The Countess and the Cowboy

by Linda Wisdom

  Tyler glanced at her, confused by her out-of-theblue comment. "Excuse me?"

  She continued smiling. "Not a chance."

  Letitia's first glimpse of what the local residents called town was enlightening. A gas station with adjoining cafe, a feed store, a store that Tyler explained carried anything a body needed in a hurry, and a saddle shop that advertised boots, tack and leather goods.

  "This is pretty much a stop gap for things we need," he told her, parking in front of the emporium and getting out. "There's a larger town about a two-hour drive south of here where we can do major stocking up. Every couple months a few of us drive into Butte."

  Letitia was aware of curious stares as she jumped down from the truck without Tyler's help.

  "Momma, why's she wearing her bedroom slippers? Did she hurt herself?" one little girl piped up, pointing at Letitia's feet.

  Letitia laughed. “I guess they do look like bedroom slippers,” she freely admitted, hoping to ease the mother's embarrassment as she leaned over and shushed her daughter. "Hello, I'm Letitia DeMarco." She smiled warmly at the woman.

  "We've heard of you." The woman's smile wasn't as warm and friendly as Letitia's.

  Letitia's smile dimmed a bit.

  “Afternoon, Paula," Tyler greeted the woman and grinned at the girl. "Heather, how come you're not in school?"

  "I don't go to school tiI next year, Tyler, and you know it," she answered giggling.

  Tyler couldn't miss Paula's unfriendly manner toward Letitia. "How's Bret doing, Paula?"

  Her manner warmed considerably when she turned to him. "The doctor said he'll get the cast off next week. He's real happy about that. He's always complaining that it itches all the time."

  Tyler chuckled. "Yeah, I remember feeling the same way when I broke my arm last winter. If he needs any help, tell him to give me a call. I'm sure Mrs. DeMarco is willing to show herself as a good neighbor and help out any way she can."

  Paula shot a doubtful glance at Letitia dressed in an outfit that Letitia considered casual, but was the height of fashion and sophistication to Paula.

  "You really intend to work the ranch?" she asked bluntly.

  "I'm going to do my best," Letitia replied. "I asked my brother to send me a lot of research material. He's an author, so he understands how important research is."

  Paula shook her head and shot Tyler a look filled with sympathy. She grasped her daughter's hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. DeMarco," she said quietly, starting to move on.

  "Same here." Letitia's smile had decidedly drooped by now.

  Tyler felt a tug deep down. After all, how could Letitia know that Paula only treated her that way because the young woman wasn't happy with the remote life ranching offered and probably secretly yearned after the exciting life Letitia led. And Letitia had been friendly toward her instead of acting all high-and-mighty the way he figured she would.

  "Paula's always shy around people she doesn't know," he explained. "She'll warm up after she gets to know you better. You'll see."

  She squared her shoulders. She'd never backed down from a battle before and she didn't intend to start doing so now. "That isn't it and we both know it. She sees me as some spoiled city girl who's here to play cowgirl until I get bored and head back for the bright lights and wild parties."

  Tyler winced at her accurate description. He'd already heard some of the townspeople's speculation about the new owner of Running Springs Ranch. And none of it had been complimentary.

  "You'll find out that around here, lots of people don't move around the way people elsewhere do, except from one ranch to another," he thought to explain.

  Her expression told him she wasn't buying it. "I would think that would cause inbreeding over the years."

  Tyler looked down. He wasn't surprised his hand was clenched in a fist that he wouldn't have minded putting through a wall. The woman did seem to enjoy trying his patience.

  His jaw worked convulsively. "What I'm trying to say is that we have families who have ranched here for the past hundred, hundred-fifty years."

  "Naturally, they can close ranks against any newcomers," Letitia mocked with eyes flashing. "Let me make something clear, buster. I'll be a hell of a lot better boss than Giancarlo ever was because I really care what happens here. Maybe I haven't been here long enough for people to believe me, but that's all right. I'll prove my worth by finding out what went wrong out there and by fixing it." Her eyes flashed with determination.

  Tyler brushed past her and opened the door leading to the leather goods shop. Instead of holding the door open for Letitia, he walked in confident she would follow. She deliberately held back, hoping it would slap him hard on the backside. She made a face when it didn't.

  She walked inside and looked around the dim interior. Her first impression was the rich scent of leather mixed with the sharper tang of leather polish. Two saddles sat on a sawhorse in one comer while an entire wall was filled with shelves of boots in various sizes and types of leather. She fingered a fancy red leather bridle studded with silver conches. The touch of the butter-soft leather intrigued her so much, she strolled around touching a bridle here, fingering a pair of moccasins there.

  "Who the hell is interrupting my afternoon?" The tallest man Letitia had ever seen parted a pair of cotton curtains that shielded the rear of the shop and walked to a waist-high counter. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt smudged with leather polish. He grinned at Tyler.

  "Afternoon, Tyler," he greeted then glanced curiously at her. "Considering I just sold you a pair of dress boots a month ago, I can't believe you've worn them out yet. 'Course we all know that's possible with your social life." He boomed with laughter.

  Letitia's smile felt stiff on her face as she listened to the men's laughter.

  "Rance, this is Letitia DeMarco of Running Springs. Mrs. DeMarco, Rance Howell, the town's resident leather artist. A pair of boots made by him is a work of art. Rance, this lady needs a pair of good work boots."

  Rance walked around the counter and eyed her feet with an expert eye. He made a face at her ballet flats.

  "Seven narrow?"

  She blinked at his correct assumption. "Yes."

  He nodded. "I've got a pair in the back that I'd made for Hazel Knott's daughter, but she changed her mind after she saw them. She decided she wanted something a lot fancier. They'd do fine although you'd be better with a pair that's custom-made for you." He looked at her under heavy brows as he demanded, "What in the hell are those things you have on your feet? Those little shoes you're wearing now ain't fit for even housework."

  "Then it's a good thing I don't wear them when I do housework," she quipped. "But if I have to wear custom-made boots for that chore I might as well shoot myself."

  Tyler closed his eyes. Rance was well known to take his craft seriously. More than one man had limped out of here because he'd said the wrong thing to the boot maker.

  Rance chuckled. "I heard Italians have spunk. Guess you're proof of that."

  "I only married an Italian, Mr. Howell," she corrected.

  "Well, I'd say you got all the fire and the looks of a genuine countess." Rance grinned, but Letitia didn't hear him, snared as she was by Tyler's eyes.

  "I think I'll get those boots for you to try on."

  Rance was smiling broadly as he disappeared into the rear of the shop,

  Neither heard him as they continued staring at each other. Letitia couldn't move as she looked into Tyler's gray eyes. How did he do it? She wondered, feeling an odd weakness invade her body. As if that wasn't bad enough, a lazy liquid heat ran through her veins. Just by looking at her, he was causing some strange feelings that her ex-husband at his most passionate never caused! She decided to put it down to the fumes from the leather polish. Yes, that was it. The fumes were like some rare exotic drug, making her feel things she ordinarily wouldn't. She'd be fine once she got outside and breathed in some fresh air.

  Letitia broke the searing contact. "Well, if he's so talented why
is he working here?"

  "Instead of the big city where he could make boots for weekend cowboys who'd be willing to pay triple the price or more?"

  She winced. "That's not what I meant and you know it, although most men with this kind of skill do tend to gravitate toward a broader market where they can command the high prices. I've heard of people paying thousands of dollars for custom-made boots."

  Tyler shook his head. "Hey Rance!" he raised his voice. "Did you finish those fancy cobra-skin boots you showed me a couple weeks ago?"

  "Sure did." A moment later, the man came out with a pair of boots in each hand. He held up the larger pair. "What do you think?"

  Tyler took them out of his hand. He blew out a low whistle of appreciation as he studied them from all angles. "Very nice. Wish I could afford them."

  Letitia braced her hand on Tyler's shoulder as she gazed over the taut cloth expanse where she could have a better look. She would freely admit to the world she knew nothing about boots, but she did know shoes and could recognize a fine craftsman.

  "You are a true artist," she murmured.

  Tyler remained still, acutely aware of Letitia's light touch searing him through the cloth and the scent of her skin surrounding him in a lightly perfumed cloud. What was it about her that drove him nuts? Why couldn't he ignore her the way he had other women in the past? He gritted his teeth and tried to forget about the sudden heat settling in his jeans. When he caught Rance smiling knowingly at him he glared deadly bullets at the man.

  Rance named a famous country-western singer. "He's been buying my boots for the past ten years," he explained. "I keep a pattern on hand and he just calls up and tells me what he wants." He went on to name some of his other repeat clients. "I came out here fifteen years ago because I wanted to take it easy. To sit in a rocking chair on the porch and just turn into an ornery old man who likes his peace and quiet. Except it didn't work out that way." He laughed. "Instead, my old clients tracked me down and what with the folks around here not having anyone to make them a decent pair of boots, I wound up getting more work than I ever did before." He walked over to a bench and gestured Letitia to another bench across from him. "Come on, missy, let's see if these fit as well as I know they will."

  She looked skeptical as she sat down and studied the gleaming black leather boots. "Are you sure these are me?"

  "I think the lady is more used to those fancy polished English riding boots than a good pair of western ones, Rance," Tyler spoke up.

  She looked horrified. "Have you ever worn jodhpurs? Let me tell you, you can't gain one ounce while wearing them. Not to mention they flare out at the sides like wings that make your hips look huge! And as far as I'm concerned, they look just plain silly. And that riding English-style may be accepted in parts of the world, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Rising up and down in the saddle just the right way and nothing to grab on to if you start to fall off. Oh please!" She gave an unladylike snort.

  "She's head and shoulders over that other guy who owned the ranch, Tyler." Rance grinned.

  "She can't even ride," he informed him.

  "I told you, I can ride. I just can't ride very well and I'm not very fond of horses," she argued. "And I never rode using a western saddle."

  "Don't worry, you'll learn soon enough." Rance held up one of the boots. "Now let's get you out of those little scraps of leather shoes and into a pair of real footwear."

  Letitia slipped off her shoes and extended her feet so Rance could put the boots on. He then instructed her to stand up and stamp her foot several times.

  "I'm sure she'll have no problem doing that," Tyler observed.

  Letitia shot him a look fit to kill before standing up and setting each foot down with a decided thump as if squashing a bug. She walked around the store a few times.

  "They're very comfortable."

  Rance laughed at the surprise in her voice. "They're the only kind to have. When a man's working long hours on his feet he needs boots that won't hurt and he doesn't want to suffer blisters until he can get them broken in. You don't get any blisters in boots I make. They're so comfortable you'd be convinced a lover is holding your feet when you wear them."

  "Somehow, when I imagine my foot being massaged, I'd like to think of something a bit more human doing the job," she said archly.

  Tyler's attention immediately directed itself on her feet. "Hmm. I'll see what can be arranged."

  "I still say you need a pair custom-made for your feet, but these'll hold you over until I get a pair made up." Rance told her, confident she'd be buying and ordering, which she did.

  Before Letitia left the shop, a pattern of her feet had been made and her new boots were in a box tucked under Tyler's arm.

  Tyler glanced down at his watch. "I better pick up the supplies or Myrna will have my hide."

  "Tyler." She laid her hand on his arm before he could move away from her. • 'Thank you for bullying me into buying the boots. You're right, they will work better on the ranch."

  "I doubt anyone could bully you and live to tell the day," he commented sardonically.

  "You did, sort of. Sometimes that's what I need."

  She waited while he stowed the box in the back of the truck. "At least, that's what my brother says. But then, he's a brother and what does he know?"

  He recalled the feel of her hand on his shoulder. "His knowledge probably comes from years of experience dealing with you," he breathed, feeling the potent force of her guileless charm, even at this short distance. He made a quick vow to stay out of her way as much as possible. But he already knew that wouldn't be as easy as he'd like. "Come on, there's more to do."

  Letitia's eyes shone with excitement as she followed Tyler into the two-story clapboard building whimsically labeled Town Emporium.

  "Afternoon, Ezra," Tyler greeted a gray-haired man who was filling a box with groceries.

  "Tyler." His eyes betrayed frank curiosity as they skimmed over Letitia.

  "Hello." She greeted him with a broad smile as she walked up to him with her hand outstretched. "I'm Letitia DeMarco."

  "You're that Eyetalian lady who now owns Running Springs." He pronounced it as if it was a fatal disease.

  "Maybe you should consider using your maiden name countess. It might give you a better reception," Tyler murmured in her ear as he walked past, then raised his voice, "Letitia, this is Ezra Murdock. He's run the store since he took it over in nineteen fifty-two. We wouldn't know what to do without him having the basics for us."

  She steadfastly ignored Tyler while keeping her gaze on Ezra. "You have a fascinating establishment here." She continued to concentrate on the scowling Ezra. "It's wonderful a person can find anything they want in one place."

  "People 'round here don't have time to make half-day drives just to buy somethin'," he mumbled, continuing to fill the box. He looked past her. "You here to pick up Myrna's order, Tyler?"

  "That's right," he replied, handing the older man a sheet of paper. "She said she also needs these."

  Ezra nodded as he scanned the list. "No problem.

  I'll have them out in a jiffy."

  "I thought westerners were friendly to newcomers," Letitia said softly once Ezra was out of earshot. "So far, I'm not having any luck."

  "You're city folk and still suspect."

  She eyed a cast-iron frying pan hanging from a hook on the wall and instantly discarded her notion. With her luck, she'd only dent a perfectly good pan on his perfectly hard head. She stalked off before she could reconsider.

  Tyler shook his head as he watched her walk away. "Damn, why does she do this to me?"

  "Have to admit she's easy on the eyes." Ezra walked out, carrying a fifty-pound bag of flour. Tyler moved forward to help. It was a known fact the elderly man resisted anyone thinking he couldn't carry heavy items, but he was also smart enough not to turn down sincere offers of help. "Is she trying to frilly up the place with lace and chintz yet?"

  Tyler shook his head. He found
his attention distracted by the musical sound of Letitia's humming as she poked her way around the store with genuine interest, each new discovery she made lighting up her face. "So far, she's kept out of my way. We'll have to see."

  Ezra's leathery face creased in a grin. "I heard there was a bet goin' on how long she'd last."

  "So far, we've had to re-bet thirteen times. The board we used ran out of space, so we had to draw up a new one," Tyler confessed. .

  "She looks too frail for life out here. If nothin' else, winter will get her." Ezra bobbed his head in agreement with his own words. "Yep, you can see she's a lady made for fancy parties, not ranch life. Look at those soft hands and even softer skin. She's not made for the life out here. She's for champagne and caviar. She won't like it once the heavy snows hit."

  Tyler raised his hand to cover up his laughter. Ezra was proud of the fact he hadn't gone more than fifty miles from home his entire sixty-eight years on earth. His idea of fancy parties was taken from watching "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" or whatever else his television's satellite found for him.

  "Excuse me, what is this?" Letitia held up a strange-looking contraption.

  Ezra shot Tyler a look as if to say, "See, she doesn't even know simple kitchen aids." He hitched up his suspenders. "That there's an apple corer."

  "Oh," she breathed. "I'll have to have Myrna show me exactly how it works," she declared, setting it down in the bin she first found it resting in. "This store is full of all these wonderful gadgets I never knew existed. I admit I'm a novice to this way of life, but I intend to learn."

  Ezra snorted as he went in the back for another sack of flour. "Women are meant to keep the house and have the babies."