Much Ado About Mavericks

by Jacquie Rogers

  The red-headed woman pulled the horses to a stop. She handled the reins as well as any man; nevertheless, he planned to drive to the ranch whether she liked it or not. She jumped down and headed for the trunk, but Ben ran to it first. Shoving the mugs into her hands, he picked up the trunk and heaved it into the wagon. He’d be double-damned if he’d let a woman load his trunk for him, even if she was nearly as tall as he.

  She saluted him with one mug, drank the entire contents, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “We best be getting to the Bar EL. They’re expecting us.”

  He could hardly wait to see his mother and sister, even if his stomach soured every time he thought about his childhood home. But he had to take care of the family and ranch now that his father had died. Worse, he had to contend with Jake O’Keefe because Pa thought his own son too incompetent to hire good people, even after four years at Harvard and nine years of practicing law.

  The soda was refreshing and he took his time while she waited, not patiently, shifting her weight from left to right, then tossing a few pebbles.

  “I think we should reintroduce ourselves.” He placed the mug on the boardwalk and offered his hand. “How do you do? I’m Benjamin Lawrence, visiting from Boston.”

  “Janelle Kathryn.” She grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m surely pleased to meet you.”

  He tested his shoulder to see if it still functioned after her hearty handshake. Then, just to knock her off guard, he took her hand and kissed the back of it with grandiose gallantry. “My pleasure, Miss Janelle.”

  * * * * *

  Jumpin’ juniper berries! Jake snatched her scorching hand away from Skeeter’s lips. His well-placed little smacker burned hotter than a branding iron in August. Only better, but she sure as shootin’ wouldn’t admit it to a soul. Ever. Of course, she had no intention of washing her hand for a month either. That hot kiss sent goosebumps clean down to her toes.

  She sucked in a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Let’s go.” She hopped onto the wagon and picked up the reins.

  Ben leapt onto the seat and took the reins from her. “I’ll drive.”

  His thigh rubbed hers. She didn’t know how he could think right if he tingled anything like she did. But, he probably didn’t. She inched away from him as the buckboard moved out of town. She focused on the sagebrush—at least it didn’t knock her plumb senseless. He was too damned good-looking in a dandified sort of way. Taller than she was, too, by a few inches. Few men were. She stood even with Whip, who, although bent with years of hard work, was taller than the rest of the men.

  It ate at her that Skeeter muddled her mind so, and she had no idea what got into her to tell him her real name. She’d better set him straight.

  “Just so’s you know, I ain’t no simpering female. Folks around here call me Jake. Jake O’Keefe. I expect you ought to call me that, too.”

  She nearly laughed at his horrified expression.

  “Jake O’Keefe? My foreman?”

  Just what she needed—a greenhorn who didn’t think she could do a man’s work. Well hell, she’d already proven herself better than any hand in the territory, and she wasn’t about to do it again—especially to a feller they called Skeeter. “Yup. And just so’s you know, Harley Blacker hired me on with the Flying B, so as soon as I show you the ropes, I’ll be leaving the Bar EL.”

  He set his lips firm like he was cogitating. She didn’t know what there was to think about—she’d laid out the deal square enough.

  Finally, he said, “All right then, Jake, just so you know, my name is Ben. Benjamin Lawrence. I expect to be called that.” His jaw tensed and his cheek twitched just a might. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d stay on the Bar EL, at least until I get the family affairs settled. I’ll be going back to Boston as soon as I can.”

  “Got a woman?” Jake could’ve slapped her own fool face. Why the hell would she care? But that tickly feeling deep inside seemed to make her lose all her brains.

  “I have a law practice there. And friends.” He pulled on the right reins and flicked the left side, turning the team onto the Lawrence road. “A lady friend, too.”

  Probably some frilly-assed, sappy female who batted her eyelashes at him and giggled at any harebrained thing he said. Men seemed to like such silly critters, although, for the life of her, she couldn’t see why. “Well, I ain’t staying, so you’d better be on the lookout for a new foreman. Fred’s probably your man—he’s been sourer than five-day-old pissed-in milk since the old man chose me over him.”

  “Don’t want him. I need you.”

  “Tough.”

  “How much is Blacker paying you?”

  “Eighty dollars and found.”

  “I’ll give you a hundred.”

  She shook her head. “One-twenty and found.”

  “One-ten.”

  “And found—ain’t interested in eating my own cooking.” She’d starve to death if she did. Whip had taught her how to rope, shoot, and just about everything else, but he never could teach her how to cook. Every concoction she had tried ended up looking and smelling like fresh-branded cowhide. Not that she’d wanted to learn in the first damned place.

  He nodded. “And found.”

  “I’ll take it. Six months I’ll give you. But come spring, I’m working my own ranch, so you better get used to the idea.”

  “One-twenty and found for any months you work after six.”

  “I ain’t budging.”

  “All right, for now I’ll take six months at a hundred and ten dollars and found. Shake?”

  She wasn’t so sure she wanted to feel his hand on hers again—more dangerous than a rattlesnake with a toothache. Grabbing his hand, she gave it one shake and let go immediately, wiping her hand on her pants. “Deal.”

  But it would be a helluva long six months if she buzzed like her guts were filled with bumblebees every time Ben Lawrence took a gander at her.

  * * * * *

  The towering, lone cottonwood was the first thing Ben saw when he turned the team onto the Bar EL lane. The tree had nearly doubled in size since he’d left for Harvard—but then, so had he. Grass had replaced the sagebrush around the house, lending the two-story frame building an air of peacefulness.

  The fragrance of the newly mown lawn intermingled with the familiar odor of cow manure. “Smells like money,” his father had always said. Ben didn’t agree—he’d made piles of money in Boston without ever once shoveling shit.

  He had known no peace in Henderson Flats, or in that house. His shoulders tensed more the closer he got, relaxing only when he assured himself he’d be stuck here only a short time.

  “Jake! Jake!” Two small boys shouted and ran, arms waving, to greet them as Ben pulled the wagon into the yard.

  “Who’re these boys?” he asked, wondering if they weren’t his half-brothers. He wouldn’t have put it past the old man—just to spite his mother.

  “My strays. Found ‘em, kept ‘em. Good boys.”

  The older boy grabbed the harness and the younger one scrambled up to the seat. “Are you Skeeter?” He studied Ben. “You don’t look like no ‘skeeter I ever seen.”

  Ben held out his hand. “I’m Ben Lawrence.”

  The little boy jumped on his lap. “I’m Theodore Somethin’ Somethin’, but you can call me Teddy.” He pointed at the other boy. “That there’s Homer Franklin Collingwood. I just about can’t say it in one breath.”

  Ben chuckled. “Yes, Homer does have quite a sobriquet.”

  Teddy frowned, then smiled. “Aw, yer joshing with me. Homer ain’t no drunk.” He scooted off Ben’s lap and onto Jake’s. “So where’s Skeeter? You was supposed to bring him back.”

  Jake patted the little fellow, who couldn’t have been more than five or six, on the back. “Folks change sometimes, Teddy. He went away ‘Skeeter’ and come back ‘Ben.’ That’ll happen to you someday, too. You won’t be ‘Teddy’ no more—you’ll be ‘Ted,’ a fine man’s name for the fine man you’ll
be.”

  Ben hopped down from the seat, smiled, and shook hands with Homer. “You’re a sharp looking boy. Glad to meet you.”

  “I ain’t no boy,” Homer retorted, scowling. “I’m a cowhand at the Bar EL and the Circle J. Teddy is, too. Jake’s our boss.”

  Teddy ran beside Homer. “Yeah, we gots jobs and make money and sleep in the Circle J bunkhouse. Don’t want no wimmen, though. Them old fellers, well, they’s always talking about wimmen.” He hawked up a wad and spat, seeming mighty pleased with the six or eight feet it traveled. He grinned, showing his baby teeth. “Can you do that?”

  Ben swallowed a chuckle, then shook his head and grinned at the boy. “I’ll need some practice, and probably a good teacher. Maybe you can help me later.”

  The boy puffed out his chest. “Sure enough. Ain’t nobody can spit farther than me. Not even Jake.”

  As Jake instructed the boys to unhitch the wagon and rub down the horses, Ben wondered if she’d adopted Homer and Teddy. He doubted it, which meant any relative could take them from her anytime.

  “Ben!” His mother and sister stood on the porch, waving. He waved back, then Jake grabbed his arm, practically dragging him toward the house.

  “C’mon in,” Jake said. “That slimy lawyer, Osbourne Callison’s here to read us the will. He said I had to be there, too.” She shook her head as she took the porch steps two at a time. “Don’t know what for—I got ever’ dang thing I wanted already.”

  Ben stopped, gently jerking Jake back. Even though he’d love to grab up his mother in a big bear hug, he wanted to make sure the “slimy” lawyer knew he meant business. “He might be looking out the window. Let’s enter with a little dignity.” He held out his arm. When Jake stared at him quizzically, he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Now, walk with me, stride for stride, chin up.”

  “Hrmph.” Jake walked with him to the porch, then let go and took the steps two at a time. She charged into the house leaving Ben at the mercy of the Lawrence women who grabbed him and smothered him with hugs. He hugged them back and couldn’t contain a hardy belly laugh as he spun his ma around, then grabbed his sister and did the same. While the front door was draped in black, he took a certain amount of satisfaction that neither Ma nor Suzanne wore mourning clothes. The old man didn’t deserve the honor.

  “Good to see you, Ma.” He kissed his mother on both cheeks. Her dark brown hair had only a few more gray hairs than when he left, and other than the small wrinkles around her eyes, she hadn’t aged a day in thirteen years. “You’re as beautiful as I remember.” He hugged her again, catching a whiff of the lavender perfume she always loved.

  “Benjamin, you’ve learned the art of flattery well.” She grinned and kissed him again. “It works.”

  He turned to Suzanne. “Just one more.” He hugged his sister again. She’d grown a good six inches and filled out to be the beauty he’d always thought she’d be. “You sure don’t resemble that nine-year-old tomboy in pigtails that I remember.” Her dark brown hair was pulled into a stylish chignon and a crisp white apron covered her neatly pressed blue gingham dress. “I bet you have to chase away beaus with a stick.”

  She giggled and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Ben! I’m so glad you’re home.” She stepped back and studied him from hairline to boot tip. “You’re so big. You weren’t much taller than Ma when you left and now you top her by a foot. Why, you’re a lot taller than Daddy was!” She grinned. “Broader, too. And definitely more debonair.”

  His mother tapped him on the cheek. “I always knew you’d turn into a handsome man. I’ll bet those ladies in Boston have their nets out for you.” The she urged him into the house. “Come in. Mr. Callison is waiting for us.”

  “It’s good to see you both again.” He wasn’t sure whether he felt gratified or embarrassed over their effusive compliments, but pride welled in his chest as he followed her into the kitchen breathing in the comforting aroma of ginger. “Cookies?” he asked hopefully.

  Ma chuckled. “Of course. You think I’d not have your favorite cookies ready for your first homecoming in more than a dozen years?”

  Suzanne captured his hand in both of hers. “How long are you staying?”

  “I suppose it’ll take a week to get all the old man’s affairs settled. I imagine he left the ranch to Ma—there can’t be too much complication. Pretty straightforward, really.”

  “Why leave so soon?” Ma asked, filling a plate with gingersnaps from the cookie jar. “You might as well stay a while. We’ve missed you sorely.” She unhooked a serving tray from the wall and gave it to her daughter. “Suzanne, get the coffee and cups ready. Remember the sugar and cream—Mr. Callison likes both.” She turned back to Ben. “It’s such a long trip out here, you might as well stay at least a month.”

  He shook his head, not about to stay in Henderson Flats a minute longer than necessary. “I plan to take you both back to Boston with me, Ma. Suzanne will do well in Boston society, and you’ll have plenty of friends, too. I bought a nice house last year, big enough for each of you to have your own bedroom suites. It’ll be comfortable.”

  His mother frowned fleetingly and glanced at Suzanne, then back at him, smiling weakly. “We’ll talk about our plans after the lawyer leaves. He’s in the parlor now, waiting for us.” She picked up the tray Suzanne had prepared. “Go on ahead. I’ll follow you.”

  As Ben entered the parlor, a balding man in a brown suit stood. “You must be Benjamin Lawrence.” He offered his trembling hand.

  Giving the man a firm handshake, Ben said, “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m Osbourne Callison, your father’s attorney.” Callison coughed, then sat on the couch and dug some papers from his briefcase. “Have a seat.” He glanced nervously to his left where Jake sat, but didn’t look her in the eye. Ben wouldn’t have been too surprised if Jake hadn’t scared the hell out of the poor diminutive man. She was a bit alarming.

  “You ready, Miss O’Keefe?” Callison asked, a quiver in his tone.

  “I’m here, ain’t I? and my name’s Jake, you fool.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “Yes, well . . .” His hands shook so vigorously, Ben wouldn’t have been surprised if he ripped the will in two.

  “Have some coffee, Mr. Callison,” Suzanne offered. “And Mama makes the best gingersnaps. They’ll calm your nerves.”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking the cup.

  As the coffee sloshed, Ben silently praised Suzanne for having the foresight to fill the cup only half full. “Let’s hear the will, Callison. I plan to be gone from here a week from today.”

  “Yes, well . . .”

  Jake scowled, and Ben felt like doing the same. He leaned back and nodded his head toward the nervous little man. “Read it.”

  Callison picked up the papers again, rattling them as before. He finally quieted himself and began to read. “I, Ezra Lawrence, bequeath all my holdings to Benjamin Stoddard Lawrence under the following stipulations and conditions.”

  Stipulations? Ben leaned forward, alert. He wouldn’t put any sort of vindictiveness past his father.

  “Ben must work the ranch as a hand for three months, including roundup. He must rope and brand at least one-fourth of the calves, and participate in all aspects of the ranch operation.”

  “Oh, that’s mean!” Suzanne protested. “Ben’s lived in the city for the last thirteen years.”

  Ben clenched his jaw to keep from scoffing. This sort of frivolity would never hold up in any court of law. “Let the man read the rest of it, Suzanne. And don’t worry.”

  “Ben must keep Jake O'Keefe on as foreman for at least one full year.”

  Jake jumped up. “Well, I ain’t staying past March. Me and Ben done worked that out.”

  “Sit down, Jake,” Ben said quietly. “Keep going, Callison.”

  “If she doesn’t stay, she’ll not be given clear title to the ranch land she’s been working for the past three years and calls the Circle J.”

&n
bsp; “Aw, that’s bullsh . . .” She tilted her head toward the ladies and muttered, “Excuse my French.”

  Ben motioned for Jake to sit down, which, thankfully, she did. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your ranch, one way or another.” He nodded at Callison, who cleared his throat again.

  “Jake O'Keefe is responsible for seeing that Ben lives up to the terms and conditions of this document.”

  “I ain’t no damned nursery maid,” she muttered.

  “And I’m not a child,” Ben replied, just as quietly, his jaw still clenched. It was apparent that his father’s final blow was to see to his son’s humiliation by being bested by a woman. Well, that wouldn’t happen. He stood. “So, is that it?”

  Callison glanced up, then back to his papers, his hands shaking again. “Uh, no. There’s more.”

  Ben forced himself to sit down again. “Go on, then.”

  “Suzanne must be married by the end of the year.”

  His sister sprang to her feet and yelled, “And exactly to whom?” She stared at her mother and back to the attorney. “The only man around here of interest isn’t here at all—he’s on a trip to Europe and won’t be back until next spring.”

  Callison picked up a gingersnap, but in his nervousness, broke it into pieces in his lap. “Uh, I didn’t make up the terms and conditions—I only wrote up what Ezra said.” He whisked the crumbs onto the floor.

  Ben watched his mother frown at the man’s lack of couth. She, in fact, had not yet been addressed. Since Callison didn’t seem to be finished, they might as well learn what good old Pa had in mind for her. “And Ma—what does it say about her?”

  “Mrs. Lawrence must not marry or consort with any man for five years.”

  “Five years!” She shot to her feet. “Clean up those crumbs, little man. And remove your person from my home.”

  Suzanne hurried out of the room and returned with the carpet sweeper. “I’ll clean it up. He can leave now.”

  Ben held up his hand, palm out. “Now, ladies, let me deal with this. Everyone sit down.” He waited until they had complied, all three women looking armed and dangerous. He felt the same way, but Callison was only a pawn in his father’s plans. “Let me read the document myself.”