fostered within him a conflagration of emotions so strong, it made breathing difficult.

  “Will you meet me again tomorrow, Miss Emily?” he managed to ask at last in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

  “Why certainly, Mr. Tate. I’d be delighted. We can review your lessons. And I’d be very happy to help you shop for anything else you might need. I—I enjoyed your shopping spree today.” She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think her small confession would give her away.

  “So did I, ma’am. So did I.”

  Then he kissed her hand before they parted. Emily was utterly charmed. She pressed her hand to her heart as she climbed the staircase to her room.

  Will fairly skipped back to Nob Hill on a cloud of happiness. He realized with a start that he’d never had such a good time with a woman in his life—and they hadn’t even gotten near a bed.

  Astonishing. It was absolutely astonishing.

  Chapter 6

  “Dear Miss Aunt Emily: You was right. I think I found the female I aim to marry. She is perfect and I love her. Thank you for all your help. Thank you also for not making fun when I spelled etiquette wrong. You are nice. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

  “My Dear Texas Lonesome: Your letter made my heart sing. I dearly hope you are right and that this lady is the bride for you. I am certain she returns your regard. Affectionately, Aunt Emily. P.S. Please know that I will never, ever disparage a gentleman who is earnest in his efforts to better himself.”

  # # #

  The following morning Will spotted Emily walking toward him between the herbaceous borders lining the raked paths of Golden Gate Park, beautiful as an angel in soft green.

  Emily decided the special care she had taken with her toilette this morning had been worthwhile when she saw the expression of adoration in her quarry’s eyes. She did not begrudge him the few hours of lost sleep required to retrim her old green calico with new ribbons, or to reset the sleeves with an added length of solid, cream-colored cotton to accomplish a modern sporty look.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tate. I trust you had a pleasant evening.” She found it telling that he kept her hand in his for several moments longer than was absolutely necessary. It was working. Her sinful scheme was working. Even his letter said so.

  “Very pleasant, ma’am,” Will managed to say. “And how about you? Was your evening pleasant?”

  He didn’t fail to notice her expression sour for a second before it resumed its studied cheerfulness.

  Emily’s recollection of her evening was not at all pleasant, although she didn’t intend to tell Will so. Clarence Pickering had once again paid a call, and the man was becoming more obnoxious by the hour. He had apparently decided she would soon realize she had no other choice than to succumb to his scandalous advances, and his insinuations became more pointed as each day passed.

  She recovered her composure in a hurry, however, and did not realize Will had caught her eloquent expression. “My evening was quite nice, Mr. Tate. Thank you.”

  Will didn’t believe it for a second, and he wanted to get to the root of her distress. And once he discovered what or who it was, wanted to murder it. With his bare hands.

  “Did that Mr. Pickering feller visit you again, Miss Emily?” “Why yes, he did, Mr. Tate. As my aunt’s financial advisor, I’m afraid—I mean, Mr. Pickering visits us often.” There. That was noncommittal enough.

  It was also too late. The sudden, overpowering urge Will had to strangle Clarence Pickering made his fingers curl in anticipation. He was obliged to wage a mighty struggle with his emotions before he could form his next question without bellowing.

  “Well, ma’am, I reckon it’s not polite of me to say so, but I didn’t cotton much to that Pickering feller.” Of all the falsehoods Will had uttered in his colorful life, that one was the falsest. In reality, he hated Pickering’s black soul with a loathing greater than any he had ever experienced.

  He didn’t suppose his prevarication mattered, though, when he caught Emily’s startled but grateful smile.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Tate. You’re not being impolite. You are merely demonstrating good sense. I think Mr. Pickering is—is simply awful.”

  Her flush of embarrassment was just exactly what Will needed. All at once he decided he wasn’t going to be denied a second time.

  “Miss Emily, I’d take it as a pure insult if you said you wouldn’t go to a fancy restaurant with me if I asked you now, after all the manners you taught me at your place the night before last. And I know you don’t mean to insult me. So I’m askin’ you again, ma’am. Will you allow me to escort you to the Palace for dinner tonight?”

  Emily hesitated for only a second before a wild, reckless feeling with which she was completely unfamiliar nearly swamped her. She threw caution to the four winds. So what if she was a single lady and he was a single gentleman? So what if his accompanying her to the Palace would be considered scandalous by San Francisco’s stuffy upper crust? What did she have to do with those crusty, boring people anyway?

  With a radiant smile, she said, “Why, Mr. Tate, I think dining with you at the Palace would be simply delightful.”

  She did, too. In fact, Emily realized all of a sudden, her time spent in company with Will Tate had become the most precious hours of her day. She wondered how on earth it had happened so quickly. Was this love? Oh, dear Lord. Emily quickly set the question aside to ponder alone and in private. Then she cleared her throat and began the day’s lessons.

  Since they were going to visit the Palace for dinner, those lessons centered around table manners. It occurred to Emily that Will Tate was a particularly apt student. More than once, he drifted out of his rustic Texas accent, too. He also seemed genuinely interested in many different subjects, a circumstance Emily appreciated since, if her devious plan worked, she would be spending a good deal more time with him. It was pleasant to know they would have more to talk about than cows when she was ensconced in the wilds of Texas as his bride.

  Then it occurred to her that, so far, he hadn’t once even mentioned cows. She wondered what exactly Will Tate did in Texas. All he had told her was that he had a “spread,” whatever that was.

  When Will suggested a walk around the park, Emily accepted readily. They strolled along in amicable companionship for several minutes, enjoying the fine weather and each other, neither one speaking and neither one bothered by the quiet that settled like a fine, delectable mist upon them.

  Finally, Emily asked, “Can you tell me a little bit about Texas, Mr. Tate? It sounds so—so wild and rugged to me. I’ve always lived here in the city, except for every now and again when we go to the woods for a small holiday. We haven’t done that for a long time, I’m afraid.” There was no more money in the till for holiday trips, but she didn’t tell Will so. She missed those rural trips.

  Although she hadn’t intended to, she sounded wistful, and Will found himself wishing he could take her to the woods right now to make up for her family’s oversight. His wish brought, hard on its heels, the pleasant notion that if he did carry her off to the woods, he could teach her a couple lessons of his own. He decided he’d better not pursue that line of thought if he expected to walk much further.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, ma’am, Texas is a big place. Some parts of it is pretty much desert. Up where I live, near San Antone, it’s greener than some of the other parts. My place is outside the city, by a river, and it’s pretty as anything.”


  Well, this was encouraging news indeed. If she had to leave San Francisco, Emily was glad to know she’d be living in a pretty place.

  “Is it—is it wild there, Mr. Tate?”

  Emily wasn’t at all sure how she felt about wildness. On the one hand, she deplored violence. On the other hand, she’d led a subdued existence, living as she did with her elderly aunt and uncle. She wouldn’t mind a little excitement; indeed, sometimes she almost craved it. She most particularly didn’t think she’d mind excitement if Will Tate would be there to protect her.

  Will smiled down at her. She had put her hand on his arm, and he now covered her hand with his. He tried to look innocent when Emily’s startled gaze met his. He didn’t press his luck, but dropped his hand at once and with regret.

  “It ain’t what I’d call wild, ma’am. San Antonio’s no more wild than San Francisco, I suppose. There’s rough elements there, just like there’s rough elements here. It’s just that here, most of the rough customers spend their time around the wharf. In Texas, we get rough cowboys and bandits and such.

  “Why, Miss Emily, we’re downright almost civilized in Texas these days. There ain’t too many desperadoes in those parts any longer. Leastways not in Texas, as long as you stay away from the borderlands. Most of the desperate characters have run to the territories—New Mexico and Arizona. I expect them places is still pretty rugged.”

  “I see.” Emily felt vaguely disappointed and wasn’t sure why. “I’ve always sort of wanted to see a real desperado,” she admitted at last. Then she blushed at her shocking disclosure.

  Will only laughed. He considered telling her if she wanted to see a real desperate character, she had to look no further than her aunt’s financial adviser, but decided he’d better not.