Larado stumbled out to a tree on a prairie where he’d left his horse and bedroll. “Hey, hoss, you doin’ okay?” The bay stallion raised his head and nickered as Larado scratched his neck, then returned to grazing on the dried grass. “Maybe you are, but I ain’t.” Larado shivered in the raw wind, squinted, and looked back toward the long, muddy street of saloons. He could hear the off-key music and the laughter from here. Had the other man been cheating? Should he have called him out?
“Now, pard, that would have been a damn fool thing to do, and you know why,” he muttered to himself as he spread his blankets and lay down. “You ain’t that good a shot without…Well, you ain’t no gunfighter.”
It was a raw night for early April, and he shivered and pulled his blanket closer, thinking about the girl in the blue skimpy dress. She’d have been warm, all right, and he wished he had her in his blankets with him. What was her name? Lark. Like the bird. He remembered the feel of her as he’d pulled her toward him. He didn’t have any money to spend on her, and she must have known it, but she’d come out anyway. He hadn’t been nearly as drunk as she thought he was, it was only…Well, that didn’t make no never mind.
Working at the Last Chance, she had to be experienced and really know how to please men. In his mind, he imagined pulling her close and feeling that curvy body all the way down his. Her legs under the short, skimpy blue dress had looked long enough to go all the way to her neck. “Oh, sweetie,” he groaned, trying to get comfortable as his manhood stirred. “If I win a couple of hands next time, I’m gonna see how much you cost. The first night I spent a dollar on that Dixie, and she was okay, but I’ll wager you’re better.”
Money. He was flat broke. The ranches around here all seemed to have plenty of cowboys. Larado had been trying to win enough to grubstake supplies to get back to Texas. Just what the hell was he gonna do now?
At daylight the next morning Larado sat before a small campfire, sipping the last of his little stash of coffee and nursing a hangover. He’d drift south now and maybe find a temporary job punching cattle somewhere where it was warm. What he really dreamed of was owning his own spread, but he couldn’t see any way he could ever do that.
A sound. He turned his head and squinted. In the early dawn light, he wasn’t sure for a moment who the rider was, then he recognized Snake.
“Kin I get down?” Snake yelled.
“Sure.” Larado nodded. He had a bad headache from last night, and he felt as low-down as a rattlesnake’s belly, but a Texan was always hospitable. He stood up. “Want some coffee?”
“You got an extra cup?”
He nodded, pouring the man a cup. Snake sat down on a rock, taking the tin cup in both hands.
“Damn, that hot coffee feels good on a cold morning.” Snake took a sip and shuddered. “Don’t you Texans make coffee any way but strong?”
Larado laughed. “If it won’t float a horseshoe, we throw it out and make another pot.” He studied the other man’s ugly face with its jagged red scar on the forehead.
Snake touched the scar. “You’re wondering how I got this, right?”
Larado felt his face burn. “Naw, I wasn’t.”
“I don’t mind.” The other man sipped his coffee. “Looks like a snake, don’t it? A long time ago, I got into a whip fight with another fella. Since then, I’ve learned to use a pistol—safer for me.”
Larado laughed but the other man didn’t.
“Listen.” Snake took another sip of coffee. “I felt bad about last night, realizin’ you was pretty broke when you left the table.”
“That happens when you play poker.” Larado rolled a cigarette and shrugged. “I don’t begrudge you the money.”
“Maybe I could stake you a little,” Snake offered. “I got something workin’ and I might cut you in on it, being as how my last partner got kilt in a knife fight.”
“Oh?” Larado felt a rush of warning. “I don’t think—”
“Hear me out,” Snake interrupted. “There’s a fat bank in this town, almost as fat as the owner. You can’t believe how much money goes in there from all these saloons.”
“Uh-uh.” Larado shook his head. “That dog won’t hunt.”
“Huh?”
“It’s what Texans say when it’s no-go. I ain’t never done nothin’ crooked much. I ain’t hankerin’ for no prison cell.”
“You got any money to get back to Texas?”
“No. I’m flat busted except for my watch and my horse,” Larado admitted as he stuck the smoke in his mouth and reached for a burning twig from the campfire.
“Look”—Snake leaned closer—“this bank would be a pushover. It just opened up and is bustin’ with deposits. The sheriff’s out of town, and it’s too early for the bank to be open.”
“Then how would you get in? You gonna blow it?” Larado asked.
Snake spat into the fire. “That’d draw too much attention. I been watchin’ and I seen that fat little banker work on his books with his teller early in the mornin’ before the bank opens.”
Larado shook his head and blew smoke. “I ain’t no robber, and I’d like to live a little longer.”
“I never heard of no Texan being a coward,” Snake said.
“When you say that, mister, you’d better smile. Our motto is ‘Remember the Alamo.’ Texans go down fightin’.”
“I meant no offense.” Snake tossed the last of his coffee in the fire where it sizzled and went up in steam. “You could just mosey in there with me and look around, see if you think it’s doable.”
“Do I look like my mama raised a fool?” Larado shook his head. “I ain’t no bank robber, and to be mighty honest, I ain’t too good with a gun.”
“Hell, I am,” Snake said. “I ain’t askin’ you to shoot somebody, just help me carry all those sacks of money out—they’d be mighty heavy.”
“Mighty heavy,” Larado repeated wistfully.
“Just come along with me and walk through the bank so I can look it over,” Snake urged. “Maybe you can give me some leads on what I ought to do when I do get a partner. You seem like a smart hombre.”
Larado felt himself redden. “Don’t have much book learnin’, although my mama did teach me to read. I reckon I’m smart as the next fella, if only…”
“I reckon I know a smart hombre when I see one.” Snake grinned, showing yellow teeth. “That’s why I want your advice. It’d be worth a gold eagle to find out what you think.”
Larado smoked and stared into the fire. A twenty dollar gold piece was a lot of money to a busted cowboy. “All I got to do is look over the bank and give you an opinion?”
The tough gunman nodded.
“Okay, here’s my opinion,” Larado said. “A man can get kilt robbin’ banks. Don’t do it.”
“Hell, I take back my apology. I reckon what they say about Texans is true.” Snake stood up slowly. “Folks say they’re all gurgle and no guts.”
Larado leaped up and grabbed him by the jacket sleeve. “You callin’ me yellow?”
“Easy, cowboy, easy.” Snake made a soothing gesture. “I wasn’t askin’ you to rob the bank, just help me look it over.”
“I ain’t seen the color of your money.”
“Fair enough. You’re a smart hombre, Larado.” Snake nodded, reached into his coat, and tossed a coin.
Larado caught it and stared at it. “Ain’t you afraid I’ll take your money and skedaddle?”
“You strike me as a purty honest man,” Snake said. “They say Texans got a sense of honor.”
“Reckon that’s true.” Larado nodded. He didn’t like the feel of this whole thing, but he needed the money—Lord, how he needed the money. Chico could use some oats, and he damned sure needed a new sack of Arbuckles’, a hunk of bacon, and a little cornmeal to get back to the Lone Star State. “Well, I’ll go along and look over this here bank, but I ain’t gonna rob it with you.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go now while it’s still early and there’s almost nobody on the s
treet.”
Larado put the gold coin in his vest, tossed his cigarette into the campfire, and stood. “I’ll saddle up.”
Snake followed him to saddle Chico. “I believe you’re the most honest galoot I ever met. Anybody else would jump at the chance to cut himself in on a fat job like this.”
“My mama would roll over in her grave if she thought she’d raised a son who would take another man’s money,” Larado said. “I don’t know what she would say about just lookin’ it over.”
“Aww, that fat banker has plenty, and you know how bankers is. He probably took half of it from some old folks he foreclosed on or cheated some poor widow out of.”
Larado gave that some thought as he saddled up and mounted. He began to whistle his favorite song:…as I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day…
“I hate that song,” Snake grumbled.
Larado stopped whistling. “I was wishin’ last night I had a twenty dollar gold piece. I reckon that’s what it would take to buy that gal.”
“Dixie?” Snake laughed as he swung into the saddle. “Hell, she’s my gal. She’s meetin’ me at my camp later this morning. I tell you what, I’ll give you a few minutes on a blanket with her.”
“I didn’t mean her, I meant that tall one with the black hair.” Silently, he wondered what kind of a man would offer the use of his woman to another man like he was offering to share some pecan pie. Maybe he didn’t know Larado had had the blonde the first night in town. She was pretty good for a dollar.
“Oh, Lark?” Snake snorted as they rode out. “Don’t know much about her ’cept she’s a Texan too. She’ll tease you, but that’s all. Waits tables, won’t work the cribs with the other whores.”
“Oh?” Larado’s interest heightened. “Damn, there was something about her got my blood runnin’ hot.”
“You ain’t the only one,” Snake laughed. “But she don’t do nothin’ but serve drinks—and not very well. You got your pants soaked with beer, so you know that.”
Larado grinned, remembering the girl. “She can pour beer on me any time. She’s purty as an ace-high straight.”
“After you left, she and Dixie got into a fight and she yanked some of Dixie’s hair out. Don’t know what Dixie said to start it.”
Larado pictured the scene, the luscious long legs, the tangle of dark hair, maybe a torn and revealing skimpy costume. “Texas gals ain’t likely to let anyone give them lip. You can always tell a Texan, but you can’t tell ’em much.”
Snake yawned and shrugged. “Ain’t that the Gawd’s truth? A woman is a woman,” Snake said, “they’ll cheat you and trick you and they’re all the same when the lights is turned out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Larado drawled. “That one wasn’t no coyote bait.”
Snake scratched his crotch. “Weeks ago, I made a pass at her and got slapped for it. She acts like a lady, but no lady would work in a saloon.”
“Reckon you got that right.” She was mysterious and interesting. His head hurt, but he remembered the warm scent of perfume wafting up between her full breasts.
They rode away from the camp and into town. As Snake had said, the streets were almost deserted in the early dawn.
Snake said, “We’ll tie up at the hitchin’ post out front.”
Larado looked toward the bank. “There ain’t no hitchin’ post.”
“What? Oh, hell,” Snake grumbled. “I forgot they took ’em down yesterday, doing something to widen the street or some fool thing. Now what we gonna do?”
“Hey,” Larado said with a grin, “look who’s comin’.”
Lark walked along the wooden sidewalk carrying her small valise. She knew the stage stopped in front of the butcher shop near the bank. She’d wait there for it. Where she was going, she couldn’t be sure. She ought to yell “calf rope,” which was Texan for admitting defeat, and wire her uncle. He would be forgiving, but Lark was not only defiant but proud. How could she go home, hat in hand, where no doubt her twin sister, Lacey, the perfect example of young womanhood, was now planning her perfect wedding to young Homer What’s-his-name?
She heard the sound of horses and turned to see that Texan from last night and the bad hombre, Snake, who had been cheating him at cards. What was the Texan’s name? Oh, yes, Larado. He was either stupid, drunk, or blind not to have seen what was going on at that poker table, yet here he was riding into town with the bad hombre.
She was almost abreast of the bank now, trying to decide whether to acknowledge that rascal Snake and the cowboy who had cost her her job.
She heard the two men dismount.
“Miss,” Larado called.
She turned, not sure what to expect. The look in the Texan’s dark eyes told her what he’d like. Land’s sake, just because she worked in a saloon, did every man think she’d fall on her back for a few coins? “Yes?”
The Texan touched the brim of his hat. “Mornin’, ma’am.”
She almost wanted to scream at him: You cost me my job, you hare-brained idiot, and now you speak to me? Instead, she gritted her teeth and barely nodded to him.
Larado smiled that engaging, crooked grin. “You don’t seem the type for a saloon, miss.”
She felt herself color. “That’s hardly your business,” she snapped. “A girl’s got to eat.”
“You two stop all that jawin’,” Snake griped. “We got things to do.”
“Miss Lark.” Larado took off his hat. “The hitchin’ rail’s down for the street repair. Maybe we could get you to hold our horses while we do a little business?”
“I reckon I can be obliging.” She took a deep breath. The Texan was not only handsome with a lock of black hair hanging in his dark eyes—that grin would rock any woman back in her high-button shoes.
They handed over their reins.
Larado pushed his Stetson back. “We’re much obliged. Won’t be gone a minute.”
She set her small valise down, took the reins from the pair, and watched them swagger into the bank. She didn’t know what business they had in there. She figured the cowboy was broke after last night, and Snake was a ruffian, not the kind who put his money in banks. She fidgeted a long moment, wondering when the stage would arrive.
Abruptly, the early morning silence was shattered by the sound of gunshots from the bank.
The two horses reared and whinnied at the sudden noise, and she hung on to the reins for dear life. People hurried out of buildings, shouting and running. Lark fought to hang on to the rearing horses. What in God’s name is happening in the bank?
Chapter Two
Larado was still feeling like the dogs had been dragging him around under the porch as he and Snake went into the bank.
“Damn, I’m cold,” Snake muttered. He had his hat pulled low and his collar turned up.
Larado felt cold too, and his nose was dripping. As they approached the teller’s cage, he pulled out his red bandana and brought it up to wipe his nose.
The little teller looked up as the two approached the counter. With alarm, he noted that they didn’t look like anyone to fool with. What’s more, one of them had his collar up as if to hide his identity, the other appeared to be holding a bandana over his face. Before either of the two could say anything, he yelled, “Mr. Barclay, come out here, we’re being robbed!”
“What? Mister, you’re makin’ a big mistake—” Larado blinked as the fat owner came running out of the back room, waving a shotgun. From the corner of his eye, he saw Snake go for his Colt. Instinctively Larado grabbed for his too. His hand was still shaky from the booze, and he dropped it. When the Colt hit the floor it went off, and the bullet hit the big kerosene light fixture with a resounding roar, resulting in a shower of broken glass.
“Don’t shoot!” the little teller begged. “We’ll give you the money.”
“Over my dead body!” the fat owner yelled.
Snake pointed his pistol at the bank official. “Mr. Barclay, I reckon that can be arrang
ed.”
“Snake, are you loco?” Larado said. “We ain’t—”
“Shut up!” Snake snapped. “You! Open that damned safe!”
The fat man was shaking as he laid the shotgun on the counter and turned to open the door to the big black safe. He pulled out two leather sacks and tossed them across the counter. “Just don’t kill us.”
Snake grabbed both sacks as Larado, his vision blurred, leaned over and picked up his pistol. From outside, he heard the noise of shouting and running as people on the street must have figured out what was happening.
“Let’s get out of here!” Snake commanded.
Larado needed no urging. How had he gotten mixed up in this anyhow? He saw the fat man reaching for the shotgun again and that put wings on his feet. As they ran out the front door, the shotgun roared and Snake screamed, “I’m hit!” followed by a string of oaths. Larado stopped to help him even as Snake stumbled and dropped one of the bank bags. Larado grabbed it up.
The fat banker ran out of the bank waving the shotgun and yelling, “Stop them two robbers! They’ve just killed my teller!” He aimed and fired again.
“Oh hell!” Snake swore. “He’s reloaded. We may get the next one in the butt!”
That’d make for mighty sore riding. Larado ran even faster. Out on the wooden sidewalk, Lark hung on to the reins gamely although the scared horses reared and almost lifted her off the ground.
With a curse, Snake yanked his reins from the girl’s hand and tried to mount. Around them, people were running and shouting for the sheriff.
“We got to get out of here!” Larado yelled and helped Snake mount up.
Lark’s dark eyes were wide with surprise. “What are you two—?”
“Shut up!” Snake snarled.
“It ain’t polite to tell a lady to shut up!” Larado scolded him.
“We got a town comin’ to lynch us, a riled-up banker wavin’ a shotgun, and you’re worried about how to treat a lady?” Snake said.
Georgina Gentry - To Tease a Texan Page 2