Читать книгу To Love A Texan - Georgina Gentry - Страница 8

Brad sighed, got up, and went to the window to watch the red-haired spinster marching down the front steps and into the buggy. “Lady, what am I gonna do about you?”

Sadie came into the room behind him. “You talkin’ to somebody, Brad, honey?”

He turned and looked at her. She had last night’s lip rouge smeared across her mouth and her neck looked dirty. She reeked of stale tobacco. Miss Primm had smelled of soap and her face had been shiny clean and scattered with freckles, rather undignified for a strait-laced schoolteacher. “Naw, Miss Primm just left.”

Sadie laughed. “Ain’t she a hoot, though? Skinny, homely, and probably never had a man in her bed.”

“You got that right,” Brad said, watching the buggy go up the driveway. “But there ain’t many girls that would go toe to toe with a man. She’s as stubborn as I am.”

Sadie leaned against his desk and gave him a provocative smile. “I got a good idea what to do with the afternoon.”

He was suddenly bored with Sadie. She was good at what she did, but he’d never get any interesting conversation or challenge out of her. Hell, was he loco? Who expected sass or interesting conversation out of a woman? “No can do, Sadie,” he winked and shook his head. “Miss prissy Primm wants a meetin’ with me and Dewey this afternoon. Maybe he can talk her into sellin’ out.”

“You couldn’t?” she snorted. “That ain’t like you, honey, not to be able to charm a gal out of her drawers.”

Brad didn’t like having that rubbed in. He turned away from the window. “I don’t think that will work with our Yankee schoolteacher, she’s smart and hard-headed.”

Sadie tried to slip her arms around Brad’s neck, but he shook her off. “Smart and hard-headed may be good things in a man, but that ain’t what a guy’s lookin’ for in a girl, is it?”

“Hell, no. She’s my worst nightmare, a lady, a real lady who’s as savvy and stubborn as a man. Dewey has his work cut out for him on this deal. Maybe he can reason with her, but she’s the most unreasonable woman it’s ever been my bad luck to come across.” He went outside and plopped down in the porch swing, trying to think. He’d send José, the little stable boy, with the message to Dewey. Nope, Dewey wasn’t gonna like his afternoon interrupted, either. Just what was it gonna take to rid himself of this skinny, fiery-haired pest?

Lillian returned to the fort for a Sunday dinner with the Bottoms, who had invited Lieutenant Fortenbury to join them. It was a pleasant meal on the patio among the wealth of blooming roses. They dined on fried chicken, a dish called black-eyed peas and another called okra, and a strange bread known as corn bread, the Bottoms told her.

She explained her predicament. “So we’re meeting with Dewey Cheatum at four. Perhaps I should hire my own lawyer.”

“Isn’t another one,” the major said as the Mexican maid brought in another huge platter of fried chicken and fresh vegetables. There was mashed potatoes and cream gravy, homemade pickles, hot rolls, and big pitchers of cold milk and iced tea.

Lillian had never seen so much food in her life. She had always lived so poor that she hadn’t imagined that anyone ate like this.

Lieutenant Fortenbury wiped his wispy mustache on his linen napkin. “Miss Primm, I do sympathize with your dilemma. That Brad O’Neal is such a low-class ruffian.”

“But a handsome one,” Mrs Bottoms said as she passed the pickled peaches.

The lieutenant frowned. “I wouldn’t call him handsome.”

“Well, he is, don’t you think, my dear?” Mrs. Bottoms asked Lillian as she poured more iced tea.

Young Lieutenant Fortenbury frowned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t appeal to a high-class person like Miss Primm.”

“Of course not,” Lillian agreed. In her mind, she remembered the gambler’s grin and the way his black hair fell over his dark eyes. He probably had some Indian blood, which made him even more dangerously appealing…well, to some women. He was virile and wide-shouldered, and had a whole harem of women at his beck and call like a stallion. She wondered suddenly if he serviced them all. He was probably able to do so. Horrors, what was she thinking?

“Are you all right, my dear?” The major inquired, “you appear flushed.”

“It—it—the afternoon is so much warmer here than in Boston.” she stammered while the others seemed to look at her strangely.

“No place hotter than Texas,” the major said, nodding as he helped himself to another piece of chicken. “Locals take pride in it.”

He droned on, but Lillian’s mind was racing again, seeing wild stallions running free across the Texas prairie, a whole herd of mares running with him. Some wild stallions were not meant to be tamed or even controlled.

“…so what do you think, Miss Primm?” The younger officer said.

“What?” She started, embarrassed that she’d been thinking about rearing stallions while ignoring the obvious interest of a respectable, eligible gentleman like Lieutenant Fortenbury.

“I said, the major is planning a band concert soon and I’ll be playing the tuba,” the officer wiped his wispy mustache again. “I do hope you will come hear our concert.”

“Uh, certainly—if I haven’t returned to Boston. What’s the occasion?” She tried to smile and concentrate on young Fortenbury again, but all she could see in her mind was the short man struggling to carry a big brass tuba.

The major cleared his throat. “I understand we’re getting some congressmen coming through on a fact-finding mission—or maybe just looking for a vacation.”

“Too bad we don’t have a hotel anymore.” Fortenbury said.

“Did they ever decide why it caught fire?” Mrs. Bottoms asked.

The major shook his head. “No, but we’ll do our best with rooms here at the fort.”

“What time is it?” Lillian asked. “I have to meet with the gambler at four.”

“My dear,” Mrs. Bottoms cautioned, “I don’t know if I’d confront that gambler alone again, he’s supposed to have a way with the ladies…or so I hear.”

Her husband frowned at her. “Now what would you know about a man like Brad O’Neal, Edith?”

“Women talk.” Now her face flushed and she kept her head down and seemed suddenly engrossed in her salad.

“Anyway,” the major snapped, “she won’t be alone. Dewey will be there.”

Mrs. Bottoms smiled. “If you think you can’t deal with that charming rascal, you could take the lieutenant here along.”

Lillian saw the sudden tremble of Buford’s dainty hands. “I—I was thinking of practicing my tuba this afternoon, Mrs. Bottoms, or otherwise, I’d be delighted—”

“I don’t blame you, son,” said the major as he ate his fried chicken with his hands, “I’d be afraid of Brad, too. I’ve seen him in a fistfight.”

His wife gave him an inquiring, annoyed look. “Now just when was that, Gilbert? You told me you’d never been in the Texas Lily.”

A sweat broke out on the major’s face. “It—it was out on the driveway one time, my dear. I had gone there to retrieve some young soldiers who were too drunk to make it back to the fort.”

“Disgusting!” Young Fortenbury drew himself up proudly. “That place should be closed down.”

“Now that would upset the soldiers and all those cowboys who come into town on Saturday,” the major said. “Men have to blow off a little steam now and then.”

In Lillian’s mind, the big powerful engine raced into town, its engine working and its pistons going up and down, up and down, blowing its whistle while women smiled and swooned. Power and muscle and danger.

“…Miss Primm?” Young Fortenbury said.

“What?” Lillian started.

“I asked,” the younger man said patiently as he wiped his wispy mustache again, “if you thought there was anything to the story about gold being hidden in the Lily?”

She shook her head. “I really have no idea.”

Mrs Bottoms looked intrigued. “You know, I’ve heard that tale, too. They say Lil McGinty didn’t trust banks.”

The major snorted and threw down his napkin. “Oh, Edith, I’m sure that’s an old wives’ tale.”

“Well,” the lady defended herself, “there’s lots of nooks and crannies and walls to hide things—maybe some boxes in the attic just full of treasure.”

“Hmm,” said the lieutenant, “If there is, my dear Miss Primm, you wouldn’t want to sell out too cheaply. Why, he’d probably offer you a lot just to get rid of you so he’d have free rein at hunting the gold.”

“Well, he did his best to talk me into selling out to him,” Lillian admitted.

“Ha!” The young officer crowed triumphantly, “I knew it! Watch out for him, Miss Primm, they say that gambler could charm a bird out of a tree.”

“I doubt that,” Lillian sniffed. “I don’t find him charming, only annoying.”

About that time, the conversation was interrupted by the maid carrying a hot berry cobbler topped with homemade ice cream. Lillian protested she couldn’t eat another bite, but the cobbler tasted so good, she managed to eat a big bowlful anyway, just as the others were doing. My, these Texans certainly knew how to eat!

After dinner, she said good-bye to the lieutenant at the door. He seemed suddenly taller, although not nearly as tall as Brad O’Neal. Of course, not many men were.

“Honestly, Miss Primm, I really would accompany you this afternoon and protect you from that randy brute, if I didn’t need to practice my tuba so badly.”

“Yes, I understand. He seems to loathe me, so I’m not afraid of him, Lieutenant.”

He took both her hands in his soft ones. His palms were moist. “I—I know we barely know each other, Miss Primm, but I do wish you’d call me Buford.”

“Buford?”

He nodded. “Buford Arthur Reginal Fortenbury. I’m named for important ancestors. You know, I told you I was a member of the Sons of British Society.”

She smiled at him. “How could I forget? Good afternoon…Buford.”

“Now remember what I told you about not letting yourself be done out of any hidden treasure in that house.”

She didn’t like being admonished like a small child. “I’ve been looking out for myself for several years now, Lieutenant, ever since my mother died, five years ago.”

He hesitated in the doorway, his prominent adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, evidently getting up his courage to speak. “If—if I’m not being too forward, Miss Primm, I hope you may soon grant me the divine privilege of calling on you?”

What man used the word ‘divine’?

“Let me give that some thought, Buford. This is so sudden.”

“Of course. Well, I’ll be off. Ta ta.”

She watched him walk away. What kind of real man said ‘ta ta’? Then she realized why he seemed taller. He was wearing new boots and they had such high heels, he seemed unsteady on his feet. She imagined marrying him. Yes, he was highborn and certainly rich. Mrs. Buford Arthur Reginal Fortenbury, Her linens and silver would be monogrammed B.A.R.F. Somehow, that didn’t seem very appealing.

Lillian went to her room and tidied up for her appointment at the lawyer’s office. She recombed her tight, severe bun and put a dab of delicate lavender scent behind her ears. Not that she thought she had any feminine wiles to weaken Bradley O’Neal’s stubborn resolve, but maybe the lawyer might be swayed and if so, maybe he could sway that Texas scoundrel. Lillian needed every edge she could get. She wasn’t a beauty and she knew it, but her mind was as sharp as any man’s. Unfortunately, men were swayed by big bosoms and rounded bustles, not brains. She looked in the mirror again and sighed. Then she took a deep breath of resolve and marched out to the waiting buggy.

At precisely four o’clock, Lillian reined in her borrowed buggy before the lawyer’s office. Nothing moved along Main Street. The whole town must be napping or playing pinochle on a warm Sunday afternoon. A spotted hound lay out in the middle of the road, asleep. There was a black stallion tied to the hitching rail. Of course it would be black, Lillian thought in annoyance, just like his hair. Silver trim shone on the fine leather saddle and bridle. No doubt it was the mount of that gambling rascal. Lillian took a deep breath and went through the door with the lettering, DEWEY CHEATUM, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

A rumpled gray-haired man sat behind a cluttered desk and Brad O’Neal sat to one side. Both had drinks in their hands and stood up when she entered.

“I thought this was a business meeting. Alcohol on a Sunday afternoon?” she frowned.

“Would you like a mint julep?” The Irishman grinned at her.

“Certainly not. I want my wits about me when I am conducting business.” She nodded to the older man. “Hello, sir, I am Miss Lillian Primm, Mrs. Lil McGinty’s niece.”

“How do you do?” Lawyer Cheatum gestured toward a chair. “I never realized your aunt had been married.”

“Well, obviously somewhere along the way to some Irishman.” She frowned at the gambler. “The maiden name on my mother’s side is Winters.”

Brad O’Neal sipped his drink and sighed. “I told you what she was like, Dewey.”

She glared at him and then turned her attention to the lawyer. “I think you are guilty of subterfuge, sir.”

“Subterfuge?” Brad said, “Tsk, tsk. Why, Dewey, I knew you had sinned a lot, but I didn’t reckon you had committed subterfuge.”

Oh, he was maddening. “I meant,” she almost gritted her teeth to hold her temper, “that Mr. Cheatum misled me about what I was inheriting.”

The lawyer fumbled with his glass. “I’m really sorry about that, Miss Primm, but I just couldn’t imagine writing a lady like yourself and telling her she had inherited a—well, you know.”

O’Neal snorted. “If instead of being so hard-headed, lady, you had accepted my offer, you would not have had to know about this.”

“I am not hardheaded,” she answered, her voice cold enough to cause a blizzard, “but I give everything a lot of thought. I am not a silly female who lets herself be ruled by whimsy and passion.”

Brad snorted. “Do you even know the meanin’ of the word?”

“Certainly. My dictionary says—”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“You are a cad, sir. Now, do you know the meaning of that word?”

Lawyer Cheatum pulled out his pocket watch and sighed. “This is getting us nowhere, folks, and they’re holding up a game of pinochle over in the back of Pug’s store waiting for me. We need to resolve this.”

“Ha!” said Brad, “Dewey, if you can convince this stubborn old maid—”

“I beg your pardon!” Lillian snapped.

Dewey Cheatum sighed and poured himself another drink out of the bottle on his desk. “I reckon I can forget about a fast settlement. I wish I’d told Pug and Dimples and the others to start without me.”

Lillian had brought a list. Now she got it from her handbag and sat poised with a pencil. “Just what do you own of the Lily, Mr O’Neal?”

“We own the house jointly. It was once the mansion of a Yankee carpetbagger who came to Texas hoping to make a livin’ in cotton and went broke. I understand Lil bought it at a good price from him more than ten years ago.”

“Hmm. And what did you pay her for your share?”

“What business is that of yours?” He sighed and reached for the bottle.

“I’m trying to decide the house’s value. I suspect she gave you a real good deal.”

“She did at that.” He grinned. “Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m charmin’.”

She frowned. “Somehow, that eludes me. How did the business operate?”

“I handle the saloon and the gamblin’ downstairs. Lil kept the upstairs runnin’. So you’ve inherited the upstairs and the girls.”

She felt the blood rush to her face. “I do not intend to make my living off girls selling themselves to men.”

“Miss Primm, you are givin’ me a headache.”

“Are you sure it’s not a hangover from last night’s riotous living?”

“You are givin’ me a bigger headache by the minute.” He gulped his drink and looked beseechingly at the lawyer, who lit his pipe and sighed.

“Miss Primm,” Dewey smiled at her. “Perhaps Brad could be convinced to offer you a little more than ten thousand for your share—”

“I already tried.” O’Neal said.

“Perhaps,” the lawyer said, “he might offer you a lot more—”

“Now wait just a damned minute!” Brad put his tumbler on the desk with a bang.

“Out of the question,” Lillian snapped. “I cannot accept dirty money that those girls have earned by…well, you know.” She felt her face burn.

Brad glared at her. “Then you buy me out, sister, and do whatever you want with the place.”

“I have considered that,” Lillian chewed the end of the pencil. “I have only the five thousand that my aunt left me. However, if you would let me pay you off in installments—”

“No way, sister,” Brad snapped, “In God we trust, all others pay cash.”

She thought a moment. “Very well, if I control the upstairs and the girls, I think I am going to move in.”

Dewey Cheatum choked on his drink and burst into spasms of coughing while the gambler stood up so suddenly, his chair went over backwards. “What? Hell, you can’t be serious.”

She gave him a steely green stare. “Mr. O’Neal, swearing is the measure of a small vocabulary.”

“Lady, I reckon you could make a saint swear.”

“Which you definitively are not.”

“I never claimed to be. Your Aunt Lil liked me just fine as I am.”

“We’ve already determined that my late aunt had questionable taste in lifestyle and men.”

Brad turned a pleading look toward the lawyer.

Dewey put down his pipe, somewhat reluctantly. “Bradley, I think we need to have a talk. Can you wait, Miss Primm?”

She smiled, feeling like she was in the catbird’s seat. “Certainly.”

“But, Dewey—”

“Come on out on the sidewalk, Brad, we need to talk.” He grabbed the gambler by the arm and dragged him out front, carefully closing the door behind him. Lillian sat waiting, mildly amused by the angry voices and gesturing she could see through the office’s big front window.

After awhile, the pair returned inside, Brad slamming the door so hard, the glass rattled.

They both sat back down.

Dewey leaned on his desk and smiled at her. “Dear Miss Primm,” he began, “Mister Bradley O’Neal has generously decided to—”

“I saw you almost twisting his arm out there.” She said, “I think what he’d really like to do is throttle me.”

“Oh, sister, don’t tempt me,” he growled.

“Now, now.” Dewey made a soothing gesture. “This is getting us nowhere and I have a pinochle game I’d like to get to before tomorrow night. Oh, where was I?” He seemed to give it some thought.

“My offer,” Brad said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, yes.” The lawyer nodded. “Miss Primm, your partner, after much thought, has decided to offer you the very generous sum of twelve thousand dollars for your share of the business.”

She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “No.”

“What do you mean no?” Brad’s voice raised. “Didn’t you hear that I’m offerin’ more money?”

“I heard. You seem very eager to be rid of me, Mr. O’Neal.”

“Oh, lady, you don’t know the half of it.” He reached for the bottle.

“Tsk! Tsk! You’d better keep your head clear or I might best you in this deal.” she said.

“Miss Primm,” he warned, “I have never been bested by a woman. Do not try my patience.”

“You are trying mine.”

“Now, now,” Lawyer Cheatum gestured frantically, “Let’s keep our mind on the goal. That’s a lot of money, Miss Primm.”

“I know that.” Lillian shrugged. “Mr. O’Neal seems too eager to be rid of me and there’s rumors around that my aunt hid a large treasure somewhere in the house.”

Brad leaned back in his chair and groaned. “That old story? Miss Primm, I live in that house and I never—”

“But of course I wouldn’t expect you to level with me. You’d want the gold for yourself. I hear my aunt didn’t trust banks,” Lillian said.

The older man cleared his throat and picked up his pipe. “Miss Primm, I was your aunt’s lawyer, and she never said anything to me about money hidden in the Texas Lily. Now even considering that faint possibility, Miss Primm, we might work out a contract that if you sold out and Mr. O’Neal ever found such a treasure, you’d have some prior claim—”

“Ha!” Lillian snorted, “you think I’d trust that sleezy rascal to let me know if he ever found anything?”

The lawyer sighed and pulled out his pocket-watch again. He looked resigned to being here for the foreseeable future. “She’s right, Brad, you ain’t exactly what the average citizen would call a model citizen.”

“I thought you was my friend, Dewey. Hell,” he snapped, “there ain’t no money hidden in the house, that’s just an old tale. If there was, I’d think Lil would have told me or left it to somebody in her will, wouldn’t she?”

Dewey shrugged and looked at Lillian. “He’s got a point there, Miss Primm.”

“I see we are getting nowhere.” Lillian said briskly, looking at the tiny lapel watch on the front of her severe dress. “Lawyer Cheatum, I am a teacher and I was touched by the plight of those poor, unfortunate girls—”

“They ain’t poor, Miss Primm,” Dewey leaned across the desk confidentially, “why, on Saturday nights, there’s a waiting line—”

“Mister Cheatum!” She felt her face burn.

“Or so some of the men tell me,” Dewey said hastily and took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

“Nevertheless, I feel duty bound to help them.” Lillian said.

Brad looked puzzled. “By doin’ what?”

“I said I was a teacher,” she said. “If those girls were educated and knew a little etiquette, they could fit into society.”

Both men looked puzzled.

“I mean they could find respectable jobs and perhaps get married.”

“Married?” The gambler said the word as if speaking the name of some dread disease. “Who’d marry a wh—?”

“Mister O’Neal, she said, “I understand there is a shortage of women in all the Western states. If I could reform the girls, they could find husbands and—”

“You mean,” croaked Dewey, “Close the upstairs rooms at the Texas Lily?” He looked a bit faint.

“We shall see,” Lillian said.

Both men jumped to their feet, their mouths hanging open.

“Speechless?” she asked. “That must be a first for both of you. Mister O’Neal, if you will get a locksmith to put a strong lock on my aunt’s bedroom door, I shall move in sometime tomorrow.”

“Move in?” Brad opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air.

“I said move in, didn’t I? How else am I to reform these unfortunate girls?”

“Fif—fifteen thousand,” Brad croaked, “I’ll give you fifteen thousand for your share.”

Lillian smiled. “Save your money, Mr. O’Neal, I cannot be bought off.”

“But you can’t be serious about movin’ in?”

“Never doubt a New Englander,” she said and stood up herself. “Aunt Lil also left me a little money. I intend to close down the brothel section and use that cash for the benefit of these poor unfortunate girls.”

“But that will effect business downstairs!” His voice rose.

Now it was her turn to smile. “That is not my problem. Gambling and drinking are bad for the community.”

The lawyer had turned pale. “Miss Primm, I think I can get the local men to make up a pot, maybe twenty thousand—”

“I cannot be bought.” Lillian said, “I only wanted to see how the game would go. Good afternoon to you gentlemen. Tell Delilah to set an extra plate at dinner tomorrow.”

Dewey Cheatum was almost sobbing. “Miss Primm, if you turn things upside down, there is no telling what the men who frequent the Texas Lily might—”

“Mr. Cheatum, they might stay home with their wives and play pinochle with their children. What this town seems to need is a good hotel, not a bordello.”

“Tell that to the soldiers and cowboys!” Brad seethed.

“You tell them.” She started out the door. “Remember about the locksmith, won’t you?”

“And suppose I don’t?”

She smiled at him. “Then everyone in town will gossip that you are lusting after the old maid schoolteacher and are intending to take her virtue.”

Brad shuddered. “I’ll put the damned lock on the door.”

“Thank you. Good day, gentlemen.” Then she sailed out of the office and stepped up into her buggy, smiling to herself. When she looked back through the big glass window, the rascal was gesturing wildly and the lawyer was running his hands through his gray hair.

Yes, she was going to save those unfortunate girls. After that, she had no plan, but if what she was doing annoyed Bradley O’Neal, it was a very good day.