Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (13 page)

“Don’t you ever draw a gun unless you aim to kill, son.”

The magnitude of her action sank in, and she started to shake. Fortunately, the cow bawled and diverted their attention.

Sydney scrambled to her feet.

Tim produced a pocketknife and hacked at her sleeve in a few rough motions.

“Whatever are you doing?”

“See that? The calf is turned wrong. Only one foreleg’s out.” He yanked off her sleeve. “The sleeve’s got dirt on it.”

“What does my shirt have to do with anything?”

“Your arm is thinner, and it’s long enough. Reach on up inside of the cow and fish out the calf ’s other foreleg.”

“You’re insane!”

“Son, that calf is gonna be winter chow for a whole family someday. His mama is one of the younger cows we’ve got, and she ought to be good for several more calves in the next few years. They’ll both die unless you get down to business. Now do as you’re told.”

“Lord help me,” she muttered as the cow’s legs buckled and she collapsed on the grass.

“At least you’re asking for the best on your team.” Tim stared at her. “Now get busy.”

Sydney took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and got started. Nothing had ever felt worse. Fighting the inclination to gag, she gritted, “This is worse than when Hensley Wentworth III pushed me into the Christmas pudding!”

“Trace the leg we already have. Go across the chest and find the other one.”

“I’m doing . . . the best . . . I . . . can.” She stretched farther.

“If it’s too slippery to hang on to, once you get the hoof, let me know. I’ll feed you a rope, and we’ll noose the leg and fish it out.”

“That’ll hurt!”

“Do you ever stop complaining?”

Her eyes flew open. “I didn’t mean me. I meant it would hurt her or the baby.”

He nodded curtly. “Sorry.”

“Does . . . this . . . happen much?” She tried to take her mind off the sensations assailing her.

“More common with a first calf. She’s one hundred percent Hereford; most of the herd is mixed. Anything with Longhorn in it calves easily. Have you found that other hoof?”

Her eyes widened. “I have it!”

“Hold tight. Finesse it. Sometimes it helps to tug in and up a bit.”

Moments later, a sopping wet calf plopped out on the grass. The cow lowed and began to lick him. Covered in mess clear up to her armpit, Sydney gushed, “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful! It’s a miracle! Oh, look! He’s so cute! It is a he, isn’t it?”

“He’ll do. Back off and let her take care of him. If you get in the way, mothers reject their young. It’s best you just walk away. Besides, you’re a mess. Go clean up. We still have roping to work on.”

Sydney resisted the urge to pet the calf one last time. Instead, she got up, visited the pump, then went to her new chamber. She hated this depressingly brown, dark room. The chest of drawers was scarred, and the mirror above it gave back a dim, distorted reflection. The chamber lacked much sunlight since a tree grew close by. When the wind blew, a branch scratched at the window.

She sponged off and put on a fresh shirt. Thankfully, Velma did the laundry and managed to do her drawers and get them dry when everyone was too busy or too far away to see them. Velma was an absolute godsend.

Sydney grabbed a pair of apples and tossed one to Tim when she went back out. His disappeared in four huge bites. She nibbled on hers and watched intently as he tied his rope once more for the purpose of demonstration.

Once she tied hers, he taught her how to spin a small circle. She did fairly well at it, and she made every effort to quell her sounds of excitement. His disapproving scowl after the calving made her aware she’d gone too emotional on him. A man never let his feelings show, and she’d broken that rule. She made a mental note to monitor her reactions more closely.

“Now try to change the attitude of the rope. Instead of horizontally by the ground, alter your wrist so it’s perpendicular.” He did so with his own rope and talked in a lazy tone. “You do it for a few revolutions, then feed more line so the hoop gets bigger. See?”

“By Jupiter! That’s fabulous!”

He shot her a grin. “It’s fun. Gals are impressed, too. Learn a few tricks, and then you can show off as a slick way of meeting some cute little filly.”

A wry smile twisted her lips.

“Buck up, Syd. I’ll teach you the ropes, so to speak, with gals.” He flicked his wrist, and his rope spun away and rolled back.

“You’re sly, Tim Creighton.”

“Beginning tomorrow night at the dance, you’ll be, too. Now give it a try.”

Sydney started spinning the rope, then tried to tilt it onto the side. It hit the dirt and kicked up a cloud of dust.

“Keep trying.” Tim stepped back.

“Very well.” She tried three more times. Two of those three times, she flipped it too awkwardly. The lariat looped onto her and tangled in her hair. She set down the rope, retied the cloth at her nape, and tried again. It was a failure, too. She gave Tim a weak smile and set to work again. That one smacked her face.

Reeling from the impact, she stumbled backward. It took every shred of her self-control to keep from crying. Blinking rapidly, she said nothing.

“Kid, you’re working against yourself. First things first. This has to go.” Tim whipped out his bowie knife, grabbed the dangling length of her hair, and hacked off a good six inches.

Sydney’s hands flew upward to feel the short tresses fall wildly around her chin and shoulders.

“At least it won’t tangle in the rope now.” Tim calmly flung the huge fistful of chestnut curls from his hand into the breeze.

Sydney disciplined herself not to let him see how horrified she was.

“Let’s get back to roping. You’re too jerky.” He waited a moment while she picked up her rope. “Kid, I keep forgetting what a pup you are. Just how tall do folks grow in your family?”

“Papa was five foot nine,” she croaked. After clearing her throat, she added, “Mama was five foot even.”

“Fuller’s her brother, right?”

“Yes.”

“He used to be fair sized before the rheumatiz bent him. He was probably about your pa’s height. Once you start to stretch out, you won’t have cause to worry.”

“Don’t count on it. I’d wager that I take after my mama.”

“Regardless, you’re gonna help with the branding. Now see to the rope. Pay out a bit. About that much more. Good. Yes, a little more. . . . Now, see how I’m bringing your hand up and still keeping the wrist action? There!”

She got the feel of it as they did it together again so she would sense the rhythm. It was hard for Sydney to concentrate. His closeness seemed so . . . enveloping. She felt oddly smothered, but instead of wanting to inch away, she scooted a bit closer. Tim didn’t seem to mind. Probably because he thought it let her move her arm more freely.

This stirring sensation in the pit of her stomach felt oddly warming. Sydney hadn’t ever experienced it before, and she’d been in dozens of men’s arms at formal dances. Then again, they kept the perfectly gentlemanly three inches of space as was proper and acceptable. If they hadn’t, she quietly stepped on their toes and gave them a warning look that transmitted her opinion of their scandalous conduct. Even if his closeness tipped her into a dither, she was masquerading as a boy, so she didn’t dare step on Tim Creighton’s toes.

The thoughts were too confusing, too disturbing. She shook her head to dislodge them.

“What’s wrong, Syd?”

“My . . . um, hair. It itches.”

“Cut it real short. It’ll keep you from getting buggy, too.”

She almost dropped the rope. “I’ve never had a pest of any sort on my person!”

“That’s bound to change. When we do a cattle drive, you’ll have fleas and ticks. Sleeping on the ground and being around the animals—’specially the dogs—does it, regardless of how fastidious a man is.”

She groaned.

Slapping her on the back, Tim shook his head. “Kid, you’ve got a long way to go. Forget all of those fancy drawing room ways and concentrate on things that really matter.”

“For example?”

“The water level in the pond and well. The amount of rainfall. The price of a barrel of flour and how to brew a decent cup of coffee over an open fire. How to talk sweet to a nice girl and let her down gentle if you decide she’s not the one you want for your wife. Most important, setting aside time to tend your soul. If you’re not right with God, nothing’s right.”

“You have a very interesting personal code.”

“Works for me.”

“Don’t you want a son you can pass things down to?”

Growling, Tim let go of the rope. “That’s a sore spot, Syd.”

The words, alone, warned Sydney to drop the subject; but something about the sandpapery rasp to his voice and the look in Tim’s eyes made it clear she’d best not bring it up ever again. She wanted to give him sympathy or compassion, but that was a womanly thing to do.

“I’d like to digress, if we might. You said that the Richardson girls are all nice girls. You also let me know that you avoid them like the plague. Word around here is that you just plain avoid women altogether. Why?”

Tim’s jaw hardened. “Getting left behind once was more than enough.”

Something in his tone let Sydney know he’d said all he wanted to. Men didn’t pry, so she reluctantly changed topics. “I’ve never met my uncle. What can you tell me about him?”

“Kid, God doesn’t make better. Fuller has equal parts integrity and grit. He started this place up and made it into a shining example of what a ranch can be. Hard work doesn’t bother him. He makes others work just as hard because they’re ashamed to give him a half-baked job. His word is better than anything written on paper. Folks consider his handshake a done deal, yet if something happens along the line, he’s not one to hold another to something that turns unfair.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Me. I bought the land to the east. Some of the best pastureland around. Has a fork of the river passing right through it, sweet like. I was proud of that land. Fact was, I didn’t have more than a few nickels to rub together after paying for the dirt. Times had been bad for me, and I figured on sitting tight and lickin’ my wounds while I slowly built the place into something worthwhile.

“Fuller needed water. He and I settled on a fair price for him letting his herd water there. That was how I bought my starter stock. After a couple of good years, we had five of the worst drought years imaginable. The river turned into barely a trickle. Both of us had beef dying on the hoof for want of water, but he still showed up at my door and handed me payment for the river rights, just as we’d originally agreed.

“I’d never done a thing for the man. Fact was, I was so ornery, I barely spoke a word to anyone for the whole time I’d lived there. Still, I couldn’t take Fuller’s money. Then he told me he’d never be able to look himself in the eye if he’d back out on his word. He wasn’t worth anything if he didn’t keep his honor.

“I felt like a cow pie. I finally got him to agree that we’d take that money and drill somewhere on the border of our land and share whatever bubbled up. When we found the source of the spring, it was two feet on his side of the land, but the land slants. As soon as the well digging started, the ground crumbled, and the water all flowed to my side. Fuller refused to believe that the water was even half his. The only way he’d let his stock drink was if I took part of his place. We fought like crows over the last berry. In the end, he had me. He went to town and simply deeded over part of his stock and land without telling me.”

“But droughts come to an end!”

“Yup. That one did the next year. By then, our stock had mingled so completely, it was impossible to credit the bulls for their studding, and the cows wouldn’t keep to either land. He had me over a barrel.”

“But you do more than your fair share now. Velma tells me my uncle’s become badly crippled.”

“Kid, I owe the man. Until he got so stubborn, I’d shut myself off from everyone. He forced me to start living again.” Tim’s face looked harder than granite. “Some things a man barely makes it through. Fuller has a knack for knowing when to step in and how far to push. I’ll lay down and die before I let him see this place fall to rack and ruin.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Fuller taught me that. Let him teach you, too, kid. Not everything you learn in life has to do with money or things. Fuller’s one of the few who knows that. If you turn out to be half the man he is, you can count yourself proud.”

Tim pounded on Sydney’s door. “Time to get movin’, kid.”

“I’ll be right out!”

“Don’t dally.”

Sydney gazed at her reflection in that abysmal mirror and tried desperately to quell her smile. She turned sideways and looked at her profile. Did she look manly enough? The cravat she wore hid the bulk of her chest binding. The britches hung loosely. She frowned at her short, botched-beyond-hope hair. One of these days, she’d shave Tim Creighton bald for having hacked it off.

When she opened the door, Sydney stopped cold. Tim had paced down the hall and was on the way back. He’d bathed and put on black trousers and a crisp white shirt. His boots shone with fresh polish, his chin had a small speck of blood that tattled on a fresh shave, and his hair looked sleek with a small dab of pomade.