Much Ado About Mavericks

by Jacquie Rogers

  The dance. He chuckled at the thought of Jake in a dress—probably wearing her six-shooter and Stetson with it. “I remember, but you can’t go with me this time, little sister. It’s a three-hour hard ride one way. Besides I plan to stay there overnight.”

  Suzanne stuck her lower lip out and pouted. “If you’re staying overnight, we could take the wagon.”

  “No, I’m riding alone. Besides, you can order anything you want from Mrs. Hiatt. I’ll be settling up our account tomorrow, and she’s getting a new shipment in next Thursday.”

  “Oh, please?”

  “No, Suzanne, everyone’s gone. Someone needs to stay with Ma.”

  Suzanne nodded slowly and shoved a flour bag of biscuits, ham, and cheese at him.

  “Thanks, little sister.” He kissed her on the cheek and mounted up.

  A few miles south of the ranch, he saw Fred riding away from the boulder cliffs to the west and wondered why he wasn’t with the rest of the cowhands. The man bothered him for some reason, but Ben dismissed the notion. He’d been touchy about things lately, and there was no use blaming anyone except his dear old dad.

  The next day, Ben arrived back home and immediately dived into straightening out the Bar EL finances. It was a wonder how the hell his father ever made it at all. Too, Ben wanted to practice his roping so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Jake. He spent then next two days scouring the ranch’s ledgers instead of practicing, and he guessed she’d be impatient with his ineptness.

  Two days later, she confirmed his suspicion.

  “I’ll tell you one more time.” She let out a sigh and coiled his rope, then gave it back to him. “Let out your loop so’s it’s about three or four feet across, then, holding the knot with the trailing rope on your thumb side, twirl the loop over your head.”

  He gave it a try, but the loop didn’t open and he whacked her on the side of the head.

  “No, no, don’t just use your elbow. You got to use your wrist.” She moved her wrist in a circle. Then held his wrist and did the same. The problem was, he was a whole lot more aware of her hand on his wrist than he was the action he was supposed to be learning. And the softness of her breasts pressing his back when she leaned against him.

  “I see,” he said, hoping she’d move away while he could still think. “I’ll practice this afternoon while you’re doing whatever you do.”

  “All right, as long as you got it.” Mercifully, she stepped back. “It’s all in how you move your wrist.”

  Ben tried again, and finally the loop opened enough to actually be of use. He prayed he’d learn to be at least competent at roping. Jake would never think he was worth a damn if he didn’t catch on, and soon. But he’d never gotten the feel of the rope when he was a kid, and that’s one of the things his father had hated about him. Maybe with time passing and a more coordinated body, things would be different. He’d sure as hell try.

  “That’s right, Ben.” She circled her wrist again and smiled. He wished she’d smile more. “You just keep a’twirling that loop. When you get good, let out a little more rope and make your loop bigger, then get good with that. When you can twirl a four-foot loop over your head for a few minutes, then you’ll be ready for your next lesson.

  After about an hour, he thought his arm would drop off from fatigue. Just as he was about to quit, though, Teddy, bounded up on his pony and hopped off, saying, “I can teach you to rope anything. Jake says I’m the best hand she’s got, and she’s never wrong.”

  Ben chuckled, remembering he’d heard the boys say that before. He wondered if they really thought so, or if Jake had filled them full of it.

  “I can teach you to spit now, too.” He pressed his lips together and gave one quick nod. “Spittings mighty important to a cowhand.”

  His arm did need a rest. Even a spitting lesson sounded like a welcome reprieve.

  “First, we gotta have a target.” The boy ran to the side of the barn and fetched a block of wood, then placed it about three feet in front of Ben. “I’ll be starting you off short, you being a greenhorn and all.”

  “I won’t be when you’re done with me.”

  “Nope. I’m the bestest teacher.” The boy jutted out his chin and added, “Jake says so, and she’s—”

  “Never wrong,” Ben finished for the boy.

  “Nope, never.”

  “I’m in good hands, then. Let’s get started.”

  “Well, first you suck your mouth around and work up a good bunch of spit.” He worked his mouth a bit. “But you don’t open your lips because then you’ll drool down your chin and everyone’ll laugh theirselves silly. C’mon, you try it—the spit part, not the drooling part.”

  Ben laughed. “All right, I’ll give it a try. But I don’t pretend to be able to spit half as well as you.”

  Teddy puffed out his chest. “Prob’ly not.”

  Ben worked up a mouthful of spit, then nodded at the boy.

  “Now you kinda halfway swaller only not really, and let your spit get mixed in with that slimy stuff on the back of your throat.”

  Not ready to strangle himself yet, Ben nodded, pretending he’d already done it.

  “Now you hawk it all up and kind of make it into a little ball on your tongue.”

  Teddy made the familiar disgusting sound, and Ben did, too. Frankly, he’d been quite good at spitting when he was a boy, but he’d never tell Teddy that.

  “Then, let ‘er fly.” Teddy’s wad flew four or five feet past the block of wood.

  Ben, not using full force, landed his wad a few inches from the target.

  “Benjamin Stoddard Lawrence! What are you doing?” His mother stood behind him, her hands jammed on her hips and a look of abhorrence on her face.

  He felt about the same as when she caught him and Petey Blacker competing to see who could piss the highest on a fencepost. “Uh . . .” He put his hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “Teddy was just teaching me the finer points of being a cowhand.”

  The boy nodded. “Yup, and he ain’t too bad, neither.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Supper will be ready in half an hour.”

  “I’ll be eating at the bunkhouse, Ma. I have a lot to do.”

  “Do?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be going on the roundup. Today, I’m learning to rope.”

  “Looks like it,” she murmured as she turned and walked toward the house.

  * * * * *

  Ben seemed interested enough, asking good questions as Jake showed him around the Bar EL. “Are you going to give me a tour of the Circle J, too?”

  “Yep.” A little buzz in Jake’s heart made her smile at the thought of her very own ranch, and she hoped he’d see why she loved it so much. “C’mon.”

  The morning sun’s rays warmed her face. Taking a deep breath of autumn air, she mused that no place on earth could be better than the Circle J in September. She smiled as she looked across the valley to the Owyhee Mountains, admiring their shades of purple. Some people thought this land was ugly. They thought there had to be trees everywhere, or else grass everywhere.

  But she admired the delicate beauty of the rugged desert land—sagebrush and boulders, alkali dirt and wildflowers, Jump Creek Canyon and the Snake River—all of it. This country was as much a part of her as her right arm.

  Too bad the man riding beside her could never feel the same. Ben had forsaken the Bar EL, the land, and the people who eked a living from it, in favor of Boston’s high living and prissy women. No one with alkali dirt in his veins could have ever done that.

  “So this is your ranch,” Ben said, shaking her away from her thoughts.

  “Yup.” She pointed to a small hill with a lone juniper perched on top on their right. “Over that ridge yonder is the bunkhouse and corrals.”

  “Show it to me.”

  His expression looked earnest, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to show him the humble beginnings of her place. Hell, she hadn’t even scraped the money together to build a barn yet.


  Still, she’d worked hard for it—and building it—and she did want to show off a bit. “Sure.” She turned her horse. “We can pick up the trail on the east side by the river.

  “I’ll race you,” he hollered, surprising the stuffing out of her. He kicked his big bay into a gallop.

  “No damned city slicker’s gonna beat me,” she shouted back, and took out after him.

  The bay’s long legs and strong heart made him nearly unbeatable, but Jake knew the land and Ben didn’t. While he raced directly across the flat toward the hill, she guided old Blue through the rocks and brush ahead until she passed the gully she knew he’d find soon enough. She chuckled, wondering if he’d have the guts to go down it, or if he’d fall on his ass when his horse skidded to a stop in protest. Either way, she’d beat him.

  After Blue picked his way through the rocks around the gully, she turned him toward south and let him have his head. Blue loved to run. She hunkered low in the saddle, hung onto her hat, and let him stretch it out. He knew where he was going, and he knew where the oats were, too.

  Just as she rounded the hill to the Circle J, she saw Ben in front of the bunkhouse.

  “You lost,” he said as he grabbed Blue’s bridle.

  Jake swung down. “How the hell’d you do that?”

  “The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.” He shrugged and sent her an ornery grin. “I went over the top and down the gully.”

  She was impressed. The ride up wasn’t too bad, but then on the ranch side, the gully dropped off steeply. Not many riders would even keep their seats, let alone ride down it as fast as he must have. “Damn good horse, I’d say.”

  “Damn good,” he agreed. He tied both horses to the hitching rail. “Before you give me the grand tour, I expect you to pay up.”

  “Pay up?”

  “You did lose the bet.”

  She hated losing any bet, especially to this man. “There ain’t nothing to pay. We didn’t bet.”

  “I did.” He moved closer to her, making her heart feel all funny like it did when he kissed her hand. In fact, the very spot on the back of her hand heated up.

  She backed away, irritated that she’d give an inch, but knowing whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be to her best advantage.

  He closed the gap between them again and put his hands on her shoulders. She knew she should tell him to get lost, but she couldn’t seem to make her voice box work. All she could do was gaze at his mouth as he licked his lips and leaned toward her.

  “I win a kiss,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She stood rock still, not having any idea what to do, but knowing she wanted his lips right where they were. Her belly turned to molasses as he raked his tongue across her bottom lip. She gasped at the pure pleasure of it, then he darted his tongue into her mouth.

  Her mind went blank to everything except his deepening kiss and the rope of jitters down deep that drew her to press against him. She knew very well she ought not press him there, especially when she felt the hardness of him pressing back. She knew all about such things from the cowhands’ talk and that men paid good money for a poke.

  Shoving him back, she sent him a scowl. “You ain’t getting nothing from me, greenhorn.”

  He smiled, took a swig from his canteen, then offered it to her. “Already did, Jake. But not enough.”

  Eyeing her bunkhouse, he said, “Nice place.”

  Jake snorted. “Ain’t nothing and you know it. You prob’ly live in some sort of mansion in Boston.”

  He ran his hand across the lap siding. “Solid and straight. Your carpenter is a very skilled man.”

  His praise brought a smile to her lips. She’d built every stick of the bunkhouse herself. “Damned skilled.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, watching him run his gaze to the roof. She knew the second he saw the filigree in the gable, but didn’t want to answer any questions.

  “I’ll show you the corrals,” she said to distract him. “I got half a dozen brood mares. Two of ‘em already foaled, one’s gonna pop any day now, and the rest will foal in the spring. But see that one?” She pointed to a tall chestnut mare. “That there mare is the future of the Circle J. She’s a genuine Missouri Fox Trotter. Won her in a poker game.”

  “Nice filigree. Did you carve it?”

  Ah, damn. She’d hoped he wouldn’t press her about the fancy piece. Fred had seen it and laughed. Sure, no other bunkhouse around had such frilly work, but she didn’t think it hurt to spruce up the place some. It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a home. Of course, if Ben failed to meet the conditions of his father’s will, she’d have to move on.

  She pulled his sleeve. “C’mon. The newest filly is only six days old—cute little thing.” One more tug finally got his attention. “Over here,” she said as she walked away. “Her name’s George.”

  “George?”

  They stepped up to the fence and leaned over the top rail. “Homer named her after his daddy.” And she wasn’t about to tell him it was a wrong name for a female. She stole a glance at Ben.

  He pushed his hat back in that way men do. The work clothes made him look as manly a fellow as she’d ever seen, the way the blue flannel shirt stretched tight around his arms. She had to admit, he looked damned good for a greenhorn. No one who caught a gander at this strapping fellow would ever guess he was a Boston lawyer. The oddest thing about him, too, was that he had some sort of invisible pull—same as if he’d lassoed and hogtied her. And her lips still wanted him to kiss her, tingling like they did. Or maybe they were sunburned. She’d better get some bag balm.

  She swallowed hard and moved away from him, just a little so’s not to be too obvious. He sidestepped right over to her and put his arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to hear his heart. Her knees nearly buckled right then and there, but it didn’t seem to faze him one bit. Any other man, and she’d have flattened him on the spot. Hell, she might anyway.

  Gingerly, she plucked his hand from her waist. “One more move, buddy, and you’re possum food.”

  Ben chuckled, which irritated her right down to the roots of her toenails. Most men would have backed off. None would have laughed at her.

  “Pretty little filly,” he said.

  Jake focused on the little sorrel foal, running and bucking around the corral while its mother called her baby to her side. “She is, ain’t she.”

  “I was talking about you.”

  Jake whirled around and popped him one right in the gut. “Looky here, Boston, I don’t know what you want from me, but you ain’t gonna get it. I’ll teach you how to rope, brand, and castrate—that last thing might be downright pleasurable—but I ain’t letting you play me for a fool.”

  Ben, with what looked like considerable effort, straightened to his full height. “Jake, only a fool would ever mistake you for one. Whatever you might think of me, I’m not a fool.”

  * * * * *

  Ben watched Jake’s face shine with pride while she laughed at the antics of the new foal.

  “What a spirited little thing. She’ll make a good cow pony.”

  And just like that, she seemed to have forgotten his amorous overtures—but he hadn’t. He shook his head, wondering just how to tame this mysterious creature, feeling a bit guilty that he wanted to. He’d never even seen a woman wear pants before, let alone do a man’s job, and it made no sense that she’d captured his attention so.

  But let there be no doubt, she was a woman through and through. Her full, round breasts would entice a dead man, and he wasn’t dead. Those blue eyes could melt an iceberg, or stare a hole through a charging bear. Women in Boston spent all sorts of money trying to make themselves look good, but Jake didn’t have to. She was, whether she liked it or not, a classic beauty.

  More alluring than her astonishing appearance was the confidence she had in herself and those she loved. And her optimism. He felt powerful around her. Why, he didn’t know, but he should reserve that feeli
ng for Patience. He’d more than kissed her. She’d been quite free with her charms, although he’d never taken full advantage.

  Meantime, his gut hurt—Jake packed a helluva wallop—and his right arm was barely functional after swinging a rope for a solid hour the day before. His jaw still felt stiff, too, where Big Al had connected. But he’d rather die than let on.

  “We better get back to the Bar EL, Jake. I still have to practice my roping.”

  She paused a moment, not taking her eyes off the mare and foal, then sighed. Jumping off the fence, she said, “Let’s go,” as if it were all her idea.

  Not twenty minutes later, Jake dismounted, cursing like a sailor. “Some damned varmint cut the fence.” She picked up a hunk of barbed wire. “They even left little pieces so’s to cut up the cows.” She threw the wire by the nearest fence post and scowled as she studied the dirt. “Looks like at least a dozen went through. Don’t see no blood, though, so maybe they ain’t hurt.”

  She mounted and took a drink of water from the canteen. “Let’s go find ‘em.” Without taking her eyes from the ground, she rode through the fence and followed the trail.

  Ben wondered who would do such a thing and why. “Have you had trouble with rustlers?” he asked as he caught up with her.

  “Nope.”

  “Well there’s trouble now.”

  “Yup. Only they ain’t rustlers.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. The cattle found their way through on their own. No one’s driving ‘em. If they was rustlers, they’d drive ‘em.”

  They found the cattle in less than an hour. On the way back, most of them stuck with the herd fairly well, but a few of the bull calves were of no mind to go along with the rest. One, especially. The black muley calf darted away every chance it got. Jake’s well-trained blue roan never let him get far, though. Finally, the little bull decided to stay with the herd, and that was the end of the excitement.