Once in a Blue Moon (14 page)

Heat started to climb
up Melissa’s neck and she turned her attention back to Miss
Greyson.

Miss Greyson slowly
stood, her face pink. She choked, sputtered, then pointed a finger
at the door.

Oh
dear. A chill ran up Melissa’s spine, and the heat continued to
climb up her face. Too late she remembered that a smart employee
always flattered and complimented the boss; brown-nosed even. She
felt her talent so superior to anyone’s in this hick town that
she’d forgotten and hadn’t played the game correctly. Stupid,
stupid,
stupid
!

Miss
Greyson finally found her voice. “
Get
out
.” Her words were amplified in the
small room. “
Get out of here right
now
! Ya hear!”

Melissa flinched. She
cleared her throat. She had to turn this situation around, but how
did she placate the lady? Should she grovel a bit? Pretend she was
standing in front of Xavier and kowtow? “Um, perhaps I shouldn’t
have said--”

“
Now
!” Miss
Greyson roared the word. She was so angry her face had turned a
bright red color that matched her hair.

A bit of fast-talking
was in order. “Look, I really want a job. I’m more than qualified
for the position. If I could only show you what I can do I think
you’d be really--”

”You
come into my place of business, you insult me, insult my
work
, and you want me
to
hire
you?”
Miss Greyson’s eyes bulged. “If you were the
last
person in town, in the
entire
world
capable of helping me, I would work my hands bloody and go
without sleep rather than give you a job!”

Her eyes roamed over
Melissa’s dress, derision on her face. “And if that fashionable
dress you’re wearing is an example of your talent, well, quite
frankly, you’re embarrassing yourself and wasting my time.”

Cheeks burning, Melissa
realized that the situation wouldn’t be salvaged. She didn’t look
at the widow, but simply nodded, opened the door and tried not to
look as if she were fleeing.

* * *

She walked a good block
before her heart slowed. The woman was obviously unhinged. And the
widow! Just standing there, staring, watching Melissa’s
humiliation. No doubt she’d loved every second!

Melissa slowed her pace
and glanced around, wondering what to do, and what her options
were. Perhaps there were other dress shops? She hadn’t seen any,
but surely Greyson’s couldn’t be the only game in town.

Or perhaps she should
just open her own place and put that harpy directly out of
business. It would serve her right.

But of course she
needed money to do that, and what were the chances of anyone
investing when she was a stranger in town and dressed like a bag
lady? Zero chance, that’s what.

She stopped walking and
studied a couple of women standing in front of her, outside the
mercantile. They wore dresses made of much nicer material than
Melissa’s, and elaborate bonnets with six-inch brims, decorated
with tacky flowers Melissa wouldn’t put on her coffee table.

She turned her gaze and
noticed a woman standing by a wagon across the street. More poorly
dressed, but still, she sported a hat with a small brim.

Suddenly Melissa felt
bare, her appearance more embarrassing than before. She looked down
at the faded orangy calico. She looked like an out-of-work scrub
woman.

The ladies by the store
said their goodbyes and one, blonde and matronly, walked toward
Melissa.

Melissa put up a hand.
“Excuse me. Can you tell me where the local dress shops are?”

The woman stopped, her
pitying gaze taking in Melissa’s apparel. “Greyson’s Creations is
right down the road,” she said, pointing a finger in the direction
Melissa had just come from.

“Are there any other
dress shops in town?” asked Melissa.

The lady shook her
head. “That’s the only one. But Miss Greyson does an absolutely
wonderful job. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

“Isn’t there
anyone
else?” Melissa heard the desperation in her
voice.

Again the lady shook
her head. “Her rates are pretty reasonable,” she said kindly. “But
if you want to sew your own dress, the mercantile has a good
selection of material.”

Melissa nodded. “Thank
you.”

Feeling discouraged,
she thought about returning to the cabin, but pure stubbornness
stopped her. There were plenty of businesses in town. It wasn’t
like she was planning to set any career goals while she was here,
so perhaps a break from the fashion industry would be
acceptable.

Besides, at the moment
money was the bottom line. Richard’s income simply wasn’t enough,
and she didn’t want to be financially dependent on him, even for a
short time.

The twins wandered
over. “How’d it go? Did you get the job?” asked Jeremy.

Melissa lifted her
chin. “I changed my mind about working in the dress shop. The
conditions were too primitive.”

The twins exchanged a
look.

“Didn’t go so well,
huh?” asked Jessica.

Melissa ignored the
comment. “Why aren’t you in the park?” Jeremy shrugged. “We were
looking at stuff.”

“Well, go to the park
and stay there. I don’t want to have to hunt you down later.”

Throwing her grumpy
looks, the kids left.

Melissa set her sights on the mercantile. Before the end of
the day, she
would
be employed.

“Boy! Get on over here
and grab the other end of this.”

Richard suppressed a smile and dropped an armful of freshly
cut hay onto a quickly forming pile and headed over to help the
extremely thin, extremely energetic, extremely
young
Willie.

The sun beat down on
him as Richard hefted one end of the newly twined bale and they
headed for the wagon. “Do you realize I’m at least ten years older
than you? How long do you plan to keep calling me boy?”

In tandem they went to
throw the bale into the back of the wagon, but at the last second,
Willie changed the momentum by shoving hard on his end.

Richard almost lost his
balance, dropped his end of the bale, but didn’t fall this time. He
shook his head. “How long do you plan to keep playing that
game?”

The
other eight cowboys laughed,
again
, then got back to
work.

Richard sighed. This
had been going on, in one form or another, all morning. He was well
aware he was being put through his paces and had been working hard,
knowing he had to prove himself.

If he was honest, he
was having fun for the most part. The comradery going on around him
reminded him of his own crew at work, and his awe at being in the
past, working beside real cowboys, hadn’t quite gone away.

“I’ll keep calling you
boy as long as you keep acting like a greenhorn,” said Willie. “Now
quit your jabbering and get back to work.”

Richard picked up his
end of the bale and together they threw it into the back of the
wagon, then headed toward the cut hay.

Merrill wandered over
and threw some hay into the pile Richard was forming. “I don’t like
you. Boy.”

Oh, that was news. Did
the guy have to state the obvious? Richard kept his lips firmly
shut against the sarcasm. Most of the teasing going on appeared to
be in good humor and Richard didn’t mind that. But this guy seemed
malicious and tension between them had built all morning.

“I’m sorry to hear
that. Have you got a particular problem?” Richard kept his tone
mellow, trying to lighten the tension, “or do you just not like the
way I part my hair?”

Merrill threw him a hostile glare. “Your sissy hair’s got
nothing to do with it. You don’t have any experience. You waltz in
here and act like we’re supposed to be grateful to teach
you.
Boy
.”

Richard threw down
another pile of hay and straightened, trying to hold onto his
temper. “Quit calling me boy.”

Merrill straightened
too. “Heck, you’re right. Why should we call you boy when you’re
prettier than most girls?”

John, an older hand,
stepped forward. “Merrill, go help Dave. Richard, you come over
here and help me tie this bundle.”

Neither of them moved
and the tension escalated.

“
Now
!” John
barked.

Richard turned away,
shrugged off his anger, and grabbed the bolt of twine from the
ground. Together, he and John tied the bundle and hefted it into
the wagon. A bead of sweat ran down the side of one cheek, and
Richard’s new cotton shirt stuck to his back.

John assessed the
nearly full wagon. “Looks like we’re about ready to make another
run to the barn.”

Richard nodded.

“Don’t worry about
Merrill none. You’ve caught on fast today,” said John before
turning away.

Grateful for the praise, Richard went back to work. It was
back-breaking labor, a lot more physical than what he was used to,
and he knew he’d be sore in the morning. But right now he was just
happy to be employed. To be
here
.

He
brushed his glove-clad hands against his new rough denim jeans and
looked down at his cotton shirt and high boots. He looked just like
the rest of them. He’d been outfitted as a cowboy that morning,
they’d raised his hopes of working like a real cowboy, then sent
him to the fields to labor like a farmer beside eight other
real
cowboys. Go figure.
Still, he was glad to be there, glad that Mrs. MacPherson had given
him the chance. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t welcome a horse
right about now. He knew the others felt the same because he’s
heard them discussing the roundup.

John joined him
again.

“So, when exactly is
the roundup?”

John shrugged. “Not for
a couple of months. But we’ll be moving cattle from one range to
another in a few days.”

Richard grinned at the
good news. He couldn’t wait to get on a horse and hit the
trail.

He hefted another bale
with John. “So tell me about the Widow MacPherson. How did she come
to own all this property?”

“That’s none of your
business, is it?”

“Just making
conversation.”

Merrill and Willie
walked by with a bale. “You can take your conversation and your
curiosity and stow it. That woman’s a saint, and that’s all you
need to know,” sneered Merrill as they threw their bale into the
back.

Willie smiled at him.
“Where you from anyway?”

John threw Willie a
look of censor. “People’s business is their own, unless they care
to share it. You know that, Willie.”

“He started it, asking
about the widow.”

Richard realized no one
had asked him any personal questions all morning, but now that he
looked around, all within earshot were clearly interested. It
wasn’t as if he minded answering questions, but he could hardly
tell them he was from this area over a hundred years from now. He
thought about the recent trip he’d taken to Boston on business.
“I’ve spent some time in Boston.”

Willie grinned. “So,
you’re a city boy. Thought so. You talk kind of funny.”

A young cowboy, James,
chimed in. “I went to Houston once.”

Another cowboy groaned.
“We don’t want to hear about it again.”

Willie’s grin widened.
“I do.”

Tex, a few years older
than Willie but tall and with a lot more muscle, hauled an armful
of hay over to Richard’s fast-growing pile. “What I want to know is
do you tie rope like a real man, hard and fast, or like a Nancy
boy, by simply wrapping it around the saddle horn?”

The last thing Richard
wanted to tell them was that he didn’t know how to do either.
“Uh--”

Dave, a shorter, stocky
cowboy joined them. “Don’t listen to him. He’s full of crap. I can
rope better than him any day of the week. Why, out in Montana I
once roped a steer in a snow storm with one hand tied behind my
back. And I can tell you this much, I didn’t need no rope tied to
my saddle to help me out none.”

Tex sneered. “You’re so
full of it!” He turned back to Richard. “Boy, you ever brand
cattle?”

Again, Richard didn’t
want to remind them that he was incompetent but willing to learn,
but decided they’d find out sooner or later anyway. “To tell you
the truth, I don’t have much experience--”

Dave snorted. “I busted
a horse back in Abilene that near about killed me dead. Boy, you
ever broke a horse?”

Richard shook his head.
“I really don’t have much experience there, either.”

Merrill smirked.
“You’re pretty useless, ain’t ya? You don’t rope cattle, you don’t
brand cattle, and you can’t break a horse. You’re not even good at
haying. So what are you good at?”

Richard could feel his
anger building. He was getting sick of this guy razzing him all the
time. He’d been pulling his weight today as well as anyone, and
planned to do so every day. “I’m a builder by trade, not a cowboy.
But I’m anxious to learn.”

Willie gave him an
interested look. “Any pretty girls in Boston? Is that where you met
your wife?”

“Your wife as pretty as
you?” Merrill sneered.

James
grinned. “I saw his wife. She is
somethin’
to look at.”

“Do you have any kids?”
asked Willie.

Richard nodded. “Two. A
boy and a girl.”

Willie looked hopeful.
“How old is your daughter?”

“Both my kids are
twelve. They’re twins.”