Much Ado About Mavericks

by Jacquie Rogers

  She tightened her grip on his collar. “I’m waiting.”

  “I’m, uh, sorry.”

  “Who are you saying that to?”

  He splutter some more. “Wh--why, to you.”

  “I ain’t the one you insulted. You owe your sorries to every hardworking cowhand what rides the Bar EL brand.” She shook him again. “And to the man who owns this spread.” His color was a bit high, but Jake couldn’t feel sorry for the ninny.

  His gaze darted back and forth. “I humbly apologize to you all.”

  Jake dropped him and he slouched to the ground. “You can ride,” she said as she strode away.

  * * * * *

  Dust lingered in the crisp September air as Ben leaned on the fence and watched the youngsters ride. After Homer rode, Teddy and Henrietta wanted to ride, too. Jake roped a couple of calves for them, saying they were too little for horses. The two kids weren’t all that happy with having to ride calves, but they got a big cheer from the audience.

  Teddy took off his hat and bowed to the crowd, getting an even bigger cheer. Ben shook his head and chuckled. That boy would be president of the United States someday.

  “All you boys gather ‘round!” Whip bellowed, holding his hat filled with numbered papers. “Time to draw for round one. The ten who ride the longest, you get to go to round two.”

  There were probably sixty cowhands ready to compete. And Reginald Morris. Ben took him in tow. “Let’s go.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Whip assigned each horse a number. We’re drawing numbers from his hat to see which horse we ride in round one. If you want to bow out, now’s the time.”

  “Hrmph, not after making a dreadful fool of myself.” His color rose again. “That is one hellacious woman you have running things.”

  “I’d call her competent.” He patted Reginald on the back. “She’s not so bad. Just ride hard, catch your calf every time, shoot straight and hit what you’re aiming at, and don’t shirk. Then she’s quite a pleasant boss.”

  “Lordy, what have I gotten myself into?”

  Ben nudged him forward as Whip waited for each of them to take their numbers.

  “What d’ya get?” Whip asked.

  “I got eight and Reginald here got twenty-two.”

  Whip slapped his thigh. “Whew, doggie! Number one’s saved for round two.”

  Raising his eyebrow, Reginald asked, “Number one?”

  Smiling broadly, Ben answered, “The widowmaker. Big, black stallion that eats meat.”

  “Oh, Reginald!” The two men turned to see Patience walking toward them with Suzanne and Mabel. “Surely you’re not intending to participate in these barbarian games!”

  Ben wondered what in the hell he’d ever seen in that woman. He made up his mind right then and there that she’d have to find another husband. Of course, that meant he’d have to find another job. “Come on, Reg. Let’s go get ready. Whip, do you have a pair of chaps that Reginald could use?”

  “Yup, in the bunkhouse. I’ll fetch ‘em for you.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” Mabel offered.

  Ben didn’t quite know what to make of his mother’s infatuation with Whip. He hardly seemed her type, but he was gentle with her, and Ben had no problems with the man. Liked him, even.

  “Get on over here to the corral!” Crip shouted. “Slim’s roping the first horse now.” He looked on the paper Slim gave him. “This here’s number forty-seven. Who’s riding? Bring your saddle and your guts. This one’s a blowing snot all over.”

  “Thank God in heaven,” Reginald said, taking a deep breath. “That’s not mine.”

  Fred stepped out of the crowd and fetched his saddle that he’d put beside the corral with all the others.

  Ben decided Reginald might as well know what he’d gotten himself into. “While the wranglers hold the horse, Fred has to saddle him, then ride for as long as he’s able.”

  “What’s that old man doing?”

  “Biting the horse’s ear. He won’t move while Crip has his teeth sunk in.”

  “Good god.” Reginald wiped his hands over his face. “I think I’ll stick with polo.”

  Ben watched as Fred, whom everyone knew coveted Jake’s job, managed to saddle the mustang, crawl on, and take the reins. At the nod of his head, Crip and Slim let go. The horse exploded, bucking high, then spinning right. Fred stuck through the first burst, then the second as the wiry mustang reared and twisted, bucked and spun. Then he locked his front legs, skidded to an abrupt stop, and Fred sailed over his head.

  “One minute and eighteen seconds,” Crip shouted. “Good job, Fred.”

  Jake rested her arms on the fence beside Ben. “That’ll probably get him in the money round. Too bad he won’t win.”

  Frowning, Reginald asked, “Money round?”

  Jake rolled her eyes and Ben explained, “The Bar EL pays twenty dollars to the winner of round two. That’s why it’s called the money round.”

  “Number twenty-two,” Crip called.

  Reginald gritted his teeth. “Aw, hell, that’s me.”

  The cowhands hooted and hollered. “Let’s see the greenhorn ride!”

  Whip handed him a pair of worn chaps. “Know how to put these on?”

  “No.”

  Jake rolled her eyes again. Ben didn’t want Reginald to be too humiliated--after all, his father was Ben’s boss. “Whip, you help him with the chaps and tell him what to do. I’ll get my saddle for him to use.”

  Patience pushed her way through the cowhands and confronted her brother. “You simply can’t mean to do this. Why, it’s not dignified, let alone civilized!”

  “Sister, you’re annoying me. Go tat some lace, or something.”

  Jake moved between them. “Ma’am, if you ain’t riding, then get out of the way. Otherwise, draw a number.” Ben had never been prouder of Jake than at that moment. Ladies all over Boston cowed to Patience’s every whim. But not Jake. Never Jake.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” Patience snarled.

  Reginald took her arm and led her away. “Trust me, she can. Now go away and let me take my turn before they give it to someone else.” He turned to Ben. “I’m ready for the saddle, now.”

  Patience stood back, her lips pursed. Ben figured she was angrier at Jake for showing her up than at Reginald defying her wishes. “Go over to where the other women are, Patience. You could get hurt out here.”

  “As if you care!” She spun around and flitted to Mabel and Suzanne. Her lips were still going. Ben was thankful he didn’t have to listen.

  Reginald put on a respectable show. Over thirty seconds was considered a decent ride on a rank horse. He came back dirty, sweaty, and grinning. “Damn, this is fun!”

  “Even eating dirt?” Jake asked.

  He wiped his face with his sleeve. “That part, I could do without.”

  A few cowhands rode for less than a minute each, and then Crip called, “Number thirty-three.”

  “That’s me.” Jake checked the buckles on her chaps and picked up her tack. “See you in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Hell it only took me five minutes to saddle the horse,” Reginald mumbled.

  “It’ll only take her about two.” Ben nodded toward her. “You watch a real cowhand ride.”

  She drew a sorrel stallion that had several gashes on him. A fighter, Ben noted, just like Jake. The two wranglers had a helluva time quieting him, then Jake threw her saddle on his back and cinched it before he had a chance to blow. She leapt on him and jammed her hat over her ears. As soon as Crip handed her the reins, she nodded. They let go, jumped back, and ran for the fence.

  The big stallion bucked hard, then galloped around the corral twice, then bucked and bucked and bucked. Jake sat a firm seat, never flinching. The horse bucked more, by now lathered. Finally, he stopped, his head sagging, his sides heaving. She hopped off and lead him over to the wranglers.

  “Four minutes and thirty seconds,” Crip yelled. “And she
greenbroke that horse, besides!”

  She ambled over to Ben. He tipped his hat to her. “Great ride, Jake.”

  “Good enough.” She turned away and leaned on the fence. “Now let’s see what you can do, Boston.”

  Chapter 12

  Crip had called out several numbers but none of them were Ben’s, and his pacing drove Jake nuts. The next pass he made by her, she grabbed his arm and stopped him. “You’re gonna tucker yourself out before you even get in the saddle.”

  He grumbled something about making a fool of himself and she had to grin. “Just ride like you rode that paint a few weeks back. You’ll do fine.”

  Nodding, he bent and reached to his saddle, leaving his hand near the pommel while waiting for Crip to call out the next number. There were only two left, Jake knew. Too bad he had to wait until the very end.

  “Number eight!”

  She patted him on the back as he picked up his saddle. “Keep one leg on each side and your mind in the middle.”

  Sending her a quick nod, he strode to the center of the corral, looking for all the world like he belonged there. He was the tallest man on the Bar EL, and the only one Jake could dance with who didn’t stare at her right square in the breasts. Not that he didn’t steal a look-see now and then, and she had to admit, her innards glowed every time he did.

  He had some trouble saddling the big dun mare. She was skittish as hell, and he damn near got bucked off before he even got on. Finally, he got his seat, pulled on the reins, and nodded.

  The dun jumped straight up and landed stiffly on all fours. A real tongue-biter, Jake thought. The mare took off and bashed Ben’s knee on the fence, then started bucking in earnest.

  “Thirty seconds,” Crip yelled.

  The Bar EL hands cheered Ben on. Jake, too. She caught herself jumping up and down, waving her hat. She looked around to see if anyone noticed, then crossed her arms over her breast and stood quietly.

  But her innards clenched every time he took a jolt. A high bucker, the mare nearly threw him when she swerved to the right and reared instead of bucked.

  “One minute!”

  Jake held her breath. Just a few more seconds and he’d make the money round.

  The bay charged the fence where Jake stood, then locked all fours. But Ben held on, gritting his teeth, clenching his lips. His eyes sparked fire and determination. Jake knew he’d stick.

  “Two minutes!”

  Tiring, the horse snorted snot and began to lather but still she bucked. Finally, she slowed to a walk, then stopped. Ben smiled and waved his hat. Too soon--she gave one last lurch and he landed face down in the horse apples.

  “Two minutes and fifty-nine seconds, Ben,” Crip shouted. “You’re in the money round!”

  The Bar EL hands cheered. Jake glanced over to Patience, who sat primly and showed no joy in Ben’s beautiful ride. She shook her head at the lady’s stupidity.

  Jake looked at Ben again. His chest was puffed out nearly as much as hers. “Helluva ride, cowhand.”

  Ben uncinched his saddle, threw it over his shoulder. Her heart knew the moment his gaze found her and he grinned like a little boy. Too bad he’d head back for Boston. Maybe sooner than later.

  Too bad for the Bar EL, she told herself.

  * * * * *

  Every square inch of Ben’s body ached, especially the particular portion that wanted Jake, but still, that ride made him feel ten feet tall. Or maybe it was Jake’s broad smile and sparkling blue eyes. Who knew a goddess would be chewing on a straw?

  Just then Patience threw her arms around him with such force, he nearly lost his balance. “Oh, Benjamin, you were stunning!”

  Jake spat the straw on the ground and stomped away. Ben attempted to detach Patience from his person, but she had a grip like a bricklayer’s. “Ease up, Patience.” He took a couple of steps but she still held him, tilting her face and puckering her lips for a kiss.

  He wouldn’t oblige--he no longer had the inclination. In fact, he wondered what he’d ever seen in her in the first place. “I have to get ready for the next round. He stepped away but she followed. “Go on, now.”

  He saw Whip watching them, then approaching. “Good ride, son.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I need you in the bunkhouse,” Whip said, winking. “One of the fellers has a sticker in his ass.”

  Patience popped away like a cork. “Oh, what vulgar language!” she blurted, and hurried away.

  Taking a deep breath, Ben thanked Whip again.

  “I expect you know that a black widder eats her mate after he done the deed.” He took his hat off and wiped his brow. “Blessed hot for being damn near October.” Putting his hat back on, he headed for the bunkhouse. “Best you come along with me before she figgers out I’m a damned liar.”

  Ben nodded, then looked for Jake but didn’t see her anywhere. “When’s the next round?”

  “Oh, whenever Crip and Slim take a notion to start it. Shouldn’t be too long, they’re taking a little nip for their rheumatiz right now. But you ain’t gonna miss a thing because I’m the one who holds the hat with the numbers.”

  In the bunkhouse, Jake sat on a wooden bench, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, her stare fixed on the floor. A few cowhands stood around, talking, but Jake seemed oblivious to it all.

  She’d been so happy just a few minutes before, and Ben wanted to make her happy again. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about it, though. They were in a fine mess.

  One thing he could do, though, was insist that Patience return to Boston on the Monday stage. She hated it here--she certainly hadn’t hidden her disgust with both the people and the country--so he hoped she wouldn’t require too much convincing.

  “If I’m not back in time, you draw for me.”

  Whip slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do the right thing, son.”

  It didn’t take long to find Patience, sitting by herself on the front porch. Ben climbed the stairs and stood in front of her.

  “Patience, I have no idea why you came here, but I want you to leave on tomorrow’s stage. I’ll have Marshal Hiatt buy tickets for you and Reginald.”

  “All right,” she said pleasantly. “We’ll be married this evening.” She sighed and caught his gaze. “I’ve always yearned for an evening wedding in a quaint little church.”

  “You’re in for a big surprise, then. There’s no church here, nor is there a groom.”

  He waited for her to have one of her tantrums--he had seen her become quite vicious at times--but she merely reached into her reticule and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “Daddy sent this letter for you,” she said as she handed it to him. “Don’t bother reading it--he just outlines the conditions of your senior partnership.”

  “And?”

  “You’ll get it as soon as we’re married. Not a minute sooner.”

  Ben removed his hat and rubbed his temple. So Creighton Morris was using the senior partnership as bait for a husband for Patience. Well, it was damn good bait. As senior partner in Morris & Graves, he’d be part owner of one of the top five firms in Boston--something he’d worked years to achieve.

  “So your father sent you?”

  “You could say that.”

  Not all that long ago, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to exchanging vows with the boss’s daughter in trade for a senior partnership. Now he wondered why he ever thought that was a good idea.

  “Be ready to leave.”

  Hopping to her feet, Patience beamed as she politely kissed him on the cheek. “You won’t regret it, Ben. You’ve made me such a happy woman!”

  “We’re not engaged. I haven’t proposed and you know it.”

  “But we’re as good as!”

  He left her standing on the porch holding the letter. Despite her remarks, he hadn’t made a commitment. In fact, the more he thought about it, the hotter he got. He’d worked his tail off at Morris & Graves, spending twelve and fourteen hours
a day, six days a week for the last eight years. His dedication and hard work should have been more than enough to earn the partnership.

  As angry as he was at Creighton Morris, he had to admit that he’d learned more about Patience in the last twenty-four hours than he had in the several years he’d known her. And what he learned hadn’t been good. Had she been so condescending in Boston? He’d never paid that much attention.

  He returned to the corral just as the drawing ended and the murmuring began. Reginald stared at him as he made his way to Whip.

  “Here’s your number, son.” Whip slapped Ben on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

  Ben looked at the paper. Number one. The widowmaker.

  He took a deep breath and smiled. That contentious black stallion couldn’t hold a candle to his own anger. It would be a good match.

  “Hey, old chap!” Reginald clapped him on the shoulder. “You didn’t make out so well in the draw, I hear.”

  “You heard wrong. I drew the horse I wanted.” Ben shoved the paper in his vest pocket and went to check the cinch on his saddle.

  Reginald followed him like a fly. “I know it’s not sporting to bow out, but Father would be highly annoyed if your departure was delayed due to a broken head.”

  “Stuff it, Reg.”

  Sucking in his breath, Reginald ventured, “You’ve been talking with my sister, haven’t you?”

  “Good guess.”

  Reginald winced. “That explains your mood. I had to put up with that all the way from Boston.” He slapped Ben on the back and left.

  Ben ran his hands over the leather, looking for cracks. He had plenty of time--six men would ride before him, then Crazy Jim and, finally, Jake. She rode the longest time in the first round, so she’d ride last in the money round.

  He scanned the cowhands standing around the corral, and finally found her in the ladies’ section talking to his mother, who was patting her on the arm. Suzanne stood to the side, hand on her hips. She must be riled about something--probably Patience’s monopoly of the mirror.

  Just as he reached them, he saw Patience marching triumphantly toward the women. Coward, he told himself, as he looked for an escape route.