Читать книгу To Tempt A Texan - Georgina Gentry - Страница 11

Inside the tent, Lacey paced anew. “He’s outrageous. The most stubborn man I ever met.”

“Why don’t you get us some advertisers and some local news and stop worrying with that gambler, yes?” Isaac suggested gently, “don’t let him get your goat.”

“You’re right, of course.” Lacey paused and peeked out the tent again. Again Blackie grinned and nodded to her. “That Texas loafer is not worth one moment of my attention. Maybe one of my stolen carpenters will drop a hammer on him. As hardheaded as he is, he probably wouldn’t even feel it.”

Isaac sighed. “Stop being obsessed with him.”

“Obsessed? Obsessed?” Her voice rose. “He’s trying to run me out of town, that’s what. My idea for a perfect, law-abiding town is directly at odds with what he’s got in mind.”

“Miss Lacey,” Isaac wiped a smudge of ink from his hand, “you can’t dictate what kind of town this will be. Even rascals like that one have rights.”

“I’ll have to outwit and out-maneuver him,” she said. “I’ll send a wire to the Ladies’ Temperance Association, get them to come. We’ll convince the voters, all men, of course, that they really don’t want all that drinking, gambling, and wild women.”

The stooped, ink-stained man grinned. “Miss Lacey, you don’t know much about men.”

She snorted with derision. “Believe me, I do. I was almost married once. What a rascal Homer was and he had me fooled into thinking he was perfect.”

“The paper,” Isaac said patiently, “remember the paper?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll go down and meet the morning train, see if I can pick up some stories of new settlers. I reckon I’d also better wire Uncle Trace that I’m fine and the newspaper is about to put out its first edition.”

She got her pad and pencil and a parasol to protect her complexion from the warm sun and began a brisk walk to the depot two blocks down the street.

She noticed Lively cross the street to join her, ambling along behind as she walked. “Honestly,” she flung over her shoulder to the lazy dog, “I don’t know why you choose to put up with that man. You’re both dumb males, I reckon.”

The dog wagged his tail and strolled with her to the depot. Inside, she sent her aunt and uncle a wire: Dear Aunt Cimarron and Uncle Trace. Arrived safely. Stop. The newspaper is off to a great start. Stop. She thought it over, decided not to mention the difficulties that rascal across the street was causing her. Don’t worry. Stop. I’ll be fine. Stop. Love, Lacey.

Then she fired off telegrams to other leaders of the Temperance Association: I am fighting a tide of booze and rascals here. Stop. This is a call to arms for every right-thinking woman who’d like to live in a dry, civilized town. Stop. Please come help me hold the barricades against sin. Stop. Your President, Miss Lacey Van Schuyler Durango.

When she went outside, waiting on the platform for the train to arrive was a tall Indian wrapped in a blanket and wearing war paint.

He looked at her and held up his hand. “How. Me Chief Thunder. You want buy brass buttons off General Custer’s coat?”

“What?” Lacey blinked. “Now how would you have those?”

“My father cut them off after he scalped Yellow Hair.”

She knew from reading newspaper accounts that George Custer had not been scalped. “What tribe are you?” Lacey asked with growing suspicion.

“Potawatomi.”

“Well, Chief Thunder, I happen to know the Potawatomis are peaceful. The warriors at the Little Big Horn were Sioux and Cheyenne.”

“Gimme a break, lady, I’m trying to make a living here.” He had dropped the fake Indian accent and now his English was as good as hers.

She snorted. “Another rascal. So, who are you really and where are you getting the buttons?”

He grinned at her. “I’m Joe Toadfrog from eastern Indian Territory. Now if your name was Toadfrog, wouldn’t you call yourself Chief Thunder? My dad was a half-breed trader who met a white girl and married her.”

“Well, Joe, I suggest you get your story straight.”

He shrugged. “I have the buttons shipped in from a New Jersey factory by the box and the stupid tourists don’t know the difference. It’s about time we Indians got even with the whites for stealing our land. Anyway, the extra change rounds out my income. Artists don’t make much.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You’re an artist? Maybe you could do some art work for my newspaper.”

“Oh, so you’re Miss damnyankee Iron Corset.”

“What?”

“Uh, I mean, the new lady newspaper person.”

Miss damnyankee Iron Corset. There was only one person arrogant and fresh enough to call her that. “I see you’ve already met Blackie O’Neal.”

He gulped in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Just guessed, I reckon.” So that’s how the Rebel was referring to her? She imagined reaching her hand down Blackie’s throat and pulling his smart-alec tongue out so far it could be used for a red sidewalk. “You’re a painter?”

He nodded. “Starving, mostly. I do signs, though, to make a living. Now and then I do a picture.”

“Good.” She heard a long, drawn-out train whistle and turned to watch the incoming train. “You can do a sign for the front of my building.” She realized suddenly that Lively was asleep on the tracks. “Lively! Get up!”

About that time, the gambler himself came running up on the platform, whistling at his dog. The big bloodhound stood up slowly, stretched and ambled off the tracks as if he had all the time in the world to move. “Great God Almighty! That’s a new low, sister, tryin’ to get my dog killed.”

“You think I’d stoop to that?”

“Hush it up, you two,” Chief Thunder said, “here comes the train.”

The train pulled into the station from the north, blowing steam and throwing soot and cinders as it ground to a halt with its whistle blowing. The conductor stepped down from the coach. “Here we are in the Unassigned Lands,” he hollered at the passengers, “town of—?” He turned and looked at the people on the platform.

“Pretty Prairie.” Lacey volunteered.

“You must be joking,” the gambler sneered. “Whiskey Flats, now that’s more like it.”

“What?” Lacey opened her mouth to protest, but people began getting off the train, a couple of cowboys, a nattily dressed traveling salesman with his sample kits, a family with squalling children.

Chief Thunder approached the salesman. “How. Me Chief Thunder. Have buttons from Custer’s uniform to sell.”

“Really?” The plump salesman paused and pushed back his derby. “Boy howdy, I’d like a souvenir like that. How’d you get ’em?”

The handsome Potawatomi looked somber and fierce. “My father cut them from General’s uniform after him scalp him.”

“Really? Hot diggety dog! How much?” The salesman was already reaching in his pocket.

Chief Thunder seemed to be sizing the man up. “One silver dollar for two.”

The drummer hesitated.

“Throw in lock of his hair.” He held up a blond wisp.

“Wow! Wait’ll the boy’s back in Cincinnati see this.” The drummer could hardly get the money out of his pocket fast enough. The exchange was made.

When the drummer walked away with his treasures, Lacey raised one eyebrow at Chief Thunder.

He shrugged. “Hey, as Barnum used to say, there’s a sucker born every minute.”

She wondered where he’d gotten the light hair, but before she could ask, other people were departing from the train and the gambler and his dog, tail wagging, hurried to meet them. One of the biggest, baldest men she’d ever seen was shaking hands with O’Neal. “Hey, boss, glad to be here.”

“Howdy, Moose, good to have you.”

The Moose was bald as a marble and big as a mountain. He had a tattoo on his right forearm, a heart with “Ma” in the middle of it. Around him, young, flashily-dressed women were getting off the train, gathering their luggage. They were escorted by a matronly older woman with dyed red hair.

“Howdy, Blackie,” the redhead hailed him and then came in for a hug. “Missed you.”

“Good to see you, Flo. This is a great town.”

“Better than the last one we got run out of?” She laughed with a husky voice.

The younger, highly-painted girls crowded around Blackie like bees around honey. “Ohh, Blackie, sweet, you got us a good place to work?”

Blackie grinned and wiped at the lip rouge on his face as he turned and glared at Lacey. “It’ll do. I got a choice lot picked out, but someone is contestin’ me for ownership.”

“Now what range rat would do something mean like that?” Flo griped.

“Someone who landed on the lot first.” Lacey snapped, surprising even herself.

Flo looked at her, surprise in her heavily painted old face. She might have been a beauty in her younger days. “Well, she’s got gumption if she’ll go up against Blackie; must be a Texan.”

“Yes, I am.” Lacey declared.

The younger women paid no attention to anyone but the smiling gambler as they gathered around him. “Ohh, Blackie, we’re so glad to see you again.”

They all tried to hug him and he was obliging. “Hey, Nell, hey, Sal. How are you doin’, Dixie?”

Dixie was a young, painted blonde whose hair color looked suspiciously as if it had come out of a bottle. “I’ve missed you, Blackie.” she drawled.

“And I’ve missed you all too, you little Southern belle, you. Atlanta doesn’t know what they’ve lost.”

“I got run out of Atlanta, remember?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, Dixie, you’ll love this new town; lots of men. Come on, I’ve got my new barouche. It came in on a freight car last night.”

The Moose gathered up the luggage and the whole crowd trooped out to a big, fancy open carriage with bright red horsehair upholstery. Two fine black horses outfitted in shiny harness with lots of sparkling brass, pulled it.

Lacey took a deep, annoyed breath. Blackie had completely ignored her as if she didn’t exist. His women had left a trail of heavy, cheap perfume on the air.

“Outrageous!” Lacy said to no one in particular as she watched the painted women giggle and take turns hugging Blackie, “he must have his own harem.”

Chief Thunder coughed and shifted his feet. “Actually, Miss, they work for Flo, but they always share Blackie’s place because the girls bring in the galoots to gamble and drink plenty of booze.”

“No doubt.” Lacy snapped as she watched the crowd loading into the barouche with Lively barking and wagging his tail. “You seem to know a lot about them.”

“Blackie and me go a long way back in some other towns. He’s a charmer, ain’t he?”

“Somehow, his appeal escapes me.” She glared after the departing barouche. “When the decent citizens clean up this town, he and his girls will have to find some place to go.”

Chief Thunder shrugged. “Wouldn’t bother Blackie none. He’s been run out of better towns than this one.”

“I believe that.”

“I reckon I’ve hit all the suckers I’ll get this morning.” Chief Thunder folded up his merchandize, left the platform and mounted his horse. As he rode away, she noticed the cream-colored horse he rode had a very short, ragged tail. Evidently the General’s hair had been an excellent seller.

“My word.” In all her astonishment at the arrival of Blackie’s whores, she’d forgotten to interview anyone for the news article. Lacey took a deep breath, more annoyed with Blackie than ever and returned to her drafty, dusty tent to write an editorial about how this new town should be law-abiding with no saloons or other dens of sin.

The next morning, she had her first newspaper on the streets. Soon she would have small boys delivering, but for now, she set a stack of papers and an honesty box outside the tent so people could drop their nickles in and take a paper. Several men dropped in to congratulate “the little lady” on her enterprise and four upstanding matrons came by to tell her that they, too, were temperance believers and maybe they could get a chapter started in this new town. That encouraged Lacey tremendously.

“See,” she said to Precious as she scratched the cat’s ears after she’d fed her, “we’ll have a perfect town after all.”

The cat bristled suddenly and Lacey turned to see Lively sticking his head through the tent opening. “Now, now, Precious, you mustn’t hold it against the poor dog because his master is such an irresponsible rascal.”

She gave Lively part of a leftover biscuit, patted him. “Must you drool all over everything?”

The dog’s ribbon of tongue hung out and he wagged his tail. His chest hair was all wet. “You know, a baby bib would stop all that and be a lot neater. I’ll have to get you one.”

Lively only looked around for another biscuit and when none was offered, he lay down in the middle of the floor and dropped off to sleep. Isaac, hurrying through with an armful of papers, tripped over the dog and went down. The dog ran yelping out of the tent.

“Oh, Isaac, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No, and I don’t suppose the dog is, either.” He stumbled to his feet, scrambling to gather the strewn papers.

At that moment, Blackie O’Neal pushed his way in, dark eyes blazing. “I thought you were ruthless, but I didn’t think you’d kick my dog.”

Lacey confronted him and glared back. “I didn’t kick him. It was an accident. Anyway, if you’d keep him at home instead of letting him roam the town—”

“If you’d quit luring him over here, he’d stay on my side of the street.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” She was as mad as he was. “It just seems you’re too busy looking after whores to know what he’s doing.”

Blackie blinked. “Ladies don’t usually use that word.”

“Now how would you know anything about ladies?” The more she thought about that blonde called Dixie hugging him up against her big breasts, the more annoyed she became. “I intend to run your whiskey den out of this town.”

“Go right ahead on,” he challenged, “are you going to have temperance protesters marching out front, too?”

“Great idea!”

“Fine. It’ll draw a crowd and I’ll sell more booze.”

“You’re outrageous,” Lacey said. “And by the way, I resent you calling me Miss damnyankee Iron Corset.”

He paused. “Now who told you that?”

“Chief Thunder.”

He didn’t deny it. “Joe’s got a big mouth. He should stick to selling Custer’s buttons.”

“You encourage him in that duplicity?”

“That’s a mighty big word, Miss Durango, but considerin’ you’re a female who’s too big for her britches—”

“It means to cheat people, to fool them.”

“I’m not ignorant, sister, I know what it means.”

“I reckon anyone who would steal chickens from the U.S. Army already knows about cheats—”

“As I recall, you and your cat ate some of that chicken.”

Her face flamed. “I did not.”

He smiled. “Oh no? You had chicken grease on your face. And don’t call me a cheat, Miss Durango. I run an honest card game.”

“This has nothing to do with the subject at hand,” Lacey began, then stumbled to a halt and stared up at him blankly. He looked as blank as she did. They disliked each other so much, she realized that it didn’t take much ammunition for them to begin firing at each other.

“Texans,” Isaac sighed in the background.

Blackie took a deep breath. “You’re mad because I got your lumber and stole your workmen.”

She would not have admitted it under Apache torture.

Blackie turned to go. “Are you going to keep enticin’ my dog away?”

“I beg your pardon. He showed up and I gave him a biscuit. You’re probably so busy with your women, you forgot to feed him.”

“I don’t neglect my dog. I love dogs, you, you damnyankee cat person.” Blackie said and then he stalked out.

Isaac had been watching from the corner by the printer. “Why didn’t you just tell him what really happened?”

“He probably wouldn’t have believed me,” she seethed. “Now let’s try to ignore the tinhorn gambler and get on with getting out the next edition. Have you picked up any news?”

“Well,” Isaac said, “someone dropped in to say Mrs. Anderson has new baby girl and the ladies sewing circle is planning its first meeting Wednesday, yes.”

“Good.” She grabbed her pen, “and I heard a committee is trying to raise enough funds for a school. That just shows Pretty Prairie is going to be a law-abiding, progressive town. Once a town gets a newspaper, a school, a church, and a public library, it’s on its way.”

In the background, drifting faintly on the warm air, she heard an off-key chorus of drunken men’s voices, along with the hammering of the carpenters building the new saloon. “Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, oh, my darling Clementine…”

“Outrageous!” Lacey snapped, “you wouldn’t think that saloon would be selling so many drinks this early in the day.”

“Those pretty girls seem to be luring the customers in already.”

Lacey looked at the little man with a stern eye. “Now how would you know that?”

He suddenly got very busy. “Well, that’s what some folks say.”

“Humph. Let’s ignore the racket and do our work. Now, for our next editorial—”

“…you are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine…”

Lacey took a deep breath and picked up a pencil. “In a civilized town,” she read aloud as she wrote, “everyone works and is responsible.”

“Oh, the Camptown ladies sing this song, doodah, doodah…”

“And the ideal town will have a mayor and a town council who are upstanding citizens…”

“Camptown racetrack, five miles long, oh, doodah day…”

She was determined to ignore the hammering and the drunken singing, even as women’s voices joined it. “A referendum should be held immediately to choose a town name. Also, we’ll need a safe and adequate water supply…”

“…Gwine to run all night, gwine to run all day…”

“My word, this has to stop.” Lacey forgot about the town’s water supply and stuck her head out the tent. There were wagons going up and down the street, a buggy or two, and several men on horseback. Across the street Lively lay on the wooden sidewalk as if dead, while from inside the saloon tent came the sound of singing and clinking glasses as the carpenters built a framework around them. They didn’t look too sober, either.

“It sounds as if he’s managed to get a piano,” Isaac said behind her.

“With all the other racket, how can you tell?”

Precious evidently didn’t like the noise. She flattened her ears back and meowed. Above all the sounds of gaiety, came the noise of her stolen carpenters creating the framework of the building around the saloon tent. “Outrageous!”

“I think so, too.” A tall, handsome young man walked up outside, turned to follow her indignant gaze. “You’re right, Miss. It’s disgusting; yes, that’s what it is.”

She smiled at him. “I’m so glad you agree, Mister—?”

“Peabody.” He doffed his derby hat and made a slight bow. “Eugene Reginald Peabody at your service, ma’am.”

“Lacey Durango. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Peabody.” She looked him over with growing approval. Mr. Peabody was perfect, just what a man ought to be. This ideal male had a slender build, brown hair, pale blue eyes and a wispy mustache. He wore a natty black suit, a derby hat and fine white gloves. The outfit was complete with spats, a boutonniere and a walking stick. Her heart fluttered. “You just arrived? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“Hardly.” He favored her with a superior gaze. “I’m a Harvard man, you know, and I’m going to hang out my “attorney” shingle later. First, I must help my uncle get his store up and running. He begged for my assistance.”

“A lawyer?” She sighed with pleasure. “And so well dressed. We’re used to men in muddy boots around here.”

He snorted and twirled his cane. “So uncouth. Even the women are so—so provincial and poorly educated.”

She wanted to make a good impression on this cosmopolitan gentleman. “I’m a graduate of Miss Priddy’s Female Academy in Boston.”

He looked down his thin nose and gave her an approving nod. “I’ve heard of it. Good school.”

“Also I own the newspaper and I’ve traveled a great deal myself.”

“Really?” His pale eyes lit up. “I knew you were sensitive and clever as well as beautiful the moment I saw you. By the way, I want you to know I heartily approve of your editorials. I stand foursquare in favor of temperance and women’s suffrage.”

Lacey gave him her warmest smile. This was the kind of ideal man she’d always dreamed of, one who certainly could quote poetry and was well-read. She thought about Blackie O’Neal with a frown. Probably that gambler didn’t read anything but the Police Gazette with its racy drawings over at the barber shop. “Mr. Peabody, I’m so glad you’ve arrived and I hope I’ll be seeing more of you.”

In the background, the tinny piano accompanied raucous voices: “Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight….”

The elegant Mr. Peabody frowned. “We honest citizens will soon run crooks like that gambler out of town. I might thrash him myself with my cane, but I wouldn’t want genteel ladies to witness such mayhem.”

“You’re sooo sensitive,” Lacey gushed, “but I agree a fine gentleman shouldn’t dirty his hands with the likes of Blackie O’Neal. Besides, he’s a rough saloon brawler. The man who takes him on had better bring his lunch because it might take a while.”

“Disgusting.” The handsome dude’s thin nose went even higher in the air. “Perhaps when I open my law office, I’ll run for Congress. Maybe I can get a law passed for prohibition and against sin. Voters are always against sin.”

“My very thought.” She warmed to the newcomer even more. She’d love to see the Irish saloon brawler run out of town. Knowing the brash Blackie, he’d probably swagger along in front of the mob as if he were leading a parade.

“Oh, a kitty.” The elegant Mr. Peabody attempted to pat Precious who promptly arched her back and spat at him. “Cats generally love me.”

Lacey was embarrassed for her impolite animal. “I don’t know what’s bothering her today.”

“Oh, well.” The gentleman reached to turn his lapel so he could sniff his boutonniere, “I’m here to order a nice big ad in your paper for our Peabody General Store.”

“Of course. Come in and we’ll make some notes.” She was gushing over the gentleman, but she could not stop herself. “May I get you some coffee?”

“Actually, in London, I got used to drinking tea, but of course I doubt you—”

“Oh, but I do.” She led him into her office tent. “I’ve been in England, too, you know. What did you find the most interesting?”

“Ahh, everything.” He waved one fine gloved hand in dismissal. “I wish I had more time to talk, Miss Durango, but my uncle has a very difficult time with the store unless I’m there to manage.”

“Oh, I fully understand.” She ran to heat a kettle of water on her small kerosene stove. “We’ll discuss our travels when you have more time. Now you write out your ad while I make you some tea.”

Isaac frowned at her when she passed him. “Who’s the fancy dude?”

“Shh! He’ll hear you.” She lowered her voice as she busied herself with the tea kettle. “He’s the perfect catch. That is, if he isn’t married.”

“A dude, yes?” Isaac whispered with scorn and returned to setting up type for the paper.

Lacey brought young Mr. Peabody a cup of tea. He took off his gloves one finger at a time and put them in his pocket. She noticed that he held his little finger out as he sipped it. Such refined, sensitive hands. Blackie O’Neal had big strong hands that could easily turn into lethal fists.

“Miss Durango, I do hope there is some kind of social life for a single gentleman such as myself in this provincial little place.”

She sighed and her heart beat faster. “Well, so far, I don’t know, but we unmarried ladies hope to establish some croquet clubs or perhaps an occasional tea dance.”

His pale eyes lit up and he smiled at her. “Croquet? I love it. I do hope sometime you’ll be my partner.”

“My word, that would be delightful. You know, Mr. Peabody, I’ve been thinking of organizing a box supper or some kind of community dance as fund raisers. This town is in dire need of a school and library.”

“Very worthy.” He nodded his approval. “I might help organize the businessmen to fund some of your endeavors.”

Behind them, the singing from the saloon began again: “…Oh, it rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry…”

Young Mr. Peabody frowned. “Well, some of the business people,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll agree there are some we’d just soon left town.”

“I quite agree,” Lacey said. “Mr. Peabody, I can see that we have a lot in common.”

He smiled at her. “I hope you won’t think it too forward if I hope that soon, you’ll think of me as ‘Eugene.’”

Be still my heart. She was so flustered, she dropped her pencil. “Not at all.” She found herself giggling like an idiot school girl.

He stood up and twirled his cane. “As loath as I am to leave such pleasant company, I must be off. Uncle is just at a loss without me. Toodle-loo.” He touched the brim of his derby and left, swinging his cane.

Lacey leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Dear me, I think I’m about to have an attack of the vapors. Such a perfect, perfect gentleman. Didn’t you think so, Isaac?”

“Umm. A bit of a dandy, yes.” He kept setting type.

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious. Just imagine, well traveled and a Harvard man. The girl who lands him will get quite a catch.”

Isaac only snorted and she stared at Eugene’s tea cup. She imagined herself at a pristine dining table with a maid in uniform pouring tea from fine china in the perfect house while she sat across from her handsome, perfect husband, discussing current events and social functions. Outside, their beautiful, perfect children played on the landscaped lawn. Eugene would look across the breakfast table at her as he reached to kiss her hand and say—”

“You got that ad he gave you?”

“What?” She came back to reality.

“The ad,” Isaac frowned.

“Yes, here.” She handed it over and tried to return to work. It was difficult with memories of the fine gentleman mingling with the caterwauling from the saloon across the street. Her newspaper was off to a rousing start and now she’d be getting even more advertisers. Her life would finally be perfect. Or would be when she could build her new office on that corner lot and run that scummy gambler out of town. With Eugene as an inspiration, she sat down, dusted off her already perfect desk and wrote a scathing editorial about what a scandal and a detriment saloons were to a town.

Isaac read it and frowned. “This is pretty strong, Miss Lacey. Are you sure you aren’t letting your personal dislike of the man cloud your judgement?”

“Of course not! There’s nothing personal; I’m just thinking of this town’s future.” She was highly indignant that anyone might question her motives. “Print it!”

Isaac sighed. “All right, yes, it’s your paper. But if it were mine, we wouldn’t.”

They printed up the edition and it went out the next day. When she looked out of her tent door that morning, she saw Blackie O’Neal standing on the street reading a copy. As they say in Texas, he looked mad as a rained-on rooster. When he spotted her watching him, he frowned and strode across the street toward her.

She took a deep breath. Uh-oh.