Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (18 page)
Boaz was in a talkative mood. He jawed on about any number of things and seemed more than content to carry on the bulk of the conversation. He already had the horses saddled up, so they took off. Boaz showed Sydney how to determine if the fence needed to be reinforced.
“Now you ride next to the fence and call out when you see the next place that needs fixin’. I’ll follow behind ya and catch things if you miss ’em.”
“Very well.” Sydney clicked her tongue, and Kippy stepped on. About fifteen yards later, she pulled back on the reins. “Whoa, Kippy. We have work to do.”
“Good goin’, kid. Here. This is what you do.” With a couple of quick whacks, Boaz managed to hammer the loose nails. Sydney watched his technique. As they continued on, she observed him closely and managed to improve her aim in short order so she was able to do the job.
When she came in that evening, Velma yanked her off to the side. “Fuller sent a telegram. He’s aiming to stay in Abilene another few weeks. Some doc there says he may have a treatment to help out that rheumatiz. You know he’s got it real bad, so he sent word not to fret. Told Tim to keep control of things.”
Sydney moaned.
“Don’t go stirring trouble in the pot. Just keep your mouth shut, and Tim’ll leave you be. He’s not a man to carry a grudge.
What you said to him the other night was unforgivable, but he showed Christian charity by walking away. He’s back to being his regular self and treating you like nothing ever happened.”
“He made me swallow a penny.”
Velma snickered. “Just lie low. Do what you have to, and keep out of the way. It’s the only way to handle this.”
Sydney took the housekeeper’s advice. It made sense . . . it was the only thing that did make sense. Any man she’d ever met would have set her in her place for impugning his integrity. Tim got riled, but he’d leashed his anger. He’d not let pride and temper dictate his response. Why? Why hadn’t he just demanded satisfaction? And why had he put it behind him and acted like she’d not insulted him?
It can’t be that he’s a Christian. That’s too simplistic. When I get to
know him better, I’ll be able to anticipate Big Tim’s reactions to things. And
I’ll learn to respond the way he does. Respect and admiration are earned
here, not conferred by social standing
.
Feeling too restless to sit and read or go to bed that night, Sydney decided to pamper herself. In the past, whenever she felt this way, she indulged in a long, hot soak in a bubble bath, so she slipped off and rode to town. To her disappointment, the mercantile was closed. Vowing to find an excuse to come to town during the daytime in order to buy the bubble bath or some oils as she’d promised Nella, she turned toward the saloon.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she pushed through the batwing doors and into the saloon. For an instant, everything went still. Then one of the poker players started to snicker.
“Syd!” Nella beckoned from the upstairs. “C’mon up.”
Throwing her shoulders back, Sydney walked down the worn strip of red carpeting toward the stairs.
“Brazen little cuss,” someone drawled.
“Syd’s got plenty to be proud of. Y’all mind your own business.” Nella let out a low chuckle. “Syd and me—we’ll be minding ours.”
Heat filled Sydney’s face. She hastened up the stairs and trained her gaze straight ahead so the men down below couldn’t see her blush.
They had no bubble bath, but Nelly added a few drops of her perfume to the water for Sydney. The fragrant steam rising from the tub beckoned. Sydney sank into the depths of the water and soaked until the water went cold. After she dressed, Sydney slipped into Nella’s room. “I need to pay you for tonight and the last time, too. If I give you more, would you go to the mercantile and buy bubble bath?”
“Sure.”
By the time Sydney got back to the ranch, she felt loads better. Pancake and Bert were playing poker when she returned. They ignored her as she unsaddled Kippy, but as she walked past them to get to the doorway, Bert lifted his big nose and sniffed loudly. He peered over his cards and nodded sagely. “Yup. Told ya so. The kid even smells like a bunch of spring posies. Betcha Nella’s gonna be tellin’ tales again.”
They’re definitely tales
. Sydney didn’t bother to hide her smile, but she stayed silent. She had no more stepped from the small halo of light the men’s lantern yielded and out into the shadows of the yard than a big hand clamped around her wrist and jerked.
“No more tomcatting around.” Tim bit off the words and glowered at the kid. “Bad enough the cowboys nudged you that direction. But you didn’t have to go back. Whoring never did anything other than stain a man’s soul and empty his pockets.”
The kid looked offended.
Tim didn’t care. “You don’t know how many men that chippie’s lain with. There’s a good chance she’s got a disease and will pass it on to any man who beds her.”
Syd’s eyes grew huge.
The smell of flowers hovered in the still night air—honeysuckle. The scent brought back a flood of tender memories of his wife. The reality that Louisa was gone savaged him all over again. And the scent came from the kid. He and that harlot abused the gift that belonged between a man and his wife. Tim snarled, “If I ever catch you with a two-bit whore or smelling of her perfume, I’ll tan your hide till you can’t sit. Get upstairs, strip naked, and scrub every last inch of you.”
The next morning, Tim looked across the table. “Ride with Gulp today.”
Sydney dipped his chin in assent.
Velma came in and gave Tim a heated look. “Creighton, news is that you let a fox in my henhouse again!”
“I did?”
“Three of my layin’ hens are history!”
“Now, Velma . . .”
She leaned into him and jabbed her finger into his chest with every word to punctuate her meaning. “Don’t you, ‘Now, Velma’ me! The dirt with my cayenne pepper hasn’t gotten dug up a-tall. Those spikes you buried are pushed apart farther than Orville Jantzen’s teeth. The varmint got my hens, and you’re to blame!”
“Cryin’ in a bucket,” Tim groused.
“You’ll be crying if you don’t get your eggs and custard, Tim Creighton! That’s eight hens I’ve lost in three weeks. I can’t lose another.”
“We’ll just buy eggs.”
“We most certainly will not! You get your tail end out there and fix up the soil with more pepper, and you set a hound out there by the henhouse from now on.”
He gave her a dirty look and shoved her hand away from his aching breastbone. The woman could certainly make an impression when she was of a mind to. Those stubby fingers of hers were downright vicious. He’d bet two bits that he’d have a mark on him from her nasty jabs, and he didn’t bruise easily. “Eight? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to vex you too bad. What with Fuller being gone, you were busy.”
“How long will it take to hatch new hens?” Sydney asked.
Velma gave the kid a scornful look. “Chickens hatch mostly in the bright months. Not that it matters. I can’t afford to let any hens sit. Every last egg I’m collecting still isn’t enough.”
Tim tapped his foot. “Jakob Stauffer’s got the biggest henhouse in the county. I bet—”
“That man has better things to do than worry about replacing our hens. Leota loved her chickens. You can’t ask a widower to go sell off his wife’s hens.”
“They’re chickens, not pets.” Even while he muttered the words, Tim knew he was wrong. After he’d lost Louisa, he couldn’t bear the thought of parting with anything of hers, regardless of how trifling it was.
Sydney looked down and mumbled, “The Richardsons had plenty of hens.”
Her words made Tim perk up. “Did they, now? Isn’t that great! Tell you what, Syd. Forget all about riding with Gulp today. Those hens are more important. Maybe you ought to get yourself on over there to the Richardsons’ farm and buy Velma some.”
“Me?” The kid wore a stricken expression.
“Hold on just a second there, Tim Creighton. Don’t you dare try to weasel out of this. It’s your fault my hens are gone, and you’re responsible for replacing them!”
“Syd can do it.” Tim smacked his hand on the table. “After all, we agreed whoever was wrong would have to clean the coop. I’m going to be busy.”
I never thought I’d see the day where I’d clean
another coop—let alone be glad to do it!
“Who do you think you’re fooling here? I wasn’t born yesterday! Fancy Pants doesn’t know diddly squat about hens. He’ll likely come back with a rooster and half a dozen scrawnynecked fryers.” She shook her finger in front of Tim’s nose. “You’re responsible, and you’ll see to it that I get fine hens. I’m missing eight, and I reckon you owe me a couple more than that for all of my vexation and trouble. Now shoo on out of here and get me my hens.”
Tim swallowed his pride. “Awww, Velma, you can’t send me over there! Those gals practically drag me to the parson’s as soon as I set foot on their farm. I swear, the oldest, Linette, practically eats me alive!”
“Then take Syd along.”
“What? Oh no! Not me!”
“Button your lip, Syd,” Velma warned, then turned back to Tim. “He handles women just fine. He took to those Richardson gals just great last time. The men said he did fine with Nella, too.”
Sydney’s mouth dropped open.
Tim scowled. “Kid, by now, half the territory has probably heard about you in the brothel. It’s not the kind of reputation you want to earn.”
“Agreed.” A sly smile slanted the kid’s mouth. “And because there’s a blot on my name, I shouldn’t go keep polite company with nice girls.”
“Don’t keep company with them,” Velma instructed.
Tim groaned inwardly.
Velma continued, “Just go along and drag Big Tim back after they make him stay to dinner.”
“Dinner!” Tim roared.
Drying her hands on her apron, the housekeeper huffed, “Oh, don’t get your socks in a knot. You know full well you can’t tromp over there, buy hens, and skulk off. Mrs. Richardson’s turned her daughters into man-hungry bits of fluff. They’re our neighbors, and we can’t afford to offend them. I fully expect you to have dinner there. In fact, I’m not even gonna bother cooking one here. You make some small talk and keep the girls from extracting any wedding-ring promises. I don’t want a bit of lip from you, Tim. It’s justice, you having to face those gals.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Sydney objected. “I already endured them when I took back the plow!”
The corners of Velma’s eyes crinkled. “Then you’re right in practice.”
Sydney moaned. “I’d rather do something—anything else.”
“You’re not the only one,” Tim grumbled. He then brightened up. “Tell you what, Velma. You know exactly what you want. I’ll give you twice as much cash money as you need. You go on over and pick out just what suits your fancy, then you can keep the extra.”
“Wipe that hopeful smile off of your face, you rascal. You’re responsible for this problem, and you’re going to fix it. I’m not bailing you out.” Velma gave Sydney a jaundiced look and planted her hands on her hips. “Men on this spread watch one another’s backs. You go and do your duty. Protect Tim from Linette. Marcella, too, for that matter. Tim, you do likewise. I’ll bet Sulynn or Katherine are already doing inventories on their hope chests after seeing our Syd.”
“I hate eggs,” Tim muttered darkly as he stalked from the room.
Tim and Syd rode in silence until the Richardson farm came into sight. “You’ve met the Richardson girls.”
“I returned the plow.”
Tim shot the kid a look. “You stayed and sat in the parlor with ’em. Founder’s Day, you even danced with one.”
“Only as good manners dictated—nothing more.”
“Manners don’t work with the Richardsons. ’Specially Linette. She’s getting desperate.”
Sydney crooked an eyebrow. “Are you concerned for yourself or for me?”
“Both. Just take a word of advice: If someone suggests a ride or a walk, don’t accept. One scrap of attention, and they hear wedding bells.”
Squaring his shoulders, Sydney nodded. “This calls for teamwork.”
Whew
. “You got it.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll control the women. You decide on the hens.”
“Kid, you got a deal!” It went against Tim’s personal code to make lopsided bargains. “I’ll mind your back.”
“I suppose I’ll need it. As Cervantes said, ‘Those who’ll play with cats must expect to be scratched.”’
“Kid, with these girls, a scratch is the least of our worries. They could eat a man alive.”
As they rode into the yard, a high-pitched shriek sounded off to their left. Tim turned in time to see Marcella’s hands fly up toward her roughly plaited hair while Katherine hurriedly started to straighten her droopy, faded gown. Linette emerged from the chicken coop and promptly dropped the egg basket as she blanched. Eggs cracked and rolled willy-nilly around her bare feet.
“Good day, ladies,” Sydney called out.
“Yeah. Howdy,” Tim echoed.
Just then, Marcella emerged from the outhouse. She was singing off tune quite loudly, but as the wooden door banged shut, she caught sight of her callers. The song died out at once. Crimson filled her cheeks.