“Benjamin!” A blonde hussy in a gaudy red dress that displayed her bosom quite prominently flounced into the barn.
He studied the woman. She did look familiar but he hadn’t consorted with any ladies of the evening. Maybe she was calling someone else. He turned Jake around the dance floor and waltzed to the other side.
“Benjamin Stoddard Lawrence!” He knew that voice and when she tapped his shoulder, he dreaded turning around. Patience Morris. He shut his eyes and groaned, then broke away from Jake. “Patience, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Benjamin, what common language!”
“Sorry, you just surprised me. And your dress is...” He couldn’t think of anything flattering to say so he let it go. Her brother stood behind her, smirking. “Reggie?”
Patience didn’t belong in cattle country any more than her brother, Reginald. Neither of them could exist without the comforts of Boston society. But Ben refused to let her ruin this dance—he’d waited all evening for Jake.
Gathering his wits about him, he told Patience, “Have some refreshment,” and cocked his head toward the tables. “I’ll be over after this song.” He pulled Jake close to him and resumed dancing.
Patience, scowling, marched straight to them and tapped Jake on the shoulder. “I’m cutting in. He’s my fiancé.”
“May be,” Jake retorted, “but he’s my partner for this here dance, ma’am.”
“I’m not a ma’am, I’m a miss. You may call me Miss Morris.”
The musicians stopped and everyone in the barn gawked at them.
“I’ll call you shit if I want to, ma’am.” She snuggled up to Ben and she felt every bit as good in his arms as he’d imagined. “Start playing music.”
“Go back to Boston, Patience,” Ben said. “I’ll see you at the end of November just like I said in the last telegram.”
Patience pursed her lips and sniffed. “So that you can play with your little strumpet? I think not.”
Jake’s raised eyebrow warned Ben that he’d better get these two women separated in a hurry.
“Strumpet?” The shapely Bar EL foreman scowled at Patience. “Ma’am, you’re the only female here dressed like a whore. Take a deep breath and your ti--uh, well, they’ll fall out.”
Jake took the lead and swung Ben to the other side of the barn. “I’ll let her have at you, but dammit all, Boston, you’re stuck with me for this one dance.”
Ben didn’t want to be the bone for them to fight over. All he wanted was this one dance with the best foreman in Idaho Territory, who also happened to be the most beautiful, and probably the smartest, too. He enjoyed the waltz and held Jake as closely as he dared, which wasn’t nearly close enough. Or long enough.
When the song was over, she stepped aside and drew herself another beer. “Go to your woman, Boston.” She took a long draw of her brew. “Take her to your mama, or whatever the hell you folks do.”
Ben didn’t want to lose the moment with Jake because he knew this was one of the few, if only, moments they’d have. “I’ll try to get Patience out of here.”
Jake shook his hand off. “You don’t get it, do you, Boston? She is here. And she’s fixing to legshackle you, so you better damn well get used to it.”
“She doesn’t belong here.”
Reginald walked up to Jake, bowed, and offered his hand. “May I have this dance?”
“No.” She slugged down the rest of her beer and slammed the mug on top of the barrel. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Miss Morris’s brother, Reginald.”
“Hrmph! If you come to take Ben back to Boston, then do it. And leave me the hell out of it.”
“Just one dance?”
Instead, she grabbed Fred, the lucky bastard. Ben wanted to choke the snake. Fred didn’t deserve the belle of the ball.
“I s’pose Ben’ll be leaving shortly,” Fred commented and threw down the last few swallows of beer.
“I s’pose.” Jake spun him around, the glass still in his hand. “Now shut up and dance.”
* * * * *
Ben tracked Patience to the refreshment tables, where she was practicing her wiles on a few of the cowhands. They hopped around her, acting like a bunch of starving sparrows, each begging for the next dance. Patience beamed and preened, obviously enjoying the attention. Ben had never seen her act so vain nor had he noticed her conceit.
She denied all of them with a wave of her fingers. “I’m simply famished.” And with that, several men presented her with plates of food and glasses of cider, all of which she ignored.
“Is there no champagne? I’m utterly parched.”
Ben had enough. “This is a barn dance, not a Boston ball.” He put out his arm to escort her to the house. Instead she took his action as an offer to dance.
“I’d be delighted. We dance so well together.”
He obliged and led her to the dance floor.
After they’d danced a few steps, she wrinkled her nose. “The music is crude.”
“Local ranchers make up the band. It’s all in good fun.”
“You call this fun? I don’t know how you can tolerate living with these peasants.”
“Some of these peasants have bank accounts as large as your father’s clients.”
Patience rolled her eyes. “Benjamin, you need to get back to Boston where you belong. Daddy needs you and so do I. Besides, it’s dirty and smelly here.”
He doubted she’d be impressed that the barn had been thoroughly swept, or that in his opinion, fresh hay smelled good. “I’ll be back when my business here is finished.”
“You mean playing around with a woman dressed in man clothes?” She sniffed. “That woman is no lady and never will be.”
He pushed Patience away as he swung her around. “I’m not playing with her.”
“You’d better tell her that.” Patience tilted her head toward little Henry. “Someone needs to teach these obnoxious children to be seen and not heard. Some decent attire might help. What are all of them doing here?”
Ben hadn’t noticed the kids being ornery or noisy. “Dancing and having a good time, just like the rest of us. The round-up dance is a family affair.”
“Peasants do have strange customs. The serving woman at the refreshment table had the nerve to ask my name.”
“Serving woman?”
“The dark-haired woman—she’s dancing with that tall, coarse-looking cowhand now.”
Ben scanned the crowd in the direction of Patience’s gaze. The only woman who matched her description was his mother. “I think you’re referring to my mother. When the estate is settled, she’ll be the owner of a couple thousand acres with prime water rights, a five-bedroom house and outbuildings including this barn, a hundred horses, and twenty thousand head of cattle. She’s not a servant.”
The music stopped and Ben led Patience outside. “Patience, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Don’t curse, Benjamin. It’s not fitting for a gentleman.”
“Fitting? Fitting?” He thought his head would explode. “You and your brother traipsing across the country, showing up at the dance looking like a hussy, telling everyone that we’re engaged--is that fitting?”
“Let’s go to the house.” Without waiting for her assent, he pulled her across the well-graveled barnyard to the house.
“But Benjamin, I missed you.”
“Like hell. You’re so transparent, it’s embarrassing.” He shoved her toward Suzanne’s room. “Now find a decent dress and get changed.”
As soon as she entered the room he slammed the door and stomped out of the house. Jake--he had to find Jake and explain. Stopping short, he ran his fingers through his hair. Explain what? That he’d thought he could make a life with that calculating woman? Hell, Jake probably didn’t even know what ‘calculating’ meant.
There certainly wasn’t a calculating bone in her body. Jake was a straightforward person. Honest and hardworking. The complete opposite of Patience.
He moved to the dark area by the barn door where he’d given Jake the adoption papers, and waited until his heartbeat slowed to normal. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he went back to the dance.
He spotted Jake right away and tapped her partner’s shoulder. “Sorry, cutting in.” Once Jake was in his arms, he danced out back. “Jake, her coming here was not my idea.”
She shrugged. “Don’t matter. You’ll head back to Boston and marry up with her.”
“I’m still riding in the tournament tomorrow.”
He waited for her to say something—anything. When she didn’t, he said, “I’ll be riding in the roundup just like I told you I would.”
She still didn’t say anything, just glared at him.
“Jake, I don’t go back on my promises. I’ll meet every stipulation of that pathetic excuse for a will.”
“Well, good for you.”
He winced at her sarcasm. “I care for you, Jake.”
She backed away from him, glaring. “Ain’t that nice. I care about them cattle out there, too.”
Catching her around the waist as she tried to brush by him, he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. “Aw, Jake, you’re the most magnificent woman I’ve ever known.”
Pushing away, she said, “Memories, Boston. That’s all I am and don’t you forget it.”
“I haven’t proposed to Patience.”
“You will,” she said as she left him standing there, empty hearted and frustrated.
* * * * *
No sooner had she got the strays to bed than someone pounded on the damned door. She flung it open, and whispered harshly, “Quiet. You’ll wake the crew.”
Ben stood there, hat in hand. She slammed the door but he caught it and came into the bunkhouse. “We can talk inside, or outside.”
“Go back to the Bar EL, Boston. We ain’t got a damned thing to say.” She grabbed the lantern and stepped outside anyway, figuring he’d make a fuss.
He did. “Why are you so angry with me, Jake? It’s not as if I hadn’t told you about Patience.”
“Boston, how the hell could such a smart man be so all-fired stupid?”
He looked like he’d been hit in the forehead with a fresh cowpie. Good, ‘cause she felt the same way. His shoulders slouched as he picked up his horse’s rein. “See you tomorrow.”
He’d given up a little too easily, but she waited until he rode into the darkness before she went back into the bunkhouse.
She tossed all night and when she got up the next morning she could’ve torn a grizzly bear’s head off with her teeth. Her mouth tasted like she already had.
“Get up, cowhands. We got a big day ahead.”
Stumbling outside, she doused her head in the icy water of the horse trough and threw her waist-length hair back. Combing it was a pain in the ass--she oughta just whack the damned stuff off. Finally getting the rats out, she braided her hair and jammed on her hat.
Homer came out first, dressed in clean clothes. “I’m riding a bronc today,” he announced with his chest puffed out. “Crip said he had one just for me.”
Jake nodded and smiled her approval, even though she hadn’t let him ride last year. He was seven years old, plenty old enough to buck out a small horse. Hell, maybe she’d been a might too easy with the little ones. She’d been bucking out roughstock since she was Teddy’s age.
The morning passed like lightning. She had a helluva time keeping the Bar EL hands’ minds on their chores, but finally she told them all to go to the round pen. The tournament was about to start.
“Good afternoon, Jake!” Suzanne had stacked dishes and several loaves of bread on the table in the barn.
Jake waved and ambled over to her. “Is that Patience woman still here?”
Suzanne puffed out her cheeks and blew out. “My stars, yes. She’s prancing around here somewhere in my best dress. She hogged up the mirror for over two hours this morning.”
“I ain’t surprised.” Jake watched Suzanne slice the bread and waited to see if she’d say where Ben was.
“Ma sent word to the marshal asking him to bring out Patience’s trunks from Henderson. I told her she should leave them there and send the witch back to Boston.”
When she finally wound down her griping about Patience, Jake went to see how Whip was doing at the roasting pit. “You seen Boston?”
“Nope.” While Whip turned the spit of beef, Mabel scurried about, fetching and carrying for him. The minute he needed anything, Mabel was right there. But if they were both happy, what the hell.
All the cowhands from the Lazy B stood by the roasting pit with Harley and Peter Blacker. Jake joined them. “Glad you could make it, boys.”
“You riding today?” Big Al asked.
“Yup.” Tilting her Stetson over her eyes, she said, “We got every single man on the Bar EL signed up.”
Peter leaned toward her. “Ben?”
“Yup.” She slipped her thumbs under her belt. “Even Homer. He’s seven.”
She moseyed to the corral where Slim and Crip had herded the mustangs. Handing Ezra’s watch to Crip, she said, “I brung the old man’s timepiece. Take care of it.”
Crip studied the flowery design etched in the gold. “Thanks,” he said, sliding it in his vest pocket.
“Got any rank ones?”
“Sure do,” Crip said. He nodded toward the other side of the pen. “That black over there ’druther eat your guts as stomp your face in.”
She watched the stallion as the horses milled around. He was a cocky one, all right. Strong, lean, and snorting fire. “What’s his number?”
Hooking his boot over the bottom rail, Crip rested his chin on the top of the fence. “One. Ain’t a horse in the bunch what could hold a candle to him.”
“Mighty fine piece of horseflesh. How long do you think a feller has on him?”
“If he sticks for one jump, he might stay on for two more. If he’s lucky.”
“After the tournament, turn the black and two of the best mares loose. They’ll breed us some fine horses for next year.”
“If we can catch ‘em.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “You always do.”
On the front porch of the house, Ben bent over and buckled his chaps. She admired his strong shoulders and cursed her heart for doing the two-step every time she caught sight of him. He could sure do a pair of chaps proud.
As he bounded off the steps, Henry came at him full force and gave his legs a bear hug. Ben picked her up and chucked her under the chin. Hell, he should have been her mother.
Then Patience opened the door and yelled, “Benjamin, we’re not done talking yet!”
Without looking back, Ben bounced Henry on his hip and headed for the corral where the other Bar EL hands were mingling with those of the Lazy B and other ranches around. All of them would be on the roundup, and this was their last relaxation for over a month.
Jake made her way in that direction, too. It was time to give ‘em their talk. The Bar EL had won the tournament the last two years, and she wasn’t about to lose to the Lazy B or any other ranch while she was foreman.
“All right, boys, it’s about time we got our teeth set straight and pucker real tight. Them hands at the Lazy B think they got a winner this year, but I think you fellers can whoop ‘em with one hand tied behind your back and your bloomers on.”
Crazy Jim hollered, “Hell, Jake, you won first every time you ever rode. All’s we gotta do is show up.”
She waited until the guffaws died down. “We got a mean one over in that corral. See that black?” She cocked her head toward the snorting beast. “He’s a widdermaker. You draw him and you’ll either win the whole dam
ned thing, or end up flat on your back with your teeth kicked in wishing you was dead.”
“Know anything about him?” one of the cowhands asked.
“Crip says he ain’t got no pattern. What he did last time, he won’t do this time. So just pucker up, hang on, and help yourself to a good dose of try.”
Just then Patience swished in. “Oh, Benjamin! You can’t mean to ride one of those wretched brutes?”
The men all laughed and Ben told her, “If you don’t want to watch, get back in the house.”
“I won’t!”
Jake half expected her to stomp her foot, but she didn’t. She was a lady, of course. A screeching, nagging lady. Jake was never so glad she was just a cowhand.
“You will,” Ben said firmly. He put Henry down. “I mean it, Patience, don’t bother me this afternoon.”
The other men were still while Ben and Patience stared each other down. Finally, she backed off. “I’ll remember this, Benjamin. I’m quite certain that Daddy won’t be amused.”
Ben tipped his hat to her, then turned away. “How about it, boys, are we ready to ride?”
“Yeehaw!” came a chorus of voices, accompanied by thirty hats thrown in the air. All except for Henry’s--hers hit Ben in the nose.
Reginald trotted from the house carrying his derby. “Ben, old boy, may I take part in your little tournament?”
The cowhands guffawed. “We’ll put ‘im on the widdermaker.”
“It’s up to Jake,” Ben told Reginald. “She’s foreman here. She says who rides.”
The dandy’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Good gravy, I never thought you’d be working for a woman!”
Jake’s temper got shorter by the minute. She grabbed him by his starched collar and lifted him up until his toes dragged the dirt and banged him against the fence. “Ask nice, greenhorn. We put stock in manners around these parts.”
“You might as well apologize while you’re in the air, Reg,” Ben suggested. “It’ll be easier that way.”
Reginald gasped and gulped, punching at her. She didn’t mind taking a few hits--she’d hold him up there until he passed out if that was what he wanted. “Well?”
“Lord Almighty!” He coughed, his eyes wide, looking to Ben for help. “I’m . . . uh . . .”
Much Ado About Mavericks Page 16