“Well, honey.” She gave him a bewitching smile. “Let’s see the loot.”
Snake grabbed it up. “Heavy,” he said and poured the contents out on the blanket, then began to curse again. “I’ll be damned, mostly change, a couple of double eagles.” He sorted through it. “I’ll be double damned. Probably not more than fifty dollars total, and I almost got myself killed for this. I reckon that damned Texan got the big stuff, that double-crossin’ sidewinder. I ought to hunt him down and kill him.”
Dixie was still smarting from Larado’s rejection. “Yeah, you should. He gets away with the big money and you get nothin’ much. You deserve better, honey.”
“I was gonna buy you some presents,” he grumbled.
“Maybe next time. Can I have the double eagles?”
“Naw,” he snapped. “You greedy little bitch. Gimme the double eagles. You can have the small change. Too bad I grabbed the wrong bag. Now that Texan’s gonna be rich and comfortable.”
Somewhere in the distance, they heard gunshots, and on the far ridge, she saw the posse strung out in a long line. “I reckon they’re signalin’ each other. You better clear out of here, Snake.”
“You too.”
She shook her head. “Naw, they won’t do anything to me because they won’t connect me to the robbery. Besides, half them respectable men is my customers when their wives ain’t lookin’. They wouldn’t want me tattlin’ on them. You just clear on out, and I’ll delay them while you get away.”
“You’re one in a million, Dixie. I’ll hide out and maybe come back for you sometime.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive—I always do. Now get out of here.” She picked up the empty bank bag and tossed it into the fire. “Now there’s nothin’ to connect this camp to any bank robbery.”
“You’re smart for a woman, Dixie. I won’t forget you.”
“Sure, sure.” She didn’t care about Snake. He didn’t have any money, and she wanted a man who could give her nice things, a fancy carriage and a big house. “Get!”
Snake swung into the saddle, nodded to her, and rode out. She watched him go until he was only a speck on the horizon. He was heading in a different direction than Larado, so he wouldn’t meet up with him and learn Dixie had lied. Anyway, Snake would never believe Larado’s bank bag had been full of paper. He’d go looking for Larado for betraying him. For a split second, her conscience bothered her, because she knew what a good shot Snake was. Still, she was mad at the Texan for spurning her. And worse than that, he seemed attracted to that tall brunette at the Last Chance. That annoyed Dixie. She turned and watched the posse coming over the hill. The Texan deserved whatever he got—and that pretty Lark too. It was ironic, maybe. Lark’s twin sister Lacey had stolen the other man that Dixie had cared for.
The posse rode into camp and dismounted.
“Hi, boys, out for a picnic on this spring day?”
The deputy pulled at his gray mustache and frowned at her. “What you doin’ out here by yourself?”
“Waitin’ for you boys to show up,” she drawled. She had put the change down the front of her corset cover, and she could feel it, cold, but comforting there.
“You wouldn’t be waitin’ for anyone, would you?” The men dismounted and looked around the site.
“I told you I was waitin’ for you,” she pouted.
“Don’t play with us, Dixie,” the deputy snapped. “There’s been a bank robbery in town and the teller was shot in the back. We’re lookin’ for two dirty yellow killers.”
She tried to keep her lip from trembling. Neither Larado nor Snake had said anything about killing a man. That made this much more serious. If the posse got either of them, they’d hang them on the spot. “You gonna take me in?”
“You know anything about this?” one of the deputies asked.
“No, and that’s the God’s truth.”
The deputy glanced skyward. “Be careful, girl, a lightning bolt might come out of the sky and hit you.”
“Well, you can take me in, boys, if you want, but I might start tellin’ all the wives in town what some of you boys are actually doin’ when they think you’re at a Civic Club meetin’ or the church fundraiser committee.”
A number of the men looked away, shuffled their boots, and cleared their throats.
The deputy said, “Well, it’s plain she don’t know anything—she’s just a common whore. Let’s ride on.”
“How dare you, Cliff Rainey?” she snapped. “I’m the best ride you ever had. You don’t think I’m so common when you’re sneakin’ up to my room while your wife’s off visitin’ her sister.”
His face turned brick red and the other men laughed. “She’s right,” the barber said. “Taking her in will only get us in trouble with our women. Let’s ride on.”
The others seemed to suddenly remember that they’d spent a little time up in Dixie’s room too. The deputy cleared his throat. “Reckon you’re right, Jim. Let’s get back on the trail. Miss Dixie, you’d better head back to town.”
“Well, I will, unless some of you got time for a quickie.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” A couple of men stepped forward. The deputy roared, “What in tarnation you fellas thinkin’ of? We ain’t got time for women now. We’re on a manhunt. Now get ridin’.”
Reluctantly, the men headed to their horses. She’d bedded most of them at one time or another, but how many more years before she’d be too old for men to want her? “Bye, boys, see you back in town.”
They mounted up, tipped their hats, and rode out. The wind had picked up, blowing dust across horse tracks, so she knew it would be difficult to follow either Larado or Snake. She watched the posse leave, heading in the wrong direction. If the deputy had offered a little reward, she would have told him everything she knew, because she didn’t give a damn about Snake and Larado didn’t give a damn about her.
Somewhere, there was a man who would buy her fine clothes and a fancy house. She watched until the posse had ridden away and sighed. One more night ahead of her, flat on her back for a dollar, under any drunk who wanted her for a few minutes. Abruptly she was sick of all that, sick of being a common whore. What she needed to escape this life was money, plenty of money.
Dixie stared into the dwindling campfire a moment before kicking dirt over it to put it out. Her mind was busy. Now, if Larado didn’t have the bank money and Snake didn’t have the bank money, who did? She thought about it a long time as she gathered up her things. Then the sudden knowledge popped into her mind like someone lighting a lamp. She grinned. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Humming happily to herself, she hitched up her rented buggy and rode toward town. She’d get those fine clothes and glittering jewelry after all.
Chapter Three
Lark walked into town and found the weather-beaten old hotel. She didn’t have much money, and she’d have to find a job fast. The frail, elderly man at the desk seemed curious. A stranger, particularly an unescorted woman, was a novelty in any area of the West.
“How’s the job opportunities around here?”
His gold-rimmed glasses slid down his thin nose. “For a lady?”
She didn’t want to lie, but she surely didn’t want anyone tracking her back to Buck Shot and the bank robbery. “You see, I was a mail-order bride for a rancher in the next county and when I got here, he didn’t want me, drove me to the nearest crossroads. I managed to catch a ride on a wagon, and now I’m pretty much stranded here.”
“What kind of a low-down polecat would do that to a lady?” His voice was sympathetic.
She thought about Larado, that rascal. “Reckon I’m not a very good judge of men. Anyway, thought I might be able to get a job, earn enough for a train ticket back to Texas.”
He scratched his white head. “Café might could use a new cook.”
Lark sighed. She was a terrible cook, unlike her perfect sister, Lacey. “I’m a pretty good cowboy, really good with horses. I can rope and shoot better than mos
t men.”
The old man laughed. “Sorry, miss, you know most ranchers aren’t gonna hire a female as a ranch hand.”
His condescending attitude made her want to reach across the counter and smack him.
“Besides,” he said, “even if a rancher was to hire you, where would you sleep? You wouldn’t want to share a bunkhouse with a bunch of wranglers.”
Now that was the truth. She pictured being surrounded by snoring, dirty cowboys scratching and breaking wind. “Well, I’ll look around and see what’s available in the morning. Is there a place to get a bite?”
“A café down the street, not too good. I told you they was needing a cook.”
She turned to go. They’d think not too good if she was doing the cooking.
“Oh, and Mrs. Jones is looking for a housekeeper. She’s got the biggest house in town, but she’s real particular.”
“Thanks.” Lark wasn’t much on housekeeping either. “Maybe I’ll look into it.”
The old man had known what he was talking about. She got herself a quick sandwich, which wasn’t too good, then walked back to the small hotel. This was barely a town—few citizens, and not a lot of activity. It would be a perfect place to hide out until she could raise enough money to leave. She’d forgotten to even ask if a stage came through at all. It was obvious there was no train. Maybe it would take a while for word of the bank robbery to drift to this sleepy hamlet.
She counted her money and went to bed early. Tomorrow she would figure out what to do next. When she closed her eyes she saw Larado’s rugged face and crooked grin, then cursed the night she had gotten involved with the saddle tramp.
The next morning, she began to look for a job. Already word had spread about the newcomer in town, because a ranch wife stopped her to offer her a job as a bunkhouse cook. Lark sighed. She was desperate, but not that desperate. Besides, after they tasted her cooking she’d be fired right off.
She found some ranchers having coffee at the local cafe and tried to hire on as a ranch hand. One old geezer laughed so hard, he almost swallowed his false teeth. Lark managed not to whack him in the eye. The others seemed to think she was joking. Discouraged, she went out on the wooden sidewalk and looked up and down. What to do?
There was a saloon on the street, but she’d already decided she’d never work in a saloon again, no matter how desperate she got.
She tried the general store, but the short, bald owner said he and his wife could handle the business and suggested that if she needed a job she should get married. Lark had a terrible urge to push him into the pickle barrel, but managed to restrain herself.
It was still early. She returned to the hotel lobby, wondering if there was a local paper. The old man at the desk told her there was a weekly and handed her a copy. There were no job listings, but a mail-order bride column. Ha! She wasn’t that desperate yet.
Abut that time, an elegant man came down the stairs carrying a black-and-white cat. “Ah, a damsel in distress? May I be of assistance, mademoiselle?”
“Meow,” said the cat.
Lark looked at the man. He was about fifty, maybe, finely dressed, with a small mustache and goatee. His accent was foreign.
“How do you do?”
He stopped and bowed low, took her hand, and kissed the back of it. “I am very well. And you, miss?”
She pulled her hand away. “I’m new in town,” she said. “I don’t suppose you know of any jobs?”
“Hmm.” He pulled at his goatee. “Come along with me and Miss Mew Mew to my shop, and we’ll talk. At the very least, yes, I can offer you a cup of tea.”
“That would be very nice. It’s cool out there this morning.”
He transferred the cat to the other arm. “I am Pierre. I own a millinery shop down the street. A beautiful woman like you, you wear fine hats, yes?”
“Sometimes.” Actually, she wore a Stetson more often than anything, but she was flustered at the compliment. “And I am…Lacey, Lacey Van Schuyler.” She decided to use her sister’s name in case the law was looking for Lark.
“A beautiful woman always has lots of hats, oui.” He escorted her out on the wooden sidewalk and down to a tiny shop at the end of the street. “Here I make the beautiful chapeaus for the lovely ladies.” He opened the door and escorted Lark inside, where he put Miss Mew Mew in the shop window. The big cat promptly curled up to doze in the sun while he stirred up the tiny parlor stove and put on a kettle of water.
Lark looked around. It was a small shop with a display of fine ladies’ hats in the window. “Oh my, these are beautiful.”
He smiled at her. “I have talent, yes, and I eke out a living here, but sometime I will move on.”
Lark walked around, admiring the hats. “You seem so out of place in this town. I’d expect you’d be more at home in some big city like New York or Chicago.”
Pierre frowned as if his head hurt. “I was previously in San Francisco, and before that Cincinnati, but unfortunately, rich widows seemed to think my interest was more than professional and…” He shrugged and didn’t finish.
So this is what a gigolo looks like, she thought.
He made the tea and poured it into dainty cups, gesturing her to a chair. “Ah, this is more like it. Perhaps business will be slow today.”
“You actually make a living selling hats in this village?”
“Let us say, I have been the beneficiary of some very generous older ladies. I keep thinking I’ll find another, perhaps one who has inherited a rich ranch or something.” He gave her a charming smile.
“Ah.” She nodded as the realization struck her. “And you meet these ladies because they come into your shop?”
“Oui, I fulfill their, ah, most wonderful dreams.”
She looked around at the hats. “You have a lot of real talent,” she said.
He smiled again. “That’s exactly what the ladies said. Oh, you mean in the millinery business, yes?” He took a crisp linen napkin and wiped his penciled mustache. “But enough about me. How have you landed in this pitiful little town?”
She paused and looked away, thinking about that damned rascal of a cowboy. She hoped he was rotting in jail by now. “Let us just say that I had to leave the last town rather…well, unexpectedly.”
“Ah, me too!”
She didn’t have anyone else to trust, and now she admitted, “I’m looking for a job, and not having much luck because I’m not too good at housekeeping or cooking.” She sipped the hot tea and savored it. “I’ll only be able to stay at the hotel another day or two, and then if I don’t find a job, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
“Tsk, tsk.” He made a clicking sound and gave her a sympathetic look. “I have a back room where I store supplies. You might manage to sleep there, oui?”
She was immediately on guard. “I’m not sure—”
“No obligation.” He shook his head. “Unless you know an older rich lady, maybe a widow?” He looked hopeful.
“Sorry, I’m not from around here. I don’t know anyone.”
“Oh,” he sighed. “Well, you could model the hats for the old bats—I mean, the lovely ladies who come in. If they think they would look like you in my creations, they will buy. Besides, it might amuse me to teach you the millinery business. Of course, the salary would be quite small.”
“Almost anything would be acceptable,” she blurted. “Until I figure out what I’m going to do next.”
Pierre gave her a searching look. “I think we both may be in the same boat, maybe misunderstood by the law, no?”
She started to deny it, thinking of that damned cowboy and the mess he’d gotten her into. Then she sighed. “Misunderstood by the law, yes. Pierre, if you’re offering me a job, I’ll take it, but I have to warn you I know nothing about sewing or ladies’ accessories to speak of.”
“Ah, but mademoiselle looks talented.” He set his cup down, went over to a shelf, and began to dig through boxes. “Look, you take a felt form like this.” He pulled a bl
ack, large-brimmed hat from a box. “You pull up one side with a pretty jeweled pin, like so.” He demonstrated. “Then you add a veil, and ooh la la, a magnificent chapeau.”
“Why, it is beautiful!” Lark set her cup down. “Pierre, you are an artist.”
He shrugged. “It is nothing. I know what the ladies like.” He smiled modestly as he walked over and put the hat in the window. “Now get your things, my dear. My back room isn’t much, but it will do.”
In less than a month, Lark became quite successful at modeling hats for ladies who came in to shop. Men began to come in to buy gifts for their wives and to ogle the new girl in town. Lark was smart and more talented than she had realized. Pierre soon taught her to take a basic hat, add veils and flowers or plumes, and turn it into a thing of beauty. Business began to pick up as the weather warmed.
Several young cowboys tried to court Lark, but she made it clear she wasn’t interested. Somehow, none of them seemed as charming as the big Texan. Once Pierre mentioned that he might be moving on to a larger town, suggesting Lark might want to buy him out. Frankly, Lark told him, she couldn’t see herself in a lady’s hat shop the rest of her life—and besides, she didn’t have any money except the small salary he’d been paying her. Uncle Trace would certainly have loaned her the down payment, but Lark was still too proud and stubborn to ask her wealthy in-laws for help.
One day at the café, she picked up a Texas newspaper that a traveler on the weekly stage had apparently left behind. Out of idle curiosity, she began to look through it. Someone had a black horse for sale. Someone else had some house furnishings, some cattle. Maybe there were some job listings. Then she spotted the matrimony ads. Middle-aged lady who is a good cook, looking for widower with a nice ranch. Young lady looking for a young man of good family who is interested in matrimony. She started to put the paper on the table, then an ad caught her eye: Sheriff in up-and-coming west Texas town, former Texas Ranger, would like to meet respectable young lady. Object: Matrimony.
Georgina Gentry - To Tease a Texan Page 4