Much Ado About Mavericks Page 4

  “I need a horse. Got to ride into town and buy a set of clothes. These duds are fine in Boston, but not much use around here.”

  Whip nodded, then a smile spread ear to ear. “I know’d them boys was blowin’ out their asses when they said you was running off.” He picked up a rope, then motioned for Ben to follow him. “I’ll get you fixed up, son. C’mon out to the corral and pick one out.”

  “Thanks.” Ben followed the old cowhand out of the barn, wondering what he’d meant by ‘running off.’ Mr. Morris at the law firm had thought ‘running off’ meant slogging off to the Idaho frontier. Ben agreed that he belonged in Boston—the Bar EL hadn’t been his home for nearly half his life.

  In Boston, he had a nice house, a prosperous position, friends, a healthy bank account, and, within the next year sometime, a wife. Patience’s patience ran low, he knew, and he planned to propose as soon as his affairs were in order. But here in Henderson Flats, he commanded no respect, wasn’t suited for the life of a rancher nor did he want to be, and friends were few and far between. As a boy, he’d been lonesome—demeaned by his father and teased relentlessly by other boys. That wouldn’t change. He belonged in Boston.

  They walked past the round pen where two men waved and hollered while a bronc buster rode the buck out of a mustang. At the next corral, the horses milled, stirred up by all the commotion. At first glance, Ben saw the horse he had to have—a big bay with a star on his forehead. “I’ll take that one.”

  “Good eye for horseflesh. That there was Ezra’s horse. He stands purt near seventeen hands. Well trained. Helluva heart. He’ll go till he drops dead if you ask him to.”

  Ben couldn’t think of anything sweeter than a compliment from Whip—they didn’t come too often. “Glad to hear it.”

  “I’ll saddle him for you, Skeeter.”

  Ben gritted his teeth. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me ‘Ben’ now, Whip. It’s my name.”

  “Might be calling you ‘Mr. Lawrence’ in a day or two.” Whip chuckled, then let loose a good loop, twirled it three times, and tossed it. “Here you go,” he said as the loop settled around the bay’s neck.

  Ben marveled at Whip’s ability—the old man rarely missed. “Thanks,” he said, taking the rope. “I’ll saddle him.”

  He led the horse to the tie-up by the tack room while Whip followed. As Ben patted and brushed the bay, Whip fetched a saddle, blanket, and bridle.

  “This here’s Ezra’s tack. It’s the only saddle that fits this bruiser, so you’ll be needing it.” He plopped the saddle over a sawhorse. “You sure you don’t want me to saddle him? You don’t want to mess up them fancy duds.”

  Ben shook his head and placed the blanket over the bay’s back. “I’ll do it.”

  “All right, then, I’ll get back to my chores. I’m expecting the crew in anytime and they’ll be ready for some food.”

  “You’re cooking?” With a tug, Ben tightened the cinch and tied it off.

  Whip sighed and clicked his cheek. “Yup. Can’t ride much anymore, so they put me to cooking. Damned good at it, too, if I do say so myself. Leastways, I ain’t poisoned nobody yet.”

  Sliding the bit into the bay’s mouth, Ben asked, “Has this fellow got a name?”

  “You ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Well?”

  A sparkle lit Whip’s eye. “His name’s Skeeter.”

  Ben grimaced. “You’re right, I don’t like it.” Ben mounted the big bay and trotted toward town.

  * * * * *

  “He left not more’n ten minutes ago,” Whip said. “Went to Henderson to buy some work duds.”

  “Shit.” Jake could just imagine what treatment Ben would get after the cowhands had a few drinks under their belts. “I better see to him before he gets hisself into trouble.” She unfastened the cinch and hauled the saddle off her horse. “You rub down Blue. I’ll take Red into town.”

  She hauled ass to the corral, roped the strawberry roan gelding, and led him into the barn. “What horse did he take?” she asked Whip as she flung her saddle onto Red’s back.

  “Skeeter.” Whip hung Blue’s bridle on the tack room wall and brought Red’s out to her. “Picked out the best mount in the herd, just like that. Not bad for a city boy.”

  “Yeah, well right there’s the problem. He is a city boy and I happen to know that the Bar EL hands are headed to the saloon, fixin’ to wash the alkali dirt out of their gullets.”

  Whip shook his head. “Bad thing to get started, Jake. It’s the middle of the week.”

  “I know, but they rode fence since dawn with nary a complaint, so I let ‘em have the rest of the day off.” She gave the cinch an extra tug and tied it off, then grabbed the bridle and slipped the bit in Red’s mouth. No sooner did she have the headstall buckled, she had already mounted and trotted out the barn. “I’ll be back before dark,” she shouted.

  She trotted the gelding a ways to warm him up, then kicked him into a gallop. Ten minutes ought to get her to Henderson Flats—she only hoped that would be soon enough.

  Sure as shootin’, she saw Ben’s horse tied in front of the Silver Sage Saloon. Damn! After the talk she’d heard from the hands that day, she knew this wouldn’t be pretty. Dismounting before Red had come to a full stop, Jake took a wrap around the hitching post and charged into the dark building, stopping just inside the door to let her eyes adjust.

  “Hey, there’s the boss lady!” Fred saluted her with his shot glass.

  She tipped her Stetson to him and, since she didn’t see Ben, bellied up to the bar. As long as he wasn’t in the saloon, most likely he’d be all right.

  “Whiskey?” Wilson, the barkeep asked.

  “Sounds good.” She threw down four bits and turned around so she could keep track of the saloon patrons. Several Bar EL hands and a few men from the Lazy B occupied a faro table to her right. A gambler held court with some more Bar EL hands to her left. The men standing along side her at the bar were a mixture of cowhands from other ranches.

  Wilson slid a shot of whiskey to her and she swooped it up and took a slug. Nothing like a little rattlesnake juice to warm your innards after a day of riding fence.

  “Tell your men I got a French whore on the way. Should be here before round-up.”

  She nodded and finished off her drink.

  A Lazy B hand, Grady, who had a history of making trouble, stepped in front of her and snickered. “I hear tell you folks is working for a greenhorn these days.”

  Jake scowled and ordered another drink. She’d gotten used to young pie-faced rowdies trying to pick fights with her long ago, but she reckoned Grady should’ve learned his lesson by now. She felt him jab at her shoulder.

  “In fact, I hear tell he ain’t man enough to run a ranch.”

  She stared at the bottles under the picture of the half-naked lady hanging on the wall. He’d either tire of his stupid game, or else she’d have to wallop him one. She didn’t really care which, but her patience was short these days.

  “As a matter of fact, I hear tell you fingered his privates, hoping to find pussy.”

  She slugged down the rest of her whiskey, feeling his glare burn a hole in her back. No more than two jabs, she figured, and she’d have him. “You heard wrong. If that’s what I wanted, I’d check you out first thing.”

  Whirling and taking a glancing blow off her cheekbone, she slugged him in the gut with her left fist, then pasted him in the nose with her right. As he grabbed his nose, she kicked his legs out from under him and, straddling him, she pinned him to the floor. “Now, girlie, do you want to apologize, or do you want me to show your tiny little nuts to God and everyone?”

  “That’ll be enough, Jake.” Marshal Hiatt, the town’s lawman, towered over them.

  “I expect so,” Jake said, shrugging as she rose to her feet. “This whippersnapper don’t never learn.”

  Grady rolled away from her, whimpering and holding his bleeding nose.

  The marshal hauled the cowhand off th
e floor. “Boys, take this sonovabitch to my wife—she’ll patch him up. Then I want him the hell out of town. Understand?”

  When they grunted and nodded, he turned to Jake and sighed as he gripped her arm. “I’ll be taking you in.”

  Smirking, she held out her hands for the cuffs. “Figgered that.”

  * * * * *

  “Wait’ll I tell the marshal the news!” the storekeeper said as she folded the britches Ben had bought. “Why, he’ll be happy as a kitten lapping a bucket of cream when he finds out you’re staying. And I’ll get particular pleasure in informing a few snooty old ladies around here just how wrong they was.”

  Ben winced at her assumption, but decided not to correct her. “I have a wire to send, then I’ll be back to pick up my goods.”

  Mrs. Hiatt nodded without looking up. “Don’t be long, Skeeter. I’m shutting down early today. Got to finish the fall harvest in the garden before the weather turns bad.”

  “Ben,” he corrected on his way out. At the telegraph office, he sent a wire telling his senior partner, Mr. Morris, that all was going well and that he’d be back in time for the Alexander Graham Bell case.

  Now, if he could only convince them to go East with him. He hadn’t brought up the subject to Suzanne again, but his mother showed no sign of relenting. He couldn’t fathom why she wanted to live in Henderson Flats rather than the home he’d bought for her in Boston.

  Mrs. Hiatt smiled as he walked in the store. “Your packages are ready. Tell your mama we’ll be getting a shipment of dry goods next Thursday. Might have a piece that’d work up real nice for her.”

  “She’s expecting it.” He picked up the armload of packages, and as he turned, two men carried in another with blood streaming down his face.

  “Grady, here, needs a bit of patching up, ma’am.”

  “Oh, dear. Take him to the back room and I’ll fetch my medicine bag.”

  One of them men looked at Ben. “You Skeeter?”

  If he never heard that nickname again, it would be too damned soon. “I’m Ben Lawrence.”

  “Well, Skeeter, you better get your ass over to the jail and bail out your lady foreman.”

  “Why would Jake be in jail?”

  “Defending the honor of a feller who lets a woman do his fighting for him.” Both men snickered.

  Asshole. Ben felt like bloodying the loudmouth’s nose to match his friend’s. He shoved the packages back on the counter. “I’ll be back.” He took off for the jailhouse at a dead run. Damned woman!

  He burst through the door, then stopped and took a deep breath. He needed to be collected for the next few minutes, and collected he’d be.

  “Howdy, Skeeter.” Marshal Hiatt didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “I thought you’d show up in a hurry.” He chuckled, put down his pencil, and picked up his keys. “You probably want to see the prisoner.”

  “Go to hell!” Jake called from the second cell, her hands on the bars. “The prisoner don’t want to see him.”

  She had the beginnings of a shiner. Ben suppressed a smile. He’d never seen a woman with a black eye before, but from the looks of things, the poor fellow who picked a fight with her ended up in a lot worse shape. “So who threw the first punch?”

  “Grady, from the Lazy B.” She cocked her head and grinned. “Didn’t do him no good, though. I busted his ugly nose and gave him a gut-ache he’ll remember for a day or two.”

  The marshal chuckled. “His nose wouldn’t be so ugly if you hadn’t broke it twice before.”

  “Can’t help it if he keeps running into my fist. He oughta keep his damned nose where it belongs. Someone oughta take pity on the poor sunovabitch and shoot him.”

  “Let’s not discuss shooting people while you’re on the wrong side of the bars,” Ben chided. He turned to the marshal. “What’s it going to take to get my foreman out of jail?”

  “Just a promise that you’ll keep her out of trouble. I ain’t filing charges. To a man, all of ‘em at the saloon said that Grady started it.” Tossing the keys and catching them in the same hand, he added, “Jake finished it, like she always does.” He opened the cell door and motioned for her to come out. “You’re free to go, Jake, but I don’t want to see you back in here for at least a month or so.”

  “You won’t. I’ve got work to do and the roundup starts in three weeks, so I won’t be no trouble to you till at least November.”

  The marshal handed her Colt to her, then winked at Ben. “Good luck.”

  Ben escorted her out to the boardwalk. “I have to get my packages from the mercantile. You wait here.”

  “Wait, hell. I’m going with you.”

  Just as they walked in, one of the men who’d helped Grady was walking out. “I’ll get the marshal. He’s good at setting noses.”

  “I’ll set it.” Jake looked so sincere, it was laughable. She shrugged. “I set noses all the time on the Bar EL.”

  “The hell you will!” came a man’s stuffed up voice from the back room.

  Mrs. Hiatt shoved Ben’s packages in his arms. “You best be headed out, and take Jake with you. I’ll take care of this here whiner.” She sniffed. “Imagine that! A grown man whimpering about a little ol’ broken nose.”

  Ben waited until they’d ridden at least a half a mile out of town before he spoke. “You need to stay out of trouble until I get the estate settled, Jake. You want the land that Pa said you could have, and I have a lot to do before you own it free and clear.”

  “Hell, if you’d just work the ranch through roundup, we wouldn’t have no problem. But no, you gotta do every damned thing the hard way. Besides, why do you think I wasted my time fighting a wimp like Grady?”

  Ben tensed his jaw, wanting her to understand his choice, his life in Boston, but knew she couldn’t—he doubted she’d ever known any life but ranching. Most of all, he wished there was some way he could earn her respect. Damn it all, he didn’t need her admiration, but her disdain irked him.

  “All right, I’ll bite,” he said, against his better judgment. “Why did you fight him?”

  “Because, Boston, all the hands around think you can’t cut it. And you’re proving them right.”

  She drew her pistol and shot, then rode off the road a ways, trotting back a minute later with a dead rabbit. “I’m having me some stew for supper.”

  Chapter 3

  As soon as Ben escorted Jake back to the Bar EL, he tossed his packages on the front porch, kicked the big bay to a gallop and rode right back to Henderson Flats. Maybe he was a fool and an idiot, but he was no damned coward. His father would never know that—or care—but Jake was going to damned well find out.

  Just as he rode into town, he met Grady, the man whose nose Jake broke, riding out with several other hands from the Lazy B.

  “Hey, boys, there’s the man who hides behind a woman. Hell, if she won’t wear a skirt, he might as well.”

  Ben ignored the well-lubricated cowhand. Not quickening his pace, he rode on. A poke at his back got his attention, though.

  “Why don’t you crawl down off that fine piece of horseflesh and fight like a man? Or do you prefer to send the women-folk to do your fighting for you?”

  Ben glared at the beat-up specimen. “You already look like you’ve been run through a meat grinder. Can’t say I’d get much pleasure from fighting you today.”

  “Fight me, then,” came a deep voice. A big man, muscle-bound and clean-shaven, leaned on the pommel and stared his challenge.

  Ben saw no way around it. A fight they wanted, and a fight they’d have. Frankly, he could use the exercise. But not here. “All right. Meet me at the Silver Sage tonight at seven. I’ll be there.”

  Grady laughed. “Yeah, fellas, he’s got to go get Jake for protection.” His friends guffawed.

  Ben took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Jake won’t be there, and neither will you. This is a fight between your buddy and me.”

  With that, he kicked his horse into a gallop and rode strai
ght to the Henderson Flats telegraph office, not caring if he stirred up the dust or not. He had come back only for the sake of his mother and sister, but now it was time to reclaim his honor. Maybe Jake was right—he needed to play this game by country rules. He swung off his horse and bounded up the stairs.

  Without a word to the telegrapher, he grabbed a paper from the counter and wrote, More to do than expected. Back in late November. “Send that to Creighton Morris at Morris & Graves Law Office in Boston.”

  * * * * *

  “I don’t want just any man,” Suzanne said, hands on her hips.

  Jake jabbed the pitchfork into the hay, wishing Suzanne would find something else to talk about. Marriage was a downright disgusting topic. “Glad to hear it.”

  “The will says I have to get married by the end of this year, and what if the fellow I have my eye on doesn’t take the bait?”

  “Don’t marry him, then. Ain’t nothing says you got to get married. Your brother’s gonna bust the will.” She leaned on the pitchfork and wiped the sweat from her brow. Suzanne always followed her like a puppy, a vexatious habit of hers. “Hell, a year from now, you’ll be some Boston society lady, twittering to twenty young fellers, every one of ‘em with their tongues hanging out.”

  Suzanne frowned. “Sounds dreadful, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup.” She pulled the pitchfork out of the hay and raked the ground with it, for lack of anything better to do while Suzanne wound down and left her alone.

  “But I do want to get married. I have my husband all picked out.”

  “He might have some say on the matter—you ever thought about that?”

  “Plenty.” Suzanne sighed and looked toward the sky, her hands clenched against her bosom. “Every night. Why, sometimes I can’t even hold still, I feel so funny inside just thinking about him.” She cocked her head and looked Jake straight in the eye. “You ever felt that way?”

  “Nope, I can’t say as I ever have.” But she had—since the day Ben stumbled out of the stagecoach. “But you’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t want to get over it. I want a baby.”