Much Ado About Mavericks (20 page)

Teddy and Homer tore into the barn, not stopping until they had their noses on the tablecloth, staring at the deliciously and artfully decorated desserts.  Whip carried his box of straws over to them.  “You boys gotta draw straws just like the rest of the cowhands.”

“Ah, Whip,” Homer groaned, “we don’t wanna be
girls
.”

“Hush up, now, and draw.”

Each boy took one, then breathed synchronous sighs of relief.  “We got long ones, so we’s both men!”  Homer punctuated his statement with a quick nod then cocked his head toward Ben.  “He ain’t drawed yet.”

“Yeah, he has.  He got a long straw, too.”

Whip had told a corker, but Ben sure wasn’t about to correct him.  He’d been looking forward to having Jake in his arms--without getting a punch in the stomach--for weeks.

The musicians struck up the first vigorous tune just as Marshal Hiatt came lugging a beer barrel into the barn.  “You boys need a little refreshment?” he hollered at the musicians.  All but Happy Jack declined, who crooned, “
Silver threads among the beer
,” and nodded.

The marshal hauled the keg to one of the refreshment tables.  Mrs. Hiatt danced behind him, and the second he handed Happy Jack a mug of beer, she grabbed her husband and pulled him onto the dance floor, grinning wide.  The marshal threw back his head and laughed at something she said.

Ben admired their love and respect for each other, and hoped he’d have that with a lady someday.  Then he remembered Patience, but shook his head.  He couldn’t imagine himself taking the kind of pleasure in her company the way Marshal Hiatt enjoyed being with his wife.

But Jake . . .  He smiled, remembering that every moment with her was an adventure.  He wished Patience could be a little more like her.

Not wanting to be maudlin on this fine evening, he looked determinedly for a lady who was without a partner.  Teddy and Henry ran through the dance floor, Henry hollering after him, “I’m gonna beat your face in!” 

Ben ran interference and caught her up, lifting her high and asking, “Would the lady care to dance?”

Swatting at his arms, she hollered, “I ain’t no lady!”

“No, but you’ll do.”  He put her down.  “Do you know the two-step?”

“Huh uh.”

“Good, I’ll teach you.  Just step on my boots and I’ll show you the steps while I count the time.”

“You can’t count time.  Time just
is
.”

He laughed and chucked her under the chin.  “Musical time.”

“Will you dance with Pokie next?  Jake gave her a garter, too.”

“We’ll see,” he said with a straight face.

Tonight was the night.  As soon as everyone was occupied and he could get Jake alone, he’d give her Henry’s adoption papers.  Maybe, just maybe, she’d be so grateful, she’d give him a kiss without walloping him.

*   *   *   *   *

Jake couldn’t help but grin like a drunken mama bear as she watched Ben teach little Henry the steps.  Her little ruby lips moved and her brow wrinkled in deep thought as she counted out the time while standing on Ben’s boots. 

Who would have thought that Ben would let the ornery little urchin do such a thing?  But he seemed to be good with her--with all the strays.

Crip tapped her on the shoulder.  “Dance?” 

“Aw, hell, why not?”

He grabbed her by the waist and spun her amidst the other dancers, including Whip who danced with Mabel--entirely too close.  Not that they were so close, really, but their gazes were locked together as if no one else was at the dance.

The Hiatts spun around the floor like they were kids again.  When they came near Jake and Crip, Mrs. Hiatt hollered, “Ain’t you young’uns got no more spunk than that?”

As the marshal danced them away, Crip picked up his enthusiasm.  “Let’s show ‘em how to do it, Jake!” 

He spun her around so fast her teeth dang near fell out.  She tossed back her head and laughed as she kept time with his steps, and when the music stopped, she was downright winded. 

“Beer!” she gasped as he tried to get her to dance again.  “I worked up a helluva thirst.  Go find yourself another woman--maybe Henry.”  She drew herself a fine mug of beer with a nickel head and downed half of it in one gulp.

“Looks like she’s already got a beau,” he said cocking his head toward Ben.  Henry gazed up at the greenhorn like he was king of the world.

Just then Teddy and Homer ran across the dance floor.  Homer reached out and tugged Henry’s pigtail as he passed.

“You done that for the last time, asshole!” Henry bellowed as she bounded after them. 

The ladies gasped, the men chuckled.  Jake chased Henry and caught her by the back of the shirt.  “Listen here, cowhand.  You ain’t twelve yet.  No cussing.”  She glared at the girl.  “Understand?”

Henry nodded slowly.  “Can I beat ‘em up?”

“Yup, a little tussle now and then and you’ll be toughened up in no time.  But no cussing.”

No sooner had Jake let go of her shirt than the newest stray hit high stride after the boys.  Jake felt a bit sorry for Homer and Teddy--she reckoned the girl would come out on top of this fracas.

The crowd’s murmur grew louder, and when Jake got back in the barn she saw that Harley and Peter Blacker had arrived.  Harley looked much like he always did, but Peter sported a fancy derby and a cane like Ben’s.  Oh, lordy, wouldn’t the cowhands have a time with him.

Suzanne rushed to him.  “Why Peter, I’m happy you could be here,” she gushed. 

Jake ground the toe of her boot on the floor.  Why, if that wasn’t the stupidest thing she ever did hear. 

Every single body in this part of the country was at the dance.  Except Fred. 

She hadn’t seen him yet, and he’d be mighty provoked when he found out he had to wear a garter.  She drew another beer for Happy Jack and one for herself.  Dancing was thirsty work.

Peter Blacker took Suzanne into his arms as the next tune filled the barn.  Whip partnered up with Mabel.  Again.

Chapter 10

“Oh, my,” Patience fretted.  “What an absolutely dreadful journey.”  She swatted a lock of hair out of her face.  “My feet hurt and I’m filthy.  You must find lodging at once.”

“You’re the one who wanted to walk to Henderson Flats,” Reginald said as he took her arm and urged her off the ferry.  “I told you he’d be back, but no, you and father had to be in control of things, as usual.”

She sniffed.  “Don’t be so righteous, brother.  You’re the reason I’m here in the first place.  If you’d applied yourself, you could have been a senior partner in daddy’s firm instead of Benjamin.”

“As if you care.”  He guided her up the riverbank and onto the road.  The town lay a few hundred yards away.  “You’re just worried because you let Seymour Johns take liberties, and now you’re covering your . . .” he smirked, “bustle.”

“Hrmph!  Be that as it may, I want Ben and daddy wants him.”  She stopped cold when she saw the few rickety buildings called a town.  And not a soul on the street.  Or dirt path, as it were.

“Sister, the man said there wasn’t a hotel,” he said as they approached the first building, a wobbly sign with the words, “Silver Sage Saloon” scrawled with red paint on a bare board.  “You wait out here.  I’ll go in and ask the bartender where there’s a place to stay.”

She grabbed his arm.  “Ha!  If you think I’ll stand in front of a saloon without escort, you’re shorter on brains than I thought you were.”

“If you insist, but I don’t think these are your type of people.”

“We knew when we came here that we’d be dealing with the common folk.  Now, let’s go.  I’m tired, hungry, and I need a bath.”

He pushed open the swinging door and she swept into the room.  Dignity always rules, she thought.  She kept her chin up and her back straight as she marched to the bar. 

Reginald stood beside her, hooking his shoe on the horizontal pole that served as a footrest.  “Might as well have a drink while we’re here--you know, as a gratuity to the bartender.”

“Hrmph!  You’ll not have a spot until we’re settled and have directions to Benjamin’s ranch.”

The bartender finished drying a mug and slung the towel over his shoulder, then turned around.  “What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey,” Reginald said.

“No he won’t.  We need directions to the nearest hotel.  I have business here.”

“Business?”  The bartender frowned. “Do you talk French?”

“
Oui, Monsieur
,” she said, and added, “
pourquoi demandez-vous
?”

“Huh?”

She rolled her eyes at the dolt’s ignorance.  “I
said
, why do you ask?”

Slapping the counter, he shouted, “Boys, lookee here--we got us our new French whore!”

*   *   *   *   *

The dance had been going on for over an hour before Whip could finally get Mabel alone.  “Everybody’s having a good time, angel.  They won’t miss us a’tall.”  He pulled her deeper into the shadows behind the barn.

She snuggled up against him.  “We sure have a good turnout.  I think all the hands from the Lazy B are here.  Harley and Peter are having a good time.”  She smiled and ran her fingers through Whip’s thinning hair.  “Suzanne certainly seems smitten.”

He lowered his head and kissed her cheek then found her lips.  His heart always felt pure when he held her.  Never was there ever made a sweeter woman.  But not all of him felt so pure--he wanted her.  Now.  “When?” he whispered in her ear.

“Later.  I need to see to things for a while, yet.”  She hugged him tighter.  “But soon.”

At the sound of shrieks and clangs, they sprang apart.  “What’s happening?” she said, as she rushed back into the barn.  Whip waited a moment or two, then went in through the side door so no one would suspect them.

The dog ran across the dance floor carrying a loaf of bread, Suzanne chasing him with a quirt.  “Scram, you mangy mutt!”  She tripped over a wagon tongue and fell flat on her face.  She jumped up and blew dirt out of her mouth.

“Catch that dang dog!” Mrs. Hiatt yelled.  “I worked all day baking that bread.”

One table had been knocked over.  Mabel held the tablecloth with a few of the desserts wobbling precariously in her hands.  Whip rushed to her and grabbed the food out of her hands and plopped it on the other table, then helped Mabel set the upturned table right.

She bent to pick up all the spoiled food on the floor, grumbling, “I’m gonna kill that dog.”

“Don’t kill her!” Henry cried.  “Pokie was just wanting some good eats, too.”

Mabel stood and smiled--a stiff smile, but a smile.  “I was speaking metaphorically.”

“Huh?”

Mabel patted Henry on the head.  “I would never harm your dog.  I was merely disgusted that so much food was wasted.”

Knowing how hard she’d worked, baking up a storm for three days, Whip admired her patience with the girl.  He picked up a box of cookies and placed it on the table.  “Most of it didn’t actually hit the dirt, ang--, uh, Mabel.  It ain’t ruined.”

She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched.  “It’s not as bad as it looked in the beginning,” she admitted.  “The other table and the drinks table are fine.”

“Yeah, and the beer keg’s not harmed.”  He grinned as she swatted playfully at him.

Suzanne finished her third dance with Peter Blacker.  As far as Whip was concerned, Petey hadn’t proven his worthiness to marry the girl.  Not that it had come to that, yet, but Whip planned to keep an eye on the boy.

Blushed and a little winded, Suzanne took little Henry’s hand.  “This next dance, you’re partnering up with either Teddy or Homer.  You pick.”

Henry screwed up her nose.  “I pick Ben.  I’m gonna marry him, too.”  She looked at Whip.  “Do cowhands get married?”

“Yup, they shore enough do.”

“Jake ain’t married.”

“That’s just ‘cause ain’t no man been smart enough or fast enough to catch her.”

“I bet Ben could.  He’s smarter than anyone else in the world.  And I bet he’s faster’n a steam train, too.”

Whip winked at Mabel.  “I bet he is.”

*   *   *   *   *

A French whore!  Patience fanned herself.  “I beg your pardon, mister.  I’m a lady.”

The bartender looked at her appreciatively and Patience shuddered.  “I do like ‘em spunky.  You’ll do right nice.”  He handed her a glass and a bottle of whiskey.  “You’ll be wanting this, I s’pose.”  Then he yelled to the man sitting at the poker table with two others, “Fred, take the little lady here up to Tessie’s room.  She wants a bath.”  The bartender shrugged.  “Looks clean enough to me, but you know women.”

Patience nudged Reginald to speak up, and when he didn’t she said, “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Fred.  Reginald will go with me.”  Addressing the bartender, she asked, “What room is hers?” 

While she found the entire situation distasteful, she’d do anything for a hot bath, even allow some imbecile to think her reputation somewhat tarnished.  And anyway, she wouldn’t be in this dreadful little village much longer.  If all went well, she’d be Mrs. Benjamin Stoddard Lawrence by tomorrow afternoon.