Much Ado About Mavericks (7 page)

Frowning, Suzanne whirled on her heel.  “You don’t believe me, do you, Jake?”  She flopped down on a log, spreading her skirts out neatly.  “Well, I’ll tell you, my father did nothing but berate Ben every minute of his life.  The first moment’s peace he ever got was on the train ride to
Cambridge
.  And I’m sure he was scared spitless, but did he let it bother him?  No.  He not only did well, he excelled—both academically and in sports.  Not just any idiot could do that.”

Jake flinched, remembering she’d thought Ben an idiot that very afternoon.  But she wondered why, if he was so damned smart, he could be so stupid, too.  “He don’t seem to want to do a thing around here.  And he don’t want this ranch, neither.”

Suzanne acted like she hadn’t even heard what Jake said.  “I’m very proud of my brother.  He’s one of the best lawyers in
Boston
, and he has no need to play cowhand in
Idaho
Territory
.”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, beings he’s your brother and all, but I don’t cotton to a man who don’t put no store in a personal challenge.  Your brother’s done took the easy way out.  Ain’t a man in Henderson Flats who’s got any use for him.”

Just as soon as she’d spoken, she wished she hadn’t, especially when she saw a tear in Suzanne’s eye.  “Don’t worry, Suzanne.  He ain’t a cowhand, but he’s honorable in his own way and I’d bet my best horse he won’t let you go to seed.”

At supper, the cowhands talked low to one another, and every once in a while one would give Whip a few coins, then he’d scribble a mark on a paper.  Jake wondered if the old boy had gotten himself in a bad way and needed some money.  But then, Whip was a tight old goat, so she tried to think of another reason the men would willingly give him money.

After dumping her plate in the wreck pan, she strolled over to him and peered at his paper. 
Jake couldn’t
cipher
so
the squiggles didn’t make a bit of sense.  Damn.  “What the hell’s going on here, Whip?”

He shrugged, and scratched a few more lines.  “Nothin’.”

If there was one rule that ruled all others, it was that
nothing
meant
something
.   “Whip, you’re plumb full of shit.”

He folded the paper and tucked it into his vest pocket.  “Yup.”

As the cowhands left, one by one, she asked, “Where are they headed?”

“Town, I expect.  Maybe to do a little partying before the hard work starts.”

“I reckon not,” Jake grumbled.  They’d already spent the better part of their paychecks the night before.  And Whip seemed a little too cagey. 

After Whip left, she followed him to the barn and watched him ride toward town.  She called Teddy and Homer, and told the strays to saddle up and go to the Circle J.  “I’ll be along later.  You two wash up and get yourselves to bed.”

“Aw, Jake!” Teddy complained.  “We was going to town.”

Homer nodded his agreement with Teddy, folded his arms across his chest, and frowned.

“Nope, you do as I say.  I’m the foreman around here, and don’t you forget it.”

As soon as they’d finished their protests and gone, she resaddled Blue and took out for Henderson Flats at a dead run.  A bad feeling gnawed at her gut. 

Blue was strong and had a good heart—the four-mile run to town wouldn’t even make him draw a long breath.  For a moment, she basked in the hot wind on her face, breathed in the welcome smell of alkali and sagebrush, and marveled at the grace of the muscular horse beneath her.  But then that uneasiness returned, and she remembered her purpose.  Those damned men weren’t going to put anything over on her!

It didn’t take long to get to
Henderson
, and it took even less time to see that every man in
Owyhee
County
had gathered in front of the Silver Sage Saloon.  She wondered why no one wanted to tell her what the big deal was—they’d never kept secrets before.  She’d always been ‘one of the hands,’ afforded the same consideration as any other.  She’d made sure of it, and, but the looks of things, she’d have to remind the whole mangy bunch of them all over again.

Tying her horse to the hitching post in front of Mrs. Hiatt’s store, she joined the cheering crowd, who were enthusiastically urging two men to beat each other’s brains out.  Hell, she was game for a good fight, so she stayed to watch.

“Git up!” A man called out a few feet from her.

“Protect with your left, throw a right!” Another man hollered.

She pushed her way to the center of the mob, finding the two dusty, bloody fighters.  Then she realized why the men had given Whip their money—Big Al had another challenger.  Damn, if she’d known that, she’d have put a few bucks on Big Al.  Last time, she’d won over fifteen dollars.

Only Big Al didn’t look so pretty.  He ducked his bloody face only to be walloped in the gut by the other man’s left.  While Al leaned forward wearily, his opponent danced around, two-stepping like he was at the Friday night social. 

“C’mon, Big Al,” yelled a hand from the Lazy B.  “One good punch and you got ‘im!”

The opponent backed off.  “Want to call it quits?”

Dang and holy jeewillikers!  Jake took a good look to see if her ears had told her right.  Sure as shootin’, she saw Ben, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to mix it up some more.  Not a mark did she see on his handsome face.

“Go get ‘im,
Boston
!” she yelled, punching the air with her fist.

Ben looked her way, then Big Al pasted him a good one right in the jaw and jumped on top of him.  With a grunt, Ben managed to wiggle out from under the big man and jabbed him in the ribs as Ben rolled away.  He jumped to his feet, his fists up, his gaze intent on the wobbling Al, who slowly pulled himself to his hands and knees.

“I’m ready when you are,” Ben said, not drawing a long breath.

Slowly, the big man managed to stand, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve.  “Ben, I think you done whooped me.”

The crowd booed as Big Al trudged into the saloon, then dissipated, all except for Whip.  He clapped Ben on the shoulder.  “You just won me over a hundred dollars, Skeet—uh, Ben.  That was some fancy fighting you done there.”

Jake couldn’t help but smile, she was so damned proud of Ben that her heart near busted from her chest.  Big Al had never been bested—until now.  At the same time, she wondered what the hell had gotten into a man who’d run from his father’s challenge, then agree to fight a man who’d never been whipped.

Rubbing his jaw, Ben said, “Now I remember why I didn’t look forward to pugilism class.”

Class?
  She couldn’t believe it.
  “You learned that there fancy punching and dancing in
school
?”

Ben nodded, but as he opened his mouth to speak, one of the working girls stepped out of the saloon and handed him a glass of whiskey. 

“
Wilson
says this is on the house.  You’re welcome to the Silver Sage any time, first drink free.”  She ran her hand across his shoulder and down his chest.  “And we offer other pleasures, too.”

Jake snorted, stomped to her horse, and swung into the saddle.  “Looks like you got the town wrapped around your little finger,
Boston
.”  She kicked Blue into a trot and left without looking back.  If Ben wanted that woman’s hands rubbing all over him, well, so be it.  She sure as hell wasn’t going to stay around and watch.

*   *   *   *   *

The next morning, Ben dragged his sore body out of bed and splashed water on his face to clear the bleariness in his eyes.  The whole town must have bought him drinks the night before, and since he seldom drank at all, the alcohol had taken its toll. He dressed in his second set of work clothes—a pair of canvas waist overalls, a blue flannel shirt, and a buckskin vest.  As he pulled on his new but badly scuffed boots, he wondered what in the hell had gotten into Jake. 

He could somewhat understand why, with her background, she’d be angry when he chose to contest the will in court rather than play cowhand for a month, but he could
not
understand why she’d be mad about his boxing.  Women, whether in skirts or in pants, were a complete puzzlement.  Jake, especially.  After all, she’d been thrown in jail for fighting, so it couldn’t be that she was opposed to it—she only seemed opposed to
hi
s
doing the fighting.

Buckling on his new gunbelt, complete with Peacemaker, he picked up his new Stetson and, as quietly as he could in stiff boots, made his way down the stairs and out the door. 

The cowhands greeted him with cheers and a few slaps on the back as he entered the bunkhouse.  Whip shoved a plate of flapjacks in his hands.  “Morning, Ben.”

“Good morning.”  He glanced at the fellows in line behind him, then back at Whip.  “I need to talk to you later.”  The gnarled cowhand nodded and Ben took his plate to a table in the middle of the room.  While he felt out of place, he damned well wasn’t going to let any of the men know it.  He’d learned that early on at Harvard.  Bravado had carried him through the entire first year, and since then, he’d refined it to a science.

He sat down beside one of the cowhands who’d been at the fight.  Actually, they’d all been there with the exception of the night crew.  He offered his hand for a shake and said, “I’m Ben Lawrence.” 

The man shook with him and smiled.  “Hell, everyone knows who you are, Mr. Lawrence.  Damned good fight you had last night.  Lost five bucks, though.”

“Can’t say as I’m sorry about that.”  Ben rubbed his sore jaw.  “After the first punch, I wasn’t about to let him hit me again.”

Another fellow sat on the other side of Ben.  “Helluva fight, Mr. Lawrence.

Ben realized he didn’t like being called “Mr. Lawrence” by these men any more than he could tolerate “Skeeter.”  Yes, he was addressed by his surname in
Boston
, but that was the way of things there.  Here, he’d never be considered one of the men until they started calling him by his first name, ranch owner or not.

He stood and hollered for the cowhands to pay attention.  “I know my father demanded to be addressed as Mr. Lawrence, but I’m not my father.  Call me Ben.”

He sat down to more cheers and whistles.  At that moment, Jake and her two boys entered the bunkhouse. 

“You all better save a little of that energy.  We’re driving the yearling feeders to
Silver
City
today to make room for the new calves.”  She looked around the room as the men quieted.  “Scat, George, you take fifty head to Oreana.
  Fred will ride with you.
  Slim and Crip, you keep working the rough stock.  We’ll take a few of the green-broke horses in the remuda to see how they do.”

A young man jumped up.  “Can I work with Slim and Crip again?”

“Nope, you need trail experience.  You’re going with me to Silver.”

Ben smiled at her sure manner.  She always seemed to know exactly what needed to be done and how to do it.  And never a moment did she let a single cowhand get the best of her.  He pictured what she’d be like in
Boston
, then dismissed it.  She’d be out of society before she ever got in.

*   *   *   *   *

After the cowhands
settled down to eat
their breakfast, Jake picked up a plate and held it out while Whip flopped a stack of flapjacks on it.  “What the hell’s all the fuss about?  There ain’t been this much fol-de-rol since Teddy snarfled a worm up his nose.”

“They’re mighty impressed that Ben beat Big Al last night.”

“Hmph.  Didn’t they even care that they lost good money?”

“Some of us didn’t lose none.”  Whip’s eyes twinkled.  “And some of us was more impressed than others.”

Snot rags and horse apples!  Did Whip know that she’d been pissed off about that hussy feeling up Ben?  Lord only knew, if even a hint of that ever got out, she’d never have the men’s respect again.  But she still didn’t know why no one had given her a chance to bet.  “So why the secret?  I’d have bet on that fight.”

Whip shrugged.  “For some reason, Ben made me promise not to tell you.”

“But you told everyone else?”

“Hell, yeah.  He didn’t say not to, and any fight with Big Al, well, the boys’d want to know.  Maybe have a chance to win a few bucks.”

“But you bet on Ben.”

Chuckling, Whip lifted his beat-up hat and scratched his forehead.  “That boy has a lot more gumption than he lets on.  I was betting on heart, not muscle, and I was right.  Right enough to build a house on that little piece of land I’ve been paying on for the last few years.”

“Ain’t you a little up in the years to be starting your own ranch?”

“Mebbe, but these old bones still have
a little
spark
left
in ‘em.  Besides, I’m tired of bunking at the Bar EL.”

“I know.  All my life I been dreaming of having a place all of my own, and about the time I think I got it, Ezra has to put some silly-assed thing in the will about it all depending on turning a greenhorn into a cowhand.”