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Authors: Jacquie Rogers

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BOOK: Much Ado About Mavericks
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“Maybe so, but I’m still not going to
Boston
with you.”

“And I’m not going to make a damned fool of myself out here.”  He shook his head and stood.  “I have the money to take care of you and Suzanne.  Lots of it.  We don’t need this ranch—we don’t even need the money from the sale.  The only reason I’m going to court is because that money is rightfully yours.”

She flicked an imaginary wrinkle from the tablecloth.  “You make your decisions, son.  I’ll make mine.”

Ben let out an exasperated sigh, then leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek.  “I’m going to bed.  Please think about what I said.”

He spent a restless night in a short bed with a lumpy mattress.  His recurrent dreams about a tall titian-haired woman in britches refused to be supplanted by the petite, blonde
Boston
socialite he tried to keep in his thoughts.  The memory of Patience’s proper kisses dimmed with the vision of Jake and the promise of passion in her full lips, blue eyes, and firm breasts.

By morning he was determined
to
shake off his thoughts of the shapely cowhand and get on with his business.  First, he’d take stock of his father’s holdings.  While not keen on learning to rope at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, he could ride with the best so he knew he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.  He splashed cold water on his face, shaved, and dressed in the same attire he’d worn the day before, hoping his mother still had some of the old man’s clothes packed away somewhere—they’d be much more practical for his purpose. 

After breakfast, his mother managed to find a shirt, a duster, and a pair of britches.  She held the latter up to his waist and shook her head.  “I’m afraid these won’t fit you at all.  Too large around the waist and too short.  Maybe the duster will work.”

It didn’t.  In fact, he could barely get it on at all.  His mother smiled.  “You’re a good-sized man, Benjamin Lawrence.  I always knew you’d get your growth—too bad Ezra was so impatient.”

“My size was the least part of me that irritated him, Ma, and you know it.  There’s not a soul in this county that thinks I’m worth my salt.”

She shrugged,
but the wrinkle in her brow showed her concern
.  “They will.”

He
doubted it.  Jake certainly seemed to have little regard for him.  Not that it mattered—about her or anyone else.  His expertise in the law was highly sought in
Boston
.  He had no reason to care what the people in
Henderson
Flats thought
,
yet deep inside he yearned for their approval
.

“I need boots anyway, so I’m going into town in an hour to buy a couple of sets of clothes.  Do you want anything?”

“I’ll see, but Whip has me pretty well supplied.”

They continued visiting when Suzanne joined in.  One hour stretched into three, and noon came and went.  Finally, he knew he’d better hit the road if he wanted to get back before supper.  As he approached the barn, he heard boys arguing.  Teddy and Homer, he assumed.  He chuckled and stepped inside.  Not aware of his presence, they continued their heated discussion.

“He’s too big to be a greenhorn!”  Teddy stood, feet apart, glaring at his older friend.

“Ain’t not, either,” Homer said, arms crossed.  “All the hands say he don’t know how to do nothing, and that don’t have a thing to do with how tall he is.”

Ben flinched, knowing the boys were only reporting what he knew the crew would be saying.

“He’ll do right, you’ll see.”  Teddy wagged his finger at Homer.  “We won’t have to find ourselves another job.”

“Aw, Teddy, how do you come to think that?  Jake says he’s gonna sell off this place and hightail it back east to the soft life, and Jake’s never wrong.  You know that.”

“No.”  Teddy hung his head and dragged the toe of his boot in the straw.  “She ain’t never been wrong yet.”

Ben slipped back out the door before they saw him.  If they’d kicked him in the belly, it wouldn’t have hurt more to hear two little boys who had no confidence in him.  But then, why should they?  He planned to do exactly what Jake had told them.  Maybe Jake would hire the boys for her ranch he intended to buy for her. 

He saw his mother standing on the porch.  “Got your shopping list ready?” he asked as he strode toward her.

“We don’t need a thing today.”  She hugged him as he stepped up beside her.  “Whip will take me to town next week when Mrs. Hiatt gets her next shipment.”

He tipped his hat.  “All right, see you at supper.”  By next week, he hoped he’d have his mother on a train to
Boston
—and the boys employed by Jake, who’d be happily working her new ranch.

His conscience salved, Ben hollered “Good afternoon!” before he entered the barn again.  The boys stopped sweeping and stared.  Ben didn’t let on that he’d heard their earlier conversation.  “I’m headed into town.  Would you boys mind telling me where all the tack is so I can saddle up a horse?”

They both pointed to his left.  Ben nodded, then said, “And how about a horse?  Got a nice, gentle one that won’t throw me?”  He had no idea why he made such a remark, other than he knew they expected no less, or no more from him.

“You can ride my Welsh pony,” Teddy offered.  “He’s little so you don’t have far to fall.  That’s why Jake bought him for me.”

“Well, if it ain’t Skeeter!” a big voice boomed from behind him.  He’d know that voice anywhere—it was Whip.  And, just like old times, Whip had saved him from an embarrassing situation, although Ben cringed every time he heard that humiliating nickname.

Ben grinned wide and shook Whip’s hand.  The old cowhand had knots on his knuckles and was even more bent and bowlegged than Ben remembered, although he was still taller than most men.  “Good to see you, Whip!”

“Same here.”  He looked Ben up and down, smiled, then slapped his shoulder.  “You was just a scrawny little twig last time I seen you, but you sure did grow into a fine man.  Your mama always said you would.”  He backed away and stuck his thumbs in his waistband.  “So, what brings you to the barn?”

“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.

BOOK: Much Ado About Mavericks
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