Much Ado About Mavericks

by Jacquie Rogers

  “How about saying your ‘I do’s’ right before the dance?”

  “How about you keep your mouth shut.” It was a statement, not a question, and Whip seemed to have the brains to figure it out.

  She saddled Red and took off down the road, not sure where the hell she was headed. Not shackled to some man, though. Especially when he didn’t even have the decency to ask proper--kissing her in front of his family and the strays. ’Course, she’d have laughed in his face if he had proposed. Why, she’d be nuts to think she could fit in with Boston’s fancy society--all those empty-headed greenhorns who didn’t even know what a day’s work was.

  And he’d be nuts to think she’d even consider it. There were other things to worry about. The Saturday night dance, for instance. It was already Tuesday, and that dad-blamed dance was coming on her fast. She tried to blank it from her mind. There was no help for it--as foreman, she had to show up for the roundup dance.

  The trouble was, she had to dance as a female. Since there was a shortage of women, the men all drew straws to see which of them had to wear fancy garters on their sleeves and take the lady’s part. But she didn’t get to draw, and she hated wearing that damned garter more than any man there. And she sure as stinkin’ hell wouldn’t wear that froo-froo pink thing that Ben had bought her. And he could wear that ostrich feather bonnet up his ass.

  She nudged Red into a gallop, scattering what few cattle were left on the south range. Soon the place would be crowded with over ten thousand cows and their bouncing calves. Not much was cuter than a baby calf, although the ones they’d be rounding up would be five or six months old by now.

  The day was warm, but a few spots of frost still hid in the shadows of the larger boulders. Sometimes it was hard to tell the frost from the alkali at a distance. Breathing in the late September air was enough to get any heart pumping--and ready for the roundup. Cold nights, warm days. It was her favorite time of year.

  But in a month, Ben Lawrence would hightail himself back to Boston. She ignored the emptiness the thought brought her and reined in her horse at the Circle J corral gate.

  Teddy leaned up against the fence with a red, pouty face.

  “What’s the matter, cowhand?”

  “Henry took all my marbles. She said we was playing keepsies. But I wasn’t. But she took ‘em all, anyhow.” He pursed his lips and blinked his eyes. Jake knew he was trying hard to keep tears back.

  She squatted beside him. “Well, sometimes we gotta be smarter and work harder than other people. I tell you what, I got a pack of marbles in the bunkhouse and I’m a pretty damn good marble player, if I do say so myself. How about you practice some with me, and then you can win your own marbles back?”

  After a half hour of lessons, Teddy had shown remarkable improvement. But still he seemed down. Jake wondered if he was jealous that she’d taken Henry in. “Partner, you just about whooped me--I bet you could take all your marbles back, and some of hers, too.”

  He nodded but didn’t smile. “You ain’t never wrong.”

  His sad eyes dismayed her. She ruffled his hair. “So what else troubles you?”

  He shot another marble out of the circle in the dirt. “Henry says if you and Ben get a baby, you won’t want us no more.”

  Jake sucked in her breath. Her first impulse was to pounce all over that ornery little girl, but Henry wouldn’t have said that if something of the like hadn’t happened to her. “She don’t know what she’s talking about, Teddy. I hired you on for as long as you wanna stay--eighty years if that’s what you want.”

  He took aim and shot her agate out of the circle.

  “So what chores will the baby do?”

  “There ain’t no baby.”

  “Ever?”

  She paused, knowing in her heart she would like to have a kid or two if she’d grown up differently, but she loved the strays and they’d do her just fine. Besides, she’d have to tie herself to a man to get one from her body. She was having damned good luck just collecting strays as she went along--hurt less, too.

  “Nope.”

  Chapter 9

  Ben would have been indignant to be forced to share roping lessons with a six-year-old girl--except he’d found the right touch a couple of weeks back. He wasn’t about to let Jake know, though, or she’d end the lessons. Watching her shirt tighten over her breasts while she whirled the rope over her head was more sensual than just about anything he’d ever seen. In fact, just about everything about her made him want to take her on the spot.

  He was just torturing himself, though, and he knew it. Jake wasn’t the woman to hostess society parties in Boston. Patience Morris was. He’d thought he could spend his life with her not more than a month ago, but no man who knew Jake would ever think Patience a better woman. Not by a long shot.

  Still, he planned to propose to her when he got back to Boston. Creighton Morris would throw a big engagement party and invite all their clients, society friends, and the newly moneyed. While he hated parties, he certainly enjoyed the benefits they afforded him.

  Mr. Morris had been pressuring him to name a date for a long time, holding a senior partnership as a lure. Ben knew why, too. Morris’s own son, Reginald, was a high-flyer and a womanizer. Creighton didn’t want Reginald to control the firm--that privilege he had reserved for his future son-in-law.

  “Pay attention, Boston,” Jake said as she nudged his shoulder. “You’re first.”

  “Why don’t you throw first?”

  “Because I already know how to rope.”

  “I’ll go,” Henry hollered. “I’ll try first!” She uncoiled a length of rope and let out the loop. “My brand new rope will catch anything.” She twirled it over her head and let fly. The rope settled just short of the set of horns Jake had stuck in a pile of hay.

  Jake smiled at the near success. “Not bad, Henry. Keep at it.” She turned to Ben. “Think you can outrope a six-year-old?”

  He pulled her to his chest. “I’m more interesting in roping a twenty-four-year-old.” He immediately felt contrite about his remark. He’d made up his mind to propose to Patience, and there was no need for him to make flirtatious comments to Jake. Problem was, he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  Pushing away, she said, “You’ll come up short, then.”

  He was afraid that he already had. While he needed Patience to continue his rise in the law firm, life with her held little appeal. Jake, though . . . Maybe he should just stay a junior partner. He whirled the rope over his head and let fly.

  “Boston,” Jake flew into his arms and hugged him hard. “You done it!”

  Damn, he’d been thinking about other things and forgot to miss. But if roping a pair of horns got Jake glued to him, hell, he’d hit the target all the time. “Beginner’s luck,” he mumbled.

  She kissed him on the cheek and gazed at him, eyes sparkling. Lord, what he wouldn’t give for her to look at him like that all the time. He held her closer, enjoying the fit of her body with his.

  “If you’re gonna poke her, it’s a dollar up front,” Henry declared, tossing her loop and missing.

  They sprang apart, Jake looking flustered and Ben, wondering what the hell had come over him. His thoughts and behavior had been totally wrong--both to Jake and Patience. And even if he were in a position to court Jake, he sure as hell didn’t need to do his sparking in front of a little girl.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, and picked up his rope. “You go ahead and help Henry, Jake. I need to do errands for Ma before the dance.”

  On his way to the barn, he walked all the way around the house so he could calm himself--all of himself--down before seeing anyone. Harnessing the team and then hitching the wagon before he fetched his mother and sister seemed like a good idea.

  It had been years since he’d hitched up a wagon himself, so it took him over an hour, fiddling with this strap and that. He swore at himself for coming up with such a bad idea. Thank goodness the draft horses were a calm pair and stood quietly while h
e arranged, rearranged, buckled, unbuckled, and rebuckled. He finally got the job done.

  That the women weren’t ready yet was no surprise to him--they hadn’t planned to leave for another hour yet. He hurried them as best he could.

  The noon sun warmed them as Ben drove the ladies into Henderson Flats. Mrs. Hiatt, the storekeeper, was sweeping the boardwalk when she saw the Lawrences and hailed them with her broom. “I was expecting you folks. Got some goods in just this morning.”

  Ben pulled the wagon to a stop and set the brake. “Hello, beautiful.” He hopped down and helped the ladies, chuckling when he thought about Jake swatting him when he tried to help her off her horse that day before. He couldn’t imagine her in a trussed-up dress and sporting a parasol. Or if she did have a parasol, she’d use it to stab someone.

  “Ready for the dance Saturday night?” he asked the storekeeper.

  She grinned wide, showing the gap where her front teeth should have been. “I’m ready to dance your boots off, Skeeter.”

  He winced, wishing she’d quit calling him that, then tipped his hat to her. “It would be my pleasure for you to try.”

  Suzanne and his mother prattled on about this centerpiece and that refreshment. He stood near the door, arms crossed, and waited for them to finish. Mrs. Hiatt busily hauled the goods they picked to the counter, then tallied up the bill.

  Harley Blacker came into the store and removed his hat. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Mr. Blacker,” Mabel responded politely. “What brings you into town so close to roundup time?”

  “Fetching my son from the stage.” He looked at his timepiece. “Should be in pretty soon. I see the ferry’s on the other side of the river, waiting.”

  “Peter’s back?” Suzanne asked--somewhat breathless. Too breathless, Ben thought. “I thought he wouldn’t be back until next spring.”

  “I thought so, too, but he wrote and told me there’s no country anywhere as beautiful as Owyhee County. I knew that, but he had to find out for himself. Said he wanted to be here for roundup.”

  “And the dance?”

  Blacker chuckled. “We’ll be there--and for the tournament, too.”

  Ben wondered about Blacker--how he could act normal around a woman and her daughter when he was in a position to take their ranch away. He’d never thought of him as a ruthless sort, but there it was. Whether Blacker was responsible for the cut fences and the dammed up creek, Ben didn’t know, but he’d find out soon enough. Meantime, the man was innocent until proven guilty, but Ben intended to exercise caution nonetheless.

  And the way his sister nearly swooned at the sound of Peter’s name, well, that was practically indecent. He’d have to set Pete straight about her.

  “Can you stay in town to meet the stage?” Blacker asked. “Pete would surely like it.”

  “Of course we can,” Suzanne declared, then looked at her mother. “Can’t we?”

  She nodded. “Ben, after you load the wagon with our supplies, take it down to load the feed that Jake ordered. Suzanne and I will meet you at the confectionary.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Blacker asked.

  Hell, yes, he minded. But Mabel said, “Why, of course you’d be welcome,” and took his arm as he escorted her on one arm and Suzanne on the other.

  Frowning, Ben puzzled at his mother’s behavior—after all, she knew as well as he did that Blacker would inherit the ranch if all didn’t go well. Ben shook his head, dismissing the notion that his mother was up to something, then turned to Mrs. Hiatt. “Join me at the confectionary later?”

  She giggled. “I don’t know. Marshal Hiatt’s a jealous man.”

  * * * * *

  “You got enough wood for the stove?” Jake asked Whip.

  He nodded but didn’t look up from his whittling. “Laid it in yesterday.”

  “Barn looks good. Might need some more tables along the side.”

  “I used all the planks we had. I think we have enough.”

  Crazy Jim strode into the barn carrying a salt lick. “What you want done with these, Jake? We got a whole load of ‘em out there.”

  “Might as well put some in each pasture now. They ain’t going anywhere.”

  “But we always unloaded here, then put ‘em out after the tournament.”

  “This ain’t always.”

  Whip chiseled a hole in the stick he was carving. “Ain’t that for sure.”

  Jake ignored him and spoke to Crazy Jim. “Tell Fred to spread ‘em out, then you go to Crip and help him train them greenbroke horses. We ain’t got no time to spare. The dance is in a few hours and I want all you cowhands cleaned up. I’ll have no stinking men at the dance.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said as he left.

  Jake turned back to Whip. “I know something’s bothering you, but you can’t let it get in the way. I want this barn cleared out, the floor nice and even, and more benches made before dusk. I’ll go get you some help.”

  He nodded. “Where’s the strays?”

  “Playing marbles. Teddy’s trying to win back the marbles that Henry took from him a few days ago.” She paused, then asked, “You seen Boston?”

  “Yup.” He chuckled and put down his whittling stick. “He’s in the house. Mabel, Old Lady Hiatt, and Suzanne are cooking up a storm. Ben’s fetching and carrying for the lot of ‘em. Probably be dog-assed tired by the time the musicians get here.” He stood and grabbed a broom. “That’s why I’m staying right here in the barn, where it’s safe.”

  He pulled out a box and opened the lid. “I got the straws and the garters here.” He handed Jake a garter for her sleeve. “I’ll have it ready for the men to draw straws at seven, sharp. Tell your men that if they ain’t here on time, they’re gonna be ladies.”

  She tucked the loathsome thing in her pocket. She loved to dance, but oh, how she hated dances!

  * * * * *

  The longer Patience Morris waited, the angrier she became. Neither the indolent stagecoach driver nor the male passengers seemed in any hurry whatsoever to change the broken wheel.

  When an afternoon breeze kicked up and blew the insidious white dirt down her dress and into her eyes, she lost all forbearance. She picked up her skirts and rounded the stage to confront the driver. “Sir, I shall report you to your superiors. According to the schedule, we should have arrived at three this afternoon. Why, my watch reads half past five now, and here we are, stranded in the middle of nowhere with a broken wheel. What do you have to say for yourself, mister?”

  “Don’t need to say nothing what with you flapping your lips all day,” he said as he yanked on the shattered wheel.

  Reginald twirled his sword-cane and smiled. “Quite an adventure, huh, sister?”

  “Hrmph. The farther from Boston we traveled, the drearier the countryside. Now look at us--we’re in a dreadful territory on a dreadful stagecoach with smelly passengers and a crotchety driver, and we’re headed to a little town that promises to be the most dreadful of all. And now it could be dark before we even get there. I told you that you should have wired ahead and reserved us a room.”

  A crusty gentleman whose spurs had jangled incessantly all the way from Salt Lake City chuckled. “You headed to Henderson Flats, you say?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  Reginald, who’d been much more friendly to these common people than was fitting, said, “Yes, do you know the town?”

  “Yup. No hotels.”

  She closed her eyes and prayed for endurance. What on earth was Benjamin thinking--staying in such a barbaric place? He could very well have settled his father’s estate from his office at Morris & Graves if he’d wanted to, but no, he had to go traipsing out here with these hicks.

  Well, she fully intended to bring him home so they could be married--Mother had already arranged the engagement announcement and Daddy had Benjamin’s senior partner papers ready to sign. All she needed was Ben, and she fully intended to see that he returned to Boston with her posthaste.

 
“How long until the wheel is changed?” she asked the driver.

  He crawled out from under the coach. “Lady, for the thousandth time, it’ll be done when it’s done.” He retreated back under.

  She sighed. They’d traveled so far and so long, surely they must be close to Henderson Flats. “How far away is it?”

  Not getting an answer, she asked the man with the obnoxious spurs.

  “Oh, it’s a piece. Maybe five miles or so,” he pointed west, “over that hill and across the river.”

  “Five miles?”

  He nodded. “I reckon. Ain’t been this way for a while.”

  She could walk five miles--she walked two miles around the park near her home every day, except Sunday, of course. Five miles certainly wouldn’t be a problem. “Reginald, get my reticule. We’re walking.”

  “Walking? You must be mad!” He flailed his arms toward the hill. “Why, there could be Indians waiting for us--you don’t know!”

  She sniffed. “I’m walking to Henderson Flats. Would you like me to wire Daddy and tell him you forced me to walk five miles alone in the wilderness?”

  He tipped his derby up with his cane and smirked. “You make decisions so difficult, Sister.”

  * * * * *

  Her bunkhouse on the Circle J was the only place she could find peace, but even there she paced, then carved a bit, then paced some more. She tossed the filigree she’d been whittling on the table and sighed. Time to get dressed for the dance.

  The strays were ready to go—they’d even bathed the dog, much to his dismay. But Jake had been putting off her decision until the last possible minute. Not a decision, really. She wouldn’t wear that stupid frock if she had to go naked. But she figured Ben wanted her to wear it and she felt bad about disappointing him. Sort of.

  “Bah!” she said, kicking the dress under her cot. He should’ve known better than to buy the stupid thing in the first damned place. A pink piece of cloth still stuck out, so she swept it under with her foot. At least she didn’t have to look at it. ‘Course, she might could make some curtains from it. No use wasting good cloth.