by Linda Wisdom
"And put up with his disgusting habit of chewing tobacco? No thank you!" She swatted the younger woman with a towel as Letitia ran laughing into the house.
Letitia quickly undressed and ran her bathwater. While waiting for the tub to fill, she smoothed on a soothing clay face mask. She settled in the hot water laced with her favorite bath oil. She rested her head against the porcelain rim and closed her eyes, content to breathe in the scented air and relax.
"Now, there's a picture to behold."
She opened her eyes. She wasn't surprised to find Tyler standing in the bathroom doorway.
"Hi there," she said in her best come-hither voice. "Care to join me?"
His lips twitched as if he couldn't hold back his laughter. "No thanks. I don't think the men would understand why I smell like a French whorehouse."
She lazily extended her leg out of the water and admired the way the water trickled down her calf. A quick glance assured her Tyler was doing the same.
"Are you trying to say I smell like a French whorehouse?"
"You can get away with it better than I can."
She shot him a coy look. "Oh, come on."
He looked upward, concentrating on the ceiling as if something fascinating was up there. Letitia noticed his throat muscles worked rapidly.
"No offense, countess, but I don't think that stuff covering your face is right for my skin type." He flicked his fingers against his forehead in a salute and walked out.
Letitia leaned forward, convinced she could hear him laughing. As she leaned back, she caught her reflection in the mirror tiles she'd applied to the opposite wall. A shriek escaped her lips before she could stop herself. While she'd acted like this year's sex symbol to Tyler, her face had been covered with the dark gray-green mask except for circles around her eyes, nose and mouth. She absently rubbed her hands against her cheeks, smearing the thick goo on her fingers.
"Perhaps I should just go ahead and drown myself."
"TALK ABOUT MIRACLES," Tyler murmured in Letitia's ear. "I thought you were trying a new makeup technique. I'm glad to see you decided against it. Take it from me, the natural look is more you."
She wrinkled her nose. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" She fingered the soft gray shirt that matched his eyes. The shirt and dark gray twill dress slacks created a more sophisticated look for the man, although Letitia would have considered him fantastic no matter what he wore.
He shrugged. "Everything but your face." His gaze slid over her off-white lace trimmed camisole that topped a violet-sprigged front-buttoned full skirt. She'd left five buttons near the hem unbuttoned to reveal a lace-trimmed petticoat that matched her top. She had pulled her hair back from the sides and tied it in loose curls. He ached to kiss the deep rose lipstick from her mouth and pick her up and carry her back into the house where they could be alone. Then he could start weaving patterns on the bare skin her top revealed just before he released every one of those tiny little buttons down the front. It would take him forever, but he knew the wait would be more than worth it. As a result, he was already counting the hours until the party finished and he could be alone with her. But given these people didn't get a lot of chances to socialize, this party could last far into the night.
'" Any complaints on the footwear?" she teased, holding out a dainty foot shod in delicate lilac leather ballet-style slippers.
He shot her a telling look. "No comment." He suddenly stiffened. His curse was soft and decidedly unfit for mixed company.
"What's wrong?" Letitia grabbed his arm.
"Tyler?"
He inclined his head downward. She looked down to see Le Chat, complete with lilac collar, up on his haunches while his front claws were buried deeply in Tyler's leg.
'"Get... him... off... me... now," he said between whitened lips.
"Le Chat, that's a bad kitty," she crooned, bending down and carefully loosening each claw. The cat stared at her as if to say "Back off, Mom, he deserves this."
"Tyler, I am very sorry about this." She cradled the cat in her arms. "I told you he holds a grudge."
"He should have forgotten by now." He shook his leg to make sure it was all right.
"Not Le Chat. His memory is better than an elephant's. And once he has a vendetta against someone, he'll bide his time and get even every chance he gets. I'd watch out from now on."
He glared at the cat who seemed to look at him with feline loathing in his eyes. "I will not apologize to him," he gritted.
"It won't help. Le Chat doesn't believe in apologies."
Undaunted, Tyler bent down and deliberately stuck his face close to the cat's. "Maybe I should find me an old guitar. One that needs new cat gut strings."
Le Chat's eyes narrowed as he hissed at the man and lifted a front paw in warning.
"All right, children." She carried Le Chat to the back door and urged him inside. "Tyler, you are just as bad as he is."
"He started it."
Letitia looked out where she could see headlights bouncing down the road toward the house. She took several deep breaths to calm her nervous stomach.
"Hey, this is nothing new for you." Tyler noticed her agitation and sought to calm her. "Parties are a way of life for you."
"But they were never as important as this one," she said softly with great feeling. "I've never felt I've had to prove myself the way I do tonight."
He knew if there wasn't the many eyes on them, he would have kissed her until she forgot about her worries. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. You'll do fine." When two trucks stopped nearby, he nudged her forward and walked behind her to help greet the first guests.
All too soon, Letitia's head whirled with names and faces as people seemed to arrive in an endless stream. Luckily, her days as a champion party giver helped her in keeping the two together. She was grateful for Tyler staying by her side and smoothing over the bumpy spots that occasionally cropped up.
"I hear you plan to fix up the house next," Paula commented, looking around. Her manner to Letitia was stiff and smile faint, but Letitia considered it an accomplishment that she was talking to her.
Letitia's smile felt frozen in place. She wondered what it would take to break down this woman's self-inflicted barrier. "Yes, I thought painting the outside would make a world of difference," she said brightly. "Then I hope to work on the interior with paint and wallpaper. It will all take time, but I don't mind."
"So you plan to stay?"
She blinked at the woman's blunt challenging statement. "Of course, I do. This is my home now."
Paula gazed at Letitia's outfit. While her own skirt and off-the-shoulder top were similar in style, the difference in quality of fabric were easily apparent. "This isn't New York or Beverly Hills, Mrs. DeMarco. I heard you spent a lot of years in Europe. It's not easy to understand why you'd want to live here in Montana. You'll probably change your mind when winter comes."
Her aqua gaze didn't waver. "Call me Letitia, please."
Paula sipped from the cup of beer she held. "I just find it hard to believe you would want to live here after all those other places you've lived in."
"Believe me, Paula, it's not all that it's cracked up to be," she said quietly, turning her head when she heard Myrna call her name. "Would you excuse me, please?"
Letitia breathed a sigh of relief as she left the woman and made her way through the small crowd.
"Don't worry about Paula." Myrna easily read her harried expression and confided, "It's a sad fact, but she hasn't been happy living here for quite some time. She wants to move to a larger town, but ranching is all her husband knows. And it's his whole life. Just give her time. She'll come around."
She nodded. "Time is something I have plenty of."
"Well, good evening, little lady, I understand you're Running Springs' new owner." Letitia jumped as the man's voice sounded like a sonic boom behind her.
She quickly turned, forcing a smile on her lips. She held out her hand. All she could see was a large man running more t
o fat than muscle in a maroon shirt with string tie and silver bull's head tie slide. A matching buckle dominated his belly. She heard Myrna's soft groan and comment: "Oh no, I thought he was still in Cheyenne and wouldn't make it back in time." It was enough to tell her this visitor wasn't exactly a welcome one but the kind you can't ignore, either.
"Yes, I'm Letitia DeMarco."
"Cat Danvers. I own the Diamond Trey spread."
He grabbed her hand between his two moist ones and pumped it down with a shoulder-jarring action. "I've been on a buying trip in Cheyenne for the past week. Wouldn't have been back if my stomach hadn't acted up again. Can't eat what I used to. They said you were a looker and they were right. Well, hell, girl, you belong in New York City not out here! You're a little thing, ain't ya?" He grinned and talked around a cigar clamped firmly between his teeth. He looked over her shoulder the entire time be spoke. "Fred! Fred! You gotta hear this joke I heard at the auction!" He boomed. "S'cuse me, someone I need to talk to. Nice meetin' you, little lady." He cruised by.
"Who was that?" Letitia asked, still keeping her smile firmly fixed on her lips as she turned to Myrna.
"One of the richest and most boorish men in the state, if not the entire country," she said quietly. "He owns more acreage than he knows what to do with and some say has more money than God. Except he belches, smokes those disgusting cigars everywhere, is obnoxious, has somehow managed to go through seven wives, who probably only married him for his money, although I know I would have more taste, and good sense, than that!'
A warm hand suddenly settled on her nape in a comforting caress. "Come on, countess, I'm claiming our dance," Tyler said quietly in her ear. He slid his hand down her bare arm until his fingers laced through hers. He led her .over to the dance floor which was already crowded.
"I don't know these steps," she confessed.
"Don't worry, they're easy to follow," he assured her, grabbing hold of her other hand and drawing her close to him. "I see you met Cal."
She wrinkled her nose. “I dread to think what he uses instead of tobacco in those horrible smelly cigars." She buried her nose against his shirtfront, inhaling the clean scent of his skin to chase away the stench of Cal's cigars.
Tyler bent his head to whisper in her ear, "He claims they're imported."
Letitia shook her head. "Not from any halfway civilized country."
"Hey Tyler, you going to share?" one of their neighbors kidded, tapping him on the shoulder.
Tyler didn't want to give her up. "Considering it's you Clint, I guess I can." He mustered up a smile as he relinquished Letitia who mouthed the word "coward" to him.
After that, Letitia barely made it around the dance floor once before she got a new partner.
Tyler stood off to one side, watching Letitia laugh and talk to her varied partners.
"It looks like she just might make it, after all," he said under his breath.
"You couldn't get the lady to come in for dress boots?" Rance demanded, walking up and slapping Tyler on the back. "You let her wear those little slippers in public?"
"There's no stopping her," he replied, turning to his friend. "How ya doing?"
"Just fine. You got quite a crowd here." Rance looked around.
Both men looked over when Cal boomed, "All right, little lady, let's show them some real stompin'!" He took up Letitia's hands and led her around the floor in a heavy-footed dance that matched his heavy-handed manner. Letitia looked like a mouse being pawed by a baboon.
Tyler sighed. "She doesn't look happy."
Rance chuckled. "Would you? You know, I'm pretty tolerant of people, but Cal is difficult to get along with."
"Difficult?" One man stopped as he heard the comment. "Cal has the manners of a rogue bull."
"Along with the dancing feet of one," Tyler said wryly, inwardly wincing when he noticed Cal's big foot trod on Letitia's toes. He gave her credit for not hauling off and letting him have it.
"Darlin', you dance like a feather!" Cal's loud voice easily carried. Letitia looked as if her weak smile was the best she could do. She craned her head around Cal's beefy shoulder and noticed Tyler standing on the sidelines. She shot him a look that ordered him to rescue her.
Rance chuckled and quickly looked down, pressing his fingers against his mouth. "Glad to see people were smart to wear my boots to this shindig."
Tyler looked off into the distance. He didn't like Cal any more than most people did, but he figured Letitia might as well find out the good and the bad to ranch ownership. "They wouldn't dare not wear them."
"Except the lady." Rance's laughter boomed upward from his chest. He looked toward the dance floor. "Think I'll cut in and save the lady from being crippled. If she isn't going to wear my boots, the least she can do is dance with me."
"She might think she didn't have it so bad with him once she has those monster feet of yours stomping on hers," Tyler retorted.
Rance shook his head as he made his way through the dancing couples. Tyler remained where he was, watching Rance tap Cal on the shoulder and quickly step in his place. Letitia looked up and laughed at something Rance said to her. As Tyler watched her face light up, he felt that hot burst of jealousy deep within him. Straightening his shoulders, he made his way toward them.
"Thought I'd collect my woman," he informed Rance in a mock-macho cowboy voice, stepping between them.
As the music slowed, Letitia looped her arms around his neck. She tipped her head back to have a better view of his face.
"It's about time."
He grinned. "Sore feet?"
"I think at least ten bones in each foot are broken," she confided, enjoying the brush of his body against hers. "No one warned me dancing could be so dangerous."
He held her even closer against him. "Then you should stick to better dancers."
She cringed when Cal's earthshaking laugh assaulted her ears.
"Don't tell me, he's always the last to leave," she moaned.
"Always."
"You could have lied."
The rest of the evening turned into a haze for Letitia. She later recalled eating some of the spicy barbecued beef with the Turners and the Wyatts, learning both families had been ranching the land for several generations.
"Vern really thinks llamas are better as pack animals than mules?" Cal's deep voice echoed across the crowd. "The man needs a good old-fashioned talking to! Let me tell you..." Letitia tuned out his rumble as he expounded on his favorite subject-himself as the all-time expert on any form of ranching.
She allowed Rance to tease her choice of footwear and promised to stop by for a pair of dress boots in the near future.
She sipped a glass of beer while listening to the Barretts tell her their plans to expand their quarter horse operation within the next year and brag about their champion stallion the way parents brag about their children.
While sitting out a few dances she heard the Jamisons discuss with another couple their reasons for bringing in another breed of cattle to mix in with what they currently ran on their land in hope of improving their herd and increasing their future profit margin with the new breed.
"They're called Watusi cattle?" Letitia looked confused. "I thought they were a tribe. A human tribe."
Marian Jamison beamed as she nodded and replied, "They're cattle too. African Ankola Watusi cattle, actually. Perfect for crossbreeding. Their beef has half the cholesterol, they're disease resistant and can go up to twenty days without water."
Letitia nodded, although she was frantically trying to understand the technical terms the woman was throwing out with ease. "How wonderful," she murmured, wishing she could take notes.
"We were pleased," she stated. "We've been able to obtain top sperm too."
Letitia blinked, hoping she could match the other woman's enthusiasm on the subject and fearing she was failing miserably. She was trying so hard to be a part of this group, but she didn't realize bull sperm was such a hot topic! She assumed her facial mask was sti
ll in place since Marian didn't seem to think anything was wrong. "I guess that's good?"
"Good?" Cal Danvers appeared behind them. Marian looked as pained as Letitia felt. "Little lady, Marian would be talking grade A here. If you're going to inseminate, you want the best sperm you can get. Now, if you decide to go that route, you let me know I can put you in touch with the right people." He waved his beer bottle in an arc. "You want to do this, darlin', you gotta do it right. You want it fresh, which is always better than frozen, you understand. Don't worry, it's always sent by overnight mail."
Letitia bit down on her lower lip, hard. She was so afraid of bursting into hysterical laughter at the idea of receiving a shipment of bull sperm by mail. What helped her remain straight-faced was realizing her previous social group probably discussed subjects this group would find funny.
"Helping's what neighbors are for, dear." Marian patted her hand, before moving on after glaring at Cal's back.
"'Course, you bein' a woman and all, you shouldn't have to worry about these things," Cal went on, his barrel chest rippling like a large bowl of maroon jelly. "But don't you worry, sweetheart, Cal can take care of anything you need." His smile wasn't lascivious, but it irritated her anyway.
It took all of her self-control to smile. "Thank you for your offer, Mr. Danvers, but I'm doing quite well, thank you."
"Now, now," he patted her shoulder with a ham sized hand. "Don't be shy."
"The last thing I would call myself is shy," she inserted.
"'Course not" He laughed. "But there's some things you women just shouldn't worry about which is why we men are here to help out." He beamed, certain he was right. He waved his noxious cigar around. "I mean, look at you. Fancy clothes, delicate skin. You're used to an easier way of life, Miz DeMarco. To those salons where you pay a lot of money for a haircut and have your face worked on with expensive creams made from monkey glands or whatever. This is all new to you. You need someone to make sure you don't make a mistake."
"Oh, oh," Tyler breathed, recognizing the storm signals brewing in Letitia's eyes.
"As long as I'm the owner, Mr. Danvers, I will worry about my business," she firmly stated.