Catching Her Cowboy Daddy

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Catching Her Cowboy Daddy Page 9

by Rayanna Jamison


  She finally eased slowly off his lap, being careful not to put undue pressure on his leg, and sat ever so gingerly on the bed beside him.

  “I won!” she chirped gleefully. “Now, you talk.”

  “Franny, please. Just leave it be.”

  She frowned for a minute considering, before her face set in determination. “Hell no!” she declared. “I let you bust my ass from tailbone down to kneecap, and you gave in first, not me.”

  “Only because you are a stubborn little shit.”

  “Yes, I am,” she agreed. “Now talk.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Francesca, I’m tired, and sore, and I haven’t had a good night's sleep in days. For god sake I’m begging you, just let it be. It can’t be changed, so talking it to death is literally pointless.”

  He was horrified to see her lower lip tremble, and big crocodile tears slide down her cheeks. “I just need to know what I did wrong, that’s so bad we can’t fix it,” she cried. “I’m so confused. I’m sorry I called you Daddy, it was just a slip of the tongue. I’m sorry I’m so genuinely fucked up that getting my ass beat turns me on, I’m sorry that...”

  “Fuck,” Finley growled, grabbing her and pulling her as close to him as he could without actually placing her on his lap. “For the last time, Francesca- it’s nothing you did. Nothing. You could call me Daddy all day every day, and it wouldn’t phase me for a second. Shit, if things were different, I’d kind of like it.”

  She giggled, and leaned in closer, resting her hand on his thigh. “Okay, Daddy,” she whispered playfully.

  He removed her hand, fighting the urge to hold it in his own, and placed it back in her own lap. “I said if things were different.”

  “What things?” She was nearly yelling again. “It’s because I said it turned me on, isn’t it? You think there’s no way it could ever possibly actually help me, if I like it, but you’re wrong!” she insisted. “Dead wrong.”

  “Franny, it isn’t that. Trust me when I say I understand the powers of a good spanking on a naughty girl’s behind.”

  “What the fuck is it then? Is it just that I’m not your type? What?”

  “It’s Joe!” he cried, running his hands over his face in frustration.

  Francesca stopped short. “What in the world could my father possibly have to do with you and me? Did he say something to you? I’ll kill him.” Her eyes were full of fire, and he thought he might actually see steam rising out the top of her head.

  “No. Joe didn’t say anything. To my knowledge, he knows nothing of it beyond those first two times.”

  “Finley, you aren’t making any fucking sense,” she fumed.

  “He...he wouldn’t approve, and Franny, you may not understand this, but he is the closest thing to family I’ve got and has been for a long time. I don’t...I can't,” Finley trailed off, unsure of how to put his hesitations into words, without making her blow a gasket.

  “Wait, Finley Silas Tucker, are you saying- are you actually saying that the only reason you’re not interested in me is because you’re afraid of what my father would think?” She had risen from the bed, and was pacing the floor in front of him. “That is preposterous. It’s complete and utter horseshit. For one thing, my father doesn’t get a say in who I date or...choose to be intimate with. For another, you are a million times better than some of the men I have dated in Oregon, and he didn’t have a say in those ones, so I fail to see why this would be any different. And lastly, Finley Tucker, I think you are sorely mistaken on his opinion of you. Sorely mistaken.”

  “Franny, it’s okay. If you were my daughter, I would want better for you too.”

  “Better? Better than what? Better than someone who sees past all my fuck ups and insecurities, and cares for me the way I am? Better than someone who is willing to step up and say, you’re better than all this? Better than someone who genuinely cares that I am squandering my life, enough to do something about it, which is, I might add, more than I can even say for him? Finley, believe me when I say, there is no one better.” She finally finished her impassioned speech and came to a stop in front of him, resting her hands on either side of his face. “No one”

  “Francesca,” he sighed deeply, “you’re an Upton, and I am a Tucker. We are from two different worlds. You’re caviar and I’m ground liver. You’re an apple...and I’m just a worm.”

  “Arrrghh!” Francesca stomped her feet, her hands curled in fists at her sides. “Finley! Enough. You want to play this game? Fine! You’re the mayor, and I’m a part- time music teacher who lives in a run-down studio apartment next to drunks and teenage mothers. If anyone is too good for anyone else, you are too good for me!”

  Finley sighed. His eyes were growing heavy and he was bone-weary. “Franny, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you say can change the way I feel. And even if it could, it’s not like I could do anything with a broken leg and two cracked ribs anyway.”

  “Weeellll, maybe not all things, but it sure didn’t keep you from administering a good spanking,” she said with a giggle and a sigh. “Okay, I’ll let it go for now, but I just want to say one thing. I get that my father’s opinion is important to you and I even kind of get why. But, when it comes to the subject of you and I, I think you are dead wrong about what that opinion would actually be, and I can prove it, if you’ll just let me tell you a story.”

  A story? That wasn’t what he had been expecting her to say at all. He didn’t see how a story could solve anything, but at least she had given up arguing. A story he could do. A story sounded nice even, sort of relaxing.

  He closed his eyes, and scooted back on the bed, making sure his casted leg was all the way up before laying down.

  “Okay, Franny,” he relented. “Tell me a story.”

  *****

  Francesca stayed sitting, but turned her body so that she was facing him once again, and took a deep breath. She hoped she could remember all the details, and tell the story just right. There was a lot riding on this one story.

  “This is the story of my parents, but for the sake of fluidity, from this point on, I’m going to refer to them by their names, so it’s less tedious and confusing.”

  Finn gave a slight nod. His eyes were open ever so slightly, and his breaths were low and even.

  “Now you might know,” she began softly, “that Priscilla grew up in the deep south, on a plantation in Georgia and was one of three daughters of a wealthy plantation owner. And even though it was the late seventies, her father viewed his daughters’ marriages as business transactions. They weren’t arranged marriages, per say, but growing up, Priscilla had always been pushed in the direction of a certain young man, named Carter Wellington. Carter’s father owned one of the biggest and most prominent banks in the south, and the families were good friends. The only dates Priscilla had ever been on were with him, and she liked him well enough to think that he would make a fine husband and that she would have a good life. Carter was several years older than her, and attending college a few hours away, but he managed to come home whenever possible. He took her to her prom, and escorted her to her cotillion. They dated sporadically from the time she was about fifteen on.” Francesca sighed, and looked over to make sure that Finley was listening, as this part would be the most important for him to hear. When she stopped, he opened his eyes and looked at her questioningly, and that was all the encouragement she needed to continue.

  “I’m going to pause the story right there for a minute, because before you hear what happened next, you need to know the history of Joseph Earl Upton.”

  Finley cracked his eyes open, leaned up ever so slightly and chuckled. “Earl?”

  “Yes. Earl. Now shush, and listen.”

  “Upton sure sounds like an uppity well- to -do name, and I suppose it is around these parts, but four decades ago, in east Texas, it was a different story entirely. Joseph was the son of a store clerk, and a barfly, and he was raised in a trailer park on the outskirts of town. Now, he always says he got lucky,
because his momma was smart, and his daddy wasn’t a mean drunk, and he didn’t drink up all their money, but even if those things are true, that’s not much of a leg up in life is it?” She heard Finley’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t say anything, so she kept going. “Now Joe will always tell you, that he is the spitting image of his Pa, and his father's son in most areas, but that his mama managed to instill in him a strong work ethic. He got a job working alongside her at the shop when he was only twelve, and by the time he was sixteen, he had caught the favor of a local rancher who happened to be a regular customer. Now, I don’t remember the circumstances exactly that led up to it, but somehow, one summer, the rancher needed help in a bad way. And he was in the market watching Joe fling these huge bags of flour and sugar over his shoulder like they were nothing, so he thought, that’s exactly what I need. So he offered Joe a job, paying him much more than Joe had been earning at the market. Now, mind you, Joe had never been on a ranch a day in his life, and it was hard work, much harder than the market. But, the old rancher took Joe under his wing and taught him everything there was to know about horses, cattle and crops, and Joe took to it like a fish to water. He loved everything about ranching; he loved the animals, being outdoors, and he loved the camaraderie between the ranch hands. From that point on, owning a ranch was his main goal in life, and he worked tirelessly for it, saving up every cent he could, working whenever he could, and learning everything he could. He turned in his apron at the market and went to work for the rancher full time, or as full time as one could be while still in high school. Now, the summer he graduated, his aunt, his momma’s twin fell ill with cancer, and well, that part of the story doesn't have a happy ending, but anyway, he didn’t want his momma to go up there alone, so he took a few weeks off, and went with her to Georgia. And here’s where the story gets interesting. Joe spent as much time as he could being there for his momma and her sister; he cooked for them, ran errands, did chores around the house, and helped with the younger children. But, he also tried to give them their time alone whenever possible. Being a man’s man, Joe was never too good with emotions or empathy, so when things began to get worse, and tensions began to get high, he made himself scarce. So one day, towards the end of his stay, he’s sitting in the cafe when he overhears the owners arguing about an event they were supposed to be serving at the following evening. He's not really sure on the details of the fight, but the gist of it was- a lot of guests and very few servers. So Joe, always thinking about his future ranch, walks up to them, and offers to help. Shocked by the gesture, they accepted, and hooked him up with a spare uniform, and gave him instructions to a party out on a plantation the following evening.”

  Francesca stopped the story, and checked on Finn once more. She was just finally getting to the good part, and she would hate if he had unbeknownst to her fallen asleep before she got there. His eyes, were wide open, and he had propped an extra pillow behind his head to pull himself into a more upright position.

  He caught her stare, and winked back at her. “This is fascinating, Franny go on.”

  “Okay, anyway, back to Priscilla, she was a year younger than Joe, so she was seventeen and about to enter her senior year of high school. Carter was still in college, but his trips back home were getting more frequent as were their dates. There was talk that shortly after graduation, Carter would propose. There was no question that Priscilla would accept. But, I digress. For whatever reason, Carter happened to be out of town the weekend of Priscilla’s younger sister, Adaline’s cotillion. That was the party that Joe had agreed to serve at. By his own description, Joe had never been to such a fancy, uppity party, and he was more than a little out of his element that night. Even the most skilled of servers were having trouble weaving through the crowds of people and dancers, while carrying trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. So, anyways, as it was a family event, Priscilla was there, wearing a beautiful yellow gown, with her hair done up in an updo with ringlets, and dancing with her cousin Avery. According to Joe, they were doing some stuffy uppity dance where they held hands and danced in weird circles. Anyway, he tried to avoid them, but Avery wasn’t the best dancer to begin with, and there were many couples out on the dance floor, so he was heading to a table across the room, after having his tray refilled, and the song changed, and the direction of the dancers changed, and bam! they slammed right into him, Priscilla and Avery- I mean. Now, cousin Avery, he was an arrogant sort, so he yelled at Joe “Watch where you’re going!” even though Joe was already apologizing profusely and down on the floor scrambling to pick up the mess before anybody got hurt. Now Mama, I mean, Priscilla, she was much kinder than her cousin, and she says, she was very intrigued by the stranger’s accent, so she immediately got down on the floor and started helping him. And while she helped, she used her good southern manners to chat him up a bit, small talk, where are you from, and that sort of thing.”

  At this point, Francesca was even growing tired, and parched from talking so much, so she stopped and took a couple of breaths. The story was taking much longer than she remembered in the retelling, but she wanted to make sure Finley got every detail.

  “Now, even though Joe was a very handsome young man, he wasn’t too accustomed to talking to women- he was much more comfortable around cattle, horses, and cowboys. To hear him tell it, he stumbled his way through the chatter, and to this day has no idea what either of them said. But he was entranced by the kind, young woman in the yellow dress, and by the time the mess was all cleaned up, he knew he wanted to marry her. But, she was who she was and he was who he was. It gave him pause, and he thought it was the longest of longshots he had ever come up against in his life, but Joe Upton was a man who went after what he wanted. So, as he stood he said to her, “Ma’am, I have surely enjoyed your company this evening, and it would be my greatest pleasure if you would accompany me on a picnic by the lake tomorrow.” Joe says he had never in his life been as scared as he was in that moment. The strangest look passed over her face, and he thought for sure she was going to laugh at him. But, she agreed, and the next day she met him at the lake. Priscilla feigned a headache after church and snuck away early from the monthly social, but instead of going home, she snuck down to the lake and had a picnic with Joe. They talked and talked for hours. He told her about ranching, and she told him about life in the south, and about Carter Wellington. And when they were done, they packed up the picnic, and Priscilla went home and Joe went back to his aunt’s. A few days later, his aunt passed away, and a few days after the funeral, he left Georgia, only seeing Priscilla once more during that whole time, and only very briefly. What she didn’t know was that he had taken down her address, and he began sending her letters. A new letter arrived every week like clockwork. And, she began to write him back. Joe knew the clock was ticking, he knew this Carter fellow had his eye on her, and he knew that he needed to move quickly. So he got back to Texas and got to work. He scraped together every cent he had saved, and he went down to the bank, and got a loan to purchase this lovely little piece of farmland he had found a few hours away. And every chance he got, he would drive several hours each way to work on it. There was a small home on the property, two barns, a small pasture, and a field for crops. Joe couldn’t afford to hire any help, but he managed okay on his own, because he was determined that this would be his and Priscilla’s first home. So he cleaned, and he painted, he planted, and he built fences, and he continued to save. He attended auctions for livestock, and he started with one cow, one horse, and a coop full of chickens. He had just under a year to get everything ready. In May, Priscilla would graduate, and in June she would turn eighteen, and everyone knew, Carter would propose.

  Priscilla had no idea that any of this was happening. Joe never mentioned it in any of his letters. He never acted overly romantic, he just talked to her in that straightforward way of his, about his momma, and the weather and life on the ranch. But his letters were the highlight of her week, so she was very sad, when her birthday came
around, and there was no letter in the mail box from him. Her parents had planned a big party, out at the lake with all of her friends and family. They had wanted a big formal party at the plantation, but it was her birthday, so she had won out. She went down early, as she had told him she would and sat at a worn down picnic table at the lake that was her favorite thinking spot. But when she got there, she found a note on the table addressed to her, with a yellow rose. She recognized Joe’s handwriting but the envelope had no postmark or address, and was blank except for her name. She felt quite puzzled by it, and more than a little excited. In the letter, Joe finally was honest about his feelings for her. It was the most difficult letter he had ever written, because Joe wasn’t much one for talking about his feelings. But he did. He also told her of the plans he had been making, and the things he had done, and his hopes for their future together. And there were photos. Dozens of them, of the horse, and the cow, and the chickens. There were photos of every room in the house, and the rosebushes he had planted just for her, and the little garden in the backyard, and the freshly plowed field ready for planting. It was the sweetest, most romantic thing Priscilla had ever encountered. She looked at each photo for several minutes, and when she finally laid the last photo down on the table, she looked down and there he was, on one knee, with a ring box in his hand.”

  Finley was sitting straight up now, looking like he was about to bounce of the bed and yell, if she didn’t say yes. Which was silly, because obviously, she did.

  “Priscilla had never in her life been so happy or so scared. To this day she swears her heart actually stopped beating for a few moments. To say her parents would be unhappy was an understatement. She had never even mentioned Joe to them. For the very first time in her entire life, Priscilla made a decision that was entirely selfish, and entirely her own. She said yes. She went up to the house, and got her things and left her parents a note, and she just...left. She never even made it to her own birthday party. Joe stopped at a chapel on the way to the airport, and she got married in her old yellow party dress, at his request. And,” Francesca added with a satisfied smile, “they lived happily ever after.”

 

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